#and does not in fact mean falling in love

[okwonyo]

CARE FOR YOU ✶ when you are sick

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆

𝟏𝟓𝟎𝟏𝒾──── enhypen 𝗑 f!rea ✿ comfort fluff 𓂋 sickness kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡

𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦

HEESEUNG

he is having the best time of his life— he can’t lie. in fact, he would say it proudly : he loves it. he is having a hell of a time.

hot forehead, flushed cheeks, big water eyes blinking up at him so pretty. you look at him like you’re seeing god— or worse, as if you would break into wet sobs if he leaves the room.

you need him. and honestly, it doe’s something to him. you can say that it wrecks him.

you cling on his sleeve like a weak koala, and mumble, “hee, i feel like a soggy sock.”

heeseung stills. his eyebrow twitched like his heart got physically clenched. a soft grin draws itself on his lips. his bambi eyes soften at you, who is looking up at him like that.

his lips tug upward— not in amusement, however. in something much gentler, it makes you feel a little sicker.

his heart melts making him drop on his knees instantly. “does my soggy sock want some soup?” he chuckles, touching your hot forehead gently.

you nod. then narrow your eyes, observing his overly happy face as heeseung stays there for a moment, instead of getting your soup. “you seem to be having too much fun.”

“oh, but i do, baby.”

JAY

“i told you to wear a coat,” he scolds you. yet, his tone is still soaked in sugar— he is well too fond of you to be really harsh. “you should have listened to me.”

you would love to say something back. but your sore throat doesn’t allow you to do anything else but cough. even trying to get up needs effort that your body is struggling to give at the moment.

jay notices your struggle. he puts the soup he cooked on the nightstand, “i got you, i got you,” he says quietly, helping you sit up.

he is so doting. he hasn’t left your side ever since you told him you felt unwell last night. he looks at you as if you were going to break into piece at any moment— with hint of red on the corner of his eyes from how tired he is too.

he doesn’t mind, though. “say ‘ah’,” he gently orders, bringing the spoon full of chicken soup close to your mouth.

you sigh, then immediately cough. your voice is hoarse and barely even there, “you don’t need to do t’is. i can eat—” not ‘take care of myself’ “alone.”

jay smiles at how his barely conscious girlfriend can be so stubborn, “i know, but i want to take care of you,” he puts the spoon closer, “so let me.”

JAKE

he almost cries. really. because how can you tell him to stay away from you when you look like this.

not the usual bratty, mouthy, too-proud-for-help girlfriend who he loves so much. not the usual bitty remarks, mean looks or sassy remarks that makes his heart flutter.

not, you are just tin, pitiful sniffles that makes him weak in the knees.

with those covers wrapped around you, your face all red due to your fever— how can you expect him to not come lay beside you.

“no, jake,” you say with a voice sounding different due to your nose. “you are going to get sick.”

he doesn’t listen. he slides next to you earnestly. it’s funny how you think that he is not going to cling to you when you look so cuddly. it’s also funny how you wrap your arms around his waist despite your weak protests.

“go away,” you whine, holding onto him like he is your anchor. like you don’t want to go anywhere. like you can’t function without him.

he loves his life. “shh, i’m here,” he shushes you. he put his hand on the back of your head, burying your face in his bros chest as you sniffle.

your hot body relaxes in jake’s arms. soon falling into slumber.

SUNGHOON

you called him one hour on the phone your voice sounded weird — as if you were sick. which made sense, you called him to ask him to go buy you medication.

but he didn’t know that you were that sick.

you weren’t very precise, truthful even, on the phone. you told him you had a small fever. that your throat felt weird because of allergies. that it wasn’t something to worry about. he believed your words.

oh man, he was so wrong. when you open the door, your pale face makes his heart squeeze. he doesn’t know what to do at the moment — he stares at you while you sniffle.

“t–thank you,” you say weakly, taking the meds in his hands. “i can’t kiss you, ‘cause you’ll get sick,” the rest of your sentence makes his survival instinct awoke, “you should leave before you i…”

you are too sick to notice that he lowered himself to lift you off the floor. your fever has no mercy on you. your brain is half fried. you are confused in his arms for a dozen seconds.

it’s only when he starts to walk that you protest, already starting to fall asleep in the comfort of his biceps, “...i can walk.”

he huffs, “and i can carry you.”

SUNOO

he takes very good care of you. he’s so doting, so sweet, so spoiling that it makes you feel a little bit dizzy.

it takes a huge care in tucking you between the covers — like a burrito. he scoops you over his laps after tugging the blanket to your chin.

his fingers move through your hair. slow and gentle. your cheek rests against his shirt. your ear right next to his beating heart.

“do you still love me even if i’m gross and sweaty and with a red nose?” you mumble, lips quivering, brows pinched which he finds very cute.

“what if i love you more?” he ask, wiping your running nose with a tissue. “you are my sweaty lover. the cutest red-nosed deer ever made.”

you pout, looking away, “i don’t believe you.”

without any hesitation, he counters. “darling, i would kiss your snotty nose right now if you asked.”

he declares that so solemnly. with a face serious enough to make you shiver. it’s a promise, it’s a vow that nothing can break.

he would do it without any hesitation. when it’s you, there is no gross or any fear of getting sick too. if it’s you, he kisses you senseless even if you carry the most deadliest virus within your body.

JUNGWON

he definitely baby talks you throughout the entire day. with a huge grin but no shame at all, whatsoever.

and you let him. you don’t groan, push him away playful or give him a bratty remark. no. you let him baby talk you without any protest. that’s what he loves the most about the situation.

“won…” your finger twitch like you want to reach him. your stuffy nose makes you breathe out his name. as well as the rest of your sentence, “i’m cold.”

jungwon coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “aw, my poor baby, do you want my hoodie? a thousand of forehead kisses?”

despite the tone he uses, you nod, without making any sort of grimace.

he takes the hoodie off his back. while he shows off his biceps with his white tank top, he helps you put the hoodie on.

he kisses your forehead again, “who is the hottest nurse in the world, hm, doll?”

you sniffle, smiling weakly, “it’s you.”

he puts his hand next to his ear, “what did you say?”

“it’s you,” your voice is barely any louder than the previous time but he smiles nonetheless.

your cheek is hot against his lips as he presses a kiss on it, “and you are the cutest patient.”

RIKI

“why are you looking at me like that?” you cough, making riki’s heart break a little again.

he sits right in front of you, on a chair, holding your hand. he looks at the covers around you. your pale face, snotty nose and damp forehead with a look that scares you.

riki’s eyes are wide open. through your exhausted eyes, you distinguish the shine of his teary — yes, teary — eyes. you laugh weakly.

“i’m not going to die you know,” your cough makes his lips quiver for a second.

he squeezes your hand harder as if you were on your deathbed, “i know, but i feel guilty.”

as he should be. if he wasn’t sick a week ago and decided that one of his cold’s cravings was cuddling you, none of this would be happening right now.

which is maybe why he insisted of taking care of you and why he hasn’t left your side for a second since a few hours.

he wants to cuddle again, though. ridiculous you may say. but he really wants to take you in his arms. that, he does.

“we are never going to break the cycle,” you mumble, forehead nudging his neck.

he chuckles, “i don’t think so.”

분지 ܃ exam season is over, summer can finally start and i’m SO happy ><

taglist open

[allforricciardioxx]

Could you please make an Social Media AU with Lando when you’re Bradley Coopers daughter and been friends with Lando for a long time and you’re fathers wedding with Gigi comes up you ask him if he wants to be you’re plus one. As pictures of the event get public and the fact that you and Lando went together gets public the whole F1 world and Internet is freaking out as many wondered why he was seen in Philadelphia a few days before the wedding and people can’t help but wonder if you’re just good friends or more and comment how good you two look together. Much Love.❤️

thank you so much for this ask !! i added a little extra to it hope you like <3

plus one - lando norris x cooper!reader smau

faceclaims : random girls off pinterest

y/ncooper

liked by lando, gigihadid and others

barcelona you will always have my heart xx also my doofus of a best friend got a podium this weekend 🧡

lando thanks for the support i guess🙄

⤷ y/ncooper you're welcome but next time maybe try to get p1

oscarpiastri i got p1 or did you forget 🤔😔

⤷ y/ncooper oh i didn't forget x

⤷ oscarpiastri oh.

⤷ y/ncooper congrats osc you make me so proud !! 🎊

⤷ oscarpiastri 😊

⤷ y/ncooper next time could you let lando win ???

⤷ oscarpiastri 👎

⤷ y/ncooper oh. it was worth a shot i guess 😊

gigihadid i can't wait to see you pretty xx 🩷

⤷ y/ncooper i can't wait to see you mamacita 😏

liked by gigihadid ♥︎

texts between lando and y/n

f1gossip

liked by user2, user3 and others

lando norris was spotted in philadelphia today, following his podium in barcelona on sunday. fans speculate that his presence in phildelphia is in regards to a future collab or a new relationship.

let us know your thoughts in the comments below ↓↓

user1 the fact he's already left spain is a bit crazy but pop off i guess

user2 hopefully it's a collab and not a relationship cause he's finally thriving

user3 personal opinion but i would love for lando and y/n cooper to date, i feel like they have such good chemistry !!

⤷ user4 yeah, no! lando should really stay away from that attention seeker. he drives better when she's not at his races.

⤷ user5 he literally got p2 in barcelona, y/n was at said race. and also y/n is the daughter of bradley cooper. i doubt she's friends with lando for attention !!!

⤷ user3 anyways i am hoping for them to eventually date

y/ncooper

liked by gigihadid, lando and others

today my dad married the woman of my dreams 😔 but anyways i am so immensely happy that i got to witness the love between my 'parents' 🤗🤍 also i got to have cocktails with bella and kenny j (pinch me i'm screaming)🍸🪩 and can we have a moment of appreciation for my dress 🤩😗

user2 girlie i hope you do realise we can see the last picture 🤔😏

⤷ user1 like we know it's lando !!

gigihadid i am forever grateful for getting to call you family 🤍

⤷ y/ncooper brb i'm sobbing rn 🥲😚

bellahadid next time you're in nyc we are getting cocktails !! 🖤

⤷ y/ncooper screaming without the s rn 😏😗💗

liked by lando, bellahadid and 2,859 others ♥︎

user3 y/n and lando look so good together (like i predicted) 🥰😗

⤷ user4 i won't lie i did not like the idea of them together at first but honestly they are the hottest couple that might ever grace the paddock !! 🔥❤️‍🔥

user5 the last pic had me falling to my knees in target ❤️‍🔥 they look so unbelievably good together 🧎‍♀️🤤🤤

user6 if they dated the f1 fandom would all fall too their knees anytime lando and y/n were seen together cause holy smoly are they obscenely hot together 🔥🔥🔥🤤

user11 like y/n said "screaming without the s" over the last pic 🤤😏

texts between lando and y/n

lando has posted to their story

maxfewtrell has lando norizz finally secured a girlfriend 😏

⤷ lando hahaha something like that mate

oscarpiastri does this mean i no longer have to hear you moan and groan about her not seeing you as more than a friend !

⤷ lando you don't even know who it is 🤔

⤷ oscarpiastri it's y/n isn't it ?

⤷ lando ....

y/ncooper wow you're really great at keeping things lowkey !! (not)

⤷ lando what? i finally have the woman of my dreams might as well show her off 🤤🤤😍

⤷ y/ncooper you flatter me 😙 also never use that drooling emoji again !!

⤷ lando 🫡

thank you so much again for the request hopefully it was exactly who you wanted it , also let me know if you want a part 2 xx

kisses leah 𖹭.ᐟ

[angstama]

spaces between us (pilot draft) | l.jn

pairing: dad!lee jeno x f!reader (ft. na jaemin)

genre: angst, slight fluff

synopsis — three years after divorcing jeno, you've found a careful rhythm in co-parenting your son jun. the old fights about his work schedule and emotional distance have faded into polite exchanges and shared custody arrangements. but when small moments of connection start to feel like second chances, you begin to hope that maybe you could try again. though, it all falls apart when jeno asks to introduce jun to his new girlfriend. suddenly, you're forced to confront a devastating truth: the man who claimed he "wasn't good at relationships" during your marriage has apparently learned how to love properly—he just needed someone else to do it with.

a/n: hey lovelies! trying something out here, not sure if im loving it... but putting it out here as a possible new fit :-) im sorry it's jeno again khskdshsflj his new hair colour is so good it's stuck in my head~ do let me know if this is a plot you guys wanna continue with!!!!

you know the sound of his key before it hits the lock. sunday, 6:48 pm, three minutes later than usual because traffic on fifth street backs up after six-thirty. you've memorised these details without meaning to, the way you once memorised his coffee order and the exact spot on his shoulder where he carries tension.

"daddy!" jun's backpack hits the floor with the thud of too many library books as he crashes into jeno's legs. you watched from the kitchen doorway, dish towel still in your hands, and something warm unfurls in your chest when jeno scoops him up like he weighs nothing.

"hey buddy! good day?" jeno's voice carries that soft tone he reserves for jun, the one that used to make you fall in love with him a little more each time you heard it. "mom says you aced your spelling test."

"twenty out of twenty," jun beams, and you can't help but smile at his pride. "mom helped me practice. she made up that song, remember?"

jeno's eyes find yours over jun's head, and there's something there—warmth, maybe gratitude, definitely recognition. "mom's good at that," he says, and the words land softer than they should.

you shouldn't read into it. you know this. but when jun runs off to grab his pokemon cards to show jeno, and jeno follows you into the kitchen instead of staying in the living room like he usually does, your heart does this stupid fluttering thing you thought you'd trained out of it.

"coffee?" you asked, already reaching for his mug. the blue one with the chip on the handle that he never throws away.

"if you're making some anyway," he says, leaning against the counter in that familiar way. close enough that you catch his cologne—the same one he's worn for years, the one that used to linger on your pillow.

you shouldn't notice these things anymore. the way he automatically opens the cabinet to grab the sugar. how he still knows which drawer holds the spoons. the fact that he washes his mug without being asked, like this is still his kitchen too.

"jun's been asking about the camping trip again," you say, handing him the coffee. your fingers brush when he takes it, brief and probably accidental, but your skin remembers.

"memorial day weekend?" jeno nods. "i was thinking we could do han river. remember that spot we found when he was four?"

we. the word hangs between you, heavy with history. you do remember—jun's first successful s'more, jeno teaching him to fish while you read on the blanket, the way the three of you felt like a unit that weekend instead of two people trying to figure out how to be parents together.

"he'd love that," you say, and mean it.

jeno lingers after jun shows him every single pokemon card twice. lingers while jun brushes his teeth. lingers by the door after hugs goodbye, keys in his hand but feet planted firmly on your doormat.

"you okay?" he asks, and there's something in his voice you can't quite name. concern, maybe. or something deeper.

"yeah, just tired."" you lie, because you're not okay—you're hopeful, which feels infinitely more dangerous.

he nods, remaining still as he studies your face like he's looking for something specific. "you know you can call me, right? if you need anything. even if it's not about jun."

the words settled in your chest like a promise. like maybe he's been thinking about more than just co-parenting too. like maybe the careful distance you've built around each other is finally cracking in all the right places.

"i know," you whisper.

he almost says something else. you can see it in the way his mouth opens slightly, the way his eyes search yours. but then jun calls goodnight from his room, and the moment dissolves.

"see you next week," jeno says, and you watch him walk to his car, wondering if he looks back. wondering if he feels it too—this pull toward something that might be possible again.

that night, you fell asleep thinking about han river. about the way jeno looked at you when he said "we." about the camping trip and coffee in matching mugs and all the small ways you've been building towards something without naming it.

which is why, when thursday comes and jeno asks if he can introduce jun to someone he's seeing, the world tilts so violently you have to grip the counter to stay upright.

"someone you're seeing?" the words come out strangled, like your throat forgot how to work. jun is in his room packing his overnight bag, humming the pokemon theme song, blissfully unaware that his parents' carefully constructed peace is crumbling in the kitchen.

jeno shifts his weight, suddenly looking anywhere but at you. "her name's soomin. we've been... it's been a few months now."

a few months. while you've been reading meaning into coffee rituals and shared glances, he's been building something real with someone else. while you've been hoping the way he said "we" about camping trips meant something, he's been saying "we" about someone entirely different.

"a few months," you repeat, testing how the words taste. bitter. they taste bitter.

"i wanted to tell you sooner, but..." he trails off, running his hand through his hair the way he does when he's nervous. "things are getting serious. she's important to me."

important. the way you used to be important, before work deadlines became more pressing than date nights, before his silence became louder than your attempts at conversation, before you both stopped trying to find each other in the space between exhaustion and resentment.

"does jun know?" you ask, proud of how steady your voice sounds.

"no. i wanted to talk to you first. make sure you're okay with it."

okay with it. as if there was a choice. as if you could say "no, your heart isn't ready for this, please keep pretending we might find our way back to each other". as if you have any right to his future when you couldn't figure out how to share his present.

“and if i said no?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “would you hate me for it?” he exhales slowly. there’s something in his eyes — regret, maybe. or even guilt. “never,” he says. “but i’d ask you to reconsider. for jun… and for the love we used to have.”

"i'll think about it." you hear yourself saying. jeno's shoulders relaxed, and you realise he was braced for a fight. the kind you used to have, when you'd pick apart his choices and he'd shut down until you were both bleeding from words that couldn't be taken back. but you're different people now. better at this. better at putting jun first.

"thank you," he says, and the relief in his voice makes you want to scream.

jun appears in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, pokemon cards clutched in his free hand. "ready, daddy?"

"ready, buddy." jeno's whole face transforms when he looks at jun, soft and open in a way that used to be reserved for you too. "we'll see you sunday, yeah?"

you nod, not trusting your voice as you watched them walked to jeno's car with jun chattering about something that happened at school and jeno listening with the patience you always admired. they drove away, and you're left standing in your suddenly too-quiet kitchen, staring at the blue mug jeno forgot to wash.

// to be continued

[ssareiids]

HIIII OMGGMG i love ur theme its sauurr cutesie i love it!1!1 i wasnt sure if you take requests or not so feel free to ignore this erm.💔💔

i was wonderign if u could write for spencer reid (PLEASEPLEASPLESE) like definitelt domestic fluff and like it's the two of them baking and uh it goes wrong but reader and spence just giggle like idiots at the mess they made

SWEET ON U!

pairing: s2! spencer x reader

summary: spencer and you both excel in many things in life– just... not baking.

tw/cw: if you're scared of fluff then back off /j LITERALLY NOTHING TO ADD AS A TRIGGER, if smth does count as a trigger here though please tell me.. probably innacuracies in the baking, sorry bakers i had google and a dream

shayli's ted talk: guys i swear i've been writing since my casey oneshot it's just that i'm... i'm employed now🙁.. also I LOVE YEW ANON, guys request things plz... im going through a writer's slump . we dont mention the dilauded here he's happy okay

Today was one of the days that God– or whatever being that resided in the clouds, gave Spencer a day off.

Well, it was more like the day off was forced on him. If you knew Spencer Reid, you knew he didn't take vacations, didn't use up sick days, and would probably win an award for perfect attendance if it existed for the FBI. He had denied himself of a freedom office workers would love to have, up until this very moment.

Hotch has made his words clear, and easy to understand.

"Take a day off, Reid."

Said in that same poker face Hotch always wore, the one that was burned into his eyes with how often he saw it. It was rare for the Unit chief to ever smile, and when he did, no one would be there to see it.

Getting back on track though...

You had a much more positive reaction to his day off, it may only be one day of freedom from case files and coffee mugs that were filled with a caffeine that bordered nowhere near luxury. But you would take it, you just didn't know what to do with it.

When he had first informed you of his day off, you had been overjoyed at the fact you'd finally have your boyfriend to yourself instead of playing a never ending tug of war between the job and you.

The excitement quickly faded when you realized.

You had no idea what to do with him.

I mean, you could just cuddle up all day and sleep the entire day away. But, that wasted alot of time, time that you and Spencer rarely had together.

You then wondered if you should ask him what he wanted to do, but unfortunately, ever since the two of you had begun this relationship– Spencer follows behind you everytime.

Literally and figuratively.

His half awake mind had once followed you to the kitchen when you woke up to go get a glass of water, and let me tell you. Seeing a 6' foot man behind you at 2:00 AM does things to you, and not the good type. You screamed and he screamed back, both in fear.

You knew that he'd go along with whatever shenanigans you had in mind for your couple bonding time, so you brainstorm, maybe not as fast as your boyfriend but you think.

You sit on the couch, criss cross applesauce, while looking down onto the floor. Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought as you scour the files of your mind for an idea on how to spend this rare Saturday.

"You look like me" Spencer tries to joke, it falls flat and slams face first into the floor when you don't respond. Too lost in the rabbit hole you've created to try and say something witty back.

Spencer furrows his eyebrows too, and approaches you warily– slowly, like you were some sort of threat he had to neutralize before sitting down next to you on the couch. "... Are you okay..?" He probes, trying to see if his profiling mind can do him any good in guessing what's up with you.

Then, as if the electrons– or atoms, whatever. Lined up in your brain to form the first idea that would suffice, you sat back up straight. A peaceful glint in your now not squinted eyes as you turn your head to face Spencer.

He looks confused, like... really really confused.

".. Love...?" He tries the pet name as if it would snap you back into reality, and you simply grab his hand before smiling at him.

"We are going to bake."

"... 'Kay."

As you had planned he had agreed to the idea without much second thought. Which was funny since he's so meticulous with the things in his life, maybe he's just gotten used to you bringing chaos into it.

You two had spent maybe about 30 minutes or so wondering what you should bake, you thankfully didn't need a search engine for ideas this time because Spencer was on board with being the recipe holder.

"How about chocolate chip cookies?"

"We don't have chocolate chips."

He responds curtly and you snort before rolling your eyes at him.

"I wonder who's fault is that.." You reply back, and he opens his mouth in protest, but he never actually says anything back knowing that you're right. Giving him a smug grin that said "Exactly."

"How about a Pie?"

"Well... I suppose we do have the ingredients for a normal pie, but we'll also need a variety of fruits, maybe more chocolate, and–"

"SPENCER."

"Okay, let's make a pie."

The two of you retire to your kitchen, getting all the baking necessities and tools out. You didn't even know he had all this stuff in his apartment, and when you asked he said they came with the place when he moved in.

You two learn alot of things about each other through small talk while trying not to get shells in the mixture when cracking the eggs.

You learn that Spencer has a sweet tooth, but you figured that out when you caught him putting 4 packets of sugar into his morning coffee.

Spencer learns that you almost broke your jaw on a jawbreaker once when you were 16, he furrowed his eyebrows and asked why you did it knowing it was called a jawbreaker.

You learn that Spencer has read your favourite book approximately 143 times and counting. You nearly teared up and almost got your salty tears in the melted chocolate.

And Spencer learns that you had a pet chameleon who ran away. He suggested it could still be in the house but just camoflauged, and you threw the cupful of flour at him.

You both stand there in silence, unmoving, like a showdown between 2 cowboys with only flour and sugar at their hands.

Spencer stands there, ruffled in the white powder that now adorns his pyjamas like snow, his face covered in so much of it he nearly looked like a ghost. He only reacts when you start laughing.

You don't laugh gently, or chuckle at the sight. No you laugh like you've just seen the most funniest thing in your life, and in a way... it kind of was. You hold onto the counter and hunch over, laughing like you were hysterical.

He looks over to his back, trying to find a weapon to launch back at you until he lands on the melted chocolate sauce, he glances back at you. Completely unaware of his plans before reaching his finger towards it, ew.. but it'll be worth it.

Once his finger is coated in the gooey sweet treat, he smudges it on your cheek, not carefully nor affectionately, he rubs it on your cheek– shamelessly.

You look up at him and pause your laughter, a look of faux offense swirling in your eyes as you try and find something to retaliate against him.

The innocent unbaked pie crust on the pan lay there, unaware of it's fate to come as you peel it off ready to lunge it at him. Spencer reacts just as fast though and gets his own piece of the pie crust

"Uh uh, don't you dare." Spencer says, raising his piece of pie crust like it was a shield against yours. You squint your eyes as if in focus before flicking your share of the pie crust at him.

He dodges, barely, before trying to swat you with his own. You jump back and almost bump into the kitchen island before grinning and reaching for an egg.

"I have a weapon and I am not afraid to use it!" You reply, holding the egg at him as if it was a knife, Spencer plays along and drops his pie crust onto the floor and raises his hands into the air "Ok! Ok! I surrender!" He says, his voice squeaky in defeat.

You two eventually agree to a ceasefire before getting to work on recreating the pie crust that you two had used in your food fight.

This time you work in silence, a comfortable one that came easy after the little playful banter you just had, you worked better this time since you both had gotten used on how to start and how to use all the baking tools.

After the pie crust had been filled with the melted chocolate and had been sent away to the oven, you two both fall back onto the couch.

Or it's more like you land on the couch and Spencer lands on you.

"Ah– hey!"

You shout when you feel his body weight practically jump on you, he grins toothily in his little victory when you let him stay ontop of you, knowing that you really didn't mind.

The two of you sit there in silence, waiting for the timer above the stove to ding so you both can try out your creation, there isn't much conversation.

But you didn't need to talk, your touches on his carefully done hair, and his head buried into your neck spoke enough of the love that blossomed nicely between you two. It got you thinking.

It had you imagining what you would be doing if you never met Spencer, if you never had a sudden surge of confidence to ask the pretty boy at the library out, or if he had rejected you. It had you wondering what fate held for you, the idea of fate itself.

DING! DING! DING!

You nearly push Spencer off of you when you hear the alarm's call, apologizing hurriedly before rushing along to the oven, with Spencer following right behind you, even if he was in the middle of having a very good nap.

He grabs you the oven mittens and urges you to be the one to get the pie, you don't question it, he was clumsy with his hands– half awake or not.

The oven door opens like the gates to heaven, in it's wake an aroma of chocolate and sweetness follows, sending you and Spencer into a momentary trance before you finally get it out of the heated space.

You both try to reach for it until you remember the thing is still... extremely hot.

Neither of you have the patience to wait for the sweet treat, so you leave it out on the fire exit, hoping that the windy breeze of the night cools it down enough, and that there aren't any pie swipers nearby.

The two of you giggle like little kids waiting for the smoke of the pie to dissipate and the heat to finally turn cool. When Spencer announces it's been 15 minutes, you finally grab it back into the safety of your home.

The sound of plates being taken from the dish rack and a knife being taken fills the kitchen alongside your giddiness, you bring it onto the counter with an eagerly waiting Spencer with a knife.

"You sure you can cut it?"

"I'm not 6."

He replies stubbornly before squinting his eyes and focusing on the slice he's about to cut, you look away to pass time as he cuts his own slice, but then look back when you see that he's taking... forever.

"Spence?" You ask when you see he hasn't even made an indent on the pie, raising an eyebrow when you see the focused glint in his eyes usually reserved for crime scenes and cases– not for cutting a pie.

"Shh..." He hushes you with a raised finger before finally making the cut, clean and simple, before handing it to you.

"I cut the pie for you in pi." He says proudly, as the joke flies over your head, which is usually supposed to happen to Spencer, not to you.

"... What?"

"You just don't get it." He shoos you away from the thought with a gesture of his hands.

extra:

"Hey, Spence.. about your joke earlier." You bring it up as the two of you lay in bed, social battery well drained after the events of today.

He only hums in acknowledgement of your conversation starter before allowing you to continue.

"Did you try cutting it for me.. in the size of pi or something? Like... pi as in the number..?"

"ты никогда не узнаешь."

"STOP DOING THAT."

shayli's ted talk: i used google translate for the russian so don't judge me... heh.. ok bye i'm gonna disappear and not write for another month.. maybe..

written by @ssareiids

[grotesquevi]

synopsis   #  it’s unfortunate vi’s not made of stone, ‘cause your love it’s a force of nature that’s slowly tearing up the walls she built around her heart, a useless organ that only seems to beat for you now.

this��story continues what happened in the arsonist, settled in a medieval au, feel free to read it before as you might be confused if not, there's a playlist for this so check it out! wc: 15.5k

cw   #   18+  as it contains smut at some point, homophobia, internalized misogyny, sevika + maddie nolen + kino cameos, infinite yearning, handsy making out, fingering, tribbing, a lot of spit and saliva sue me heh, dirty talk, switch!vi+switch!reader, political marriage, my usual tags tbh i'm pretty dirty but i'm not weird cheers.

vi dreams of going back to winter.

craves the silence of a snowstorm even when it only causes disasters to the realm, finds herself unable to close her eyes again without returning to the same thought: are you even affected by her like she’s affected by you? do you spend countless nights under the lackluster illuminations of a candle that is slowly melting over your nightstand? staring at the ceiling and not moving a muscle as she does — do you wish she was close to you like she wished for your company every night?

even as time passes, she finds herself yearning for weather she hates, even if it means you’d be back in that cabin again, seeking warmth in her arms. far too loyal to her beliefs to ever fall for your traps again. it shouldn’t be possible, but she's sometimes distracted during the day when you're walking past her and your perfume lingers in the air even after you're long gone. how you gracefully carried yourself despite having to endure how your mother is slowly rotting away in a gigantic bed.

"what we did," vi remembers her own words like a curse from the witch in the woods, it haunts her like a childhood nightmare "it cannot happen again, my lady."

a child born of royalty is destined to a bright future, to leave a huge impact on life, meanwhile vi's stuck being a nobody, ready to die for the crown. for you.

 the metal on her waist sits heavy on her belly because she swore years ago to willingly give her life for the well-being of your family, to die for a greater cause, something good.

"if that's your choice violet," it saddens her somehow. the fact you don't seem bothered by her words, even when vi's heart is already pounding in her chest like the thundering sound of a horse running to meet death in war. "i'll still ask about having you in my personal guard. i think your skills would be helpful at a higher rank."

"as you wish, my princess."

she doesn't want special treatment — fuck that, vi needs to earn it. however, she's bound to receive it when you're looking at her like that. bound to protect you, to serve and be nothing but a weapon in your ruling hand when swearing upon her honor, bent at the knee in front of your mother during her last rational moments. you could have her heart if it's demanded for the greater good. it's what every knight would offer, what she needs to do.

so violet's following you around in silver armor for months now with an impeccably clean white cape on her back. your knight is now present at council meetings, outside your room through day and night in the hallways, and it's driving her to an insanity she cannot comprehend: since the very moment you fell asleep in her arms, since you melted in her touch she cannot stay close to you for any longer than a minute. impossible to share a room with you when no one's around ‘cause she gets distracted, and her work relies on keeping you alive, on safeguarding your well-being: the kingdom can’t afford for her to fall for any distraction.

during her entire life, she has never felt so useless, so inebriate to someone's charm — a knight’s heart is not supposed to burn for the love of their princess, hold such feelings that went beyond her duty to serve; and yet she's trapped there, in that moment from whatever you were, from whatever you showed her outside the castle walls. it makes sense that you’d set her soul ablaze. the forever unworthy dog that's waiting outside your door despite all efforts of pushing you away, of standing still and ready for combat even when she flinches when some old man of the council has the nerve to raise his voice ever so slightly at your new ideas.

violet vanderson has now become a burden, a burden with a good name, a good place in the court and a secured future, a known knight that's attracting a lot of attention even when she would rather be showing a fist of iron to the injustice in the realm. something in her new position more than just your guard.

hope is a dangerous thing for somebody who has nothing, and to vi it's hard to keep her desires in check as you continue with your life holding no physical ache for her touch, not at plain sight at least cause you're so collected, so aware of yourself, of the power you carry now on your shoulders and haunts you night and day.

hope is a dangerous thing.

"i don't think my marriage is something we need right now," in the wall close to your seat vi's brows furrow in question when you're suggested by half of the council the need to join forces with noxus in an arranged marriage, already plotting for decent suitors without you knowing — "my mother's dying, and i'm going to ascend to the throne before i'm thinking about any political alliance."

"a marriage would benefit the people," at the lack of the presence of the queen you're responsible for the realm's destiny and its future, holding the weight of ruling a nation in your bare hands. "they’re cultivating fear already upon the uncertainty of the queen's destiny, afraid war's coming. we don't have the resources to protect the citizens from hunger, nor the pains of a war."

"noxus has been our declared enemy for years now," you reply, making vi’s gaze falter for a moment cause she can smell it in the air still: you’re annoyed — "any alliance with them is nothing but a lie. and i won't feed the people outside this castle with nothing but honesty. we'll make arrangements with piltover if necessary, i know the queen and they owe it to us."

"you're taking a rushed decision my princess," the title is a reminder of your level, how you're not yet a queen, a regent royal who's in control of the final decisions. makes your body stiffen and vi, even from where she is, can see the tension in your muscles, the invisible threads that came out of your back and connected you to the ceiling, kept you up like a real-life-puppet. "we cannot reject their proposal this quickly, you cannot be so blind to not see the future of our nation. your mother would wish upon your marriage as soon as possible too, this- it could lead to a new war."

"despite joining forces with piltover, i'm afraid it won't be enough," another man adds, agreeing to the proposed idea, "the noxian forces hold great power, and compared to our tropes, i'm afraid we don't have the necessary."

"that's enough," much like your family, the tone you use travels across the room like a wild fox chasing its food. makes vi shiver under her armor, looking away cause she's afraid her eyes were already digging holes in the back of your skull, too frightened to think about what you'd think if finding out how her chest twists at the thought of you marrying a man — "until my mother gets out of bed i wont be doing no courtship. the nation of noxus is not at war with us still, and i'm intending to keep it that way gentlemen. the meeting is over."

you don't have to say anything. vi works in sync with you now, been getting used to you since the night after the cabin, knows what you're up to like your shadow. turned into your guardian as she walks beside you when you storm away from the room and it's so nice, so nice to see you mad. wrong probably on so many levels, but the thought crosses her mind a time or two when she's following you close by, far still, at a fast pace when you cross the hallway infuriated.

"marriage," you spat to the air offended, and the knight's sure you're not talking to her cause you never do. barely look her way after the night you shared with her as it embarrasses you enough to act as if it never happened "can you even believe that, knight? my mother is dying and all they care about is if i'm marrying a noxian."

it must be the sixth or seventh time you're looking back at her after months, and vi's lungs seem to fill with a different kind of oxygen when your eyes travel through her face and you're aware of the details of it, the scar on her upper lip, the tattoo on her cheek. it lingers on her for seconds, seconds the knight uses like a plant uses the sun to survive, makes her forget what she's gonna say for a second.

"you don't have to marry anyone if you don't want to" her voice is rougher than before but wishes to ignore the real motive behind it: how can a simple act from you already have her spiraling to the gates of hell? how are you so fast to speak like a friend? — "it's a decision you can only make, my princess. the council's job is to follow your rules and do nothing but advise. you don't have to follow their suggestions if they aren't fitting."

you seem stuck in the wording, on how her mouth moves to say it: my princess. she'd said it before, but it has never affected you the way vi's able to see from where she was standing, so clearly as the sun shining on a summer day.

she asked for this. haunts her when vi's the one that pushed you away in the first place, the one that's so sure of your negative opinions on her, how you should hate her since she's the reason you're back and far away from your desired freedom moons ago. you're a spine on the palm of the hand, and itch she cannot scratch not at bare fingers, not so easy anyway.

you have a royal duty. violet owns you her entire life. the money her family was now enjoying and the good position she had been granted? was thanks to you. in her chest still rests the medal she got for taking you back to where you belonged, hanging right against her heart as a constant reminder of her victory, of how she earned a trust she wished to keep like the greatest treasure she owned.

"you're right," it's a warm feeling the one that spreads in her chest at your response. "i don't have to marry nobody, i will be the regent queen."

"you will, my princess," she continues still, arm's-length distance, almost refusing to look at you like she wanted to — "the kingdom does not follow the council's words but your own."

and vi have to repeat it to herself once again when the sun hits your face for a moment and your complex green gown gives her enough access to look at your cleavage, squished tits under a corset that only strangled you: she asked for this.

"what we did. it cannot happen again, my lady."

every day it's the same from now on, sometimes a knight can be blatantly stupid, she knows all about it.

so the knight desperately desires to be locked up for treason the next week: how can she begin to separate her devotion to the crown from the craving her body presents to your companion? how can she begin to control the burning sensation in her throat when you're announcing your marriage to the rest of the court?

nobles are happy as the news kicks in and it should be a motive of celebration for her too since the council's right: a marriage would satisfy the masses, light up the way after so much dark attacking the kingdom. however, vi's selfish when her right hand closes around the iron handle of her sword and thinks, for a moment, about how she was born on the wrong side of the track — in some other world she may be a royal too. a royal looking for a princess. for you.

she doesn't understand the change of your decisions, why everything shifted when you were already reluctant to be courted by possible suitors, but after the week when you were venting in an empty hallway passed, you must have forgotten about your knight's lame advice. must-have.

and no she's not jealous. in her existence and vast contacts with romance, vi has never been a jealous woman, sure of where she stands its hard to feel a needle in her heart every time someone else wants what's hers. it's not an issue. she's not jealous of the fact you were paying attention to dull princes with empty promises, but something in her system seemed to melt away when realizing with a sting, on the fact she has nothing to give, nothing to offer or promise.

your suitors hold power, a fucking castle, troops and a hundred knights just like she is. a painful reminder when vi's obliged to be miserable and follow you around the gardens as you're holding the arm of the prince of ionia. black hair, he's been talking about an hour or so about the breathtaking views in his region, his wealth and intelligence — what can she offer but a shiny armor and a heavy sword? nothing but a handful of scars she received in combat.

"when we marry princess, the whole realm will be so envious" the prince says out loud, and the knight has to resist the urge to chuckle at how hollow everything sounds — "you'll be the prettiest bride in all ionia. we should marry in spring since the cherry trees blossoms and it's the softest of all pinks-"

boring. so fucking boring. makes vi wonder why she's there when there's no one around, third-wheeling in the worst moment as she battles to keep a straight face until you randomly answer:

"if we marry your majesty, i'm afraid it will have to be here in my region since we have a bigger influence than ionia," it takes only one brain cell to notice how your suitor is now re-thinking about a possible union at your words. "i'm pretty sure the council must have mentioned it before, cause i'm not leaving my country."

now that makes vi lose her temple. an almost silent laughter that's loud enough to catch your attention even when your eyes keep analyzing the prince, sharp, cold-blooded, a true heir to the crown who's ready to fight for her rights, to be treated with no less respect than what deserves.

her laugh however, does not seem to be subtle enough to be unnoticed when the prince's looking at her from the corner of his eyes too before awkwardly standing still— another one that goes to never come back.

"yes, princess" he seemed almost embarrassed at the confusion. "i'm so sorry about the mistake, it will not happen again."

poor guy, you could feast on his shame when he leaves the garden with a cloud of bad luck following him around, making her bite the inside of her cheek to prevent the sounds of the fun the knight's experiencing all sudden.

"stop that," you say, standing a few steps away. "i know you're laughing, violet. this can bring trouble."

it's funny because even when you say it she wants to do it anyway. laugh loudly just to make you mad in your pretty dress, see the pout on your lips even in that beautiful red dress you wear to impress your suitors, pretty hair, special makeup. the ladies-in-waiting that go to your room to dress you up every morning put all of their efforts into making you irresistible and damn the world cause it worked so well in every suitor, in her.

"violet," you're pulling her back to earth when she's able to hear the sound of your voice from over her invading thoughts, soothing, there's a command that always laced your words together cause you're a royal, made and born to rule, have some sort of control all the time. "don't laugh."

it's hard to say it when you're laughing too and she's never felt like that before. not even in a damn snowstorm, not when she gained the medal and her sister hugged her so tight she wondered what she was eating lately to hold such force, not after being a lapdog for months — tougher than any open wound it stays in her contagious, pulls her to the floor as she's shaking her head like she doesn't want to — be a victim of you.

"i'm not laughing, my princess."

and vi hates to enjoy it, that carefree fun that surrounds both of you and makes the world feel silent for a moment cause in reality, nothing else matters but the intimacy of all, the sound that invades her body like poison, an unwanted visitor.

you're so quick to plague her thoughts, make her a victim of fuzzy brain when you look at her from over your shoulder, a cocky smile on your lips she happens to know from before when she's been kissing on your back with you giving her the same look, biting on the erogenous zones that made you shiver to the point vi desires to repeat the same action all over again, push you back against her armor and take advantage of the fitting form of your dress, the lack of clothing in your exposed shoulders since there's no one around, not much force but just a playful tug.

she's jealous of the sun and the way it dances on your skin, the way it makes the most beautiful deals in your body without you noticing. she's jealous of people owning things and having power, envious to the point she chokes on her own saliva cause her mouth is drier than ever, driven by the memory of you right there where she desires you to be.

violet's a sufferer of her own thoughts lately cause they repeat themselves over and over heavily in her noggin: oh how she needed power! how she desired a damn castle! how she needed a better last name! cause if she owned half of the power the prince of ionia had, the knight would be traveling from far away to ask for your hand in marriage just like the rest of your suitors too.

no need for a second thought. 

as a knight you're trained to recognize the battlefield even when it's empty, the danger like a sixth sense, violence like a second language and loyalty like a primary emotion. so vi’s used to danger, yes, your courting, however? it was the closest thing she's been to a war in years.

begins when the warrior notices the depths of the suitors need for you, the empty promises of a prince and the same tactics they used when they try to seduce you with the thought of power, how beautiful you looked dressed and pampered like a high-ending royal, nothing else than the realm's delight that walked throughout the hallways of the castle with your knight following by, chased by another man that's mumbling empty compliments until you said something mean enough to make them run away.

is it a game for you? scare them off until there's no one left to endure your character? tame the attitude you carried with so much grace? violet deserves at least a dozen medals by the course of the next week cause she might as well be one of your noble ladies following you around in a pretty dress, preventing guys from forgetting their real place as they talk blatant bullshit when trying to win you over with lies.

she's sure you can see it too when you look at her for a quick minute like you're saying with your mind — is-he-for-real-now? sure you're tired cause she is, putting up a fake smile when she should be doing something important, something that mattered: she's part of the guard, something fucking big.

why is she being dragged as a chaperone?

on friday night she's going to say something. it's too late now and her feet fucking hurt after being standing so many hours as you seemed stuck on reading some book about medicine in plants. struggles to say it for a moment as you interrupt the silence almost sensing the awkwardness she expelled.

"who do you think i should be marrying to?"

"pardon me, my lady?" vi's sure you're talking in her direction as you push the book away from you, turning around to see her when the question travels around the library. she's the only one there with you in the most spacious room of the castle at those late night hours, your companion for the night as she keeps herself at a safe distance, barely able to see what you're doing as there's not enough light around.

"if you had to choose one suitor for me," you lay out the question again — "who would you pick?"

there's a long moment of silence after your question where vi struggles to say the truth, how could she when all the answers are too far from the reality you expect to hear? she must be condescending, make you confident to rule a kingdom and reassure your questions, but she cannot bring herself to lie to you that easily.

"is it that hard for you?" you seemed curious at the lack of response, taking the ancient book between your fingers to leave it where it was from the beginning. after being seated in the same position for so many hours, you stretch out for a moment before you're take the candlelight in your right hand with the book close to your chest before simply adding, — "i don’t have anyone i trust enough to ask this, so i need you to answer me with the truth vi, who do you think i should be marrying?”

"do you trust me?" it slips away as the knight follows you close by as always, a manner that's now intrinsic in her actions as she holds the handle of her sword. she doesn't know how to shut up when you're doing something as simple as stretching out your sore back, that's why she avoids places when there's no one around but you and her.

"yeah, i know you will tell me the truth. i don't know any person in this realm who's more loyal to the people than you are, so spit it. tell me what you're thinking."

vi has to bite her tongue when she wishes to correct you, make you go back in your words as you find the hallway you were looking for, staring at the shelves as you're searching for the empty spot your book left behind.

"i can command you to say it, you know that right?"

"i think you already know the answer, my princess."

"do i?" you ask curiously, and vi's desperate to stop being a horny fuck for five minutes in her existence when she bites the insides of her cheek as a distraction — "so you think no one's a great suitor?"

"i do" she admits finally, a subtle shade of red making the knight's cheeks blush at the plain truth, mentally thanking it was too dark in the library for you to even notice how she's losing her mind over a simple exchange of words. "i think no one's in the level to rule our people. they care about money and power more than the protection of the realm, and if you allow me to say it, princess, i think none of them deserves you, either."

it's so hard to keep herself in check when words keep going out of vi's mouth and she's a victim of her honesty, unable to tell you anything but the truth as you stop walking for a second to instead, turn to look at her this time, allowing the warm light of the candle shines against her armor, a side of her face you kept staring for a moment.

"interesting," you say almost to yourself. "bold to say for a knight after rejecting me."

her breathing gets caught in her throat in an instant: is that why you don't look her way? why she can count the amount of times you've laid your eyes on her with her fingers? no, surely not.

"i thought we agreed on not talking about it."

"you should listen to me more often," you reply when finding the empty spot the book belonged, sliding it back to the bookshelf — "i will be your queen after all."

the words burn hot on vi's tongue wishing to carve their way out between her teeth, die once again cause she's mesmerized at the damn sight of you, like every single fucking time. is it the dim lighting of the candle this time? the warm light that kisses your cheek in the most delightful sight? her brains playing tricks, confused as she cannot tell if it's the small flame of the fire that's making her feel sick inside her armor or how you're smiling at her almost as a dare to keep going.

no, violet vanderson's not loyal to the people. she's loyal to you.

"why are you marrying someone if you don't want to?" and it's weird cause she can see it as clearly as the water in the river outside the town, her favorite place in the entire world.

"what makes you think i don't want to marry?"

"don't know" — "i'm just saying what i think. it's what my lady wanted."

the silence's so loud for a minute, ringing in her ears like a vibration.

"If you must then, i suggest you choose with not only your brain but your heart" vi adds, unable to hold the tension when her knuckles turn white against the iron handle — "a suitor who likes your kindness and your witty remarks. not as the kingdom dictates, but what you feel is right."

"i desire no man, violet" — "but it's nice to see you still have a heart after all the violence a knight can witness."

at this point she'd like to surrender her ill will and any rest of self-control, heart leaps into her throat and vi needs a minute to believe what you're saying, the implications of your words: of course you desire no man, how can she not see it before when it was so obvious?

"then why marry?" she insists — "is it because of the pressures of the council? cause they are a bunch of old men who can go-"

"no. it's because of my mother," it’s a new declaration that makes her stop for a moment without understanding anything at all — "it's her death wish i guess. she desires to unite two nations together, make a stable future for the country and i can't let her down again."

"but it's unfair," the knight claims, a knot tying together in her stomach: vi knows a lot about unfairness, the revolts of life that stab you in the guts when you least expect it — "your majesty is taking something that's not hers to own."

"yes. but it's for the sake of the realm.”

"makes no sense," she's losing her patience for a moment, the very same she prides on having. "you were about to escape months ago, ready to kill me for freedom, and now you're saying you're going to marry because of your mother's dead wish for the kingdom?"

"please don't be mad at me… i can take the whole council's anger, but i cannot take yours without tearing me apart."

"i'm not angry" why is she so close when vi swore she left a good amount of space between the two of you? why are you leaning against the bookshelf, looking at her with the most gentle eyes? — "i'm not angry with you. i just wish to understand you."

"i wish to make the realm proud, let them call me a queen cause i deserve it. cause i reassured their future, kept them safe."

"and you're willing to make yourself miserable because of it?" vi wonders out loud, and her words make you flinch for a moment cause they feel similar to a punch — "i'm sorry. i was being rude."

"isn’t that the job of a queen, violet? put the kingdom first?"

she's so attracted to you it's unbearable. like a fever that starts from the very inside of the stomach expelling from her skin in the form of unscented sweat. you're so close now she can feel the subtle warmth of the fire, the features she missed in the cabin due to the lack of light now replaced to a feast of details, makes her doubt for a moment: could she fall asleep while standing?

she doesn’t regret the next even now, not when her thumbs brush over your lips to trace the shape of them, yearning the touch of them against her own, their softness in all glory like a pleasure she’s been denying herself for too long. the knight needs to see it for herself, confirm that you’re flesh and bone and not something made up in her head.

“you don’t have to,” it’s her fault either way when her hand finally reaches you and she can feel how your breathing shifts as her fingers settle right over your cheek, flat palm against bare skin vi can tell when the beating of your heart turns erratic as it happens, when she begins to affect you like the side repercussions of mandrake blowing up your brain — "the kingdom has always known about your rebellious nature, it's not a surprise."

the feeling of power intoxicates her just right creating this thick haze of mist on her brain that prevents vi from thinking, that would explain her lack of constraint and her need to conquer cause she wouldn't be leaning in so easily, wouldn't be invading you with the need that drives her five senses cause she's the one that's taking a step closer, that need a kiss like air to the lungs.

"i'm not getting rejected again" your words make her laugh cause: does it look like she’s rejecting you? when staring at your lips hungry as ever, counting the second as the only remains of rationality left, is she rejecting you?— "violet."

"rejected," the knight chuckles at the words cause they sound funny at this point, ridiculous even when she's all over you, nose brushing against the curve of your neck; she remembers that smell from before now coated with a nice, inviting scent of vanilla installing under her nostrils "you poor thing huh? having to take rejection from a simple knight."

you remember, that's the dangerous part of it cause you blend into her arms, melt to fill every space in her armor when she's placing wet kisses on the curve of your neck, driven by need, desire, lust she contains between her ribs like a secret she wishes to whisper into your skin like a new tattoo. you remember how it feels when her lips carve a path to your jaw; it’s already a mess because you struggle to hold the candle as she bites your flesh leaving her teeth imprinted on that special spot, and you’re openly moaning every letter of her name like a curse.

violet vanderson's a curse.

"please don't marry" it comes out way needier than expected when vi's cornering you against the bookshelf, almost to herself when her hands wrap around your waist, fingers threading in your back as she's pulling the knots of your corset, putting up a fight already — "please. please don't do it..."

god. why is she like this? why does her voice sound so strained? so devastated by a few kisses she stole like a thief? her saliva shines on your skin and its a testament to her wanting, to the way you've settled under her bones to live there like a constant thought.

"i need you," when did she decide to dig up her own grave? when you became so versed in armors? your fingers unbuckle the silvery plates and cold metal of her body like a second skin and she doesn't even realize it as it happens "i'd forget about my honor, about my promises to the crown if you ask me. i cannot bear with this princess, with having you so close to me, buried this deep."

her kisses. man vi's kisses. they're enough to leave you thinking about them for years, make you believe there's nothing else but that texture you feel, the scar on her upper lip, the way they found their way to fit your mouth ever so perfectly, the playfully push her tongue makes against yours that ignites a burning fire similar to the depths of hells.

vi's hands are not enough. she cannot reach as deep as she'd like to when she's pulling the everlasting fabric of your dress up to your waist cause it bothers her, cause she wants to have you like she did on the cabin, press once again the kindest kisses on your back, hold you close to her chest when you're close to cum. she wishes to unravel you again, fight your character with more jokes, more laughter, more fucking kisses.

"you're beautiful" the knight shivers at your touch and curses at the lack of armor cause the cold air of the night makes her shiver under the soft touch of a princess who never knew about hard work, curious digits that trace the intricate lines and patterns of her skin — "every scar, the ink on your skin-"

vi blushes at your words little accustomed to get any kind of praise, at least never from someone she holds so highly in her heart: when did you remove her armor so swiftly? when did the metal begin to rest on the floor? cause she cant remember when you got under your skin that easily, when she finally dropped her defenses to let you in.

"my princess is too kind" she mumbles fighting to not go past your collarbones, forbidding her lips to brush past the valley of your chest still covered by your pretty dress. "i am nothing but a humble knight unworthy of such tender words."

it's not true, it's not entirely true when you're making her feel like a goddess, when in your hands she becomes gold, the most necessary person in the realm forged by the love and loyalty of her princess.

the light of the candle is long gone and even when its all dark again it's like returning to a home, the noble house vi belonged to when making you wrap your legs around her waist, using the now very convenient bookshelf to her will when she's kissing you again — rougher now, impatient when it plunders on your mouth.

"i burn for you," she whispers already drunk on you, on your touch and sloppy kisses full of saliva, a goner for your wondering hands, the sounds you make when she's touching you the way you needed — "i crave your kisses, your touch, any last drop of your love."

"ah-fuck," you nod to her words. "fuck that's so nice, your kisses are so damn nice."

and if she had more time, she'd be taking her time with the long thread on your back that holds your corset together, letting her lips go past the fabric of your dress cause she don't care anymore, fuck any consequence; but instead she's welcomed by a weird cough, a sound of discomfort that makes vi freeze on the spot at the knowledge of a third person now on the library.

"my princess," it doesn't sound the same when sevika's holding a candlelight to light up the dark hallway — "you're needed in your mother's chambers. urgently."

shame creeps upon the both of you like a monster, and vi's back seems to spread even bigger to cover you from sevika's prying eyes, the other knight already peeking to gossip the details later: a knight. fucking a princess. on duty.

"leave" you reply, and she can feel the nervousness in your voice when speaking up, even commanding like you usually do it falters at the unexpected — "i said leave, knight." 

her arms cover you entirely, the fabric that was gathering on your waist now goes down back to its original form, and vi's trying to help somehow, protect your honor from anyone else, fighting against all odds. the silence now says a lot when sevika's leaving the library and there are no words that can describe that moment, that feeling blossoming in her chest that invades the knight all of a sudden.

if she dares to talk, they may get violet hanged by touching a princess so inappropriately. taking advantage of a royal's goodwill? it's her fault when she's not alert, too lost in you, in the secrets of your body and how it speaks to her in a universal language.

"will she speak?"

"don't know," vi replies. "i'll take care of it. go see the queen."

you're not showing much regret either when leaning in for a new kiss, when your hands search for the knight’s skin burning hot against your touch, trying to somehow surpass the linen that feels rough against the pad of your fingers.

so fuck it. sevika saw and vi's stealing a couple of kisses now careless and unfocused, three, four, who keeps count now? her heart beats heavy on her chest so the repercussions don't matter, no when you’re mumbling something about your hair but all she can think about is how rough your voice is, how she aches to keep you there against the bookshelf longer than she's allowed, trapped between the wood and her hands.

the door closes as you leave, and the knight cannot fight against it cause she’d spend the rest of her days showing you the depths of her devotion. married to a man, married to whoever.

violet vanderson has already proved her loyalty to you.

"the princess will not be needing your companion today," vi’s brows furrow in annoyance as she listens to the head of the knights the next morning, the wood bench she was sitting on cracking as the weight shifts from one side to another: she can’t even have a decent breakfast at peace those days— "you may join other knights in their duties."

"what?" it’s a surprise even for vi when she cannot hide the worry that settles in her shoulders as she won’t stop thinking about the kiss from the night before, intoxicated still with the idea of doing it again until your lips are swollen and used by her own — "did something happened to the princess?"

usually, joining others would be the best idea of the century, patrolling outside the castle would allow her to wander throughout the fairs until late inspiring respect as she walks, but now? now she’s attacked when thinking about it, offended almost cause hell: did you regret it? was the kiss last night so bad? didn’t she prove the depths of her devotion? it’s an ache in the knight’s chest that does not go unnoticed.

"do your work kid. stop asking questions far too relevant to your grade."

her feet move faster than her brain, commands her before anyone else as she makes her way up to the stables: what if sevika talked? she was too tired yesterday to look out for her, but now it's a regret that makes her worried as vi's slightly afraid of getting arrested again. no fucking joke when she has already experienced the cold winter behind bars.

"vi," maddie nolen’s voice distracts her for a second. — "are you coming with us today?"

"yeah in a minute."

"we're leaving now, if you're staying you'll have to wait for the next patrol."

"have you seen sevika?"

"i think she'll join us later, she was needed somewhere else."

how will she fake concentration the entire day when she doesn’t give a fuck from what’s going on outside the castle? vi's forced almost, dragged when holding the rails of her horse with both hands cause it started to rain and it made the soil so irregular she might fall. mud sticks to her horses hoof and it makes everything slower since destiny loves to be cruel when it comes to her; the knight who's too afraid to ask for love, the warrior who doesn't know what to do with such feelings.

the fog covers the short path from the castle to the town center where the fair's currently installed. water sticks to her armor, soaks her seat, and she wonders what you must be doing as the hours pass. cold, violet keeps herself warm with the thought of your figure pressing right against hers, the way your fingers knew her armor enough to start undressing her like the metal was nothing more than a layer you can peel off, throw away.

the moon doesn't shine when a dark shade of grey settles down in the sky — so far, she sent nolen back to the castle with a couple of thieves trying to steal some fur to re-sell it, gained a nice plate of hot soup and attacked a tavern since she's too cold to be outside. consumed while she sips on a black beer with the same thought that lurks in her head like a wolf searching for a piece of meat.

the kiss. the kiss and the softness of your lips, the kiss and your warm breath, your fingers pulling and demanding, getting yourself in her bloodstream the same way you did months ago in the cabin when you shuddered and tried to defy the rules of nature as you tried to get as close to her as possible, riding her damn knee, saying shit about how you're giving her a different kind of medal before burying your face between her already soaked thighs.

its a desideratum, falls over her like the black plague did years ago when rats invaded each corner of the kingdom, a feverish sickness similar to a punishment when she's been so reluctant to ever show her buried feelings: vi deserves it, being so out in the blue, shoved aside when she lusts on being needed, missed but never close.

it was so hard to sleep last night, not wish to set her heart on fire only to tranquilize the most shameful thoughts she's been attacked with — sleep deprived, makes sense vi doesn't notice sevika's presence at first when she's dragging a chair to sit right next to her side, shoulders brushing, the knights sure it must be a drunk citizen trying to give her some action for the night.

"nolen said you were looking for me," the rain only intensifies with the passing hours, pouring outside against bad constructions that barely stand against the weather. "i have a job to do. be quick."

now that sevika's there the guilt settles in her stomach for a moment, caught on the fear of having to admit out loud what she was doing last night to someone else, put in words her desire only to be judged: as if the skin that shivers under soaked clothing wasn't because of the fact violet carries the imprints of your hands all over her like an honor.

"last night," she starts only to make her comrade groan in annoyance. "what you saw-"

"you're old enough to know what you're getting into."

"yeah. i know. did you tell anyone about it?" she rephrases instead, as if her life didn't depend on sevika's choices of being a gossiper or not. "about the stuff you saw."

"no" she's too calm about it even when vi's on the edge of her seat, "i have important things to be aware of, far more important than finding out one of my knights is kissing and getting handsy with the princess on duty."

"what could be even more important than breaking the code-"

"the queen's dead," the knight says impatiently, checking her surroundings for a moment as she leans in to talk quieter than before — "she died last night, vi."

"that's why you came to the library."

"yes, dipshit" sevika declares cause it's obvious at that point. "the doctors asked me to bring the princess over the night cause she wanted to say goodbye to her daughter. shit. i don't even think your royal girlfriend cares about your little kiss right now. she's busy too."

violence invades her like an old friend. her brows furrow and her shoulders tense up at the bad joke: of course you don't care about her stupid kisses right now, why does it bother her so much? when did she turn this selfish?

"do you know when its going to be announced?"

the question makes vika laugh, the sound being louder than any conversation in the tavern, annoying in her ears — "do i look like i know about royal announcements? we are talking about the queen violet, i only do what i'm told."

she lacks patience now. cannot handle her companion's sarcastic remarks when the mist of the rain seems to settle down on her head too, so as she leaves a coin in the table and grabs her horse already resting in the property's stable, she wonders if it's the best idea when most of the knights will spend the night in the tavern, cause if she's half intelligent like they are, vi would be staying too to prevent the massive flu she might get in result.

it's not an idea but a need, even when the rain pours down and hits her armor making these awful sounds on the way back home, she's barely able to see the road when the horse is running back to safety, nothing else but the loud sound of her heart beating in her damn ear.

it's a bad idea too, cause she should've stayed and talked to you in the morning but her heart is unable to shut up and vi knows she wont be able to sleep either, wait hours until the sun's up in the sky and everyone's awake demanding for things — she wants your undivided attention, wants the candles in your room only shine for her eyes to see you, powder blue drinking in the details of her runaway princess, be there.

are you affected? of course you are. you didn't want her around cause you were sad. violet knows she should be giving you space, let you mourn and grieve at your own time but it haunts her still when she crosses the hallways at a fast pace. soaked, drips of cold water make an invisible path to your chambers when she arrives at the castle in a frenzied state: she's been there before losing it all, she knows about how hollow it can get, how your chest only hurts.

"leave."

"excuse me?" the sound of the knight's voice sounds far still when she's calling out the young guard installed outside your doorframe, faltering at the sight of vi already intimidating enough to make the guy stutter — "i'm-i'm not supposed to move from the door, sir."

"i said, fucking leave" vi replies, shoving him aside to open the door of your room, and even as her replacement's ready for battle, he's encountered instead by the gaze of a suffering princess, the future queen that's a mess still seated on the edge of her bed, giving him an ice cold stare that makes the guard go back to the hallway.

he gets the silence and your lack of refusal to the vi's presence. closes the door behind the knights back only to leave her to be greeted with a sharp and calculating pair of eyes that seem to trespass her from over the metal, the barely noticeable sound the water makes as it pools below vi's feet when she doesn't realize on how her body shakes under your scrutinizing gaze, how nervous you can make her even when she's a trained warrior, daughter of the war in runeterra.

"i'm so sorry, my princess," it's the only thing she dares to say, knowing any word would be in vain at the moment — "nobody told me until an hour or so, and i'm so sorry for not being here before."

it's ridiculous to imply she's that important for you when she's only a knight. part of the vanderson's noble house vi has never been important like she felt that night in your room, not when she saw you like that; so vulnerable, a victim of the constant unease. the metal's cold and distant, but you don't seem to care about it when you're running up to her arms and vi has enough time to catch you before you crumble to your knees, succumb to sadness and misery.

she holds your weight in her arms, and shoves you against her chest afraid you'll slip from her wet armor, get a flu like she will have. violet hugs you tight, so much your lungs ache and you find yourself thinking about her smell, the force she uses to wrap you in her figure as if trying to make you a part of her.

"you're here" it's almost like you don't believe it in your own eyes, lips dry, the knight can see the traces of red in your pupils, the bags under revealing you didn't sleep much. "my mother she's-"

the words get lost in the air, in the way she's holding you together afraid you might break against the cold marble floor — "it's okay. i know."

there's no need to keep on talking about it, no need to fake any longer when the tears blend with the water already in your knights armor, petals that kisses your skin in the most tender caress as vi's fingers rest against your cheek, thumb brushing against the bone in a constant back and forth.

"the noxian prince," you say frustrated — "kino. he asked for my hand today."

does she have to get all the bad news all of a sudden? does she have to be reminded of her unworthy state? her lack of money and assets to ask you to marry her instead?

"you accepted," it's not a question but more like an assertive truth, a hurtful combined set of words you cannot say out loud on your own. "you agreed to marry the prince of noxus."

vi's unaccustomed, weirded out by feeling such things when her entire life has been dedicated to a single purpose: serving, securing the well-being of the crown and not feeling this gut-wrenching anger, this first-time jealousy.

"i made a promise to my mother before she died," why is loyalty so important? why are empty promises the ones that held you by the neck? the unimportant, the ones that kept you hostage from living life how you wanted. "i don't know what to do- i'm so sorry, i'm so fucking sorry-"

your hands tangle in her hair, cherry strands poorly dyed in black that in your fingers only makes the owner shiver: is it the cold of the rain or your damn touch? the way your hands once again begin to get rid of the metal that protected the knight from losing the battle, tossing it to the floor like it's nothing.

nothing.

"you confuse me, knight" it never fails. the way your mouth moves to say each word when she has you this close, when the fire of the chimney feels now warm on her naked skin — "you lay the truth clear and declare we cannot be doing what we did in the cabin, but you're pulling me for kisses on the library when no one's looking, feasting on me when we're alone and fighting the most complex battles in your head."

"i beg for your forgiveness, my lady. i'm not used to feeling so conflicted either," her voice betrays her as usual, the strained need that rips vi's vocal chords — "i guard myself and keep my distance not out of a lack of desire but because the fear of losing myself in you."

so that's how it starts in the first place, when your hands work to get rid of the linen shirt that sticks to the knight's body, tossing it close to the fire in a poor intent of drying the fabric as you're helping her out of her armor cause it's too heavy now, cause you want it to be just you and her without nothing else in between: no metal, no corsets.

"truth is, i love you my princess" and the words escape like a poem when you lean to kiss her, soft lips pushing against her own, making vi gasp between each needy peck. "i love you. i love you so deeply it's guiding me to an obscure insanity cause i cannot have you."

there's no point in hiding it, pretend she's not needy, desperate, consumed with the all-encompassing need to belong to you, blend in the curves of your body. you give yourself to her so easily in a tender dance, trying to warm her up after so many hours of freezing it makes the knight lose focus.

"so please tell me the truth," vi begs for a moment, afraid of what is to come when her lips trail along the elegant line of your jaw in soft, gentle kisses, carefully making their way down to the curve of your neck she knows so well, unable to leave any sort of space when it comes to you — "do you return this love i bear for you? or have i erred in laying such a burden at your feet? i would not wish to force my affections upon you uninvited."

"listen to me cause i wont say it twice," you reply breathlessly, and vi's heart stops only to race again with a fervor she never knew before — "this is no burden. i would marry you, violet cause you're the perfect suitor. you know about the realm, you know about what the people need, know me."

she's yours without having to ask for it, an intimacy that comes like a gift she bares to you only, standing while the dim warm light of the candlelights makes your lover look like a painting you've seen in elegant art galleries.

"i wish to have you not as my knight, but as an equal" vi's hair's still wet from the rain outside, dripping, freezing skin that makes her crave the higher temperatures of your body, how she's accustomed already to seek for warmth in the sin of your flesh: a shiver goes down her spine at the implications — "do you know how i wish upon your company in the night knowing you're there standing in the hallway? how i yearn to be with you even when you only seem to regret me? it must be some sort of witchcraft to some degree."

violet vanderson doesn't want the candles to be consumed in the dark, wants to see the details on your face when she's standing tall right in front of you, drinking in every detail. shaking still, the forever lonely dog who's patiently waiting at your door it's finally being welcomed inside when she's lowering to an almost clumsy kiss, deeper now and more than just a simple peck. her kisses are full of saliva, downright messy cause vi lacks of the self-control that's needed, something similar to a crusade she fights persistently to gain the holy terrains of your body, the grip she has on the sides of your face just to be able to explore into your mouth freely.

"please let it be witchcraft for i am lost in you" that long-denied desire burns uncontrollably now, tearing everything apart: how do you wield such power over her? make her so weak to your charms. "you've haunted my dreams, my thoughts, my every walking moment and i'm done with it. done with feeling torn, afraid of the consequences of giving into my desires."

"i'm sorry for making you feel this way," you murmur tenderly when leaning into her hands, relishing the grip she keeps to kiss you properly — "you're not the only one trying to resist, to push away. i've been fighting this too violet, fighting us for so long."

an almost silent smile spreads on vi's lips when she listens to your apology, the regret in your voice that only makes her chuckle.

"don't say sorry. it is i who should seek forgiveness," she's allowing herself to savor the feeling of your skin beneath her fingertips, your warm breath mingling with her own in a heady mix vi would love to make part of her lungs. "i'm too lost between what i want and what i know is right."

"violet- i am crazy about you," you dissipate every thought, and it makes her stay still for a moment as her hand reaches your pulse point, fingertips pushing against the pulsating flesh to notice the fast heartbeats — "attracted before my mother sent you to look after me when i escaped."

"yeah?" it feeds right into her ego when a drunken smile pulls the corners of the knight's lips, her other hand slides up your back as she anchors herself closer to you, taking a step forward only to make you take one backward — "what else huh? what else have you felt?"

she's stealing kiss after kiss now when cornering you against the wall behind your back, leading you to this drunken state as vi's wondering why you're still dressed in complex dresses so late at night knowing you must have refused any help from your maids. her fingers tangle in the threads of the corset pulling them apart impatiently, frustrated already when you have to help her for a moment to get rid of the annoying fabric.

"let me have you tonight," the cold rocks pressing into your skin makes you shiver when she's already peeling the infinite layers your dress seemed to have, trapping you between the wall and her own body. "let me stay with you before you answer for the realm. i fear i shall be a clumsy lover so great is my hunger for you my princess, but i want you to know about my devotion to you, how i feel."

it's ironic now when she spent months fighting against the notion of liking someone so out of reach, but now with you there in her arms, it feels like you belong to her as much as the knight belongs to you: a different kind of loyalty, a different kind of fidelity. swollen-kissed lips, vi seems to never get tired of it when she's finally tugging on the sides of your dress, letting it pool at your feet to leave you clad in a thin undergarment.

beautiful, make her spiral right into madness when the light dances over your skin, highlighting the curves and valleys the knight longed to explore with hands and mouth. you're so beautiful it's impossible to think about anything else, about her troubles when she can see the soft curves of skin from over the linen, drinking in the sight of the erotic near nudity like a striking hallucination.

"i have been yours since the day you took me there in the cabin," you reply, sharp control, you don't falter for a second when admitting the truth like a real queen — "even when your brain is too fuzzy to realize it."

you're making fun of her, the rough sound of your laugh before it turns into a gasp when vi's suddenly taking you, swapping you off your feet and finally leaving the dress behind on the floor right next to her armor only to carry you in her arms, walking you down to the only bed in the room.

perfectly made it wrinkles when she's tossing you on top of it, grabbing you by the ankle to make you slide in the satin duvet and stay there on the edge where she wants you to be.

"one time," you warn her when vi positions herself between your parted legs, looking down at you she has the feeling you're the one who needs the reminder more than she does, toying with the thread on your linen shirt as you spoke. "one time, i'm going to be a married woman, i'm not ever going to cheat, ever."

"one time?" she plays coy for a second only to test you, cause in reality the knight would comply with every wish you make like she's taught to. "one time what?"

"you know what-"

"one time," vi repeats for herself too. "yes, i get it. one time."

words now lacked sense, after that it's similar to being granted permission to heaven, a plate of food on a tiring day. your skin shivers when vi's making you lay back in the bed, crawling on top of your displayed figure as you settle against the goose-feathered pillows. her weight pulls you down against the mattress when she seats — you lack of the underwear that prevents you from feeling her ass right where the linen begins, the cool of her skin clashes with the warmth of your own and its nothing but seconds until you become aware and notice the subtle dampness that grows between the knight's thighs and leak to your mound, coating it with what must be her arousal.

"you're a feast- a feast to the eye and every hungry part i carry" vi's voice's low now, rough and coated with lust when she's leaning closer, the shifting of her position making you blatantly moan at the minimal friction, "so exquisite."

to punctuate her words, the knight catches the stiff peak of your breast between her lips, tongue flat against the linen cause the material's so thin she doesn't mind it, too desperate to care when the undergarment gets soaked with her own saliva and becomes transparent enough to end up being nothing.

her hands map every dip, every imperfection, every curve and plane to memory. it obliges her to keep her eyes open, heavy-lidded cause the warrior wants to learn about the face you make when she's finally making you crumble, deluged moans she hides as her thumb circles and teases the sensitive flesh, marking you up with her kisses cause its the only brand she can leave in you. her personal brand.

and it's true cause she's a clumsy lover due to desperation. your body's inviting, pliant under her sloppy marks, her saliva glistens transparent in your skin as an encouragement when you fucking squirm as vi begins to grind against you with a requirement she cannot explain rationally.

her hands drag the linen out of your body, fingers curl against the fabric, clinging to you like a lifeline before being able to finally explore that skin-to-skin contact she's been dreaming about for weeks. vi's hips move in a barely discernible circle at first that makes you slick enough to help her grind against you faster, hand on your lower stomach, the knight pushes you hastily against the mattress each time she drags herself against you, making the bed creak and groan at the movement — funny. she could actually cum just like that.

"fuck vi, you look so good," you can't deny the view either, messy cherry hair falling over her shoulders, chaotic strands when vi's mouth hangs wide open — tits slightly bouncing with every move; there's a trail of hair that installs just bellow her navel and joins like a secret path to the trimmed pink hair in her cunt, muscles flex on each strike, you let her use you cause she looks so good while doing it, makes you fight for a kiss you demand by roughly pulling her against your chest.

"c'mon sit properly," you plead against her mouth, — "i know that's not what they teach you in training, so stop teasing me like that."

the comment makes her blush, cheeks matching with the hair as she finally understands what you're saying: yeah it feels good when you're stealing the air from her lungs, but when you make her shift in her comfortable seat on top of you? stars settle on vi's vision as you guide her between your legs, and now in tangled limbs you gift your knight the perfect access to rub her dripping cunt against yours, quick response when vi's hips cant forward to seek more of that delicious friction.

that's so damn good. pulls her into a state she cannot control, wishing desperately to be consumed by your touch, your commands and whatever you need from her, so damn good when vi's moving on top of you confidently, holding your thigh so she can control your body enough to mold you against her.

"d'you feel how we fit together?" she asks, the words slur together when her head falls back with a devastating moan — the knight swears she can feel your sensitive folds that part to knead with her own, soaking wet, it only adds to her desired nirvana. "how our bodies respond to each other's touch?" 

in response, you're taking your fingers right against her parted lips with no need to say it out loud, not by the look on your face as vi gathers a good amount of saliva before spitting; lavish, it falls to coat the length of your fingers, transparent and efficient helps you slide between your combining bodies, adding to the friction before you're using your free hand to grip the knight's waist so you can have control of her and make her feel your soaked fingers rubbing on the sensitive nub she's been constantly planing against you, pushing harder, faster.

"you got the prettiest pussy of the realm," you praise, too concentrated on whats happening between your thighs to see the need in her face as vi bites her lip overwhelmed — "all pink, fat and pliant for your future queen."

man she's barely able to nod properly, all vi can manage to do is whimper already lost in the obscene sound of your joined arousal, the way it leaks to coat your thighs and hers in the most sticky mix. slick and abundant, soaks your sheets when the warrior's looking at the juncture where your body and hers meet: oh the things she'd do to sink her face between your legs just as filthy as you are!

you push her to go faster, when you're subtly spreading her apart to make her rub against you better, helping to create a filthy symphony vi can only make with you. it's fucking primal at some point, this need, this utter starvation when the knight's movement becomes erratic, when your fingers move with purpose to stroke in that perfect spot that makes her strangely vocal.

"mmf-please" the cherry-haired says defeated — "please- my princess, please slow down."

you don't seem to listen at first until she's pulling your hands away from her, grabbing you by the wrist so she can have enough control to hold them over your head — "slow," she manages to say again, cause vi wish to relish the moment, savor every part of you. "the sun's not up yet, and we don't have to rush this."

"vi..."

you're ready to reply, fight her words but her fingers wrap around your wrists too tightly and there's no chance to fight it cause it wont work either: the knight's stronger than you are, can keep you in place after years of rough training, survival. makes vi forget about her force as her digits dig into your skin and you're unable to ever move from where you are.

tortuous and way crueler than before, it elicits only pleasure when she's dragging herself across your slit in the most intimate way, soaked, engorged clit that brushes against your own, it only spurs vi to a new quest, a new fire that spreads on dry grass until there's nothing else.

"look at me. i want you to know its me when i fuck you like this," she leans against you using the grip on your hands as an anchor, close to your face, but with enough distance to not fall for a much needed kiss before speaking again— "i don't think no one will ever make you feel like this, my princess."

her eyes. it's so difficult to not lose yourself in the blue. drift away in the ocean when her moans blend with yours and its the most delightful music you've ever heard. a bundle of nerves on where the knight's too aware of the threads of arousal that connected your pussy to her own, the messy white that leaks and smears against your parted legs.

if its a dream, violet wishes to never wake up. scares her cause it fills her with need, completes her as she's left behind with no idea on how to reign it in. your eyes swallow her only to leave the knight in the spirals of your mind, the holes and riptides she would go through with sword and shield.

nothing else exists more than rough breathings, the constant war your lungs experience and the lewd sounds of flesh on flesh that echo through the empty room. she's making your body quake and clench, taking you there at her own rules and you comply, pliant and ready to satisfy her needs.

"open up," its a new feeling when you part your lips apart for her, your own mouth already flooded with contained saliva, yet still didn't stop vi from spitting a good amount of saliva into your buccal cavity before adding — "that's it. swallow, good fucking girl."

is she a part of you now? when staring into your eyes, fucking you tenderly: is she a part of you? of your needs? of your desires like you belong in hers? your sinful smile is nothing but a gift on her head, the fluids you're covered with, the invisible saliva that coats your chin.

she doesn't need any fingers, no extra addition as her hips snap forward in a blur of motion, gained force as vi seems to forget about her no-rush-plans, the force of her thrusts making the headboard of the bead slam against the wall hard enough to leave a fucking dent.

close, the knight's hands close around your throat before leaving wet, messy kisses over your lips, mouth wide open when she applies some good old pressure over your pulse point and its enough to make you say some praises that only blend together because it's damn near impossible to modulate complete sentences, a battle for oxygen that makes your knight smile drunk in the control she takes, on knowing she reduced you to this state.

"it's not cheating when you always belonged to me, far before any prince."

vi's words strike hard like lighting, like the storm that poured outside the castle walls and tinted the streets in a glistening new dimension. it's true. true under any circumstance: you've belonged to the knight far before any prince who asked for your hand in marriage.

it's intense, violet cannot help but be intense when it comes to you, her princess, the reason why she chooses to carry an armor, endure the rough life only for the graciousness of having a royal looking her way. connection, it's like the world finally listens to her and her lame thoughts cause it reduces to you and her, on the sweat, the satisfaction that starts in your overstimulated cunt and eats you entirely.

it builds on the base of violet's spine, tattooed flesh that tenses when the orgasm finally kicks in like a medical drug. she's been under several to treat many injuries but that moment? fucking drowns her like the most deadly cresting wave, sinks you with her to a point of no return cause the moment you cum its devastating — your skin shivers, cunt clenches empty and there it is. that promise you cannot take back.

how will it ever be one time only? how will you hide the fact you're fucking your most loyal knight to the entire court?

there's no many words that can cover the interaction, the warm sensation when you can feel vi's arousal run down your leg, mixing up with yours as a testament, a promise and a new devotion. your lips find hers in a renewed kiss, and she can feel the moans you try to hide against her mouth, the laziness in your movements as you try to deepen it, relish your knight as she deserves.

how will it ever be one time only if you're craving for more when it just ended?

"join me in the bath," so when vi's laying on top of you, full weight as she rests her head in your stomach, makes sense a subtle glimmer appears on her powder blue eyes for a moment, your fingers trace the lines of her tattoo and the silence's nice, invigorating in the subtle caress of the after sex — "i'll ask my maids to warm up the water."

"don't leave," violet's afraid for a minute, afraid that when you leave her side everything will disappear, never existing more than in her memories, makes the warrior hug you tightly as a way to make you stay in the bed with her. "let's stay like this for a little while. it's just a small break."

"small break? you crazy knight," the sound of your laugh is the most intoxicating sound she's ever heard, fighting for the number one spot with the sounds you make as you cum "what else you want to do now?"

"plenty still, i'm almost shocked my princess didn't expect it from before since tonight, the night will give us her eternity and the moon will shine for you only" she's having fun, careless, delicious fun she's been lacking from years when vi's carefully sliding down, swift, calculated moves when the knight settles between your already parted legs, a mess of her arousal, yours — hers.

"vi," you try to stop her. "m'dirty-"

"shh- that's even better. i'll make this quick and dirty," the knight promises, and you already know her mouth was pure sin as a cocky grin appears on her lips, that violet will feast from the belief of famine — "just the way my princess likes it."

the next few days are a blur.

violet vanderson's been kissing you all week cause she cannot fight the way you look at her like she's the only good thing habituating the castle, how you peel her entire persona in a short span of mere seconds, cornering you in the dark halls of the castle, surrendering to you when no one's around, spending countless nights in your room wrapped around the comfy sheets.

jealous as ever of a man who publicly holds your hand and tugs the loose strands of your hair behind your ear, vi's good to pretend she's not listening to whatever the prince's telling you so confident about — so far she has heard about the life you'll share after marriage, how many kids kino desires always silent and walking behind as you nod to his words.

"i could scarcely forget about you, violet" but in the night everything shifts, no prince or duty when you allow her to become your other half, the part you miss your entire day. your words are like a poem imprinted in her memories, a sacred kiss similar to a tattoo only she gets to see as your fingers travel across the right side of her body, facing you, the nudity only becomes proof of shared trust — "not with the taste of your passion still lingering on my tongue or the proof of your appetite dripping down my thighs."

and it's true cause she can taste herself on your lips when you kiss her, the subtle taste of her own arousal when you invade her mind like the worst war she's ever been a part of. vi blushes when each encounter appears in her memory just in time to feel your eyes on her face at the most unexpected moments of the day: a barely noticeable smile at the council meeting, a charged look of pure desire when you're seated on the throne, you're there every day.

it seems that violet vanderson is weak when it comes to love.

a sucker when your lips travel across the expanses of her toned stomach, following the way down to the trail of hair that disappears in a much more intimate place. the knight's hearing your rantings late at night when you dare to speak of political matters, your absolute hatred for the members of the council and how you loved to spend time outside the castle, that freedom that ties your words together — those rebel ideas that before horrified her now turning into details she looks up to.

"are you nervous?"

it's a dumb question now that she thinks about it. polished armor, silver covers her skin as vi's true form, a long cape that pools longer than ever when she has to drag it as she takes a seat in the first row. gold coats the surface of the main saloon, the red, fluffy carpet only showing the path to the throne and you, as usual, are much similar to a vision, a product of her imagination when you're consuming her to oblivion.

"yes," you admitted minutes before the ceremony as she' escorted you to the main entrance. "i've never been more anxious in my existence."

"breathe out. you're going to do amazing, my queen."

white dress, the delicate fabric sticks to your body like it was sculpted by the artist of the kingdom, complex and eye-catching patterns that manage to be simple and elegant. you're dressed with a gold tunica that makes you look small, and holding the jewels of the realm, you bow down to feel the weight of the crown pushing on your head like a halo that's coming down to choke on you, uncomfortable as ever, the metal wraps around your head and you stay there stoic as ever, as if you're feeling the power like a physical manifestation.

you're a queen. a queen through and through. a queen who's going to marry next week with her consort husband from noxus, a queen that has no time to think about her devoted knight who's too lost into worshiping her every private night.

you've come so far that pride settles on her chest, as your declared right hand, vi relishes on the medals on her chest, the new title she's granted days before your coronation when you hold the sword against her shoulder and name her the head of the knights — from over sevika or any other important person, its a spot she deserves even if she didn't fucked you to sleep every night, because she's good at what she does, the best.

you lay out your heart for her wide as the moon shines in the sky, and its hard when violet cant take it anymore, when she can't fight you like this.

you torment her every living moment and she cannot ignore now the way you feel, the way you need her, the way you crave her touch like air. curses herself cause she cannot just take what you offer, cause she's not made of stone when your love, your desire it's a force that's slowly crumbling the walls she carefully keeps around her heart. a security you're good at trespassing.

long live to the queen.

she says it louder than anyone, your so-called future husband, the members of the council and the noble court that only seemed to be jealous of the position you're being granted only by being born in a lineage of royalty. the blue blood on your veins that pumped your heart alive — cause you're chosen by the higher forces in the sky.

long live to the queen.

vi repeats it with the same enthusiasm, hating herself to rotten pieces cause she knows she'll choose a life of a secret only to be granted the time she's been granted with you, even when you carry this stupid ring the knight hates to see, when she has to endure that lack of emotion when the day comes and there's duties to fulfill.

as the rest, she bows to you. lowers her head as a sign of respect: did the same for your mother, the same for your father, but this time's different. different cause she'd died for you without a declaring war on course, relishing already every moment alive she shared with you by her side.

makes your knight melt in the hand-painted chair she's seated on when you're smiling at her, being hard to fake you're not head over heels with her cause in reality, she's the only one in the realm who you trust enough to share your fears with, your entire life.

you've sworn to the crown in front of the entire kingdom, stand with your chin high as you accept the love of the people, the chants, the screams of joy dedicated to the kind princess, the rebel princess who in reality carries a heart of gold. however, no one expects when you're clearing your throat, casting silence among the public cause no recent king nor queen has made a speech on their coronation day.

vi’s brows furrow in curiosity: what exactly are you doing?

"my people," it's practiced when your voice casts and spreads against every corner of the room, reaching the ears even of the peasants who pushed each other to have a better view of a historic day — "i'm taking a moment to express my devotion to the city we’ve built together, the people that fill it, a kingdom that has only shown me mercy and love that goes beyond any position."

it's always nice to see you like that anyway. when you've trained for those public speeches, to satisfy the mass and saccharine the ears of a population that always talks so highly about you.

"this very special day i make myself the realm's weapon, and i promise to you i'll bring nothing but the sunlight in every corner" it makes the citizens go crazy: how not when their majesty's promising her absolute devotion to them? — "things will change upon this day for the very best. we'll push together to a future of freedom, peace and justice."

damn right vi's fucking you tonight until you repeat that very same discourse word by word.

"this is why i'd like to announce as well, the ending of my marriage negotiations that's been taking place in the castle, as i won't be no longer marrying to the prince of noxus" the gasp is audible and general as you lay out the news, and to vi herself is a shocking as her body paralyzes in the middle of her seat: what did you said? "this does not mean our nation is in tension with the noxian nation, despite all the misunderstanding we've made new treatments that will join our nations more than ever. it's nothing but a proof of our new liberty. we should be provided with choices, freedom."

she's too afraid to look at the council, too pale to even look at you or kino. in all reality violet's already panicking in her head, blushing red to the point it creeps down her neck because once in her life she stops being the one who's losing all honor, who's always in the dirt expecting the worst: are you ending this political marriage for her? because you'd like to marry her instead of a man?

vi dares to thrive on her ego for once in her life. she's been a good lover, tender, always near cause the knight needs to have you close. so how will she not dare to say its for her? that you're putting a stop to it cause kino's not your knight?

"this only proves my focus on the realm and the people" you add, ignoring the discontent of the court and the nobles — "to prosperity. to peace and unity."

long live to the queen.

good fuck vi just wants to get you out of there. pull you to the desired privacy of your room and once again make the world stop just for you and her; submerse in your eyes and that shimmer of mischief when you find her in the most personal eye contact ever; so quick when you wink at her as you sit back on the throne, that it got vi's breathing hitching on the back of her throat for a moment.

fuck.

how were you able to hide this from her? be so secretive of something so important? violet would like to be annoyed, but it only melts her armor back to her skin as a way to leave her without nothing, bare her entire self for your eyes only as you seem too worried about her, too invested in her actions.

you're prepared for the trouble as well, aware of the disaster it will cause when the council's screaming at you behind closed doors like you were still a child on their sixteen birthday, making you remain firm at your decisions without faltering for a second: you're not getting married, and if they continue to question you decisions you'd have to take the right measurements as the regent queen.

the news of you neglecting the hand of any man travels throughout the kingdom fast enough to make vi's heart jump at the unexpected, by noon it turns real and tangible as you politely escort the noxian empire out of the castle the same day of your coronation. the knight can barely contain the smile for the rest of the day when she has this desperate need to push you against the closest wall she can find only to have your attention for the short span of five minutes. only five minutes.

"so- secrets. you kept this to yourself," she points out in the first moment you're left alone with her. "do you like surprises by any chance?"

"i don't," she's so desperate to kiss you. break the distance that separates you from her body and her hungry hands that it makes it hard to stay even annoyed at you, at your tone when you answer — "i just thought it would be nice hearing on my coronation day about how i'm not going to get married."

"nice, you thought it was nice," vi shakes her head almost as if she doesn't believe a word of what you're saying — "clearly being a queen has fed into your ego 'cause of course your simple, devoted knight would like to know from before, your majesty."

"i'm sorry," you reply with a rather shy smile, almost ashamed of yourself for a moment, "i kinda thought it was romantic, tell everyone to go fuck themselves."

"oh it is," vi agrees. the sun strikes her face and for a moment you can't help but get stuck in her beauty too, the lines of her jaw that now shifted from sharp to curvy, soft and inviting to your touch. "it's the ultimate act of romance."

man.

late at night when she's wrapped naked in your enormous sheets, her skin brushes against your own as she holds you close and you can feel the warm breath from vi parted lips when speaking on your shoulder, tender when she's trying to mix you back into her skin, carry you in her chest.

"was it for me?" she's nervous when asking, holding you in her arms afraid you might go for a moment — "your ultimate act of romance-- is it because of me?"

a second, two. vi's heart beats so loud before you kiss her tenderly after the agonizing wait. slowly this time and full of care cause you need her to feel it, become aware of how deep you carry her in your heart, cause that's the girl you're going to marry, the knight who has dedicated her entire life to protect the castle, tired already of pretending to be someone you aren't because of a promise that's only tearing you down.

"did it work vi? did i make your heart skip a beat for a second?"

you look at her only to enjoy the sight of your future wife finally blushing, the subtle red on her cheeks thats only evidence thanks to the constant warm light of the candle casting her glow on vi's figure.

"you want to marry me?" she asks this time, serious, real.

"i do."

your response hangs in the air, and violet would like to slap herself at the lack of romance in her answer when she's a victim of her impulses. too late to say anything else when the knight's already drunk in happiness: the news of the cancellation of your marriage, your body fitting perfectly against her own, that night there locked out in your room, you in her arms.

making you look back at her, vi's pulling you into a clumsy kiss when going through the worst withdrawal of the century — "ask me properly" she says in between kisses, saliva clinging to her lips that shined in yours as a matching fluid. "ask me to be your wife."

everywhere. violet's everywhere when you can recognize the kisses that shift from your jaw to your back, curious hands that hold you close, desperate to feel something, be aware now of your disheveled heartbeats.

and it's similar to the cabin, the very same even when vi's knee slips past between your legs and she doesn't need an invitation to touch you cause you're her own, she's yours too and it's a silent agreement as your hips unbuckle against her leg and she's guiding you into a madly slow rhythm, back against her naked chest: right there where she needs.

"marry me," you say, half-breathless and half-drunk in her touch. "marry me and fuck the council, the nobles and runeterra itself. marry me and rule by my side, please."

you're begging her to marry you and vi's marking your back already combusting in your words, leaving this huge marks that will show on from over the dress tomorrow cause now everyone should be aware, everyone should know about the countless nights in your bed, the infinite kisses from her you carry on your lips, the tattoo on your cheek invisible and mirroring her own like a mark of honor, a medal.

everyone should know violet vanderson's the one who got you like this.

"marry me, please. marry me and be my consort queen. i won't have anyone else by my side."

"mmh, the council's gonna be pissed--" vi laughs against your shoulders, aware of the wet trail that now dampens her leg, the erratic moans you fight so hard to keep in line as the pleasure becomes unbearing, trying so hard for her — "are you sure it's possible, my queen? marry a common peasant?"

"the council's job is to follow my rules and do nothing but advice" she recognized her own words from before now in your mouth, adopted like a dogma of your own: that's her girl. "i don't have to follow their suggestions if they aren't fitting. and they are not fitting."

the knight steals the air from your lungs until your brain becomes dumb and forgetful as she kisses you again, again and again until your lips are swollen with too much friction, too much contact, even when she keeps your face to the side uncomfortable as ever just to receive more of her intoxicating kisses, more of her.

"yes i'll marry you, my queen. yes, i'll always catch you," the warrior whispers in your ear like a poem, a secret only you can hear — "no matter how high i make you fly, i'll be there to catch you every single time."

rings, promises, caresses and need, the night's not enough. the minutes cannot begin to cover it all but it's a start, a start to a decade, to a century, to as long as you exist tangled in her soul.

marriage. under the moon you promise yourself to her in something far more important than any other ceremony, a private celebration with no witnesses and no papers more than murmured words of love in the middle of a dark, silent night.

your wife. violet vanderson's your consort queen.

now the tricky part was breaking the news to the council about the queen's marriage to a girl-- your knight, but that's a whole different story, made up for another time.

[heartyluv]

Note: This may be really, really niche, but if you get it, you get it! Even if you don’t know any of what I list, maybe you can check some out if you’re interested! Anyways, I think this is super cute and so much fun to think about. I hope you think so, too!

The LIs Favorite Black Movies & TV Shows

1. Xavier - Madea plays are his absolute go-to, but especially Madea on the Run and A Madea Christmas. He likes to be able to get a little snooze in when they start singing LOLLLLL!!! We listen and we don’t judge, but yes, I skip the singing, toooooo. You’ll let them play so your sleepy babe can rest his eyes while you get a snack or use the bathroom. He doesn’t dislike the singing, but he’s really there for the laughs and the story. His favorite parts will always be the Madea and Aunt Bam duo. You know that cute breathy chuckle he does? And the little tip up of the corner of his mouth? They pull it out of him with their banter and jokes they crack on other characters. OH, HE IS SO CUTE.

As for a show, he lovessss Martin, and his favorite character that Martin will portray is in fact, Dragonfly Jones LMFAOOOO!!! Besides that, he definitely likes Gina/Pam & Tommy/Cole. He just loves a good duo.

2. Zayne - He likes Tyler Perry movies in general, but his favorite one without a doubt, is Good Deeds. Zayne seems like movies that offer realism and tackle real life scenarios, but indulge in a little bit of a fantasy, are his cup of tea. So yes, he likes Wesley learning and understanding his privilege through a woman who’s been without it, and coming out of a mundane routine because of her unintentional influence, to live life how he wants. He especially likes him ultimately choosing himself, his dreams, along with the woman and her child that he truly loves in the end over money, status, and success. His favorite trope has to be characters learning a valuable lesson because in some way, I think they stick with him, too. Which is why I feel like he also enjoys Diary of a Mad Black Woman and both of the Why Did I Get Married movies.

His favorite show is Moesha. He likes to try and understand all sides in the situations that arise and even offer up different ways he would’ve went about it. But, I feel like he’s a Frank haterrrr. Seriously though, who even likes Frank?!?!

3. Rafayel - No one can fight me on this. This man LOVES The Wiz. A rendition of a classic that became a classic?!?? HE IS HOOKED. Watches it at least once a week, knows all the songs by heart, and his favorite characters are The Cowardly Lion & The Scarecrow. Bae loves him some Michael Jackson. Oh, and every time without fail, when he sees the feast being prepared in the beginning, he pouts and begssss you to make him something like that again. (You’ve done it for him before and it’s become one of his favorite types of meals. Your nostalgia about it makes him nostalgic, and he values that feeling.) He always anticipates the start of I’m A Mean Ole Lion and Slide Some Oil to Me Now….because he’s gonna get up and perform it in the middle of the living room. It’s so ingrained in his mind that he executes it almost as flawlessly as you who’s been watching it since you were a kid.

Favorite show is The Bernie Mac Show. He is locked in when Bernie sits down and starts addressing “America” LMFAOOO!!! AND HE IS ALWAYS AGREEING WITH HIM!!!! AND, AND, that song Bernie sings in the episode when he goes to eat the cake in the fridge and gets sick—“Who’s the man? You the man—strong healthy Black man.” YES, RAFAYEL SINGS IT LOLLLLL!!!

5. Caleb - My baby daddy—He loves all the Friday movies LMFAOOOOO!! Smokey and Day-Day are unmatched in his eyes. But out of all three, despite each one being classics, the first Friday will forever hold a special place in his heart. His favorite scenes are when Craig’s father gets on him for being in the kitchen every time he’s in the kitchen, don’t get him started on the “Bye, Felicia” because he says that to you ALL THE TIME, and he absolutely falls out over Ezal’s fake ass slip and fall in the store, screaming for “$150,000 but will settle out of court for twenty bucks” LOLLLL!!!! BECAUSE HE’D DO IT TOO!!!!

Classically loves The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Carlton is his dude and yes, he’ll do the dance sitting next to you whenever he does it. The family dynamic and funny moments will remind him so much of your family sometimes, too. That makes him love it even more. I also believe that the episode where Will’s father failed to show up and he had that emotional breakdown with Uncle Phil is a hard watch for him, just like it can be for others. It makes him all sappy, so for some reason, he has to hold you in his arms whenever you’re rewatching the show and that scene pops up. (You secretly love it. You love kissing the forehead of your strong emotional baby.)

6. Sylus - He was thoroughly surprised to find out how much he enjoys The Temptations—movies and music. I feel like when you told him that it was about a real life music group and their struggles through loss, companionship, friendship, mental health, and addiction, his interest was piqued. As man in his own form of an industry, it astounded him to see how one of music could have experiences so detrimental to people and their families. It ultimately taught him a newfound respect for not only music in general, but for Black musicians and Black creatives, period. Oh my goodness, he can’t stop listing to Just My Imagination and Ain’t Too Proud To Beg. AND HE SINGS THEM TO YOUUUU, AWWWWW. Off-key as hell, but that deep rumble of his voice and the way he’ll sway with you in his office or the kitchen makes up for it. (P.S. it blew his mind when he found out The Five Heartbeats were a fictional group. He came to you and asked why he couldn’t find any information on the “real members” when he was doing his own research.)

This man is addicted to the House of Payne show. He really likes the healthy balance of comedy and seriousness. Uncle Curtis is his favorite and he has no shame in laughing at the semi-offensive jokes he makes about family members. (Please don’t get him going about the things he says about Janine omg). And Sylus really likes how much Curtis values and respects his wife and how Ella makes him learn to value her as his second half and nothing less.

A/N: The thought to do this came to me this morning and I was just so in love. Kinda thinking of doing their favorite Black artists as well!

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat

[kawasiki-jo]

What Would Kim Do?

Okay okay—so I want Kim’s POV of Kenta being taken captive. Yes, he knows the kind of person Kenta is. He knows Kenta was raised alone, taught to deal with his problems alone. He knows Kenta’s default setting is self-sacrifice, that he was never taught how to lean on people. And the few times he has tried? They’ve thoroughly, absolutely ruined him. Kim knows this is all new territory for Kenta. He knows Pete has been the only constant in Kenta’s life—romantic feelings or not, Pete is still the only common denominator he has. He trusts him.

He also knows Kenta is dead-set on destroying Tony, on helping them rid the world of that monster. Kenta’s priorities are locked in—laser-focused on the bigger picture, the greater good. But no matter how much Kim rationalizes Kenta’s silence, it doesn’t make the ache in his heart hurt any less.

The thing is, it’s not about trust. Kim trusts Kenta. He trusts him to do what needs to be done and to do it with every ounce of ability he has. The pain comes from when it’s happening—after the kiss. After the conversation where Kim told him to stop running. To stop running to Pete. To think about his feelings, their feelings. Kim told him—in every way he knew how—that Kenta would always have him. No matter what. No matter when. Kenta would always have Kim to lean on.

If this had all happened before Kim had said anything—before he’d laid his heart out like a damn offering—maybe he could dull the sting. Maybe he could tell himself it didn’t mean anything. But now? Now Kenta knows. And he still chooses to communicate with Pete, and Pete alone.

Kim isn’t blaming anyone. He’s not pointing fingers, not trying to be angry at the choices people make to survive. It’s just—by now, he had hoped Kenta would’ve seen his affections for what they were.

And then there’s the whole thing with Kenta specifically telling Pete not to send backup. Not to involve anyone else. Kim gets it, he really does. He understands the sentiment. He knows Kenta has never been the kind to ask for help—not openly. Not ever. So Kim isn’t angry. But every single time he asks Pete, “Are you sure?”

“Are you sure Kenta’s okay?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t need help?”

Every time Pete says something like, “Kenta said he didn’t need it,” or, “Kenta told us not to”—it’s like a knife. A knife being driven into the same spot, over and over again.

And don’t get me wrong—I’m not trying to minimize Kim’s feelings, reduce him to bare strings waiting to snap the moment there’s distance or rejection. I’m just saying—I’m hurt for him. Because he’s so eager to love Kenta. And it’s understandable that Kenta moves slow. That he’s hesitant, cautious, bruised by history. But a text? An “I’m okay”? A fucking emoji? A missed call? A goddamn typing bubble—anything. You just know Kim has his phone open on Kenta’s chat 24/7, just in case something—anything—comes through for him.

And I know for a fact Kim stays up every night, waiting. Because even if Kenta tells him to trust him, there’s no way he’s not falling apart with worry. But he lets Kenta make the choices he needs to make.

Sorry, I got a bit carried away—but my point is: I want a reality where Kim starts second-guessing whether Kenta actually cares for him. Because when Kenta asked, “Are you coming with me or not?” Kim thought that was a step forward. He believed it meant something. And now? Now he’s faced with this wall of silence. Of absence. Of cold distance.

There’s no way my baby wouldn’t be disheartened. Maybe Kim starts settling into the idea that Kenta’s just not interested. That this—whatever it was—was never going to be anything more. Maybe it is rejection. Subtle, quiet, unbearable.

And again—he’s not mad. He’s not mad at Kenta. He’s not mad at Pete. He’s not even mad at the rejection. He’s just furious at the hope. The kindling in his heart that keeps sparking—only to get snuffed out by reality.

Maybe Kim finally realizes the truth: that Kenta doesn’t want him. That—just like Pete—Kenta never felt anything real for him.

I’m not saying that’s going to change how Kim feels. But maybe it changes how much he shows. Maybe he starts to close off, just a little. Maybe, piece by piece, he retreats into himself. Because the longer Kenta is away, the more he questions if Kenta will ever come back.

He doesn’t have the answer.

Or maybe he does.

But either way, it’s all coming crashing down.

Am I selfish for also wanting Pete to be the one who tells Kim to go rescue Kenta—after realizing the new truth that’s settled over Kim’s heart? Like, “He trusts you the most,” and Kim just thinks, No, he doesn’t. But he says okay anyway, because he hasn’t quite reached the point where he’s hardened his heart completely. Not yet. Even if every passing day feels like Kenta choosing to speak only to Pete and no one else. And Kim still just wants to see him safe. To see Kenta. Out of there. Alive. So he agrees.

And when he does find Kenta—roped up, or chained, or something brutal like that—Kim drops to his knees and undoes the knot without thinking. Just asks, quietly, “Are you okay?” And Kenta says, “I’m fine,” but Kim can see the gashes, the bruises, torn clean through the rips in his shirt. And he adds it—silently, tiredly—to the growing list of reasons why he needs to start locking his feelings up tighter: Kenta still doesn’t trust him enough to tell the truth.

And then, just as Kim is reeling from that, Kenta says, “Where’s Kim? The others? Are they still here?” And there it goes—Kim’s last stupid sliver of hope that maybe Kenta would say he missed him. Or that he’s glad Kim came. Or even apologize for the silence. But no. Kenta just wants intel. Wants reassurance that everyone else is safe.

Kim takes a breath. He knows Kenta doesn’t mean it like that. It’s not personal. He tells himself that. He tells Kenta what he wants to know—“Pete and Chris are in the lab. The others are on the fourth floor.” Something like that. And Kenta’s only response is, “We should go help them. They probably need it.”

And Kim’s hands would probably shake. Because Kenta will give help to everyone, but never let himself receive it. Never let himself need.

So Kim nods. Even though it’s against Pete’s plan of “get Kenta out of there.” Because logically, Kenta’s right—they probably do need help. So Kim hands over his extra gun. Hands Kenta his blade. Doesn’t look at his face—can’t look. Can’t risk seeing worry etched there for everyone else but him.

They run. Up the stairs, around the corner. Kim keeps his ears sharp, tracking Kenta’s footsteps behind him, listening for anything off in his breathing, anything that might mean pain. Because Kenta would never admit it, not even now. Kim leads the way, relying on the map etched into his memory.

He’s so focused on Kenta—on his pace, his breath, his silence—that he misses the sound of gunfire. Until Kenta yanks him back just seconds before a bullet could’ve taken him out. And Kenta’s hand is wrapped around his wrist. Tight. And Kim’s heart has the audacity to flinch, to leap, to hope.

But he shuts it down. Because he’s seen this film before, and he didn’t like the ending. Back then, hope was fair game. Now? Now it’s just reckless.

So he steadies himself. Slowly, gently, he pulls away. Takes Kenta’s hand off him without a word.

Don’t get me wrong—I want them to kiss. I want them to kiss and end this whole emotionally devastating circus just as much as—if not more than—anyone else. I want them to have their soft moment, to finally collapse into each other’s arms, safe and warm and wanted. I want the warmth, the resolution, the overdue comfort. I wouldn’t change a single thing about the series—not one damn moment—but my brain has been fermenting, and you know it’s never once let a heartbroken character just... breathe. Not once. So here I am, spiralling. That said, I really want to know what you all think—honestly. Do you think Kim would pull away, even just a little? Quietly protect himself before he breaks? Or do you think he’d double down, push harder, desperate to prove that love means staying, even now?

[yellowsheart]

MY BIG BOOB’S GIRLFRIEND 2

this is for my big boob's girls! Hope you like this! Sorry for the grammatical errors, but English is not my main language!

FIRST PART

themes: big boobs, erection, suggestively...All the characters are at the legal age!

YN - pink!

Katsuki - red!

Others - green/yellow!

After weeks of grueling training, the guys finally gets a well-deserved break at the hot springs. But what should’ve been a peaceful moment turns into a steamy disaster when YN accidentally ends up in the same bath as Katsuki Bakugou—completely naked. And when they try to hide in a side room to avoid getting caught, things only get hotter.

After this, Katsuki can't stop thinking about it! He's so in love with YN, but difficult admit it!

It was a quiet evening in the U.A. dorms, at least until Bakugou spoke up. Sitting in Kirishima’s room, the three boys were relaxing after an afternoon of training, between chips, drinks, and boyish chatter.

-“…And then this idiot trips on the fucking step and falls on me.”-

Katsuki was sitting with his legs crossed, his eyes half-closed as he tried to tell the story without getting angry. To no avail.

Kirishima’s eyes widened. -“Wait wait wait… let me get this straight. YN. She fell on you. Naked.”-

-“Completely.”- Katsuki waved his hand, as if to say I can’t believe it either. Denki, lying on the bed, sat up suddenly. -“…Wait. Wait. Are you saying your face was—”-

-"BETWEEN HER BOOBS."- Kirishima burst out laughing so hard that he knocked the can over. -"Bro! WHAT THE ASS IS YOUR LUCK?!"-

-"FUCKING ASS! I WAS ABOUT TO DIE OF EMBARRASSMENT!"- Katsuki clutched his hair, his face red with frustration. -"And she even said I was 'hot.' What the fuck does that even mean?!"-

-"You were, man!"- Kirishima laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. --"Literally and more!"-

Denki, on the other hand, was much less cheerful. -"…I want to die."-

-"Huh?!"- Katsuki glared at him.

-"I mean…boobs in your face, bro. I'd pay for something like that. In fact, I'll volunteer if it ever happens again."-

-“I SWEAR I’LL EXPLODE YOUR HEAD, PIKACHU!”- Katsuki jumped up, a vein pulsing in his temple.

Kirishima was laughing too hard to stop them. -“Come on, come on! It was just an accident, right? But tell me the truth… did you think about it afterwards? Like… even for five seconds?”-

Then he turned around, slowly.

-“No.”-

-“You’re lying.”-

-“NO.”-

-“You’re lying like a stinker. You had your face between the boobs of the girl you like and you tell me that you don’t—”-

-“NOT TRUE, ASSHOLE!”-

Bakugou threw a pillow at Kirishima. Denki caught it and curled up like a puppy, sad.

-“I want tits in my face too…”-

Kirishima laughed even harder. -“You look bad, bro. Really bad.”-

Meanwhile, Katsuki sat back down, muttering through gritted teeth. -“It’ll never happen again anyway.”-

-“Mh-hm. Yeah, sure. Until she trips again, maybe when you’re alone in a room, and—”-

-“I SWEAR, IF YOU KEEP TALKING, I’LL MELTING YOUR TEETH INTO THE FLOOR!!”-

But underneath all that anger, there was a small, barely visible smile. That Kirishima noticed right away.

And Denki, between sighs, just said: -“Lucky are those with lucky faces…”-

Since that cursed night at the hot springs, something in Katsuki Bakugou had changed.

Not in the way he spoke. Not in the way he acted towards her (always grumpy, always rough). But in the way he… looked at YN.

More precisely: where he looked.

The first episode happened three days later. YN was bent over a desk, talking to Momo, while wearing a shirt that was a little looser than usual, but with a soft neckline, from which a suggestive view of her breasts peeked out.

Bakugou noticed her. In fact, he saw her immediately.

He remained still, his brain disconnecting for 0.7 seconds. A flash. A memory. His face buried in the soft warmth of those boobs.

Katsuki swallowed. -“Tsk.”-

He started to turn around. But his gaze? No. His gaze went back down, mercilessly glued to his cleavage.

Then there was that time during lunch. YN was sitting right in front of him. Her shirt was a little too tight because of the backpack on her shoulder.

Gaze. Straight. Again. Katsuki’s eyes went there without a filter, as if his brain had been left at the spa.

YN noticed. He slowly blushed. And she muttered, without looking at him: -“…If you want a photo, it lasts longer.”-

Katsuki spat out his rice. -“SHUT UP, YOU IDIOT!”-

One night in the dorm, Kirishima caught him staring at YN from afar, her laughing with Mina in a very thin tank top.

-“Bro. You are still looking at them.”-

-“NO.”- -“Yes.”- -“NO, I SAID!”-

-“Bro. You have that ‘I’ve been there’ look.”-

-“I SWEAR I’LL EXPLODE YOU!”-

The truth was simple. Once he saw her, once he got his face stuck in her… Bakugou couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The way they bounced slightly when she laughed. The way they swelled when she stretched. The way the water had caressed them that damned night.

And the fact that, every time he thought about it, his brain became a flock of chaotic explosions.

One night, as YN was adjusting her sweatshirt with only a sports top underneath, Katsuki looked at her for a second too long.

She crossed her arms, blushing. -“Are you still thinking about that time?”-

Katsuki whirled around, muttering in a hoarse voice, -“I’m thinking about blowing you up, for sure.”-

She smiled. And deep down, she knew full well that she was lying.

It was afternoon, in the dorms. Katsuki had just come back from training, his muscles tense and his anger at 120%. He had just sat down on the couch, when Denki Kaminari looked out with a look like a cat who saw fish in the sink.

-"Yo, Bakugou…"- -"What the fuck do you want now."-

Denki smiled, leaning overly nonchalantly against the back of the couch. -"You know, I was thinking about how much you've changed since… that night at the hot springs."-

Katsuki didn't answer. Just a withering look. But Denki wasn't intimidated.

-"You're… different. Like… you're absent. Absent-minded. Do you know what you look like?"- He paused dramatically. -"Someone who went nuts over a pair of boobs."-

Silence.

The explosion came. -"FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!"-

Denki burst out laughing. -"Come on, bro! I'm not saying it's a bad thing, eh! I'd switch tomorrow, I swear! But it's a fact! You've become… how shall I say… a walking boobs' addiction!"-

-“I’M GRENADEING YOUR ASS, KAMINARI!”-

-“You can’t deny it, huh! Every time YN talks to you, your laser eye goes up your cleavage! Your brain is fried, bro!”-

Denki laughed, bent over. -“All you needed was a bubble in your nose while you were drooling!”-

-“FUCK YOU! I’M NOT DROOLING! I’M NOT LOOKING! I’M NOT THINKING! IT WAS A FUCKING COINCIDENCE!”-

Kirishima, who was passing by with a snack, stopped. -“Uh… technically, your face was planted between—”-

-“SHUT UP TOO, TOMATO HAIR!”-

Denki, at this point, had tears in his eyes. -“Bro, admit it: you’re possessed by boobs. It’s legitimate. I would be. Actually, I am, without even having it in my face…"-

-"YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN A DUMMY, KAMINARI! I'M NOT LIKE YOU! I HAVE… DISCIPLINE! CONTROL! DIGNITY!"-

-"And two big boobs imprinted in my brain forever."-

-"FUCK YOU!"-

Denki raised his hands innocently. -"Okay, okay. But… if it ever happens again… you'll let me watch, right?"-

Katsuki stood up. His gaze was pure fire. -"I'll rip your eyes out of their sockets and fry them in a pan, okay?! If anyone besides me looks at YN—"-

He stopped. Denki stared at him with raised eyebrows.

-"…Besides you, huh?"-

Silence. Katsuki realized too late. Then he turned abruptly and walked out of the room, muttering,

-"Fuck you, you didn't hear shit!"-

Denki watched him disappear into the hallway, then said to Kirishima, -"It's official. He's gone. Kaput. Boobs: 1. Bakugou: 0."-

Kirishima smiled. -"I think he's even happy about it."-

[pearsandrust]

some brief phainon trailer thoughts from a non-hi3 player:

when he says "why is there absolutely nothing behind me now", he isn't just referring to the other chrysos heirs' deaths -- he's also realizing that all evidence of his past has been obliterated. the fact that the trailer cuts to hyacine emphasizes this, because she insisted on talking to her ancestors before setting off to reclaim aquila's coreflame. phainon does not have this privilege. every place he has ever loved has now been destroyed

all the red in this trailer (at least the non-aedes elysiae parts) is GENIUS. it 1) makes phainon stand out, 2) aligns with the whole "light shines brighter in darkness" theme they've got going on in the caption, and 3) goes well with phainon's motif of "burning"

the sequence of shots where they show a hand with golden blood on it, then phainon waking up in the wheat field? beautiful. it equates the gold of the blood to the gold of the wheat/sun, which brings up some interesting ideas. is it a symbol of fate (phainon's future was already written in his past)? is it a symbol of suffering (even in the most peaceful place, he's surrounded by grief)? either way, good stuff

he does the trope where a character obscures the sun by reaching towards it!!! very fitting. also very fitting that they drop this trailer after we see flame reaver gazing at the sky in 3.3

the sequence leading up to his transformation is great!! i have no clue what most of it means to be completely honest but i enjoyed it. nice amphoreus shape reference. phainon splitting into two ... is that him and flame reaver or a representation of two different parts of him?

flame reaver raising his sword to the sky as it caves in on him is surprisingly tragic. that is exactly what phainon does in 3.3 when they fight aquila. he never changes

that last shot of phainon gazing into the golden light as the world behind him falls into ruin brings the entire trailer back to the "there is absolutely nothing behind me now" line -- cyclical, just like amphoreus! it's also a great representation of phainon's character. although he has been trying to look towards the light of the flame-chase, he's never truly been able to stand in it. he has always remained in the shadows of his past

[anonymous-dentist]

tr! Lucas falling for pangi, while pangi only fell for lukey is fun, because I feel like Lucas would see his future self as kind of a downgrade to his normal self, due to despite lukey saying he operates on logic it’s pretty clear he doesn’t, while based on what we know Lucas kinda does guenially do stuff based on what he sees as a more logic approach (he is also affected by emotions in his thoughts just not as much and less obvious then lucked)

so for someone he falls for to enjoy his future self over him more despite the fact they both have more perceived things in common then his future self did, would mean that a version of him without memory’s and is weaker and more emotionally is just a better one

also I don’t think Lucas had a lot of people he would call close vs lukey who has green faction and aimsey, so I just find it fun for Lucas to realize that he probably wouldn’t be able to be a person that could make these friends and start thinking he might be the worst one between the two lukeys

(lukey somewhere else, is thoughts about how he thinks Lucas is the better one between the two, due to being stronger, more logical, and someone that would be able to help green faction more then him, and would not be called a hamster)

do you get the vibe I’m putting down, i find the idea of them meeting interesting, espically if they both have a thing for pangi

I'm personally unconvinced that Lucas actually talked to anyone besides Newt. From Newt's diary, it really looked like Lucas spent all day every day in their lab unless he was trying to get Skulk or committing Other Crimes. So him getting a glimpse of his future and seeing his future self surrounded by people who love him and, more importantly, seeing that he loves them is absolutely a shocker

But I feel like Lucas would actually see that as a weakness, especially if he finds out that Lukey finished the cure but there's still Corruption around. Like "You're too busy with frivolities to bother with the important stuff anymore, aren't you? The world is ending, but, sure, go play house with him some more. No, yeah, I'm sure you two will be very happy together when you're both fucking dead."

(He almost wants to be jealous, but he convinces himself not to be. There's no point in being jealous of a weaker version of himself, especially not when his future self seems almost determined to doom the world in the name of, eugh, love.)

(Pangi thinks this dude is a dick btw, but he also sees how Lucas and Lukey really aren't all that different at the end of the day. Lucas' hair is shorter and Lukey's face has smile lines starting to form, and they both do the same tone of voice when asking for something- Lucas asks Newt for access to the Null for his research the same way Lukey asks Pangi for gapples and pearls. They talk with the same inflections and even do the same dramatic swish of their lab coats when they want to look impressive.

But it's Lucas who looks on with subdued horror as Lukey slaughters a pangopup with a single swing of his axe just because Pangi asked him to, and it's Lukey who rolls his eyes at the way Lucas practically begs to hold the dragon egg with actual stars in his eyes, he's so excited.

So, really, it's just the same self-hatred Lukey pretends he doesn't have made incarnate.)

[justonedreamersworld]

Just like he always does

Lukas Radzevičius (Katarsis) x reader

Warnings: an argument with a loved one

Summary: Lukas is there for you after you've had a fight with someone

After being completely overwhelmed by the positive feedback on ‘Escape’ (thanks to every single person who read and liked the story - that means a lot to me!❤️), I decided to write another one shot about Lukas. He and especially the music of Katarsis continue to be extremely inspiring to me. And after a certain post by @baltameile I got the idea for this story. I hope you like it! :)

1,2k words (not proof read, one shot)

You grab your suitcase from the baggage carousel in the arrivals hall at Vilnius airport. You would like to run straight to the exit, but you pull yourself together – after all, there are other people here and you want to avoid the angry looks. So you rush towards the exit so fast that it still counts as walking and not yet as running.

The last few hours have been anything but easy for you. Shortly before you left for the Lithuanian capital, you had a bad argument with someone close to you. You threw things at each other that weren't exactly nice. Even before you were on your way to the airport, you regretted every word you said. You couldn't think about anything else on the plane - when you should actually be looking forward to your time in Vilnius with your boyfriend. Because of your long-distance relationship, you see each other far too rarely, so every second of it is precious and the anticipation that comes with it is also part of this valuable time.

You take one last deep breath, trying to banish the negative thoughts from your body before you walk through the automatic sliding door. Your eyes search the crowd of waiting people for your boyfriend's bleached hair. It only takes a few seconds before your eyes meet his and your heart stops for a moment. Despite the fact that Lukas is still about five metres away from you, you recognise how his eyes light up. His lips curl into a beautiful smile.

Now you can't hold back any longer. You approach him with quick steps, let go of your suitcase just before you reach him and let yourself fall into his arms.

‘Hey, mano meile,’ Lukas whispers before giving you a kiss on the roots of your hair.

You close your eyes, bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe in his familiar smell. All the negativity is blown away for a moment, because now you are where you are supposed to be – at home.

After dropping off your luggage at Lukas' flat, you take the bus a little way out of the city. By now you love Vilnius, but it has become a little tradition for you and Lukas to spend the first day you visit him in the nature on the outskirts of the city - weather permitting, of course. Today is a warm early summer's day - the perfect temperature for a little walk.

Your fingers are tangled with Lukas' as you walk along the edge of a forest, talking about this and that. The smell of the trees around you and the man you love by your side - it could hardly be more perfect. Nevertheless, the thoughts of the argument you had earlier don't quite leave you. Again and again they creep into your head and tear you away from this wonderful moment.

"What's wrong, mieloji? I notice that you're not fully here with me," Lukas remarks at one point and gives your hand a light squeeze. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him looking at you from the side.

Of course he notices. He notices everything. Especially everything that relates to you.

‘Yes, you're right,’ you mumble.

With a short ‘Come’, Lukas gently pulls you off the path and towards a dead tree trunk lying on the ground in the shade of the forest. You settle down on it, your fingers remaining intertwined. You keep your gaze lowered, looking at your hands. You can feel Lukas continuing to look at you. Nothing more. He waits patiently, just like he always does. Waits until you are ready to speak.

'I had a terrible argument with ...', you start at some point and from then on the words just spill out of you. You tell Lukas the whole story: How the argument came about, how it escalated, what you said to each other and that it's still really bothering you. You can feel the burden lifting a little more with every word you say.

While you're talking, Lukas doesn't interrupt you once. He sits next to you in silence, continues to hold your hand and listens to you - just like he always does.

After you have told him everything, you lift your head and look directly at Lukas. You recognise deep compassion in his eyes. He reaches out his free hand and gently strokes your cheek. Only then do you realise that a few tears are running down your face.

‘Don't cry,’ mumbles Lukas, carefully wiping away a few tears.

‘Sorry,’ you whisper in a choked voice.

You don't want to cry. You don't find it as easy to cry in front of anyone as you do in front of Lukas, but you've only had him back for a few hours and you already feel like you're ruining the mood.

"You don't need to apologise for anything. It's all right," he replies a little louder now.

You nod and wipe the last tears from your cheeks before letting Lukas pull you into a hug. You immediately wrap your arms around his shoulders and rest your chin on them. With your eyes closed, you feel how his warmth and scent envelop you - almost like protection from the outside world.

You try to concentrate fully on Lukas and what's around you. The sounds of the forest. The gentle wind. The rustling of the leaves. The birds chirping down from the trees. Bit by bit, you realise how you are calming down and arriving back in the here and now.

You carefully release yourself from the embrace, but keep your face close to Lukas'. You lose yourself in his ice-blue eyes, the tip of your nose almost touching his. His warm breath tickles your skin. Slowly, you place one hand on his cheek and with the other you gently brush back a strand of his hair that has fallen over his forehead as it so often does.

You close your eyes as Lukas' lips meet yours. As always when he kisses you, your whole body fills with warmth.

‘Are you feeling better?’ Lukas wants to know after you've pulled away from each other again and you've slipped away from him a little.

This time you hold both his hands in yours and continue to look directly at him.

‘Yes, much better,’ you reply in a slightly stronger voice and even manage a small but sincere smile.

Satisfied, Lukas smiles back and says: "Good. And tomorrow the world will look different again. Maybe you can talk to each other again then and sort things out in peace." 

‘Thank you,’ you say, nodding, after breathing in and out loudly.

"Not for that. That's what I'm here for," Lukas replies and gently squeezes your hands again.

‘And that's why I love you.’

‘Just for that?’

He raises an eyebrow questioningly and tries to look serious, but you can see clearly that he's holding back a grin.

You roll your eyes sarcastically and reply: ‘Of course not.’

Lukas starts to laugh, pulls you closer to him again and kisses you on the forehead before wrapping his arms around you again.

‘I love you too.’

Happily, you lean against him.

[m1ssunderstanding]

do you think that paul refused to initially drop acid with the beatles/john bc he was scared that he’d have a potentially bad trip in front of them? i meant with tara you get the safety of someone trustworthy that u know but without that person being of upmost importance to you. meanwhile there was so much paul could possibly worry about saying/seeing/confronting around john that he avoided it ?

(I'm assuming this is referencing my fic where, from John's POV, Paul won't do LSD with John because he doesn't love him and he's scared of bonding and connecting with him in that way and he does it with Tara because he's just obsessed with rich people)

Yes. 100% that's what was going on in Paul's head. John going, "wow it's amazing it stripped away all my defenses and I was just fully living in the present and I'll never be the same again it's just really stripped me down to my core" like it's a good thing and Paul's like "yeah that sounds terrifying no thank you I'm going to keep reinforcing my walls up until the day I die I want those things high and thick."

Meanwhile, John's not really being open about the fact that he wants Paul to trip with him for bonding purposes. Instead, he's calling him a conservative loser. So, I think Paul tried LSD with Tara, not out of any real desire of his own (I mean a little. He doesn't do things he doesn't want to do but you know what I mean.) so that he could go "no I've tried it. I'm not scared I'm just not into it. Wasn't for me." Because you're right. He was scared of ruining his most important relationships. So Tara was someone he was close enough to that he'd be safe but not someone he'd be heartbroken about losing. Very strategic.

And he wasn't wrong. There's that quote from George where he was like "you know why I don't trust Paul? Because one time when he was having a bad trip and he thought he was going to fall off this cliff I kept trying to offer him a hand to help him down and he wouldn't take it." Which is so indicative of Paul's issues that George would never understand. But anyway the point is, Paul's "bad" behavior while under the influence of LSD actually did have a serious negative impact on one of his closest relationships.

That's why, I think, he finally chose to trip with John when John was having a bad trip himself. Paul was terrified of being the problem but if John's already in a bad place he can't leave him there alone. Like George Martin said, something about "to be with him in his pain." Paul thinks it's his job to save John. And of course, with their soulmate psychic bond, they ended up melding minds and becoming one just like John had wanted and they deepened their bond and it was beautiful.

Sorry I'm up in the mtns and don't feel like looking up the actual quotes but thank you for this ask! It's so fun to get into why they did what they did and what was (I think) going on in their little messed up heads.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Hi!!

Could I hear more about the wizard au but post reconciliation?

I want ford to be proud of stan and show off his cool wizard brother <33

Love your writing!!

Hello!

And sure! First let me get how everything goes down chronologically. I'm thinking the timeline of events goes as such:

Stan suddenly becomes a wizard unexpectedly, while Fords been trying for years without success

Ford runs into Stan in the Wizard City and learns not only is Stan a wizard, he became one a month ago with 0 wizard training of one of the most prestigious wizard towers there is. Stan's tower is full of generations of wizard hoarding and has a rich history of powerful wizards. The tower itself is mega enchanted, whoever the wizard is there automatic becomes a high standing member of Wizard society.

Stan's a big deal, Ford is the scientist on the edge of wizard society. Ford rages and seethe but while Stan does think it'd funny and is giddy at having something Ford wants (true sibling behavior really) he also sees this as his opportunity to bond with Ford, fix that bridge and be brothers

Two of them hang out, Stan showing off magic stuff and getting Ford into wizard places he normally wouldn't be allowed. More and more it becomes obvious that the wizards prefer Stan and don't care for Ford as much, and the dynamic shift isn't something either of them handles well. Stan gets a little in his head from smugness and imposter syndrome, Ford seethe and feels wronged by it all

Spell incident. Stan's happy Fords helping him, and Fords trying to be supportive, like how Stan was when they were kids.

It goes terribly

Ford feels the Big Guilt. BUT! Unlike Stan he'll he the bigger person (note, Ford does not know Stan's been homeless or how awful his life's been at this point, just thought Stan either has 2 homes or ditched the other one once he got a tower. Stans been acting so nonchalant about the whole thing in his eyes stan thinks this is a joke)

Ford goes to Stan's tower to apologize, somehow does such a bad job they get into a yelling match. Ford goes on about how Stan ruined his life, cheated his way into being a wizard, is getting everything Fords been working towards for years on no effort, doesn't take any of this seriously, rubs it in his face that hes a wizard, and is a selfish jerk. Stan yells about how Ford ditched him, ruined his life, and can't even be happy Stan found a single thing. Everything has to be about Ford! Ford has to be the successful one! Ford has to be the genius! Ford gets all the cool titles and trophies and life prospects! And the moment Stan finally, finally found something that he thought Ford had nothing to do with, it's to find Ford again! Fords already a scientist and has a million PhDs and has a house and grants, why can't Ford let him have this one thing! Why can't Ford be happy Stan finally did something by himself! Sure Stan might not know why the old wizard guy picked him but you knew what! Stan likes magic! He likes being a wizard! Magics fun and cool and all the other wizards actually like him! Why can't Ford support Stan like Stan supported him their whole childhood!

(Stan is wearing a wizard get up during this btw, like this)

The big sad happens. Ford gets kicked out by the tower for making Stan sad, then storms off when he can't get in. Goes home, gets a call from his ma, finally process the fact that if Stan's been treated their whole childhood like how Fords been treated now then yeah, it would be nice to find someplace that gets you. Ford found Fiddleford and gravity falls and he's a scientist already and there's no rules making it so not being a wizard means he can't do magic. It's just a title. And Stan's been. Very childish about it, but so have all the other wizards. All of them actually. They all do weird vague nonsense stuff like Stan and he thought they had wizard secrets but what if that's just how wizards are.

Round 2 of apologies.

Stan's wizard tower is sad because Stan is sad. Fords gotta fight his way to the top floor to talk to his bro who's eating chips in bed and watching wizard drama TV and has no idea Fords fighting for his life a few floors below him. Finally burst in, blurts about how he is proud of Stan he was just frustrated and jealous that Stan understood magic and was a wizard and he's sorry about the spell and please let's just start over. Stan sniffs, accepts apology, mutters about how he's also sorry and didn't mean to be a wizard and maybe got too into showing off. Didn't know what was happening really or what he's doing, just wanted to have fun with Ford :(

They hug. Huzzah!

That got longer then I meant it to. Really got too into the fight stuff in a fit of passion.

But now they are two bros, one still a little salty about the wizard thing but now not directed at Stan about it. Ford also has a job he needs to do, so Ford will do research while Stan does wizard stuff and becomes the Wizard of Mystery, doing Mysterious Things. (I'm thinking Mystery Towers lowest floor is turned into the Mystery Shack, but more real. Stan's slapping magic and making taxidermy animals and gets a mix of other wizards who want to by stuff and like his style and regular tourists. Think normal gift shop vs Mystery shack after hours, where the reg folks get non magic bits and bobs and the wizards can buy living hands and funky Mystery potions. Stan makes them in his free time and true to name has no idea what any of them do. It's a surprise every time).

Then they'll hang out and flip flop between going on expeditions into the woods where Fords looking for anomalies and Stan's stuffing things in his bottomless wizard robes, and Wizard Quests where Stan has to run errands but it's wizard errands so he goes to the fish market on the bottom of the sea to buy fresh fish and he has to battle a giant octopus for the best tuna while Fords interviewing mermaids about their society.

Basically every other week they hang out in each other's genres and Stan goes to support Fords science things like presentations, helps get him rare materials, uses his wizard library pass to let Ford check out books at The Forbidden Library!!!! (thunder strikes) while Ford helps him bounce spell and exhibit ideas, goes to the Wizard Arena where wizards show off to support him, and goes on whacky wizard adventures.

Then they both smack talk and make fun of everyone else. Very proud of each others achievements, even if Stan doesn't really get the science stuff and Ford seethes about wizard society.

[imhalfplastic]

3AM DOESN'T LOVE YOU BACK

⊹ overview - pairing: vernon x f!reader | one-shot genre: angst · subtle smut (MDNI!!) · heartbreak · emotional rawness themes: one-sided feelings, emotional detachment, vulnerability, late-night confusion, quiet desperation, blurred boundaries cw: implied smut (again, MDNI!), emotional neglect, toxic dynamics, mentions of alcohol and cigarette use, strong language, loneliness, melancholy

summary: you didn’t mean to fall into this. it started the way most mistakes do, quietly. with a party you shouldn’t have been at, a boy you shouldn’t have kissed, and a text you should’ve ignored. it wasn’t supposed to matter. but somewhere between the silence and the sheets, you started hoping it did.

from kai: wrote this one-shot before still, in paris. so if the vibe feels kinda familiar… yeah. hopefully not too much tho lol. this one kinda hurt to write. took extra care so vernon wouldn't come off just as a jerk, you know? like, there’s no villain here. just two people not on the same page. anyway, hope you like it! lmk if i missed any cw.

now playing: moon song - phoebe bridgers

you should’ve known better

it starts the way these things always do. with a party you shouldn’t have gone to, in a house too small for the amount of people crammed inside. mid-october air bites at your bare arms but no one’s wearing jackets, too drunk on cheap liquor and the thrill of being young and reckless. the music thrums through the walls, bass vibrating under your feet, and the kitchen smells like spilled beer and something sweet, like someone tried to mix vodka with fruit punch and failed spectacularly.

you’re halfway through a plastic cup of something warm and sour when you see him in the kitchen, leaning against the fridge like he’s bored by his own existence. he has one hand tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, the other holding a red solo cup he hasn’t sipped from in at least ten minutes. head tilted slightly like he’s watching the room but doesn’t really care about any of it. he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t shout. doesn’t try to talk to anyone. he just exists: quiet, detached.

you’ve seen him before.

in psych 102, three rows behind you. always slouched in his seat, one earbud in even when the professor’s talking. he never takes notes. never raises his hand. just sits there, watching. you always wondered if he was smart or just bored.

now, up close, he looks even prettier than he does from a distance. jawline sharp under the fluorescent kitchen light. skin clear. lashes dark and low over tired eyes. someone says his name near you.

“yo, vernon!”

and that’s when you realize you don’t even know his full name. he glances over. lifts his cup in acknowledgment. doesn’t smile. you should walk away. instead, you drift closer.

“hey.”

you say. you don’t know why. maybe just to see what his voice sounds like. he glances at you. slow. his eyes flick up, down, then back to your face.

“hey.”

his voice is low. casual. kind of bored.

“you’re in my psych class.”

you offer, like that’s enough to justify the fact that you’re speaking to him at all. he nods. sips his drink.

“yeah, i know.”

a pause. you wait for him to ask your name. he doesn’t. you fill the silence with a joke about the professor. something stupid about how he always wears the same green sweater. vernon smirks. barely. but it was something so you keep talking, filling the quiet with meaningless chatter. and he lets you, nodding occasionally, his gaze drifting over your shoulder like he’s only half-listening.

somehow you end up outside, sitting on the porch steps while he smokes a cigarette. the night air is cold but you don’t shiver. you’re too focused on the way the ember glows when he inhales, the way his lips part just slightly when he exhales, smoke curling into the dark.

“you don’t talk much” you say.

“you talk enough for both of us” he replies, but there’s no malice in it.

when he walks you back to your dorm, you expect an awkward goodbye, maybe a half-hearted see you around. instead, he looks at you for a long moment, then says, “you’re chill” like it's some kind of revelation.

then he kisses you.

you didn’t expect it. soft, lazy, like he’d been thinking about it the whole time but didn’t care enough to make a big deal of it. you kissed him back anyway.

it wasn’t fireworks. it was more like a match being lit in the dark. brief, dangerous, already dying.

you hooked up that night. no promises. no texts after.

-

you don’t hear from him for a week.

you see him in class, of course. same seat, same hoodie, same detached expression but he doesn’t look at you. not once. you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. it was just a party hookup. just a kiss.

then, at 2:47am on friday, your phone lights up.

unknown number. just two words.

you up?

you stare at the screen for a second, then remember: you gave him your number that first night.

half a joke, half a hope. he never texted you.

you figured he didn’t save it.

figured you weren’t worth the storage.

guess not.

you type back:

yeah

he sends an address. a dorm on the other side of campus. you don’t hesitate. you go.

his dorm is dim, messy. a single lamp casts long shadows over the piles of clothes on the floor, the empty energy drinks on the desk. he doesn’t smile when he opens the door, just steps aside to let you in. no small talk. you both know why you’re here. there’s no point pretending otherwise. no how have you been?. just “you good?” 

you nod. that’s enough.

and then he fucks you with this same quiet urgency. like he needs it. like you are the only one who could give it to him. so you slept with him again. and again. and again.

no one’s supposed to catch feelings

you try to play it cool.

in the way you walk past him in class without looking. in the way you pretend you don’t scan the room every time you walk into a party, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

you keep telling yourself it’s nothing. it doesn’t mean anything. it’s just late night texts and quiet sex and unspoken rules. you’re not together. you don’t talk during the day. there are no good mornings, no how was your test, no are you eating enough.

but sometimes... sometimes you think about him at 3pm instead of 3am.

and that’s when it starts to get dangerous.

you sit three rows ahead of him in psych. same as always. he’s got his hood up, face half-buried in his sleeve, looking like he’s somewhere else entirely. he doesn’t look at you. doesn’t glance your way. not even when you “accidentally” drop your pen loud enough for the people around you to turn. not even when you laugh too loudly at the professor’s joke. 

he used to seem mysterious. now he just feels far away.

and still, when your phone lights up at 3:11am:

you up?

you go.

always.

you try to act like it doesn’t matter. like you’re doing this because it’s easy. because it’s simple. because it doesn’t ask anything from you. but then you’re lying next to him and you can’t stop thinking about how quiet he gets after. how he never touches you unless it’s for something he wants.

you don’t say anything for a long time.

until one night, it slips.

you’re both lying there, tangled in sheets that smell like his body wash and sleep. your skin’s still warm from him. his chest rises slow, steady. he’s almost gone, eyes fluttering closed, breathing evening out.

and you ruin it.

“do you ever think this is weird?”

your voice is small. you hate how it sounds.

he shifts a little, one hand behind his head, like he didn’t quite hear you. but then he says, voice heavy with sleep.

“what do you mean?”

you hesitate.

“just… we don’t talk. at all. outside of this.”

he doesn’t open his eyes. just shrugs.

“yeah, but it works.”

you feel something in you twist. tight and small. you stare at the ceiling. try not to feel the sting behind your eyes. you wait for him to ask why you’re asking. he doesn’t.

you nod to yourself, like that’s enough.

like you didn’t just want him to care.

it felt like something

he’s not mean to you. that’s what makes it worse.

he doesn’t ghost you. doesn’t ignore you after you leave. he always replies. short, dry, but there. he never tells you not to come. he just never asks you to stay.

and somewhere in between all the almosts, you start confusing his silence for softness. he lets you wear his hoodie once, when you show up to his dorm soaked from the rain. you make a joke about how your shirt’s practically see-through, and he says “here”.

he tosses you the grey hoodie from his chair. it smells like him. you wear it home. he doesn’t ask for it back. you keep it in your closet, folded. like a secret.

sometimes, when the room is quiet and the air still hums from what just happened, he touches your face. not every time. but sometimes. the back of his fingers grazing your cheek, lazy and slow. like he’s half-asleep or not thinking at all.

your heart screams every time. this is something. this means something. he wouldn’t do this if he didn’t care. right?

one night, you fall asleep there. not on purpose. you were tired. his sheets were warm. his breathing was steady... he doesn’t wake you.

you wake up with sunlight in your eyes and his hand resting heavy on your waist. he’s still asleep. face soft. brow relaxed. his lips slightly parted. you lie still, careful not to move, careful not to wake him, like maybe if you stay quiet enough the moment will keep existing.

for a second, you let yourself believe this is real. you let yourself pretend. when he finally stirs, you fake a sleepy smile

“morning.”

he blinks, groggy. checks his phone. mutters,

“you stayed?”

you freeze.

"yeah, i fell asleep. sorry.”

he shrugs. sits up. runs a hand through his hair. you wait for him to say something else. he doesn’t. you dress in silence, the kind that feels louder than any fight. he walks you to the door like always. doesn’t kiss you goodbye. never has.

you keep thinking about that moment. 'you stayed?'

you try not to take it personally. you fail.

you promise yourself you won’t let it happen again. that it’s done. that you’re done. that you won’t text him anymore.

but then, a week later he texts you.

you stare at the screen for so long it goes dark.

u busy?

your hands shake a little.

it’s stupid. you know it’s stupid. but still, he texted you. without you reaching out first. you answer fast.

not really.

he replies:

come over?

you almost smile. almost. you go.

this time, something feels different. not in a big way. but in the way he kisses you. a little slower. like he’s paying attention. like he’s there.

his fingers on your waist are steadier. his mouth lingers at your jaw. and later, when it’s over, he doesn’t turn away. he stays next to you, one arm draped over his eyes, legs still brushing yours. you stare at the ceiling, heart pounding, telling yourself this is real.

this means something.

he cares. he has to. you just have to be patient.

you want to ask him something. anything. but you don’t want to break the spell.

so you just whisper:

“you okay?”

he nods, still not looking.

“just tired.”

his voice is low, muffled by his own arm.

you almost say 'me too'.

but not because of classes or sleep or life.

tired of this. tired of guessing. tired of not being wanted the way you want him.

but you don’t say that either. you never do.

still, when you go home that night, you wear his hoodie again.

and when you look in the mirror, you pretend you’re someone he misses. someone he texts just because. someone he wants to wake up next to, not someone who forgot to leave.

the part where you leave

it starts with nothing. it always does.

just the two of you, quiet and spent, the room still breathing around your bodies. his lamp casts that soft amber glow, the kind that makes everything feel a little warmer than it really is. your skin’s still flushed. your limbs still tangled. and he’s already reaching for his phone.

you watch him scroll. thumb moving slow over the screen. like you’re not even there. like what just happened didn’t matter enough to make him stay inside it for a little longer.

you don’t know why that’s what breaks you, but it is.

“do you even care that i’m here?”

you say it without thinking. he doesn’t look up.

“what?”

“you just... every time, it’s like i’m only here for one thing. it’s like i disappear the second we’re done.”

he puts his phone down. slow. calm. too calm.

“we never said this was more than that.”

you sit up, blanket slipping down your back. your voice cracks before it rises.

“yeah, but maybe i wanted it to be. just a little.”

he stares at you like you just said something inconvenient. like you ruined the vibe.

“why are you making this complicated?”

he asks, quiet, annoyed.

you exhale, bitter and small. “i’m not trying to. i just… i like you, vernon.”

his expression doesn’t change.

you say it again, softer. like maybe the softness will make him hear it differently.

“i like you.”

there’s a pause. it stretches too long. your throat tightens with it.

“i hate how little you care.”

he doesn’t react. no shock. no guilt. nothing. just that same flat stare he always gives when you get too close to something real.

“you knew what this was.”

your chest tightens.

you nod. once. twice. you’re not sure why. maybe just to prove you’re still here.

“i did. i just thought…”

you trail off. it sounds so pathetic in your head. you can’t say the rest out loud. you can’t say i thought maybe you’d care, eventually. i thought maybe i was different.

so instead, you say: “i thought maybe you’d feel something too.”

he shakes his head. sighs like you’re exhausting. like you’re the problem.

“honestly, i don’t wanna do this right now”

“you never wanna do anything, vernon. not unless it’s fucking.”

he doesn’t answer.

he stands. reaches for his hoodie, pulling it on like it’s armor. like he can’t let you see him the way you need to.

“then stop coming here.”

it’s not mean. it’s not loud. it’s just… true.

you freeze.

he doesn’t take it back. doesn’t soften it. he just stands there. like the silence will do the talking for him.

so you grab your shirt from the floor. your bag from his chair. you dress in silence, moving like a robot. you don’t cry. not here. not where he can see.

you close the door behind you, soft.

and then you run.

that night, you don’t sleep.

you keep checking your phone like it might do something on its own. like it might light up with his name, telling you he didn’t mean it. that he’s sorry. that he’s outside.

but it doesn’t.

the next day, you see him across campus. hood up. earbuds in. same as always. his eyes pass right over you like they always did. like nothing ever happened. like your heart was never in his hands.

and maybe, to him, it never was.

nothing to ruin

you get too drunk the next weekend.

different party. different house. same feeling. the kind that settles in your chest like static. you smile at people you barely know. drink something warm and cheap and red. laugh at a joke you don’t hear. and when a guy leans in, smelling like whiskey and citrus body spray, you let him kiss you.

it’s nothing. his lips are too soft. his hands too eager. it doesn’t feel like anything.

you leave before midnight.

walk home alone. shoes in your hand. makeup smudged. your phone cold in your back pocket.

you check it before you even get inside. nothing. no new messages. no missed calls.

you sit on the edge of your bed. stare at the wall for a while.

then, maybe out of loneliness, maybe out of hope, you text him.

can i come over?

you tell yourself you won’t wait. but you do. thirty seconds pass. then forty-five. and then:

door’s open.

you don’t even feel relieved. just... empty.

that’s how you know. he doesn’t hate you. he’s just not in love with you.

-

his dorm is dark when you get there.

he’s already in bed, hoodie on, hair messy. the tv’s playing something muted in the background. you don’t speak. you don’t smile. he barely looks at you.

you sit on the edge of the bed. he lifts the blanket without a word. you crawl under.

he undresses you like it’s habit. like he’s folding laundry. not rough. not sweet. just practiced.

you let him. because pretending still feels easier than naming the ache in your chest.

you don’t even close your eyes when it’s over. just stare at the ceiling while his hand rests heavy on your thigh, his breathing already evening out.

you sit up. pull your clothes back on. quietly.

he’s on his phone. thumb scrolling aimlessly, not really looking at anything.

your chest feels tight. not sharp. just steady. like background noise you can’t mute anymore.

“vernon”

you say, and he looks at you. just a glance. not annoyed. not interested. just… waiting.

you ask anyway.

“what am i to you?”

he stares at you for a second, like he’s trying to figure out why you’re asking again. like the answer hasn’t always been clear.

he blinks. then looks back at his screen. his voice is even.

“someone i hook up with.”

you flinch.

it’s not new information, but it still hits like it is.

“right,” you say. your throat tightens. “right.”

you look down at your hands. they’re shaking.

“you don’t feel anything when i’m here?”

he sighs. but not like he’s mad. just tired.

like this isn’t the first time he’s had to say this to someone. maybe not even the second.

“we’ve done this.”

“i know.” you whisper. “but...”

he cuts you off. gently.

“don’t ruin it.”

you stand. start pacing the tiny space between his bed and the wall like movement might keep you from falling apart.

“how the fuck am i ruining something that doesn’t even exist?”

he doesn’t answer. just watches. calm. quiet.

you laugh once, short and bitter. like choking on a joke that isn’t funny anymore.

“you really don’t feel bad?”

he shakes his head. not cruel. just honest.

“i never lied to you.”

“but you let me think…”

his eyes meet yours.

“you let yourself think.”

you freeze. and it’s not even what he says. it’s how calm he is. how easy this is for him.

“you could’ve said no tonight.”

he shrugs.

“you texted. i said yes. that’s what we do.”

that’s when you realize this is all it was ever going to be. no matter how long you stayed. no matter how soft your voice got. no matter how many times you wore his hoodie home.

you stare at him for a second. then longer.

“i don’t think i can do this anymore.”

he nods. once. “that’s okay. i get you.”

and that? that’s the part that hurts the most.

not the robotic sex. not the silence. not even the honesty.

just how easy it is for him to let you go.

you grab your bag. your shoes.

you don’t say goodbye. and he doesn’t ask you to.

you just leave.

and this time, you don’t look back.

it was fun

it’s been a while. you stop counting after day ten.

at some point, it becomes easier to pretend you weren’t waiting. that your phone lighting up didn’t make your stomach drop, even when it wasn’t him. that the silence didn’t feel like punishment.

he hasn’t texted. hasn’t looked at you. doesn’t do anything that might suggest you ever existed in his world beyond a door left unlocked after midnight.

you pass him near the dining hall once. he’s laughing. head tilted back, lips parted, eyes bright. there’s a girl beside him. tall, pretty, someone you’ve never seen before. her hand brushes his arm and he doesn’t flinch. it guts you more than you want to admit.

you look away before he sees you.

that night, you check his instagram. stories lit up in little circles. you tap through them like they don’t matter, like each one isn’t some kind of proof. highlights full of parties, smoke, new people in his room.

you’re not in any of them.

but that’s the thing: you were never in any of them. not even when you were there.

still, you don’t block him. you just let it sit. you just keep moving. or at least, pretend to.

-

until one night, you see him at a party.

it’s loud. too loud. music rattling off the walls, lights flickering like they’re trying to imitate memory.

you weren’t going to come. but someone said your name too many times, and staying home felt worse.

he’s leaning against a wall, drink in hand, eyes low. his hair’s longer now. his smile is lazy. just like it started. he hasn’t seen you yet.

you almost leave.

but something inside you, stupid and stubborn, pulls you forward. your feet move before your mind does. and suddenly you’re standing in front of him.

his eyes lift. slow. recognition flickers, but doesn’t stay long.

“hey” you say. too soft.

“hey.”

like nothing happened. like you didn’t tear yourself open for him and get nothing back. you look at him for a long second. just enough to feel everything and nothing at once. you want to hit him. shake him. force something out of him. a flinch. a breath. anything. you want to ask why. but you already know. so instead, you try one last time.

“did any of it matter to you?”

your voice barely trembles. but your hands won’t stop moving. you curl your fingers into your palm like maybe you can squeeze the question back in.

he looks at you for a second too long. not surprised. just still.

then he shrugs. casual. easy.

“of course.” he looks at you like you just asked the most obvious question in the world. like you’re the one making this harder than it has to be. “it was fun. you were chill.”

that’s all he says. not i’m sorry. not i didn’t mean to hurt you. not i wish things were different, not even a fucking lie to soften the blow. just: it was fun.

you nod. once. then again, slower. like you’re trying to push the moment back into your body and lock it away forever.

“cool.” you say. “glad i could be your fun.”

you turn before your voice can betray you. before your throat gives in. before he can see whatever’s left unraveling behind your eyes.

you don’t look back.

you don’t look back. you don’t look back. you never do again.

-

later, in your room, you delete his contact. but you keep the texts.

not because you want them. not because you’ll ever open them again.

just… because part of you needs the proof. that it happened. that you weren’t dreaming. that you weren’t just some girl who made it all up in her head.

you keep it. quietly. stupidly. like they might explain something you still don’t understand. even if it didn’t mean anything to him. even if you were never more than 3AM.

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; choso kamo

requested by ; anonymous (13/09/24)

fandom(s) ; jujutsu kaisen

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; choso kamo

outline ; “Can I request sfw dating headcanons for (Jujutsu Kaisen) Choso with gn s/o please?”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

choso may be pretty new to the whole ‘being a human’ thing, but that fact hasn’t stopped him from doing everything he can to be the best mentor, brother, friend, and boyfriend that he possibly can be — even if he can be a bit awkward and clumsy about how he approaches each of those roles sometimes

he resonates pretty strongly with all of the main love languages and makes frequent use of them all throughout your relationship — though he will lean more heavily into those that you tell him are more meaningful to you (because, in his mind, that’s what a good boyfriend ought to do)

acts of service — he lives to take care of his loved ones (you and his brothers) so it almost goes without saying that he goes out of his way to take care of you whenever he can… which usually just means him doing any and everything he can to protect you from harm (not because he doesn’t think you’re capable of keeping yourself safe, but just because he can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt in any way)

and if you return the favour by doting on him and his brothers — making sure they’re all eating by preparing extra helpings of food, checking them both over after missions to make sure they’re not brushing over any injuries, bringing them water after sparring sessions, offering a helping hand when either of them get sick, etc. — then choso will just fall even deeper in love with you and won’t quite know what to do with himself

gift giving — he brings things home from missions and trips with his brother that make him think of you — either because the object in question is explicitly related to something you’ve mentioned liking/that he’s noticed that you like, or because it just reminded him of you for some reason — and while this usually entails bought things (like jewellery or clothing or food or merch) this can sometimes mean him just picking up a pretty flower or a neat rock and bringing it back to you (usually with yuuji’s encouragement, because duh)

and for his own part he adores and keeps everything you gift to him for as long as possible (unless it’s something perishable, like flowers, or made to be consumed)

physical touch — he may not be accustomed to gentle touches and physical affection, having spent most of his life before you either wholly isolated or surrounded by violence, but once you introduce him to it he becomes almost addicted to it. he can’t get enough of your kisses, your hugs, the way you hold him like he’s something precious, and if you don’t stop him he could easily spend the whole day curled up in your arms, nuzzling your neck and basking in your affection without ever growing tired of it

quality time — it’s important for him that he gets to spend plenty of bonding time with all of his loved ones, both independently (e.g. going on dates with you and going to the cinema with yuuji) and all together (he just wants the most important people in his life to get along…) — though as his partner he does naturally tend to spend more alone time with you and is happy to go along with whatever you have planned. after all, as long as choso gets to be with you he couldn’t care less about what you’re actually doing

words of affirmation — he’s not the most talkative person on the planet but choso rarely ever minces his words and tends to say what he means, and that means whenever he compliments or praises you that he’s being completely genuine about it

… and, likewise, on the days where he’s feeling low or less-than it helps a great deal to have you there to soothe him and wash his worries away by assuring him that he’s loved, that he’s human, and that he’s a wonderful brother (yes, even if yuuji is annoyed with him right now)

aside from the lips, obviously, his favourite places to be kissed are his hands and his cheeks — and his favourite places to kiss you are your forehead and wrists

loves it when you play with his hair while you’re cuddling and will get all cute and pouty when you stop and/or start (lovingly) teasing him about it

thinks pet names like ‘sweetheart’ and ‘baby’ and ‘love’ are cute and endearing in their own way, but nothing melts his heart quite like you straight up calling him ‘boyfriend’ (or whatever title he has at the time, e.g. ‘fiancé’ or ‘husband’)

he goes to the other teachers — and even sometimes to the students — for relationship advice a lot during the earlier stages of your courtship and applies all of what he’s told to… well… varying degrees of success

he’s very vocal and open about his support for you in just about everything you do: he does his own research, listens intently to what you have to say, shows up for you physically and monetarily, and never misses the things that are important to you unless it’s literally a life or death situation (and even then he feels terrible)

his lockscreen is a picture of you and yuuji smiling after you both took his brother to see a rerun of his favourite film in the cinema, and his homescreen is a photo of you and him on a date from super early in your relationship that you took and sent to him (and that he’s had as his homescreen ever since)

hates hearing you talk negatively about yourself and will do whatever he can to help you see yourself as he does

frets so much when you’re sent on missions without him (if you’re a sorcerer) and always tries to be the first one to check in one you when you get back — or, failing that, he’ll send in his brother on his behalf just to make sure you’re alright

[dumbkitsune]

All of Mike's expressions are 100% intentional

And if we put all of them together it tells us one thing: Bro does not like girls

I have been going to acting classes for a while or so and I belive that for me now its pretty easy to analyze a character's behaviour based on what the director has asked him to do:

Directors always tell the actor how they must behave with each phrase they're saying + the context of whats going on. Now, what is interesting here is that they never tell them "Hey, you need to look angry" or sad, or you need to put on a face of disgust, THEY NEVER DO THAT

Imnotgoingtoexplainwhyisthat BUT THE POINT IS, that instead of saying what emotion they must try to express with their performance, they give them a verb:

(For example) Despise, encourage, stress, confuse...

They're not exactly emotions but they help express them and for the actor is easier to portray that charcter.

OKAY SO after all this yapping session (it might be a bit boring but necessary to understand whats coming) lets check out some of Mike Wheeler's expressions:

Lmao this is one of my fav ones

Okay so, based on what I just explain, what verb was Finn trying to portray in this scene? Surely it CANNOT BE "excite" or "fall in love" I mean, does that face tell you that? 💀

IMO this has to be something like "being" in shock or scared even. Confuse might be also the word BUT YOU CANNOT SAY TO ME THAT THIS MAN WAS ENJOYING THE MOMENT.

Ive seen TONS of Milkvans trying to excuse this face, as if the acting doesnt mean anything atp:

"He was surprised that El finally said ily to him"

Well he should have been more happy about it, and if this was true, we would have been able to see a positive reaction out of that kiss. The scene is very long but the only thing we see for a bunch of seconds is a very confused and even disgusted face.

"Mike has been doing that face all season so it doesnt necessarely mean anything"

Okay so first of all that is just straight up a lie, a fact that you literally made up (this also proves how Milkvans do really watch the show with their eyes closed) and secondly, with that you're saying that Finn is a bad actor. Since yk, he portrays his charcter so horribly, he makes the same god damn expression for everything.

This is obviously another lie, Finn is a wonderful actor that for sure captures the emotion the director is telling him to express.

And you dont even have to know all of these details Im explaining rn to know he didnt enjoy the kiss. You just have to see that look on his face💀 like bruh. If you think that my man over here was sooo in love with El Im sorry but you're the delulu one.

Lets move to another one:

(off topic but he looks soo pookie here omggg he is just :3)

I've put Dustin too so we can compare both expressions based on whats going on.

Lil context here, this was Eddie's intro, the cafeteria scene, he was rambling about DnD, how he will graduate, etc.

As we can see in the pic we have Dustin laughing his ass off with Eddie's behavior and then Mike... well, Mike seems to be having a great time like his friend but, uhm... He isnt quite laughing as much like Dustin and the others, right?

Now, if I never watched ST in my life and you pull up this pic so I can figure out the context my answer would be: The guy on the back (Dustin) is laughing at someone or something but the guy at the front (Mike) is not paying attention to the same thing as the other one.

This is because what their faces are telling us is something very different from one another. In Mike's case he seems to be admiring somebody, like a crush of some sort cause he is all giggly n shit.

I bet the director really wanted to make that difference and they gave the actors different purposes for their characters, hence, different verbs to express what they're feelling.

And Im sorry but you cannot tell me they all had the same goal here because the whole scene its not just Dustin laughing, its the whole table who is laughing with Eddie. Except Mike, since he seems focused on something else. (He is a homo)

Here you cant pull up again "It just Finn's way of acting" because as I just said he is an amazing actor that can really put the performance the director told him to do.

Every single face, every single gesture he is making is intentional. Especially when it comes to such a detailed series like ST.

With this second pic I showed its just to prove once more that Mike "might be into some new things" (Finn's words, not mine!)

He aint very keen to the opposite sex, if you get what I mean.

OKAY, WOW, THIS ANALYSIS IS ACTUALLY SOO LONG so for now Im going to leave it here, only for now. Also take into account that this analysis if from my persperctive, so you might not agree with some things.

If you actually liked this analysis and made it this far tysm ^_^ and lmk if you want me to check out more of Mike's expressions.