The World Will Follow After (фемслэш)

“Here,” the unfamiliar voice says, and Max finds herself accepting a tissue from a stranger’s hand. It’s a lovely hand: tanned even though it must be February, elegant fingers with chipped black nailpolish, delicate and strong at the same time. The perfume dabbed on the stranger’s wrist smells gently of jasmine.
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Max returns from a desperate photo jump to find herself in circumstances she had never anticipated.