#vi that ask has given me a lot of thoughts and i really like all of them.
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im so normal about sym because he gives you. weird nicknames. which makes me normal.
#NO BECAUSE. OGUOIGHOGHG#he calls you sugarbug and that's like. idk man that sounds kinda weird to me#but. it's also very endearing BECAUSE#sugarbugs are a xenofauna. aka the creatures discovered on vertumna!!!!#and so him using that as a term of endearment is so. dhsjkhgd. to me. because it's something only HE could use#something only he'd come up with because there's no one else who would!! or could tbh#ugh. UGH#im finally answering vi's 'would you love me if i was a worm' ask#vi that ask has given me a lot of thoughts and i really like all of them.
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arcane characters proposing x fem reader
characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.
writer's note: it was so satisfying to have written this after so much dramaaaa. i really liked this dynamic and i'll exploit it with so much more scenarios so be prepared for a lot of fluff, btw my favorite proposal was jayce's, he was all cute and clumsy. as you already know request are open ;)
wedding link:
Viktor
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The silence in the lab is heavy, interrupted only by the soft hum of the machines he has designed himself. You’re beside him, watching how his fingers move with skill, adjusting a piece of the contraption he holds in his hands. The dim light from the lamps reflects on his face, casting shadows that highlight the features of his face, always so serious, so focused. But in his eyes, there’s something different today. Something... softer, deeper.
You’re used to seeing him in his colder, distant side, but something has changed. There’s a strange calmness in his presence. When he looks up and meets your gaze, his lips curl slightly, a small but meaningful smile.
"Science is my life," he says in his deep, measured tone, as if evaluating each word before speaking. "And it always has been. But some time ago, something changed. Something that... has nothing to do with experiments or formulas. Something I can’t measure or control."
He looks at you with an intensity that feels almost uncomfortable, as if he were exposed, vulnerable, on ground where he doesn’t have all the answers. His voice, though firm, carries a vulnerability he rarely shows.
"You’ve given me more than I thought I needed," he continues, his eyes never leaving yours. "It’s not just what you’ve done for me in the lab. It’s... what you’ve done for me as a person. You’ve been my anchor, my reason to keep going when everything seemed lost. In a world that doesn’t have clear answers, you’re the only certainty I have."
The distance between the two of you seems to shorten. Viktor takes a step toward you, although his movements are slow, as if each one carries meaning. He stops beside you, almost as if it were a gesture of trust, of allowing himself to be vulnerable in your presence. He closes his eyes for a moment, as if preparing to say something that has taken him a long time to decide.
"What I’m about to say... doesn’t have any exact formula. No calculation that validates it," he says, and you can see his hands tremble slightly. "But I know that, with everything I’ve done, with everything I still want to do, I would never feel complete without you."
His voice is soft now, much quieter, as if what he’s about to say is a secret, one he’s revealing only to you.
"I’ve seen you beyond the brilliant mind, beyond the scientist who always challenges me. I’ve seen you as someone who, no matter how many times I shut myself off from the world, continues to be by my side, expecting nothing more than... to be with me."
He takes something from his pocket. A small metal case. He opens the lid carefully, revealing a simple ring, but with an elegance that only he could have imagined and created. The Hextech light reflects off the blue stone, casting glimmers that make your breath catch for a moment.
"My life wouldn’t be the same without you. And if there’s one thing in this world I don’t want to lose, it’s the opportunity to have you by my side forever."
Viktor looks at you deeply, waiting, more vulnerable than he’s ever been. And finally, after all the science, all the advancements, all the sacrifices... he asks you with a sincerity that cuts through the air:
"Will you marry me?"
The silence that follows is absolute. You stay motionless, unable to articulate a word. The weight of his declaration, of his vulnerability, pierces you, but instead of an immediate response, you dive into the intensity of his eyes, looking for something, any sign, any confirmation that this isn’t a dream. Viktor begins to worry, and the discomfort is reflected on his face.
"It’s a shame... I can’t do it the conventional way, kneeling..." he murmurs, his voice trembling. "But... I guess..."
You can’t let him finish the sentence. The anxiety in his eyes, the insecurity in his posture, prevents you from doing so. You move quickly, placing your lips on his with a soft kiss, but one filled with everything you can’t put into words. The world seems to fade away, and all that remains is him, the beating of your heart, and that silent connection between you two.
When you finally pull away, his gaze is still fixed on you, expectant, anxious. With a tenderness that comes from deep within, you take his face in your hands, your fingers caressing his skin as if it were the most precious thing in the world. And it was. He was the most precious thing in your world.
You look deeply into his eyes, every word that leaves your mouth filled with love, promises, and everything you haven’t said until now.
"Yes, Viktor... yes, yes, yes. Always yes."
The air between you both is filled with a new energy, one that needs no more words, because the simple fact of being together is enough.
Jinx
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The night has fallen, but it’s not a peaceful one. The air is charged with electricity, as if the whole world is waiting for something, and you, trapped in the whirlwind of the city, can’t help but feel that something is about to explode. Literally.
You walk through the dark alleys of the Undercity, the neon lights flickering around you, when suddenly, a familiar laugh makes you turn. Jinx appears, her electric blue hair waving in the wind and a spark of madness in her eyes. She’s holding a large, seemingly heavy box in her hands, grinning mischievously.
“Surprise!” she says, her voice overflowing with excitement. “I’ve got something incredible to show you. It’s bigger than anything you’ve ever seen!”
Before you can say anything, she grabs your hand and drags you toward an open space, where a small platform is set up, filled with wires and explosives. The sense of danger is in the air, but it’s impossible not to feel the adrenaline she radiates. You know that with Jinx, you can’t expect anything conventional, but that’s what makes her so unpredictable. So... perfect.
“What are you doing?” you ask, although you can already imagine the kind of madness she has in mind.
“Doing what I’ve always wanted to do! A celebration of love that no one will ever forget!” she replies, her smile so wide it almost lights up the city’s darkness.
Jinx runs toward an improvised control panel and presses a button with exaggerated theatricality, as if it were a grand revelation. Suddenly, the sky lights up. A flash of colors bursts above you, as if the very chaos inside her wanted to spill over into the universe. Fireworks. A visual spectacle so dazzling that it takes your breath away. It’s as if the whole city is alive, as if life and death themselves were dancing in the sky.
While the explosions of colors fill the air, Jinx approaches you, her eyes sparkling as if she had immersed herself in her own world of madness and love. She’s not one to beat around the bush or speak sweetly, so when she takes your face in her hands, her fingers cold but full of energy, you know what she’s about to say is as unexpected as everything she does.
“Listen,” she says, looking at the colorful stars exploding above them. “What I love most about this world is the chaos. Things don’t have to be perfect or make sense! But... there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of.”
Your heart beats faster, but you can’t help but smile at her wild declaration.
“I want you to be my chaos,” she continues, her voice full of determination. “I want you to join me in this journey of madness, to hold on to me when I explode, to keep laughing when the world falls apart, to follow me... because you and I are invincible!”
With a nearly mischievous grin, Jinx pulls something from her jacket: a ring. It’s quirky, like everything in her life, with visible gears and sparkling stones, some even crackling slightly, as if they’re about to explode.
“What I mean is... will you marry me? Tell me yes before I run out of fireworks!”
Jinx’s laughter is a little overwhelming, an echo of her own unpredictable essence. But despite all her chaos, there’s something so sincere in her eyes, something that makes you feel that, even though the world may be on the edge of destruction, this moment, this chaos, is the only thing that truly matters.
You stand there, speechless for a moment, overwhelmed by the light bombardment and the madness of the proposal, but when you see how she looks at you, waiting, you realize you have no doubts. Jinx has made it clear in her own language: love is a dangerous game, but you want to play it by her side.
With a brilliant smile, you approach her, and between the lights, amid the roar, you whisper:
“Yes, Jinx. Yes, to this chaos. Yes, always.”
Vi
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You’re lying on the couch, comfortable and relaxed, with your head resting on Vi’s legs. The soft sound of the city that never sleeps drifts in from the window, but inside the house, the silence feels cozy. Vi is sitting, her muscles tense but calm, with a thoughtful expression as she plays with your hair, something that always soothes you.
The warmth of her presence surrounds you, and for a moment, everything seems perfect. But something in the air changes. Vi’s relaxed demeanor begins to feel different, as if she’s holding something back. You realize that, for the first time, she’s not being the confident Vi, the one who always has everything under control.
“Are you okay?” you ask, lifting your head from her legs to look at her directly. Vi doesn’t answer right away, and her fingers stop moving through your hair. There’s uncertainty in her eyes, something you haven’t seen before.
She shifts, crosses her legs, but doesn’t seem as comfortable as usual. “You know... I’m not really good with these things,” she says, her voice softer than usual. “I’m always the one who throws punches and solves everything my way, but now...” Her gaze drops to the floor for a moment, avoiding eye contact.
You look at her, sensing that something important is about to come out of her mouth. On her face, that nervous grimace is a clear sign that she’s struggling with herself. Something’s going on, but she doesn’t know how to express it.
“What I mean is... I’ve never been good with words,” Vi continues, letting out a nervous laugh. “And I’m not one for grand gestures or fancy things. I’m not someone who can give you the best, like... you know, expensive jewelry or fancy places. But there’s something I know I want.”
Vi takes something from her pocket, and when you see it, a small ring appears between her fingers. It’s not shiny or flashy. It’s simple, made of metal with a rustic design, almost as if she made it herself. A small symbol of her effort and her love.
“This... isn’t much,” she says, looking at the ring with a slight embarrassment. “I got it with what I could save. It’s not perfect, but... I want it to be a symbol of who I am for you. Of everything we’ve been through together. And... I want us to be together. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, even if I’m not the best at this. Because, despite everything, I love you more than I can put into words.”
Vi looks at the ring like it’s a simple object, but in her eyes, you can see how much it means to her. Her insecurity is palpable, as if she’s waiting for the ring to not be enough. But you know that’s not what matters. You know it’s all she has to offer you, and that’s what makes this moment even more special.
You see her nervous, waiting for a response, and you can’t help but smile. You get up and stand in front of her, gently touching her hands, and when you look at her, the insecurity on her face melts away, though her voice is still a fearful whisper.
“Vi,” you say, with a sincere smile. “I don’t care about the ring, I don’t care about what you couldn’t give me. What matters is that you’ve shown me more love than I ever imagined. Yes, I want to marry you. Yes, I always want to be with you, by your side.”
Vi looks at you as if she can’t believe what she just heard. Her face lights up with a pure expression of relief and happiness. Even though the words aren’t perfect, everything this moment means is in her eyes. She lets out a nervous laugh and, without thinking, pulls you into a tight hug.
“I knew you’d say yes,” she whispers, but her voice is full of emotion. And you, amid the laughter and the embrace, know that despite everything that has happened, this moment couldn’t be more perfect.
Caitlyn
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Night has fallen over Piltover, and the city lights shine with a golden glow, reflecting the majesty of the buildings and the life that has always characterized this city. Caitlyn has invited you to dinner at one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, an elegant place, tastefully decorated, where the panoramic view takes your breath away. The atmosphere is calm, yet filled with a sophisticated air. The murmurs of other diners do not interrupt the softness of the background music.
Caitlyn looks impeccable, as always, in her elegant dress that accentuates her delicate but strong features. The soft candlelight flickers on her face, highlighting the concentration in her eyes. From the moment you entered the restaurant, you could sense something in the air, but she is determined to maintain composure, even though her hands occasionally move restlessly over the table.
The dinner goes on as usual, with Caitlyn talking about her latest research advancements, her projects, and concerns about the future of Piltover. But even though the topic is important and her voice is firm, you can't help but notice the tension inside her. She drinks a bit more wine than she normally would, and from time to time, her fingers play with the glass as if she is seeking comfort.
"I've been waiting for this," she says suddenly, her eyes fixed on you, although her tone betrays her nervousness. "I don't know if I'm good at this, but I think... well, I need to be honest. I don't like hiding things, and this is important."
Your eyes meet hers, noticing how a slight blush begins to appear on her cheeks. Caitlyn, the woman who always has a logical answer for everything, now looks completely vulnerable. But it's not her nervousness that makes you smile; it's the way she looks at you, as if this moment is more important than any project or achievement.
Caitlyn sighs deeply and finally gets up from her chair, giving you a little spin around the table. You don't know if it's to calm herself or because she needs to distract her thoughts, but she approaches slowly, as if each step is a challenge. Her hands tremble slightly as she places them on the table, and you realize that something very important is about to happen.
"I know this isn't something I planned in the traditional way," she says, her voice soft but firm, "but... this is how I feel. And I want you to know." She lifts her hand, showing you a small ring, whose shine is subtle but radiant. It is a delicate ring, with a simple yet elegant design, of impeccable quality. And when you see it, you realize it's not just any jewel.
It's the ring her mother wore at her wedding, the same one Caitlyn had seen so many times, the one she had touched with so much love when she was a child. A symbol of tradition, of enduring love. A symbol of family.
"This is my mother's ring," Caitlyn says, almost whispering. "I know it's not a modern ring, nor expensive compared to what I could buy, but... it holds a very special meaning. For me, it means everything I want to offer you. My family, my love, my commitment. My promise that I'll always be by your side."
She looks at you, her eyes shining with emotion, as if it were the first time she showed something so intimate, so hers. There are no doubts in her gaze, only a deep certainty of what she's saying, but her voice remains soft, sincere.
"I love you," she says, with a clarity that reaches straight to your heart. "And I want you to be my partner in all of this, not just in the good moments, but in the difficult ones. Because, for me, there is no one else I want to be with. Only you."
Caitlyn places the ring in front of you, and for a moment, all the bustle of the restaurant disappears. Only the soft sound of her breath and the beating of your heart remain. You know what you have to do, but this moment feels so perfect, so genuine, that the words seem stuck in your throat. All you want to do is take her hand, look her in the eyes, and say yes.
Finally, your words come out with a wide smile. "Yes, Cait. Yes, I want to spend my life with you."
Caitlyn's eyes light up with a happiness that makes you feel as if everything is in its place, as if nothing else matters about what may come in the future. This moment, this commitment, is everything you both needed.
Caitlyn hugs you tightly, and the ring shines on your finger, a symbol of a pure and deep love, born from honesty, vulnerability, and sincerity from a woman who, despite her external perfection, has always been real with you.
Jayce
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The day had been long and full of work, but Jayce, with his determined spirit, decided to surprise you. Instead of taking you to a fancy restaurant or preparing something sophisticated, he had a much bolder idea—a homemade dinner. That made you smile immediately, knowing that Jayce wasn’t exactly an expert chef. But you didn’t care; the idea of sharing something so personal with him excited you more than any gourmet dinner.
When you entered the kitchen, you found him with an expression of total concentration, mixing ingredients in a way that left much to be desired, but you found it charming. He had made pasta, something simple, but it had surely cost him more effort than he wanted to admit.
"Surprise!" he said as he saw you approach. Although the dish wasn’t a culinary masterpiece, you sat with him, and despite the imperfections, you enjoyed every bite. The smile on his face as he watched you eat was enough to make everything seem perfect. And when, after a while of talking and laughing, you got up to go to the bathroom, he took the opportunity to open a special bottle of wine.
When you returned, the glass was ready, and seeing the wine in it and the label on the bottle, your eyes lit up with excitement. It was your favorite wine! You couldn’t stop smiling as you smelled it and took a small sip.
But then, suddenly, something wasn’t right. A strange piece caught in your throat made you cough hard. The wine spilled from your mouth as you tried to catch your breath, and in the midst of coughing, a strange sensation made you feel as if something was stuck there. In an instant, Jayce was by your side, looking at you with panic.
"What happened?! Are you okay?!"
With a quick maneuver, almost instinctively, Jayce patted your back and, with a racing heart, helped you spit out what was stuck in your throat. To both of your surprise, what came out was not just a piece of food, but a small ring now resting in your hand.
Jayce was in shock, looking at the ring and then at you, completely red with embarrassment. "Oh no! That wasn’t part of the plan! How did that get there? Everything has gone wrong... I’m sorry, I never imagined this would happen."
You laughed, almost hysterically, as you cleaned the ring with a napkin and held it in your palm. Despite the comical situation, Jayce was clearly frustrated. He wanted everything to be perfect, but you didn’t care. It was clear that all that mattered was that he was there, in front of you, despite the fiasco.
"Are you going to ask me or not?" you asked, the smile on your lips growing as you watched his face change from despair to disbelief.
Jayce looked at you, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He was nervous, completely out of place. "Really? Now…?" he asked, with a nervous laugh. But it didn’t take long for him to do what he had to do. With a shy but genuine smile, he knelt before you, somewhat clumsy but sincere, and with a nervous laugh, he said:
"Well… since it seems I can’t do anything right today, maybe this will be the one thing that goes well. Will you marry me?"
The scene, as clumsy as it was funny, made you laugh even more, but in the end, all that mattered was that he was there, in his own way, loving you. The ring, somewhat imperfect in all its disorder, represented more love than anyone could ask for. Without thinking any further, you took his face in your hands and kissed him tenderly, answering in the simplest yet most profound way possible:
"Yes, Jayce. I do."
Ekko
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The Undercity held its own kind of magic. The faint lights of the streetlamps flickered through the mist, and the distant sounds of the markets blended with the steady flow of water running through the pipes. You were sitting on an improvised bench in a hidden corner, surrounded by the crumbling walls, but to you, this place felt like the very heart of the world. Ekko had made it a refuge for the two of you, a space where you could escape from the chaos and, for a moment, forget about everything else except the present.
There was something special about that night. The way Ekko looked at you, the spark in his eyes... it wasn’t like the times before. There was something deeper now, a sense of resolution, as if he was on the verge of making a decision that would change everything. And he did.
"You know," Ekko began, his voice more serious than usual, "I've been thinking a lot about things lately. About how everything we've lived through... everything we've overcome... has changed us." His words carried a weight they usually didn’t.
The conversation didn't seem to be heading towards a cheerful topic, but there was something in the air that told you what was coming was important. You leaned in a little closer, sensing that the atmosphere was charged with something.
He pulled a small device from his pocket, something that looked like an old piece of machinery, but upon closer inspection, you realized it was no ordinary gadget. It was a pocket watch, but not the kind you'd find in a store. This one was modified, a timepiece that seemed designed not only to measure time but also to control something else... something intangible, like destiny. It was something Ekko had built over the years, a reflection of his constant efforts to understand the flow of time.
"This watch," he said with a faint smile on his lips, "is a reminder. A reminder that even when things seem out of control, we can always find a way to move forward. Like us, always moving forward, no matter what comes our way."
He looked at you with a seriousness you’d never seen from him before, and for a moment, he fell silent, as if searching for the right words.
"And… what I’m trying to say is that, even though we don’t have control over time, even though we can’t stop what’s coming, I want you to keep walking by my side. Every second, every minute, every step."
Despite his usual relaxed demeanor, in that moment he seemed more vulnerable than ever. The watch he showed you wasn’t just a machine; it was a symbol of what he had been searching for his whole life: a way to stop time, so that the most important moments wouldn’t slip away.
"So, if at any point you feel the same way," he added, gently taking your hand, "I’d like this... what we’re living... to never end. That we can keep making memories together. I don’t know if there’s a right way to ask, but... would you like to be with me, always?"
He looked at you with a vulnerability you’d never seen before, almost as if afraid you might say something that would break the magic of the moment.
You couldn’t help but smile, at first as if you were in shock, speechless. This Ekko, the one who always had a plan, the one who had faced a thousand battles, was now asking you to be by his side forever, with a sincerity he rarely showed. It wasn’t a grand traditional gesture, but to you, it was even more meaningful.
You were silent for a few seconds, and that made Ekko feel even more unsure, his gaze beginning to fade as if he thought you had already decided not to answer. But before he could pull away or say anything more, you caught him, quickly closing the distance between you.
"Yes," you whispered, but it was a resounding yes. "Yes, Ekko, I want to be with you. Always. I don’t need a watch or a perfect plan. I just need you."
You held his hand more firmly, looking into his eyes, and his lips formed a slight smile, though his face still carried a trace of nervousness.
"Together, forever, babe," he said, pulling you close and resting your back against his chest. You smiled happily as his arms wrapped around you.
You took the watch and kissed it, feeling the cold scent of rusted metal.
"Forever," you replied, and that word felt like the beginning of something eternal.
Silco
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It was another night when the soft light of candles flickered, casting shadows in the corners of the room. The atmosphere in Silco's office was charged with tension, as always, but tonight something felt different. The usual coldness of the room had transformed into something warmer. On the walls, shadows danced to the rhythm of the flames, and the scattered papers on his desk seemed to tell stories of past struggles and uncertain victories.
However, Silco wasn’t at his desk. He stood in the center of the room, silently watching you as you leaned against the door, returning his gaze. His presence was magnetic, as always, but there was something different about him tonight. Something more vulnerable in his stance, as if he had been waiting for you—or rather, waiting for you to understand what lay beneath those deep eyes.
“This is a different kind of night,” Silco spoke, his voice grave, deliberate, as if weighing each word. He motioned for you to come closer, but not to him—toward the far side of the room. A table, delicately designed, rested just beneath a window overlooking the chaotic landscape of the Undercity.
As you approached, you noticed several boxes on the table, some open, some closed. One wooden box caught your eye. Silco’s gaze hardened on it, almost as if he feared what might happen when it was opened, or perhaps what it represented. He moved toward it slowly, like someone executing a carefully planned act, and gently opened the box.
Inside lay a ring. It wasn’t the kind of ring you’d expect from someone like Silco—no extravagant jewels, no grand display of wealth. Yet, there was something profound about it. The fine, dark metalwork and the stone that caught the light in a way you couldn’t ignore seemed to tell a story. It was as if the ring itself embodied both the harshness of his life and the softness of feelings he had long kept hidden.
“This is the kind of thing I never cared for,” he said, his tone mixing toughness with an unexpected sincerity. “A symbol without meaning. But since you arrived, I’ve learned that there are things worth more than logic.”
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Silco showed a hint of insecurity. His gaze clouded for a moment, as if he feared your reaction. But instead of saying more, he stepped closer, the ring in his hand, and slowly sank to his knee before you.
“I’ve sacrificed so much, maybe that’s why I never let myself desire more. But now I know. I know because I want you. And because I don’t want to do this alone.”
There was no grand gesture, no theatrics, but the weight of sincerity in his simple act stunned you. He looked up at you, his eyes full of vulnerability, asking for something more than anyone had ever dared to ask before.
“Will you marry me?”
The silence in the room was thick, filled with everything Silco couldn’t say but what his proposal meant. It wasn’t a casual request—it was a serious commitment, as serious as everything he’d fought for in his life.
For a moment, you stood still, heart racing—not because of the surprise, but because of the sheer intensity of his words and the unexpected gesture. You had seen the calculating side of Silco, the way he controlled every aspect of his life, every decision with precision. But this—this was something entirely different. It was the purest form of vulnerability, someone willing to give it all up for love, to risk everything they’d built for someone who meant more than any achievement.
Finally, you took a deep breath and, with a soft smile, nodded. “Yes,” you said, your voice steady but full of emotion. “There is nothing I want more in this world than to be your wife.”
The air shifted instantly. Silco stood slowly, and his normally implacable face softened. It was as if he had laid down an immense weight, as if the future finally had a clear purpose.
Without another word, he pulled you into his arms. In that moment, the shadows in the room seemed lighter, less oppressive. With the promise of a future together, everything that had once seemed distant, unreachable, now felt within both your grasps.
Mel
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It was a quiet night, one of those where the sounds of the city reached you muffled, as if time was willing to grant you a break. Mel's living room, as always, was a perfect display of elegance and order, but something about the atmosphere that night felt different, warmer, more intimate. The soft light from the lamps illuminated the carefully arranged furniture, and there was a rare calm in the air, something that only happened when the worries of the outside world seemed to vanish for a moment.
Mel had invited you to her house that night, but not for dinner or a formal event. Instead, she had wanted to show you something more, something personal. And seeing the invitation in her eyes, you knew this moment was special.
When you entered, the house had a more relaxed vibe than usual. The fireplace flickered softly in the background, and the air was filled with the delicate scent of incense. However, what truly caught your attention was what was in the center of the room. A large painting, a framed portrait, was leaning against the wall, carefully placed under a soft light.
"I want you to see this," Mel said with a slight smile, her usually firm voice now tinged with an unexpected sweetness. She approached you, guiding you toward the painting. Though her face didn’t give it away, there was a slight tension in her movements, as if she was waiting for your reaction.
You stepped closer to the portrait, and your breath caught as you saw the image in front of you. It was a portrait of you, painted with a level of detail that only someone like Mel could have achieved. Every line, every shadow seemed to capture something beyond your appearance: a reflection of your being, how she saw you. It wasn’t just a painting; it was an expression of how Mel perceived you, something that had been rendered with such dedication that the work itself seemed to come alive.
"It’s… incredible," you murmured, unable to articulate a more complete response. Mel watched your reaction, her eyes fixed on you, but without saying a word. You knew that, for her, this work meant far more than just a portrait. It was a piece of her soul, an extension of her deepest feelings.
"I did it because… because I wanted to capture something that could never be expressed just with words," Mel said, her tone calm but loaded with meaning. "It’s hard for me to share something so… personal, but with you, I feel like it makes sense."
You turned toward her, surprised by the vulnerability she was showing, so rare in the woman who had always kept everything under control. But there was something in her gaze, something in her posture, that made you see what she truly felt.
Mel took a step toward you, her gaze softening even further. "You are… the only person who has truly shown me what it means to let someone in so deeply. I’ve spent my whole life building walls, creating an image of control, but you… you’ve shown me something I didn’t even know I needed."
There was a softness in her words that you had never heard before. You knew her as a strong, calculating woman, always impeccable. But there, in that moment, in front of you, there was something more, something that only you had been able to awaken in her.
"And now I want you to… be part of my life. I want you not only to be part of this portrait, but of everything I’ve built. I’ve had all the power in the world, all the control I could wish for, but that doesn’t make sense without someone like you by my side."
Mel paused, almost as if she were fighting against herself, and then, with a smooth movement, extended her hand toward you. In her palm rested a small box, which she carefully opened, revealing a simple but elegant ring. It was beautiful but not ostentatious, with a unique beauty, a design that spoke of her personality: refined, but with a subtle touch of surprise. The golden ring glimmered softly under the candlelight, like a reflection of the same gentleness Mel had shown in her words.
"I want you to be my partner," Mel said, her voice a barely audible whisper, but filled with meaning. "Will you marry me?"
The moment was marked by a tense silence, loaded with emotion. Mel wasn’t seeking a grand declaration or an ostentatious proposal. She only wanted to share her life with you, in the way she knew how to do it: with a sincerity that only she could offer.
Without thinking, you stepped closer to her, took her face in your hands, and without saying another word, kissed her softly. The kiss wasn’t just a response to her proposal, but an affirmation of everything you shared, of everything that moment meant.
When you pulled away, her eyes were filled with something you had never seen before: vulnerability, hope, love. You took her hand, and with a warm smile, you said what she had been waiting to hear, what you both knew was true.
"Yes, Mel. Yes. I’ve always wanted this, to share all of this with you."
Mel smiled, her face lit by a deep emotion she had never shown before. Without saying another word, she hugged you, and in that embrace was everything she couldn’t say with words. The future, her promises, her fears, her desires. It was all there, intertwined in an embrace as warm as the painting she had created just for you.
Sevika
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/26bd7442ea9416e4f0fc8cdd166185d1/21b597771ac42ab1-b3/s540x810/a4120e98f896513a877aa66418faed310cb3ee56.jpg)
It had been a long and dangerous night, more than either of us had anticipated. You had gotten yourself into a mess, bigger than anyone else would have dared to handle, but there you were, beside Sevika, helping her get out of danger. There were a few of Silco's enemies, but with her strength and your ingenuity, you managed to make it all end in the blink of an eye. The tension eased, and calm washed over everything like a wave.
The air was charged with adrenaline, but also with a strange serenity when the two of you were finally away from danger. Sevika, with her impassive face and intense eyes, looked at you with a mix of gratitude and something more. You couldn’t say it was love at first sight or anything so romantic, but there was something about that moment that felt different, something raw, something real.
You stayed looking at her while both of you took a breath, your bodies still trembling slightly from the tension. She was so close you could feel her breath, as heavy and rhythmic as your own. Without warning, her eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the outside world disappeared. There were no more enemies, no more worries, just the two of you.
Sevika didn’t speak at first. The full moon illuminated the corner where you were, but it was her silence that spoke volumes. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, her low voice cut through the air:
"Do you want to marry me?"
You stopped, surprised. Had she really said that? Or was it one of her usual jokes? It couldn’t have been more unexpected, could it? You laughed lightly, thinking it must have been a joke. But when you looked into her eyes, as serious as always, a knot formed in your stomach. Sevika wasn’t joking. Not this time.
"Just like that, out of the blue?" you asked, unable to suppress a smile of disbelief. It was as if all the chaos of the night hadn’t been enough to spill over into the unpredictability of her proposal.
She didn’t flinch, her lips curving into a slight smile, but her eyes stayed fixed on you, determined. "And why not? The best things come out of nowhere, don’t they?" she said with a tone that left no room for doubt. Her voice was strong, direct, but there was a softness hidden beneath her arrogance. Sevika had never been one for too many words, but the few she spoke always carried weight. As if nothing in her was accidental, and every decision she made was calculated down to the last detail.
She looked at you for a moment, evaluating you with the same intensity she always did, then added, "So, do you want to be my little, spoiled wife? I promise to put up with your snoring and you kicking me out of bed for all eternity." She joked, a low laugh escaping her chest, and you were a little surprised by the lightness in her tone, as if, in the seriousness of the situation, Sevika also needed to soften the moment in her own way.
Your reaction was automatic, more because of the teasing tone than the content of what she said. "Hey! I don’t snore that much!" you exclaimed, pretending to be offended, but the truth was, you couldn’t really be angry. You couldn’t be upset, because there was something about her that drew you in in a very unique way.
So, you decided to raise your right hand and move your ring finger. "No ring, no wedding," you warned, then flicked your hair in the air. "I’m not a girl who settles for little, and you know that."
Sevika approached you, never losing her smile. "Believe me, sweetheart, I’ll buy you the biggest, most expensive ring in the world. Tell me how many carats you want, and I’ll get it exactly how you ask for it." Her promise was full of a confidence only she could have. Every word sounded so convincing, so solid, that there was no room for doubt. Sevika never made empty promises, and this was no exception.
Her voice was deep, playful, as if she was willing to fulfill anything asked of her. You smiled, pleased, but something in her attitude sparked a mischievous glint in your eyes. Instead of continuing the joke, you went straight to the point and leaned close to her ear, whispering with a touch of playful innuendo:
"Since the best things come out of nowhere, why don’t we fast forward to the honeymoon?"
Your whisper was soft, but with an undertone of suggestion that didn’t go unnoticed. Sevika blinked a couple of times, clearly surprised by your response. But instead of being bothered, something on her face shifted, and a sideways smile appeared on her lips, as if you had pulled the idea right out of her head.
"I like that," she said, her tone now low and filled with palpable desire. "I love that you don’t beat around the bush." Her voice was hushed, heavy with desire, accentuated by how close she was to you. "Let’s make this night something much more... memorable."
Suddenly, the environment around you both ceased to exist. Only her eyes, the heat of her body near yours, and the certainty that, despite everything, something had begun in an unexpected way remained. The best things come out of nowhere, and tonight, Sevika had shown you that her way of loving, though fierce and daring, was also the most sincere you had ever known.
#arcane x reader#arcane fanfic#arcane imagine#arcane x female reader#arcane#arcane fluff#arcane x you#ekko arcane#viktor imagine#viktor x y/n#viktor x reader#viktor arcane#jinx arcane#jinx x reader#arcane vi#vi x y/n#vi x reader#arcane caitlyn#caitlyn x reader#arcane jayce#jayce x reader#silco x reader#silco arcane#ekko x reader#mel x reader#mel arcane#sevika x reader#sevika arcane#sevika x you#vi x you
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To off set the happiness I wanted to ask what would happen if reader got together with someone else, or showed more interest in them than Jinx. Even with Jinx trying to stop it
Or another thought would be what if reader liked Vi more than Jinx 🏃
wait ur lowk a genius nonnie. reader liking vi more than her would actually like set her off to 10000%. kinda stole that scene from season 1 episode 9 with jinx’s tea party lol.
toxic!jinx masterlist
VERY DARK!! just block me if you don’t like it.
cw: jinx breaking in, implied kidnapping, use of guns, jinx is just insane, f!reader
since you met jinx’s family, you’ve been round the family home for dinner a couple more times. in one of those times, vi managed to get your instagram. probably while jinx was out of the room to save her ripping vi’s arms off.
ever since that day, you’ve been messaging vi a lot on instagram. however, you were very careful not to have jinx find out. you knew she wouldn’t like it, but you can’t help it when vi just gets you.
a month or two passes, and you’ve grown close to vi. it’s probably not the best idea you’ve had, given how jinx acts about you getting close to people she doesn’t know. somehow you think she’d be even worse if she found out how close you had gotten to her sister.
one day, you’re not answering the stream of texts jinx has sent you. she may have only sent them a few minutes ago but over time you’ve become the fastest replier in the game. something was up. she instinctively checks your location. a bar? you don’t drink, what could you possibly be doing there? cheating, jinx thinks.
it’s not that she doesn’t trust you, she’s just paranoid. she needs you all to herself, completely.
she grabs a jacket and starts to head to the bar almost immediately.
she glances around once she’s inside, looking for any sign of you. it was simple. she just had to grab you and act like there was some sort of emergency and you had to leave, while simultaneously taking note of whoever you were with.
she finally notices you, and to jinx’s absolute horror, you’re standing suspiciously close to her dickhead of a sister. she knew vi was a piece of shit, a sleaze at best, especially after her and her ex broke things off, but this really takes the cake.
a surprise to everyone, you especially if you knew she was there, jinx leaves. she’s too angry to think straight but she knows one thing, she needs to be alone when she’s like this. for the benefit of anyone who might cross her.
the night lingers on and you continue having fun with vi, unbeknownst to both of you, jinx was crafting her cruelest plan yet.
-
jinx manages to act normal for the following couple of weeks, despite her literally wanting to kill her sister and have you watch.
until finally, it was time to make the both of you suffer the consequences of your actions.
the first step was breaking into your apartment, that was easy. she had the key she made herself a few months into your relationship and she was no stranger to popping by when you were asleep to check on you. she didn’t really class it as ‘breaking in’ though, since she has a key that unlocks the door. sometimes jinx wonders to herself if she is actually sick in the head, but she chalks up her actions to her love for you.
next, jinx had to set up for her plan. she dragged a chair from your dining table into the middle of your apartment, the open space between the kitchen and the living room. she laid out a couple of other items by the chair, but she’ll get to those later.
what’s left was done in a haze of anger. of revenge. now all she had to do was wait for you to come home.
she was sat on the counter, swinging her legs when she hears the lock click in your front door. here goes.
you see jinx first, setting your bag down and kicking off your shoes. “oh, hey baby.” you notice the glint in her eye, the one you see when she’s angry.
“are.. you okay?”
jinx says nothing, just glancing behind her to the chair she had setup earlier. you follow her gaze and gasp when you finally see what she’s done.
vi bound to the chair by the same turquoise rope jinx had used on you so many times, in situations you could say were the complete opposite to the one you had just got into.
instinctively, you start to rush towards vi, until you feel something cold on your arm stopping you. you look to jinx and see her arm outstretched in front of you. clutched in her hand was a gun.
your eyes widened. you knew she had knives but not a gun. when you thought about it though, it wasn’t too surprising. you realise how you’ve kind of just ignored how fucked up she is.
“jinx. it’s.. you need to calm down,” you try your best to hide the tremble in your voice. anything to try and spare your, vi’s, all of your lives.
jinx lowers her arm and hops off the counter. she paces slowly between you, rooted to the spot, and vi, breathing heavily in the chair she was tied to.
“i am calm. you guys are the ones that need to calm down.” she definitely does not sound calm. her eyes are wide and hands trembling, she’s manic.
vi makes eye contact with you, you can see she’s just as surprised as you. i mean, it’s probably a good thing this hasn’t happened before, right?
jinx stops in front of you and gently takes her hand. her hands are warm, soft. feels strange given the situation. she pulls you closer to vi, closer, closer, until the three of you can feel each other’s breath on your faces.
you see the glint of the gun in between your faces. your breath shakes as it sways towards you, to vi, to jinx.
“i wonder.. who deserves this the most?” jinx mused, as if she was talking to herself.
“you see, there’s one bullet in here, and i don’t know who’s gonna get it.”
tears fall from your eyes now. you regret dismissing how crazy jinx is, and roping vi, her own sister, into this mess.
the gun swings back to you and you hear jinx click off the safety, the metal grinding. her hands are trembling, from adrenaline no doubt. she’s enjoying this. her finger crawls its way to the trigger, and she pulls back, agonisingly slow.
your eyes squeeze shut, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sob. after what feels like hours, the trigger ticks. silence. are you dead? you can’t even hear vi’s breathing.
“ah.” jinx’s voice pierces your eardrums. you’re alive.
your knees buckle, but jinx doesn’t let you fall. she catches you and holds you up with surprising force. you glance at her and through the blur of your tears, she’s smiling.
“looks like it’s either me or you, sis,” she laughs while tapping vi on the chest with the barrel.
she turns to you. “who should go first? whoever you like the most, up to you.”
so that’s what this is about. jinx has got jealous before, never to this extent though.
you beg her to stop over and over, barely able to get your words out as tears fall down your cheeks. pleading, you reach up to jinx’s face with violently shaking hands, trying anything to get her to stop.
she swats your hand away with the gun, causing you to gasp and cry harder. you have to use every cell in your body not to scream.
“choose one of us,” she orders.
you literally cannot speak now, you’re hyperventilating while looking between the two sisters. vi looks equally as scared as you do. she hasn’t said a word.
“mkay. we’ll go with violet here since you like her so much.” the gun moves to vi’s jaw. jinx’s finger flexes on the trigger. she flashes a grin at you, she’s not done yet though.
the sound of the trigger being pulled rings through your apartment. nothing. vi is alive, letting out a loud breath and she slumps down in the chair, as much as the rope restraining her will allow.
“uh ohh..” jinx practically sings. “my turn. we all know what that means.”
she brings the gun under her own jaw. the truth is, there aren’t any bullets in the gun. she knows that. she just needs to scare both of you as much as she can. of course she doesn’t actually want to hurt you.
she pulls the trigger faster than expected. you cry out, this time jinx lets you fall to your knees.
again, nothing.
jinx lets her head flop down, looking between you and vi with low eyes.
“i was just messin’ with you guys! there ain’t any bullets in here. wouldn’t actually kill ya,” she’s laughing. after all this she’s laughing.
“you,” she prods vi in the chest with one pale finger. “you can stay away from her.”
she crouches to your level on the floor. “and you can stop givin’ me reasons to do shit like this. mkay baby?”
you weakly nod. you just need this to be over.
“great! see you later, love ya.” she pecks your forehead before skipping out of your apartment.
she leaves everything behind. the gun, vi still in the chair, you sobbing.
what. the. fuck.
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The reason why I keep bringing up media literacy and bad faith criticisms is because of things like this. Follow along if you can!
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9ecce3399b5d93dff68e626241716c73/95a3cc24a08793cf-a0/s540x810/d4530de7f339e8d30a22756d50a03123c6013b6b.jpg)
^^^———
I saw this post the other day where this person suggested that the reason Vi didn’t get as much character development was because the writers didn’t know what to do with her. That’s a pretty bold statement to make. I’ve certainly not heard any of the writers express that opinion at all. So where did this idea come from? What interview provided us with that look behind the scenes?
Luckily someone asked for a source, and they obliged! And my friends… this gets weirder…
The “source” ends up being this game journalism article:
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/570701869bd246e81453a1de5c7ba5c9/95a3cc24a08793cf-26/s540x810/a0aeffc4f196220ec69be7d4fc6e5d53dc489f83.jpg)
This is an entire article dedicated to basically interpreting, reframing, and summarizing…. A tweet.
A single tweet by Christian Linke.
An entire article that took his response to a question WAY out of proportion and infused it with more meaning than was intended.
Here’s the original tweet. A user ask’s about VI’s character being less prominent, and his response is basically “we had a lot of characters” which is true. There were a lot of characters to squeeze in appropriate amounts of time for. Vi included. Here’s the original tweet:
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/c2385d7affff06936b9fbb1845b1f298/95a3cc24a08793cf-5c/s540x810/4affa0a201b7cdef8c12f9cb312c752d31cd56e5.jpg)
It’s really not much at all, is it? This isn’t him admitting they didn’t know what to do with her, or that they abandoned her storyline or anything like that. All he said was there were a lot of characters and as a result Vi got a little less screen time as a matter of fact. Nothing more, nothing less.
But here’s how the game article summarized things:
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/493f5a13e10c8e3574f050f3641f98ed/95a3cc24a08793cf-ee/s540x810/2316fd580e3ba33c3f5bfd11159a8d7fcc8c7f4b.jpg)
^^^———
So do you see what I’m getting at here? A fan asks a reasonable question, and Linke gives a very straightforward answer. This is picked up and interpreted by the games journalist reporter and given far greater weight that it deserves, including a flashy headline. People see this and add even MORE of their own personal biases and exaggerated opinions and spread that around… and before long that innocent tweet somehow is “proof they didn’t know what to do with Vi and that’s why her arc was reduced to X thing I didn’t like!”
Swirling around Season 2 of Arcane is this weird game of telephone where with each step of the journey the original message is getting lost and distorted and twisted around. Unfortunately when a quote is this ambiguous, it leaves it open to interpretation. I’ve seen this same tweet be used to explain why every character had “bad writing.”
And the games journalist isn’t technically wrong in their coverage… after all, all they did was post the tweet and then re-summarize the same tweet. But by taking what the fan asked and twisting it into “Arcane lead explains why Vi felt like a side character” as an article headline, they’ve distorted the original interaction and infused it with this twinge of negativity designed to get you angry enough to click on the article.
Arcane Season 2 had a lot of story to tell with a lot of characters. As a result Vi’s screen time was slightly reduced. Doesn’t matter that out of all the characters she has the most screen time across both seasons. Nothing about acknowledging that as a simple fact explains motivations behind the writing of her arc in season 2 at all. It says nothing about her pitfighter phase, her relationship with Caitlyn, or her final battle fight with Jinx and Warwick. But if you were already critical of season 2, this gives you a plausible air of credibility for whatever “reasons” you think they did what they did. And then you just spread this fabrication to the internet where it just snowballs out of control.
So much of the negativity surrounding Arcane Season 2 is the result of this game of telephone and it’s really starting to bother me. And when you label overblown garbage like this as “arcane critical” then I genuinely believe you’re doing this on purpose and you don’t have an original thought in your body. You’re not being critical, you’re just letting your ignorance and biases control everything. This is bad faith argument construction at it’s worst.
#arcane#arcane season 2#arcane critical is a bad faith hashtag#bad arcane criticism#i’m so sick of these ridiculously bad takes#bad faith criticism#bad faith argument#arcane criticism#arcane critical#arcane spoilers#arcane s2#vi#vi arcane
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Pay it no mind
Part XXIV
In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).
Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. Drinking is mentioned, and there is a bit of cussing. I'll admit Satoru does not look good in this one, neither does reader honestly, but thanks for bearing with me.
Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII, Part XXIII
----------------------
Ping.
Satoru heard the notification sound from your phone, which had been left unattended on the table in the teacher’s lounge, but he did not pay attention to it.
Ping.
You had gone to the restroom, and he was watching videos on his phone. In fact, he had found a funny video to show you when you came back.
Ping.
Whoever it was probably had a lot to say though.
Ping.
Satoru took his eyes off his phone and looked at yours.
It started ringing, then stopped.
Could that be something urgent? Satoru knew how to unlock your phone; you had showed him. You could access his phone too, although none of your ever used each other’s phone without asking first, but if it was urgent, he should maybe take a look.
He grabbed it.
4 new messages. 1 missed call.
Haruki: I did not want to say anything before, but I’m sorry if I weirded you out last night when I called you. Haruki: I was emotional and talked too much. Haruki: The whole thing with my father makes me drink more than I should and do things I should probably not do, and it’s… well, you know. Haruki: But I don’t regret it at all.
Satoru thought he did not need to read that. It looked like Ikeda had some family issues he vented to you about.
However, even if he did not want to, he could almost sympathize with the guy.
“Is that my phone?” you asked, reappearing before Gojo.
He stretched his arm out so you would take the phone he was still holding. “It was ringing.”
A moment later, your words confirmed what Gojo thought. “It’s Haruki… His father has been bugging him for money, but he does not really want to see him again.”
Gojo recalled you had told him something about how complicated his relationship with his father was.
I guess it makes sense he wants a friend to call, someone who will listen to him.
Not that he could make peace with you being that friend just yet, but he knew better than to say that aloud, so he hummed in response.
“Must be tough for him.”
***
Now that he looked back on it, that had happened two weeks ago, the morning he had returned to Japan only to find out that you would be clocking in late that day.
He had wondered what your friend could have said to "weird you out". What was the thing he did not regret? Why had you left the room to give him a call after that?
Satoru had tried, really tried to live with the fact that Ikeda was your friend, a friend that might have called you being wasted out of his mind to complain about the awful father he had. That was the explanation he had given to himself.
He never imagined you would have gone out to drink with the guy, maybe even spent the night with him, and then what? Eaten breakfast at his place just before clocking in at work to greet your obliviously hopeful best friend, if he could still consider himself as such, as if nothing had happened?
To think Satoru, overworked and sleep deprived as he had been after that trip, had wanted to get back to work immediately to see you...
He felt stupid.
“Are you okay?” Satoru heard you ask hesitantly.
He took his eyes off his reflection to briefly look at you. “What are you doing here?” he asked, moving to wash his hands for the third time.
You watched him hold his hands underneath the water stream, not really moving them.
So he still does that.
When he was younger, Satoru sometimes did that as a ritual to calm himself when he felt anxious. You could not remember the last time he had done it in front of you.
“You did not come back to the table, and Shoko said you looked pale when you left.”
And I’m afraid I know why.
“If you want me to call her to check in on you, I’m sure I can convince her to come into the men’s restrooms.”
Satoru knew those words were only meant to try and walk around the elephant in the room, or should he say the elephant that was sitting back at the table?
He grabbed a paper towel. “I’m fine. You should go back.”
You were standing from a distance but still saw his jaw tighten. “Aren’t you coming back?”
“What for?” he asked, throwing the used paper sheet into the bin.
“They already served the dessert, and…”
“What am I doing here, [name]?” Satoru’s eyes connected with yours.
What do you mean? You asked to come.
That is what you were going to tell him, but he did not let you.
“Is it true?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing, the ghost of an expression he almost never showed to you. “That night you went drinking with him, where did you sleep?”
Now that was a tricky question.
“At his place, but…”
Satoru’s face contorted into a broken smile and the forced laugh that escaped his mouth echoed through the empty stalls. “Of course.”
“Let me expla-”
“And? Was the breakfast worth it?” His venomous tone was not something you were used to.
You frowned. Was he really implying that? Did he really think that was the kind of person you were?
“I get that what he said sounded weird, but that’s… I can’t believe you’re asking that.”
“I can’t believe you’re not answering,” he replied dryly.
You took a step closer. “Satoru, what do you think happened between him and me?”
“I have no fucking idea.” The sternness of his words made you take that step back. “Because you did not even mention going out with him while I was gone, let alone that you spent the night at his place. Oh, but I’m sure that whatever happened he does not regret it at all, because that’s what he told you, isn’t it?”
What was he talking about now?
“What do you mean? Why would you say…?”
“Is that my phone?”
“It was ringing.”
The realization left you stunned. “You read our conversation?”
You were not expecting that. Knowing that Satoru was nosy at times was one thing. That he had actually violated your privacy and read a conversation from your phone without telling you was another one.
“Can you believe I almost felt bad for him? But why should I? He has you to comfort him in his oh-so-many hardships. What a lucky bastard...”
“Gojo, stop right there.”
He wanted to. Satoru really wanted to stop talking now before saying anything that would hurt you both, but he did not think he could. He had held it in for too long.
“No, don't Gojo-me. You did not tell me to stop before.” His eyes were burning blue.
The blue part of a flame is the hottest spot.
You could not remember who had told you that, but for the first time, it made sense, because it felt like Satoru was burning you under his gaze.
“No, scratch that... You told me to stop once, and I was foolish enough to think you needed time, that I was rushing you, but that was not it, was it? You had already made up your mind. You just did not have the guts to tell me.”
This was a side of Satoru that you were not sure of how to handle; your arguments were never like this; they could be ugly, yes, but it was never him yelling and reproaching while looking this agitated. He usually kept his emotions in check; you just lacked the experience seeing him like this.
What was that thing Suguru said once? That those who felt deeply will love you and hate you the same? That their love and their wrath was equally dangerous, or something like that?
Satoru’s agitated breath was all you could hear for a second, but then, as if regaining strength, he continued. “Tell me, did you ever think of him when you kissed me?”
Even before he finished the question, you had started shaking your head. "Of course not! Satoru, just let me explain. It’s not what you think, and I’ve never…”
“Now you are talking!” He advanced quickly towards you. “Yes, please, [name], please do explain what’s going on.” He was not exactly yelling, but he had raised his voice again, more than in any other argument you could recall, but it suddenly dropped. “What’s this? You play house with me Monday through Friday and fuck him on the weekends?”
“We are not playing house,” You were trying to avoid shouting, but it still came out sharper than you had intended.
“But you are fucking him.”
“I’m not!” That was it, you could not avoid shouting at him anymore. “Stop, just shut up. You know it’s not like that. He’s my friend, and you…”
“Then answer me, what are we playing at? Because I’m also your friend, right?! But looks like that’s all I’ll ever be, the friend that has to sit back and watch the person he loves fall in love with someone else. What a freaking great game, but guess what? I don’t want to play anymore.”
He had it all wrong and that irked you that he did not want to listen, but at the same time, it was breaking your heart to hear him. Was that how he had felt all this time?
You tried to touch his face to wipe away the tear that was about to fall down, but he pulled back. “Don’t… Don’t touch me. Just pick. It's him or me.”
What?
One look at your expression, and Satoru understood why he had put off asking you for a definitive response for so long. Maybe, deep down, he knew you could not pick him; he was flawed, he was selfish, he was always too late.
When you were younger, you had not been able to pick his friendship over Ikeda’s. This was just the same, was it not?
No, this hurts much worse.
“Satoru, I…” you started saying, but he shook his head and interrupted you…
“You seriously can’t, can you? You know… You were right, I’m selfish” he pointed to the door, “I’m nothing like Mr. Perfection out there, with the magazine face, corporate job, and just mundane problems..."
At some point, Satoru had given in and tried to get some intel on who the great Haruki, who had had you head over heels, was, but what he had found was just an average man that was perfect in everyone's eyes. In a way, that was worse than finding dirt on him.
"He may be a fucking saint, and I’m selfish all you want, but you…” the finger that had been pointing outside was now pointing at you “You are cruel beyond repair, and I’m an idiot for falling in love with you.”
He had lowered his voice, but the atmosphere could be cut with a knife, and his words certainly sliced it through.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” a young man, a waiter called behind you. “I’m afraid your… Umm… conversation is preventing some customers from coming in. May I ask that you continue this somewhere else?”
----------------------
Note: No notes today, just my love.
Thanks for reading!
Next: Part XXV
@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh @stellasloth @bloopsstuff @cheesemachine44 @tetsuski @rosellerinfrost @catowru @bi-narystars @wondermilka @fortunatelyfurrygiver @shrxui
#jjk fanfic#gojo fanfic#gojo satoru x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x y/n#pay it no mind#gojo angst#kind of angsty#gojo x you#gojo x reader#i will go hide somewhere now
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I'm sorry if this ask is coming out of nowhere, but I have been looking for posts that talk about how S2 has declined in quality and there have been virtually NONE. Even tags like 'arcane critical' or 'anti arcane' don't show up even though I know there are posts that are tagged with them. I'm losing my mind. Has nobody else noticed this downgrade? The ideas could have been good, but they were not executed well and the whole thing reads like they wrote it really quickly without any real editing and then rushed to get it out. It feels hollow, like we're seeing a botched or unfinished version of what it was supposed to be. What kind of random ass shit is it that an enforcer comes up to Vi and says, "cait said good things about you," and Vi is just like wow you're right, I'm sold! Even though she already knows Cait has a high opinion of her and that wasn't the issue in the first place! Also who was that random homeless man? Why am I supposed to care about these people? Fans get defensive about the pacing and argue that s1 did a lot in a minimal amount of time too, but I don't think they realize that pacing has to do with making something feel organic. Vi's heel turn into becoming an enforcer was not organic. Viktor's two second goodbye was not organic. Both of these things could have made sense if they'd given these moments even just a little more effort or care. There were so many unnecessary scenes that could have been cut out to give more time to things that desperately needed it (like caitlyn's sad wordless montage about her mom. Why did it drag out so long? Her grief is apparent in every other scene. We did not need an entire abstract slideshow of her making various sad expressions.) There's also the animation. The animation is leagues above a regularly animated show, but if you look closely it is actually not as good as s1. There is less detail, the lighting of the background doesn't always match the characters, and there are moments where the lips don't always sync with their voices. These are minor things that I wouldn't usually care about, but for a multi-million dollar show like Arcane? Riot games recently laid off a whole slew of its creative team, too, and I wonder if they've been making similar cuts before that. It would certainly explain the drop in quality. I wouldn't put it past corporate greed to nerf one of the most groundbreaking animated shows in modern media if they thought they could profit more by cutting corners.
I'm sorry to ramble in your inbox as a random stranger, but it boggles my mind that there are so few people mentioning s2's flaws (not including rage bait, which is annoying because it only delegitamizes real criticisms and discussions.) I feel like I'm screaming in the void like is nobody else seeing this shit??
well hello there! first of all, "arcane critical" is what i was looking for when i was writing that post. gonna put it in tags now before i forget
secondly, i love asks! so no need to apologize. thirdly it's a bummer you went under anonym, i don't believe you get notifs for your anonymous asks, so unless you actually hang out on my blog regularly there's a chance you won't see me appreciating your thoughts and agreeing with you (expect for the animation part, cause for me it was great, i have no questions on that regard. but for each their own. i'm a big fun of the dragon prince first season's animation and still sad they get rid of their 13fps style, so...)
anyway, i got bored at the beginning of my rumbling that time and didn't get into some deep analysis but yes, the first season also had events to go fast and forward, but at the same time they made sense. it wasn't rush or dragged, every scene had a meaning and weight
YES to the burial scene. like i get it, it was drawn pretty and it was sad and grey for cait but my god how many hours can we watch vi going away from 317 different angles? i was actually shocked to see her at cait's, cause after 10 minutes of her hiding in the crowd and leaving before cait saw her i was legit sure the show tried to tell us they broke up for now and won't see each other for a while
and it all feels so odd, as if on the one hand writers had too little allowed episodes to work with their ideas, like they came up with all these important story points but had no more screen time to add actual story development between the points, cause the season is like 10 episodes too short to fit a full coherent story. but on the other hand they have too much unused screen time, like they wrote only 5 episodes but they had to make 9 so now we will just fill the equivalent of 4 episodes of free time with mute repetitive long scenes
who the fuck is that mute lizard cop? is he actually mute? or there were no budget on one more voice actor? what's his problem? why he always looks like he's mad at everyone? should i even care he's always displeased? does he even matter? if no, why he has so much screen time and close-up shots? if yes, why he has no meaning or story or character or name? i swear to god, in the first season that one future-junkie dude had more of a meaning and weight in his two minutes scene than these lizard cop and the new jinx's sister during two episodes
and it all would've been fine, really, if it was the first season, or one of these already bad shows that you don't really expect much of. but arcane was a masterpiece, and also we've been waiting for it for three years. so it's the feeling that we know how GOOD it can be, and the feeling that it just chose not to
w....wait... what if they also tried to do great? and failed to do good in the process
or maybe, as you said, just some internal kitchen shit. i never actually follow media creation stuff and staff so maybe that's just it. still not make it all better for me as a viewer who was too excited to learn at 1 am that the act dropped and stayed up until 7am to make sure to watch it before getting to sleep
HEY THANK YOU for giving me opportunity to rumble about it again
#arcane critical#this is the tag for asks#anti arcane#just for a good measure#i'm still very pro-arcane i'm just sad
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i’d really like to know your opinion on carmy and sex, in the sex scene with claire he doesn’t seem all there with it
YES I would LOVE to discuss this!! Strap in everyone I have so many thoughts, and I totally invite ppl to agree or disagree :D
Firstly you’re so right… tbh I never gave that scene much thought but I love this take for many reasons. Like, carmy is a VIRGIN. he’s NEVER had a girlfriend. I think he’s barely had friends. He’s not good at relationships. While I do LOVE writing him as a pussy devourer and soft dom it would take a while for him to get to that point… putting this in a read more bc it got lengthy btw
Carmy is a very repressed person by nature. With that being said, I think he’s also very lonely. He definitely has sexual desires and fantasies, but has never let him act on them, nor has given himself the opportunity. After never having sex for 30 years, I think he’s built up a lot of pressure towards it.
He also has so much trouble allowing himself joy of any kind. He has this logic where if he lets himself be happy, tragedy will come. Foreboding joy and all that. That extends to every part of his life, including sex, ESPECIALLY sex, relationships of any kind. But deep down, he truly wants connection, physical intimacy, emotional intimacy.
So when he has sex for the first time, it has to be with someone he really trusts and likes. He’ll put a ton of pressure on himself to feel good, but mostly to make the other person feel good. He’d ask the other person how to make them feel good, what he should do. If he’s good at anything, it’s following instructions, following a recipe to completion.
But he’s probably gonna get too caught up in what he thinks he should be doing to properly enjoy himself. Sex is about communication, something he isn’t good at doing with himself or with others. He’ll get stuck in his own head, possibly being unable to pick up cues from himself or his partner. And probably end up dissociating quite a bit, just like you noticed.
Practice (and communication) makes perfect! As long as he has a patient partner, I’m sure Carmy will be able to reach a comfortable place with sex. He’s a giving person, and he wants to give in bed too, vis a vis pussy eating champion (but also oral fixation lol). I also think a blow job could fix him HAHAHA he could come like. Instantaneously LMFAO
I have a lot of fun writing him being like, super good at sex, and I think once he jumps over some mental hurdles he can become his enlightened pussy destroyer self. That’s the version of carmy I’d write in my fic line “let me love on you”, but realistically, sex for him would look much different than that. That’s what I hope to explore in my slow burn fic “ALEXITHYMIA”!!
Anyway wow my thoughts are all over the place here but I hope this makes sense. I think about carmy so much lol
#carmen berzatto#carmy berzatto#the bear#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy x reader#carmen berzatto x you#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x you#the bear fx#the bear Hulu#my asks#IS IT OBVIOUS THAT IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS GUY CONSTANTLY. HAHAHA#also full transparency I typed this out while I’m taking my lunch break at work rn#bear talk
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What do you think about people comparing catra to Caitlyn from arcane
ah, i had a feeling i'd be asked about something along these lines.
okay, so, just to get this out of the way:
i'm aware that Arcane s2 has very polarizing opinions, points of views, and thoughts from the community, and, provided it's nothing extreme, they're all valid. though my words are largely subjective, i want to apply as much objectivity as possible to create a better picture, rather than complete bias with no desire for discussion.
s2, in my opinion, wasn't as well-written as it could've been. i don't hate it, but i would've made different writing choices for the characters, their arcs, etc., and i feel the ending was lackluster as a result of lack of closure. this includes Jinx's own ending, Isha, Vi's cycle of self-destruct and complicated family, and how i feel there was not enough screentime for the plots and characters given, especially Ekko, Mel, Kino, and Ambessa. and i do feel like the writing choices negatively affected Caitlyn's character, as well, even if i do understand and sympathize with her as a person.
objectively speaking, Caitlyn's dictatorship ( i believe that's what it is, iirc ) was more on-screen than Catra's, but Catra's crimes was heavier, quantity wise, including universal genocide.
because of SPOP's disregard for "show, don't tell", amongst several other factors ( Catra being a creator's pet being the main one ), there is little to no actual weight to her actions, even with the main cast. if there is consequences, it's either more personal than it should be, her mental breakdowns or Horde Prime chipping her, or fleeting, the destruction of Salineas. this is likely why people don't care much for Catra's actions, because there's no legitimate consequences that aren't just her being sad // distressed.
but, while not the best, Arcane writers take into consideration the impact of and to the people. Caitlyn's decisions did have consequences, and it affected more than just her. it changed Zaun, and with Silco and Jinx's absence, the people were anxious and needing a beacon in order to feel safe and empowered.
however, i don't think it's as simple as comparing Caitlyn to Catra.
in the eyes of the people, it wouldn't matter, obviously. as a result of taking her grief and thirst for vengeance out on them, the people of Zaun felt even more unsafe when they were already suffering.
but to us, as the audience, we can empathize with grief blinding us and leading us to making poor decisions that end up being detrimental to our and everyone else's health. keyword: empathize.
Caitlyn still hurt people. there is no denying that. i am simply saying that we can understand where she was coming from and that her grief was taken advantage of by Ambessa.
to their world, it's black and white. people suffer and // or die at the hands of someone in power.
to us, it's more or less than that.
still wanting to remain as objective i can be, i will say Caitlyn's are far easier to remember and hold against her, and rightfully so. but i believe that Catra's are worse and should've been displayed as worse, rather than stated or turned around to be a way for us to feel bad for her own downfalls.
now, let's move onto Caitlyn and Vi // Catra and Adora.
like with the season, i prefer s1 CaitVi over s2.
for me, the divide and conflict felt too similar to how their relationship originally started out and was too repetitive. it felt like the writers wanted another reason for them to break apart, when there was a lot of time spent to them forming together.
but i think CaitVi has more room to grow than C // A ever really did.
for one, Caitlyn and Vi have cared for each other more than they've hurt each other. even when they were at odds in s1, there was no point in the story where they left one or the other to die. if something bad happened, it was by circumstance, not by choice.
but Catra had always hurt Adora more than she cared for her. from physically harming her to degrading her, engaging in extreme sadism, and nearly killing her, purposefully, on multiple occasions, there's no actual evidence that Catra deeply cares for Adora, or that she cared to begin with.
for another, Caitlyn had more reason than Catra. Catra was given multiple chances to make better choices, but she never did and it was intentional and out of spite.
what was Caitlyn going to do with the fact her mother was killed, that her girlfriend's sister was the murderer, and that her girlfriend stopped her from doing from killing the culprit because she thought she'd kill a kid instead?
of course, it was highly likely that she would've killed Isha. again, blinded by grief. but Caitlyn didn't think that way. in her mind, she has more evidence of being an excellent shot than not, so, obviously, the possibility of her killing the child was 0, right?
( and i don't think Caitlyn cheated on Vi with Maddie. i read the end of their argument as a break-up, especially because Vi disappeared. )
and, for one last thing, even when she knew Vi didn't trust her and kept fighting with her, Caitlyn still tried to help.
overall, i think CaitVi did have a... meh(?) ending, but i still prefer them over C // A. if nothing else, for the foundation.
i don't think Caitlyn and Catra are the same. i just think the Arcane writers had more respect for their audience than SPOP did.
#spop#she ra#spop critical#spop salt#spop criticism#spop discourse#spop adora#she ra adora#adora#adora deserves better#adora deserved better#spop catra#she ra catra#catra#anti catra#anticatra#anti catradora#anticatradora#arcane critical#arcane salt#arcane criticism#arcane discourse#arcane caitlyn#arcane vi#caitlyn kiramman#violet arcane#caitvi#caitlyn x vi
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Shutter Speed
Jack Champion x Photographer!Reader
Part 1/?
☁︎ Fluff
Summary: y/n is a photographer for the new scream promo and Jack thinks she belongs in front of the camera rather than behind.
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"Y/N did you double check the SD card was empty?" My best friend and work partner, Leah, shouted from down the hall. "Yeah it was the first thing i did this morning,"
Leah and I have been working together ever since college where we met during our photography course. We have been inseparable since both landing a job at a highly praised magazine company.
Today is going to be a great day as we have been given the front cover photoshoot with full creative control too. It has been my childhood dream to have even a small picture but another front page? The feeling never gets old.
Leah and I finish packing all of our equipment into the car and we start the drive down to the studios in LA. As it’s kind of a long drive Leah starts our little road-trip with our favourite song. We scream the lyrics and laugh when the people, in the cars that pass us, give us strange looks.
To save our voices from any extreme damage, we put on some less energetic music and go over the plan for the day. “Wait, have you seen the cast for Scream 6?” Leah suddenly asks.
“Yeh like sorta… no not really” I answer scrambling for my phone. “Well we know Jenna from the Wednesday shoot so that’s less worrying right?” I say as I wait for the list to load.
“Oh yeah I forgot you did that! Do you think she will remember you?”
(Scream VI Groupchat POV)
Jenna- how close is everyone to the studio?
Devyn- I’m parked outside
Melissa- the shoot starts in half an hour
Devyn- I LIKE TO BE EARLY OK?!
Jasmine- YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO BRING ME THIS EARLY TOO THO
Liana- wait you guys drove together? You could’ve invited me 🥺
Jasmine- use that emoji again and I will become ghostface
Liana- 🥺sowy🥺
‘Jasmine’ has left the group chat.
Mason- Jenna this is your fault
Jack- What the hell did I just miss?
Jenna- HOW WAS IT MY FAULT?
Mason- YOU ASKED THE QUESTION
Jack- Jenna, Mason is the reason we are running late please don’t kill us.
Jenna- thanks for actually answering jack, mason I’m going to kill you
‘Devyn’ added ‘Jasmine’ to the group.
Devyn- see you guys soon!
(Y/N POV)
“ I doubt she will remember, I didn’t really speak” I answer, as I start to cringe over my previous shoots without Leah. Leah is literally my rock, and she knows this as she looks over to me. “You will be great, I’ll be there if things get too awkward, and you have all your notes on your phone and in your notebook.” I give her a smile as I reach for said notes to calm my nerves.
When we arrive at the studio I already see two of the actors and they wave as we walk past their car. I feel a lot less stressed as I see that everything is clean for us to set up our equipment. Leah and I finish in a record time thanks to my meticulously drawn plan of the placement for lights and tripods.
One of the producers walks in to check if we are ready. He lets us know that two actors are going to be late but it won’t ruin the shoot. As he leaves to alert the cast Leah stands next to me to make sure I don’t run away.
“OMG it is you!” I hear a voice come round the corner. “I thought I recognised your name, guys this is the talent who created all the Wednesday promo!” Jenna exclaims to the group before walking over to hug me.
“It is great to see you again Jenna! And it’s lovely to meet all of you too.” I say to the room. “I’m Y/N, this is Leah and the stylists are in the other room.” I start to explain the plan for the day.
“So any questions?” I ask after I realise I’ve been talking rambling for too long. “Oh last thing, sorry, if at any point you feel uncomfortable or awkward in a pose or something, just let me know and I will sort it as fast as I can.” I let the cast go to their stylists, who they knew from set, and walk towards my camera and laptop to make sure everything is loaded up and ready to go.
“She did remember you.” Leah said in a hushed giggle as my face starts to go red.
(Jack’s POV)
We are late. Mason is late. So I’m late. I hate being late to these things. Especially when it’s people I’ve never worked with before, although I think I remember Jenna saying she’s met one of the photographers before but that doesn’t calm me down one bit.
“Hey man, chill out” Mason interrupts my internal panic. “They won’t mind, you can charm them with your good looks yeh?” He suggests. I widen my eyes to show I don’t agree. “Fine, I’ll apologise in my own way and you do it how you want too.” He sighs, jokingly.
When we finally arrive we are pushed into the changing rooms so fast that I don’t get to apologize for our lack of punctuality. I quickly change into my costume before jumping into the makeup chair, next to Mason. Once the artist has finished I text my mum to tell her I made it and left it on the vanity. I headed out to the studio once Mason was done too.
"Look who decided to show up!"
Part Two will be their meeting! Or should I say meet-cute?
Also (shameless plug) I really want to be a photographer so I would mean a lot if you followed/checked out my Instagram:
@/no.stress_jess
Please do not repost this, reblogs are appreciated.
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#actress#actress reader#fluff#im so alone#jack champion#jack champion x reader#jaded jellyfish sting#marry me jack champion#oneshot#x reader#photography#photographerslife#photographer reader
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The Devil & His Brother / II
Joel x Tommy x You
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3f197929588e6aa9c23607be20f83c9c/1eba282b753a9337-35/s540x810/4a1d91d024c944613da6785490986b85e38688b1.jpg)
Prologue / Part I / Masterlist
Summary: “Good, been staring out the window for far too long,” he said. “You can look at something prettier now. Close your eyes, bunny.”
He slipped around on the wetness of your lips before he parted them with one, thick finger.
“Stick out your tongue for me.”
AKA: Bath time with the Millers 😈
Word Count: 7K
Warnings: 18 + mndi, DUBCON DRUG USE: enemies to lovers, heavy talk & use of drugs/pills, morally grey Millers, slow-burn, angst/comfort/sex, age gap, power imbalance, possessive tendencies, major daddy issues (that’s why you need BOTH Miller brothers instead of 1). talk of death, shit-talking god & praying for the devil himself.
I feel like I'm sending out something so personal... and familiar in ways that I know aren't. Maybe that's how memories feel after a while.
God is fucking with my oblivion. If he wants forgiveness, he shouldn't have given us memory.
- Vi Khi Nao
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“Can’t do it, Joel.”
“Goddamnit.” His huff was deep and bothered by your apparent inability to do anything he asked of you.
His anger didn't sit with you, but himself. He didn't really know that, though. Doesn't feel too much beneath the thickness of his skull. Hard-headed fucker.
The scent of you hung leaden in the steam-filled bathroom. Iron. Blood. Something saccharine that made him ache as he peeled your clothes from your weak skin. Lately, his temper has been short, and unbeknownst to you he hasn’t always been this way. Even in recent years. You assumed he was always like this, further etching the lines that softened on his face (only after yelling at you), but he would argue that you were acting like a little fuckin’ brat… so his snippy remarks were justified.
"Did all the work of carryin' you here and now you're gonna off yourself? Cause you won't let me help you bathe in the only hot bath water you've seen since you were what.... sixteen? M' not that big and scary, Bunny."
You both had your own ways of dealing with things, you guessed. Verbal expression of any kind besides small, whispered sentences had been scarce. Except for when he was angry. Except for right now.
You stopped listening because suddenly nothing seemed to matter too much. It didn’t all feel so black and white; life-ending like he was making it seem, being a real grump.
“Are you listenin’ to m–?”
His tuneful voice now sounded hollow as it bounced off of your blurring peripheral vision.
You didn’t answer Joel, instead, you listened to the music in your head and wondered how it got there. How you got into his arms.
Joel called Tommy’s name after you stumbled into his warmth. You winced at his raised voice, almost breaking you from a blissful trance. “God damnit Tommy, get in here. I can’t hold her up and wash her at the same time.” Ten minutes of Joel trying to get you in the bath like you were a fucking toddler was enough. He wouldn’t be able to hold your body up and wash you simultaneously, either. It was a two-person job to do it correctly, and gently.
Tommy returned an hour or so earlier, saying whoever had followed them had taken another way around, but they’d seen fresh hoof marks. “It’s weird Joel,” he said.
“Fuck, I just washed these jea-“ his voice coming from down the hallway. He turned the corner, changed into clean clothes, and was taken aback by your bare chest staring back at him from underneath Joel’s veined arm. His skin burns into yours.
“What the fuck did you give her?” He was immediately angry.
Give me? Peace. Radiating warmth, you thought. He didn’t know that you didn’t feel a lot anymore, but you knew deep down that you felt something more for Joel.
“She’s in pain, Tommy. Only thing she’s felt in the past nine years is pain. Help me get her in here and then take off the fucking jeans then, I don’t care. Get some towels and then get in here. Don’t know how much time we have ‘fore it wears off.” Joel growled. Then you close your eyes and let go, swimming through the low buzz in between their thrown bickers.
He’d talked real sweet to you, in hopes of getting you to take a bath. Mostly because being 'somewhere else' would be best when washing your wound, away from the water gripping at your side. Another small reason was that he didn’t want to hear you mumble, “no,” again. You needed a proper bath if you were ever going to get better. Although you didn’t seem too interested in such
That must have been the extent of Tommy’s anger, because he listens exactly to what Joel says. He unlocks his leather-backed metal belt and it hits the floor in the same instance, cling. He doesn’t mention the pills again, just takes his jeans off before he turns the handles of the running bath off and assumes his position outside of it. Joel takes his own shirt off, skin soft-looking and warm. He was sweating, skin slightly glowing from the sweat reflecting the bathroom lights. You could smell him. He kept his boxers on, still maintaining a sliver of his respect. He was willing his cock to follow the same.
He sunk himself into the bathwater with a deep groan, one of relief. Tommy walked you closer and helped you climb into the bath. It burned, felt like it was boiling. You were standing in it now, between Joel’s legs, hands still enclosed in Tommy’s as he helped you keep your balance. Joel was trying not to think about how your core was aligned perfectly before him as you stood. You turned, ass swaying as you prepared to sit on his clothed lap. They both looked away as your body was fluctuating in the prettiest fucking way they’d both ever seen.
“S’okay baby, sit down.” You bent down to hold the sides of the tub, letting Tommy go. You were spread open right in front of Joel’s face, the back of your pussy practically calling to him as it finally came in contact with his lap.
Tommy turns around and sighs before walking out of the bathroom to fetch towels like an obedient dog. Joel shuffled you, with what would have been awkward silence between the three of you if two of you weren’t high. If one of you hadn’t just left the room.
Joel has already swallowed his dusty piece of sanctuary. You had too, in the tea he made you thirty minutes ago. He was dangling another pill in front of you, now that Tommy was out of sight. This time allowing you a choice; rather than remain silent as it swam down your throat.
"Let me help you sum’ more, baby. Gonna give you something to help the hurt. Don’t go running, an’ don't tell Tommy. He wouldn't like that I'm makin’ you feel good."
Telling Tommy would consist of more non-compartmentalized guilt and yet another thing for him to look down upon Joel for. Another bullet point to add to Tommy’s list of Reasons Joel is a Fucking Asshole. And you needed help right now. This is how he could help you. So no, he would not be telling Tommy that he fed the girl more pills, too. She was simply exhausted and needed help bathing. She was in pain and needed him; them. Tommy would have done the same, no?
He slipped around on the wetness of your lips before he parted them with one, thick finger.
“Stick out your tongue for me.”
He notes your lack of hesitation to open your mouth for him. He places the bitter thing there, gently.
“Swallow.”
He smirked as you obeyed.
“You’re a’ good little thing, you know. S'good to listen and mind.” He tucked your hair behind your ear so that it wouldn’t keep falling in your face.
His drugs were now yours. His regrets, too. And he secretly hoped that his desires were burning into your body and being met with the same inner incineration. But he wasn’t regretting it right that moment. Not as he watched your body slacken. He knew your entire being was numb when you were reaching up at him, fingers looking for feeling.
His thumb ran across the plumpness of your bottom lip and his thighs flexed inadvertently. You felt the small jerk of his body, your eyes drawn upwards meeting his. He felt the moment your breathing became deeper, slipping through his skull and resting on the center of his lust. Then he heard the teetering of the old house as it sang. He heard chatter outside, and it all sounded happy, nothing scary around. He returned to your nose, where a little black wish sat, kissing your cheek. He moved his thumb up to brush the eyelash away and whisper his own silent prayer.
You looked around his face before resting your gaze on his lips, and he knew that you were slipping deeper too. The moment ended in a split second torn into a million, and you were looking him in the eyes. Your pupils are already blown, helpless, and in need of strong arms to hold you upright. It fucking hurt. You hadn’t been so willing without the drugs. The pit of his stomach crawled in need as your back rested against it. Your ass was scooted up, and he could feel the break between your legs, could feel the warmer skin of your pussy kissing his thighs.
He loosely assumed that you’d never been in the bath with a man before, either. Probably never been naked in front of one... or two. And he knew that it shouldn’t be something he was proud of, to have you here, safe in his arms and naked in his bath. But he was.
“Feel something?”
“Mhmm.”
He felt your response in the tone of your flexing abdomen. His wide fingertips sink into your cushioned fat and the softness of your stretch marks. It stung, the water, like having his presence near it set it off, simmering around his body, trying to kiss anything of him that it could. The water was pretty pink for a few moments, your body releasing the hold it had on your dried blood and the dirt accompanying it. His hands were occupied by the washcloth he was softly rubbing against your body. Then it was dark, and whenever you looked down it was harder and harder to see the end of his legs, stretching out before and underneath you, holding your body (against his) up. “Fuck me.” It was he who had released that sound.
“Good, been staring out tha’ window for far too long,” he said. “You can look at something prettier now. Close your eyes, bunny.”
You did what Joel wanted of you, and quickly you fell into the heavy light buzzing right outside of yourself like your aura was bouncing off of the smoldering color... like a blanket, maybe. One of blurred confessions and soft, radiating heat. Your arms are heavier but in a slow melting comfort, and it feels like butterflies right above your hip bones crawling right towards your cunt in a low pulse. As if the energy moved and hovered itself into your underwear and is prodding its fingertips into your soaking center, touching every bit of swollen flesh as his fingers disappear into you. But he’s sitting still, you think. He is everywhere but inside of you.
Your memories lilt against your skull, retracting from any indication of themselves. Much of who you were is gone, left in dark patches of shadow and musk. Outlines of a monster (human) ((him)) setting his jaw on your shoulder from behind, willing the air to kiss that spot right under your ear. Your own blood, his sweat. The undulating sway of his plush lips and impending jaw from below. You’d only seen him this way, from below. Like he was something holy, forever above you and rarely looking down. You reach up and feel his face, running the sensitive skin of your fingertips against his stubbly chin and neck.
-
Most of your time was spent contently sitting in your (Joel’s) favorite chair, the one you hadn't really left or released yourself from, just assuming that it had now formed to your body. Maybe you had melted into the dirty crevices, instead. You wanted nothing more than to sink into it and become a part of the worn and well-loved fabric. No one expected anything of this chair. For it to simply exist confirms its usefulness.
A week or so ago, you had been dying, pooling blood turned your skin terian-like, how the tips of your fingers used to turn in the now-cold bath. He was right– it had been years. This death doesn't feel much different. Just slower. You had been doing better before Tommy left to check the perimeters and outward land of Jackson. They didn’t know that no one would be following you. Or looking for you… needing you. Praying for you.
Joel thinks a lot about the comfort-glaze of your eyes whenever you saw Tommy that day like you’d been happy that he was there to see you off, hold your hand as you looked into the sky and deflate into the ground. He thinks about how you’d probably rather have him here, now.
Maybe that’s what you write in your notebook, still sitting in the chair, but this time with your face turned towards your lap, completely lost under the lamp every night around 10:37.
Maybe that's what is feeding into his mood.
You would have already been in that bath if Tommy were to ask you, rather than Joel. He thinks about how Tommy’s eyes lit up when he first looked into yours, hazel. Gaze flashing as if in recognition of an importance. Joel could see a hint of the brother he once knew, before his world ended. Before all of your worlds ended. He knew in that moment that something shifted for the both of you, but for Joel, it felt like drowning.
He looked at you and he saw the torn, soft skin of a small animal. He didn’t know that the damage was on the inside.
Joel resented the way he was drawn to you, it made him viscerally angry at himself. He was angry at how calling you baby had been so easy, the way he felt his cock thicken at the sound of your grunt in agreement. Or the smell of you, even though you hadn’t bathed in god knows how fucking long. He pretended it was the drugs, but it wasn’t. These were his secrets and the web was already intertwining with itself. He almost feels like if he were to tug on it now, even more shit would fall out, come unstuck and drag him into the ground to a place where he’s surprised he isn't lying already.
How can you hide such a carnal want? He’s unfamiliar with the feeling. Uncomfortable with it.
What would they say? Would Tess say? “One more pussy for you to fuck, Joel? This time it's new and fresh, betcha could teach her a thing or two, huh?” Tess had always been the jealous type, Joel clocked it the first week they met. She hid it well, but you can’t hide from someone who recognizes something in you, because they recognize it in themselves, too. Joel and Tess, Tess and Joel. The town knew there was something happening between the two of them, but no one said anything. They knew Joel was her loyal guard dog. They knew not to disturb Mr. Miller's peace. He was a kind enough man, besides that.
He was hoping for anything other than to hear the question, "You think you can save this one, too?" He knew that he couldn't. He couldn't promise your safety. However, he could sense that you were in need of it. Perhaps not obviously at first glance; you appeared tough on the surface, but there was something in your eyes that begged him, “Release me. Let me rest.” Something calling his name. He was hearing it now, in the cadence of your voice, whispering around his head as he stopped himself from touching you.
He knew that they, you, would get him in trouble if he didn’t stop it and try to pawn it off to someone else before it (his desire) got too bad. “Hey, look, she’s with him, not me. Now let me sit and stutter into the darkness while you take the only thing that has made you feel an inch of something in the past month.”
They would chain him up if he ever admitted the level of his desires. Embarrassed at the way he was already entirely attached to you. Something about, “I almost killed you, but let me be the savior. Love me enough to let me swallow you whole,” probably wouldn’t sit too well.
“Joel?” you questioned, slow and small.
His skin rises instantly, stunned by your sound and the touch of your body. “What did you–?” he softly shhh’s you because suddenly, the way your body hums into his when you speak is too much. Your hand continues to fall slowly against the thicker hair near his jaw, ghosting over unsaid words and lips. His breathing was becoming too heavy for someone who was just there to be a savior.
“Gettin’ clean feels good,” his heavy thumbs pinching deeper into skin, voice far away and muffled under yearning, drowning, “don’t it, pretty?”
You let your arms hit the water, too tired and blissed out to hold them up longer. He chuckled and it rang through every inch of your nude being. The water splashed, and the roundness of Joel’s lower belly retracted quickly from your back, startled by the closeness of your body. You hadn’t felt it before, his whole self pressed firmly against you. The thickness of it. Your thighs oozed over his lap, completely covering him. Your feet ended at almost his mid-leg. He stretched further out in the bath ahead of you.
Joel didn’t need a verbal response from you. Knew you couldn’t give him one anyway. He knew that he should, that’s the right way to go about this. But he had just carried you over his lap for a week, bleeding out on him, screaming. He would help you relieve yourself, too, when needed. Couldn’t pee by yourself the first couple of days. Didn’t bother him much, not after what he’d seen. He’s had much worse cross his hands. He knew the whole ride back that if you were conscious enough to know that you were still alive, you’d be embarrassed to hell that he would help you off the horse, pull your pants down, and hold you. He couldn’t understand why that had shuffled something inside of him. The point is, he’s seen it all anyway. All of you, physically at least. Now he was simply just helping you out some more. Until you could tell him to stop. It's the least he could do if he really did shoot her.
He watched as they pulled the bullet out of your side, Tommy pale-faced in the corner, shrinking.
Joel knew you were out from the pain meds they had stuck into your veins, but that wasn’t a good enough promise that you would sit still through it, that it would be painless.
When you hold more weight, you need a little more.
He slipped you a little something extra before all the men got there that night to see and help. Your body was lying on his kitchen table, sweating and tired, dying. But you– you were asleep with a soft smile on your lips. He held you still, just just in case, hands pushed down into your cushioned stomach. The other was around your wrists, positioned just above your head so that the ‘doctors’ had room to move freely around your side. It was hard not to stare at a body that looked well-fed and healthy, in a world like this. Your breasts were moving softly with every movement of your body from other hands. Your hair under your arms was dark and visible in the way he was holding your hands above your head.
No one dared speak upon your body with Joel around, especially since he was the one that dragged you in here, meaning you were his property, Miller property, now.
-
TOMMY looked away upon entering, watching Joel retreat from where he was whispering into your ear. He could hear the bass of his brother's voice, slowly echoing in the hallway. He would pretend, for the sake of his sanity, that he didn’t know exactly what was happening before witnessing it. Especially after Joel had mentioned a couple of times that you seemed closer to his age, meaning keep an eye on this one, brother. “She’d probably like ya more anyway, younger n’ more capable. Bigger name in Jackson, too.” This coming from the mouth of a man who even went as far as to say, “Coulda’ made a good wife,” three hours after shooting her.
People all deal with things differently, he guesses.
It wouldn’t be the first time that he secretly craved something that his big brother was dangling in front of him, knowing that somehow he had the advantage. But then Tommy felt guilty thinking that way. Joel had been through so much and lost too many people for Tommy to get in the way of whatever look took over your body as you sat against his chest, halfway immersed in water and looking up into Joel’s face. You looked more peaceful now than you have at any moment since stepping into this house.
“Come and try to get her, Tommy.”
But of course, he won’t show that he yearns for you, too. It feels wrong. That Joel was the one to kill you but you were staying with him; that he was your primary safekeeper and healer. You were sitting on his lap, nipples hard and body at attention, peacefully asleep with your cheek pushed up against the hair on Joel's chest, resting in the arms of the man who nearly succeeded at killing you.
If he were to say anything else, it would be, “I know you fucking drugged her, Joel. N’ you didn’t even give her a choice.” But he didn’t want to wake a sleeping bear, not right now. Not when you looked so peaceful and pain-free for the first time since they grabbed the world from underneath your feet. Not when the very thing Tommy could not stop thinking about was lying on the bear’s chest.
-
YOU can feel yourself between your legs. It’s the kind of absentee pulse that you almost want to stop, but it feels too good. Light fingertips brushing the hair on the back of your neck. Like that of knowing a lightning storm is crawling its way across the night sky. Or hearing the neighbor roll their trash can down their road, unable to tell if it’s thunder or an earthquake in its deep humming, only to be relieved that it is in fact another human existing in close proximity to you. Although not something that you remember too well now, just the feeling. It’s surprising and suspenseful at the same moment. It’s love and then what comes after.
There’s always an after.
Then you feel the drip running from right inside of you into the hot water, against the fluttering of your thickening lips.
Please. Kiss me here. Hard, hurtful, and sinful. Strip me to my bones and then use them as your toys. Then tell me I’m a good girl and run your hands through my hair. Tell me I fought good and hard and then let me lie here for a while.
Chanting like a prayer.
You remember the smell of his lap, much different than the smell of his neck, but still devastatingly carnal. You cradled into the warmth of his neck; in the burn of his embrace and you sat there, teetering between consciousness and the bliss of finally being held. You had always been afraid that you would leave the world and not even be able to wrap your own arms around you. But someone was holding you before the ground will be— forever. This didn’t feel like dying through.
This felt like something else. Similar, but different.
You sat on top of Joel’s lap in the bath for at least an hour, resting your head on his shoulder, turning and resting it against his chest, too. They both washed you, silently eating you up. Tommy stood outside of the bath, combing your hair after Joel ran his gruff hands through it, pawing at your scalp and rubbing the dirt (hurt) from your scalp. No one talked, everyone inside their own thoughts.
Joel was stuck thinking about the small bags of things you had lost grasp on whenever you fell (were shot). It looked like time-worn items that meant something, from before the world was this way. One is an old driver's license- your smile, happy, content, young. Your name, now repeating in Joel’s head over and over, and over and over, coating every inch of him. He still hadn’t heard it come from your lips.
9 years ago, this all started. You, now in your mid-20s. How long had you been all alone? No one had come running to your corpse.
They had come to the conclusion that you were doing well on your own. You weren’t skin and bones like most of them who are lucky enough to survive and find their way to Jackson. You were thick, and heavy in the most beautiful way. Heavy meant healthy, able to hunt, and useful. It meant maybe being able to carry children. It meant handfuls of skin and whispered praises. It meant more to wash, to take in, and try not to touch. It was too much for both of them. The only difference is that Joel knew he was a weak man. He wouldn’t be able to control himself if he kept feeling this way.
After they removed you from Joel’s lap, they towel dried you and you slowly became more aware of how different four large hands felt grasping at your body, taking care of you. Helping you.
An hour or so had passed and Tommy was lying in bed next to you, reading something. Joel turned the corner and leaned up against the doorframe.
“Tommy.” There was tar in his throat, dripping down the back of his tongue and settling in his chest. He was a million pounds and his legs could no longer bear the weight of her. Of you. Of his guilt for slipping your drugs and undressing you in his bathroom.
He looked into you, bounced off the sides of your mind, and then straight into the bed you were lying upon, sleeping so peacefully next to his brother. Tommy sees the pain in Joel's eyes, hung lower in embarrassment.
He did this to you. He took the life of someone who had the rest of this fucked up world ahead of her. And it was a slow and painful death, too. You were someone’s daughter. It’s fucked up how the world works like that, huh? It wasn’t enough losing his own daughter- he had to kill someone else too. Does your dad, husband, or mother, feel you slipping from the world? Do they hear hushed whispers in the night of your name leaving something tongue?
Joel stopped believing in God a long time ago. He was slipping from his grip, facing the fall, and Sarah’s last moments solidified his feet on the ground. Almost under. Still surprised it’s not under.
“I’ll take her, Joel. In the mornin we’ll pack up some things and go back to my house.” He said softly, nodding and looking down at the ground in an unspoken, “I know.”
It's Tommy who steps forward, taking charge and offering to care for you. He can sense his brother’s connection to you, why he wants to save you so badly. So much so that he can’t. He doesn’t trust himself for what will happen if someone else dies under his watch, because of him. Someone innocent. “I know she’s sleepin’ but can we have a moment?” Joel asks.
Tommy doesn’t question him, he marks his page, sets down his book, and carries his body from the bed to the hallway. Joel waited a moment and assured me that you were tucked in well, warm from the bath. He sighed, one of pain.
“I’m so sorry,” his voice was stern in the way that held back his tears. “You have to believe me,” he whispered your name, the first time it left his tongue and he wanted to say it over and over again. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have done that to you without askin’.” He caressed your face, watching as your body reacted to his touch, stirring, before the bed creaked with the weight of his body leaving, and then he was gone. You had heard everything, felt him leaving. The room felt entirely too empty.
The Devil was begging you to forgive him, and you wanted to. You wanted to bring your palms together and whisper his name through the cracks, hoping he would hear your silent prayer. “Let me stay here, with you.”
Tommy entered the room again and sank under the covers. He moved his body closer to you and you decided to bask in it, instead.
-
You wake up, unclear but clean. You don’t remember last night in great detail, or at least a few hours of it, at all. He slept peacefully despite the world’s end, cocooned in a haven his mind crafted. Your mind was far less forgiving— or maybe you still hadn’t learned how to ‘deal with it’. You always felt like everyone dealt with It better. The room lay shrouded in darkness, your thoughts raging, Joel’s words echoed in your mind, etching against the soft inside of your head, deeper with each repetition. His guilty confession and desperate plea for forgiveness replayed. But forgiveness was no longer something you believed in. The world had ended, shattered, and reassembled without remorse. You are sober now. You fall back asleep.
Your eyes opened again to Tommy caving the bed closer to him, moving your body closer, too. You closed your eyes quickly, away from him, and pretended you hadn’t been awake and listening to the lull of his deep breathing, trying to gain your standing. You felt comforted, waking up next to his freckled shoulders. The hazy light of morning was trailing in from the window and laying out on the carpet, stretching itself in the morning confusion.
There was one thing you were absolutely-fucking-sure about, and it was that Joel Miller had drugged you, and it had secretly awakened something unknown inside of you. It tickled, but it was shoving its way up your stomach and relentless, neverending in its pursuit of something.
Tommy Miller had saved you. At least he had put you to bed, it seems. And with him, too, rather than the one who seems to be dissolving into his own. Your hair was wet and you smelled like Joel, but you were shrouded in Tommy’s clothes. Slightly more fitting, and better kept together.
You’d never slept in a bed with a man before. And then all of sudden there were two, interchangeably. Brothers. One that smiled above your eyes and one below. Ones that rocked the bed differently each time their body swam through the damp covers.
You’d never taken a bath with a man either. Never had anyone's brother ever pulled your sinking body out of bathwater. You remember the inward push of the water and the hands that followed, reaching through it, pushing you forward to Tommy.
There’s a quick assessment you’ve always done, automatically but unintentionally, “Would this one stop if I asked him to?” Most are ‘no’s. Tommy was a yes in your mind. He would put away his soft, white wings and free you from his divinity if you were to ask.
~
He was sipping his coffee, dressed in his usual, alone at the table. He had opened the blinds he made sure three times he shut last night. The smoke billowed from the base of the cup into his face and hair, mixing with the silver tuffs. They shone against the darkness at the nape of his neck and the bottom of his chin from the emitting light.
He looked calm sitting there, as content as a devil could. He felt you before you had even turned the corner upstairs, but he didn’t say anything. He never really did.
That being said, you can't remember much of anything besides wondering if it was indeed your body that rustled the ground that day. It was, and then you felt a man. A few days could have been weeks, and suddenly you were sitting in a town. A word that didn’t mean too much for a long time, but it did again; sitting at the breakfast table of a man, undulating under his gaze and between the blank spaces of your memory.
An animal caged inside itself looks for relief in any way it can. Even if the relief is a different kind of pain masked as want. It meant throwing away your expectations and doing what it took to survive.
You intended on speaking first. Rather, you reached the bottom of the stairs and tucked Tommy’s red flannel across your sparsely clothed body, and suddenly heard, “Shouldn’t be half-naked when Ellie’s here. She’s a kid.”
He didn’t even take the time to move his attention away from his coffee cup. That would be too much effort given to you. You ignored him, wanting to scream, “Was she here last night when you played with me like I was your little fucking doll?” You didn’t give him what he wanted, but still hoping he would give you what you did.
You had watched the back of your eyelids dance with the small red and green dots for two more hours before getting up, willing remembrance. And oh, did it come.
“Got any more of those?”
“Of what?” He spat, eyebrows lowering in pretend interest in his hot coffee again… into his fuming lap. He knew exactly what the fuck you were talking about. How dare he take advantage of you and then throw it to the side like nothing happened. He was embarrassed. Embarrassed that he got high and took you with him.
“This is feeling’ a lot different than last night. Those little round things that kept me pliant an’ dead enough for you to press yourself into my naked body? – Joel, do you think I’m not payin’ any fuckin’ attention? The second I tasted the salt on your fingertips, I knew it was you shovin’ pills down my throat. I knew it. And the way you were talking to me, calling me babygirl and sweetheart? Then I didn’t know anything, for a while. Not really. But Tommy,” you were raising your voice now, “Tommy was there too, then I woke up in his bed with his clothes on instead of yours— just tell me what the fuck happened Joel!”
“Lower your voice, right now.” He was pointing at you, and his body moved closer to yours. “You… you wanted it Bunny,” He growled, “You practically drooled across my palm.” He sighed, gathered the lies from his web, and prepared them. He had already prepared his own cocoon, years ago.
He hadn't been the only one whose high wore off far too early in the night.
“You didn’t say you didn’t want ‘em and—“
Then you spoke above the sentence he was starting to dig deeper into the ground, to his surprise, in a softer tone. One that had a hint of sweetness to it, of want.
“Sweethear–”
“Do it again. Felt good.”
You liked it. Wasn’t the only thing he wanted to shove down your throat, either. No, no, no. Shaking the thought from his head.
He removed his eyes from the creases in the wood floor and sewed them into your gaze instead, eyebrows cresting. He wanted to make sure he heard you right. He wanted to hear you repeat it.
“Say that again?”
“Said feels good when you touch me like that. When I’m melting into your flesh and sinking down your bones. That’s what the water felt like. First, it felt like fire, perfect for a Devil, and then it felt like a calm warmth. Then your hands were touchin’ me and, no one has ever touched–
a pause, “like—“
“No one has ever touched you, bunny?”
“No, Joel. And I hate you so much for making me feel this way. For showing me something I can’t continue to have because it’s wrong and, for being so sweet to me and then eating me up like I'm a burden because you couldn't just fucking kill me when you had the chance... and…I can barely even fucking walk. I am in so much pain but you took it away for a while last night. You took everything bad away. Why didn’t you just ask?”
“Hate me, huh? Thas’a strong word for someone who is depending on me, wanting more.” Good. This is how it needed to be. He needed to take care of Ellie, himself now. He promised her that he would.
“Depending on you? Sorry, I forgot we hadn’t got to that part of the conversation yet, past the one where you drugged me. You dropped me into your brother's arms as of last night, didn’t you? I remember it, you musta popped one too many, huh?”
Your attitude and his lack of sleep were making it easier to will the words off the end of his tongue.
“He seemed better suited for someone…” he looked you up and down, “like yourself.”
You didn’t have anything to say to that, and he was immediately sorry after speaking about it.
“For being such a big bad man in this town, you don’t have your fucking shit together,” returning the look he gave you, “do you?”
You were out of breath, releasing too much of yourself into his anger, knees weak and side-splitting in pain. You weren’t going to tell him that you were awake when he begged for your forgiveness. That you heard every word he whispered and repeated it back to yourself as if it was a passage pulled right from the pen-marked Bible your dad used to shove into your hands nightly.
He thought you had been listening to everyone talking, in the mess hall and whatever drama Ellie had brought home. Maybe even Tommy had told you about the real Joel. The real Joel will tear you apart.
You sat down on the sunken chestnut couch and the pillows lifted more of his smell into your space, settling and trying to get comfortable. You both remained silent, stung. It made you even more mad that he had the ability to stick straight into your anger like that. So you wished for a way to really hurt him like you were some kind of child.
You weren’t done yet. You were angry. So fucking angry at everything you have endured. And he was standing there, pity and disgust in his eyes–but he was looking, seeing… listening.
“Tess.” Her name stung like the sound it ended with, for a reason you didn’t know, but inherently felt after last night. The hurt that flashed into his dark pupils spread through the tightness in his jaw.
“Don’t you fuckin-”
“Oh. Shut. Up. Joel. Heard ‘er talking to Tommy last night. Came knocking on the door around 1:30 am, asking for you. Tommy went to your room and you weren’t in there. Went back downstairs and said he couldn't find you, seen you only a couple of hours ago. She was throwing her hands against the door like it was hers to tear down. Guess she didn’t know I wasn’t with you,” you took a deep breath, trying to relieve the pain so you could continue, “Have you seen him? N’ that girl? Tommy, she's a fucking kid. Ain't right for him.” You mimicked her concern. You knew immediately who she was asking for. “Maybe I should go ask Tess if she would give me a few, she seems like she’d like to know what’s going on.”
His jaw was flexing, his eyes burrowing into you, biting the inside of his lip. You continued,
“Feels’good being numb for a’while. I’m always fanning off another fire but it always finds the loose thread and kisses it ablaze anyway. This feels like sinking... like I don’t have to fight anymore.”
His deep breath stifled the fire on his chest.
“Know it’s good,” his tone falling deep, low, and warning, “But you don’t need anymore.”
“Don’t I? You were the one who fucking shot me. The least you could do is slip me some pills. I’m in pain, Joel. I’m hurting.” He knew that you weren’t just talking about the wound in your side, that he put it there with his own split metal. He wanted to take that hurt away, get you curled up tight against him and high, painless, protected yet free– from a world you were too young to be living in alone. But how could he protect you from even himself?
He didn't even save her. Nothing has changed now besides the fact he finds it harder and harder to get out of bed every day. That he’s running low on whiskey and that's what keeps the bear inside. The pills keep it sedated. How could he admit that he was not fit to be your protector, and the only other person in town who it could be, was Tommy?
That's why today was the last day you'd be slamming down his stairs. Your footsteps were a reminder that the hurt animal had made its way into his house. A reminder that he was the one who hurt it.“‘M not given’ you anymore. So don’t open your mouth about it again. Got it?"
As always, please let me know if I missed any warnings / want me to add you to the taglist: @worhols @sarap-77 @mishasminion360 @justagalwhowrites @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @romanarose @milla-frenchy @bandluvr97 @alwaysdjarin @hellfyreroz @northernbluess-blog @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pr0ximamidnight @morgaussy @n7cje @theywhowriteandknowthings @gracie7209 @pedritoferg @twirl731 @k-ra @gintheginger @obscurexsorrows @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @ours-is-a-strange-fate @rayslittlekitten @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrotonin @bluetattoos @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @faggotinie @justlulu
#READ THE WARNINGS#DUBCON#TW#drug use#tw drugging#pedro pascal#joel miller#tlou#the last of us#joel miller x you#tlou fanfiction#joel miller x y/n#joel x tommy x you#smut#the devil and his brother#tdahb#dark!joel miller#pervy!joel miller#perv!joel#carnal#fic recs#a03#pedro pascal x you#pedro x you#ellie williams#joel x tess#plus size#pedro pascal x plus size#Joel x plus size
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They fall back into silence, and this one lasts longer than the others had. Mumbo is starting to feel miffed, himself, the more he thinks on it. The more he focuses on the pit in his stomach, and the two years of radio silence, and everything that used to be normal and isn’t anymore.
Grian disappeared on him.
“I’m sorry,” Grian says finally, and he sounds genuine enough that Mumbo’s shoulders relax. Against his will. All the miffed-ness seeps right out of him and into the ground, gone forever. It is inconvenient, because Mumbo was planning on staying miffed, but he has known for awhile now that Grian can do this to him whenever he wants just by sounding a little bit sad. He has (mostly) made his peace with it. “It was weird. I've been weird. Sorry.”
“...it’s alright, G,” he finds himself saying, sighing a little. He wants to say more. He tries to gather his thoughts, and a little bit of courage too, and he continues, “I love you, mate, that’s why I don’t like it when you — when you get weird like that, when you pull away. We were having a nice conversation. We could just go back to that, why don’t we go back to that?” Why do you keep dragging us away from nice conversations, he wants to ask, why do you shut down, why do you say those things but never really talk to me?
Another long pause, and Mumbo reminds himself to be patient, though his leg has started an anxious wobble. “You… what?” Grian asks, and gods above, his voice is watery . Mumbo’s stomach drops.
“I —” he’s already stumbling over his words, great. “I don’t like it when you get — ? Oh. Oh, you mean the other thing. The I love you thing. I’m — I mean. Should I not have said that?” Right, he is sweating now. Properly sweating. His head hurts and he thinks it’s the emotional whiplash. Because that’s what this conversation has given him. Emotional whiplash.
“I just thought — well, you know, we’ve been friends a long time. Good friends, really good friends. You’re my best friend, actually. Now that I think about it. Certainly haven’t got one better. Not that I’m ranking you, oh dear, don’t go telling people that I’m ranking my friends, just — best friends? That’s something normally people say, isn’t it? It isn’t weird? So I love you. Ah. I’ve said it again. I can take it back if — do you want me to take it back?”
(Please don’t ask him to take it back. He does not want to take it back.
He doesn’t — he doesn’t want the version of Grian who makes him take it back. That sounds bad, doesn’t it? He doesn’t mean it that way. He wants Grian , whatever Grian might be like, and it’s not like he’s ever abandoning this friendship for anything, but he has known this version of Grian: the one who vies and vies for attention but scrambles back the moment it’s given, the Grian who loves to be noticed but hates to be seen, who’s a lot less careful with the hearts in his hands, who’s a little bit more mean. There was a Grian who would have died before admitting that he cared about something or someone, anything or anyone — who’d shrug off praise for builds he’d poured months into, desperately pretending that it didn’t make him glow.
Eventually Mumbo got to have a happier Grian, a bright and open and honest Grian. That Grian disappeared, and in moments like these, Mumbo feels like he didn’t come back.)
“No,” Grian says, and Mumbo accidentally sighs out loud with relief. “No, you don’t have to take it back. You dork. No. It’s okay. I — me too. I mean. Yeah. Me too.”
They sit with these three words between them (two in Grian’s case, but yes, Mumbo does know what he means) for several uncomfortable seconds.
Where did you go, Mumbo is thinking, and his chest aches with it — where did you go, and what did it do to you?
...
from quality entertainment, chapter 3 (ao3)
watcher grian! waffle duo agony!! huzzah
#watcher grian#watchers#mumbo jumbo#waffle duo#hermitfic#hermitblr#hermitcraft#hermitcraft fanfic#angst#angst with a happy ending#the happy ending is coming i promise
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Hi. I feel like you are the only person I can send Lestappen asks so here goes another one.
First of all have you seen that video of Max playing footsie with Checo? I hope you have because it’s so funny to me how he realized he had accident tapped his teammate’s foot but Checo didn’t react so he did it intentionally to make sure he laughed.
Now what got me is the fact that not long ago he [Max] was playing footsie with Charles albeit unknowingly but when he realized he got all awkward about it. It’s so glaring that I started realizing other little things like the way Max will talk to Lando or Carlos or Daniel, heck everyone else on the grid about something is all so different from how he is with Charles. There’s always some sort of shyness, awkwardness, too much staring and thoughtfulness put into everything involving Charles. And yeah it may sound like I’m biased but I didn’t ship them like that for the longest time but the footsie thing made me think about all the little moments they share and how they are different from how they are with everyone else. The same can be said for Charles and how he is with Max via-à-vis other people.
Could you do a comparison, pleeease? 😘
I feel so honored, seriously.
I have seen the video with Checo, but not the one with Charles? So please send me the link because I need to see it immediately or else I will spontaneously combust.
"Could you do a comparison, pleeease?😘" <<< Oh, babe. Honey. My darling anon. You will regret this, and I am so sorry.
(Putting this under a 'Read More' for everyone's sake.)
Now, before I get further into this I just need to make a few things very clear: 1. I am a monogamous shipper, meaning that once I ship someone, I am incapable of shipping those people with someone else. I am actually kind of jealous of people who are capable of shipping the same person with multiple people because the amount of content you get, my God. Now, this does not mean that I don't get other ships or that I have any sort of issue with other ships because I definitely don't. It simply means that in my head, once two people are paired together in a ship, that's it. They're it for each other as far as my brain is concerned. 2. This post does not mean that I genuinely believe Max and Charles are in a secret relationship, nor does it mean that I genuinely believe they ever will be. The point of shipping, as far as I'm concerned, is that it's fun and lighthearted. It's something that brings a lot of joy to a lot of people, and it's something that is very easy to enjoy.
Now, prepare for a rant.
I believe you are right on the money, anon, and this is exactly why I ship Lestappen. They have the sort of vibe and chemistry between them that I just don't see them having with anyone else.
Let's start with Daniel, who is the obvious first choice: There is no denying how close he is with Max, but the feeling I get with those two is that they are two dude bros who are just so comfortable with each other and such good friends that nothing feels weird. They can joke about literally anything, no matter how inappropriate, no matter how sexual, and it's just funny. They have exactly the kind of familiarity you would see between two best friends, and they have no aversion to getting up close and personal with each other. There's no awkwardness between them whatsoever, and for that reason they just give me those frat boy vibes that I absolutely adore in a friendship. Watching them interact is hilarious at any given time.
As for Lando and Carlos, Max displays the same sort of ease that he has whenever he's interacting with Daniel, although obviously not at the same level, and more so with Lando than Carlos. Max has said it himself: Lando is literally his best friend on the grid, and they also don't seem to have any sort of aversion to physical touch: slapping each other's asses, being in each other's space, and generally displaying an easy sort of comfort you'd expect to see between really close friends. It's never awkward or weird, it's simply funny and comfortable, and it's so blatantly obvious how much they enjoy each other's company, both on and off the grid.
With Carlos, Max obviously shares the history of them being teammates at Toro Rosso, and although they weren't exactly best friends at the time (now if that isn't an understatement right there), they were both young and — like most young boys, let's be honest — stupid. Hot-headed, stubborn and arrogant, which typically doesn't lead to the best relationship in a sport that is as competitive as F1, especially not when you're in your teens. However, both Max and Carlos have grown up a lot since then, and now they seem to have developed a genuine friendship based on mutual respect and a history long since passed, and they seem comfortable around each other. Like with Daniel and Lando, there doesn't seem to be any awkwardness or underlying current of something tied to their interactions.
Now, with Charles, it's just different. And not just for Max, because Charles seems to have a very specific way of behaving around Max that I just haven't seen when he's around Lando, Carlos, Pierre, or anyone else on the grid. There are so many interactions in which both Charles and Max just seem giddy whenever they're around each other — you know, the kind of giddy you get when you're talking to somebody you have a crush on and you're not quite sure how to deal with it? Take this moment here in Bahrain 2022, for example. The quick looks, the smiles. If that isn't how you look at your fucking crush, then I don't know what is. Or this moment, with Charles rubbing at the back of his neck and looking all bashful after interacting with Max. Like, sir, what the fuck?
Whenever they interact, they don't display that same kind of comfort that they do with others, especially the other drivers already mentioned, but does this stop them from interacting? No. Does it deter them from seeking each other out practically every chance they get? Absolutely not. In fact, they seem to gravitate towards each other most of the time just like their hands always seem to gravitate towards each other's waists as soon as they're within touching distance for photos, and how other people briefly cease to exist once the two of them are engaged in conversation. Hell, I refer to Checo as Du-du-du-du-du-du-du Steve (Checo) and Third wheel Checo in my tags for a reason. (The things poor Checo has been forced to put up with when it comes to these two, including this cooldown room earlier this year.)
Oh, and did I mention Max literally interrupting Charles mid-interview in Bahrain at the beginning of the 2022 season, and Charles seemingly completely forgetting that he was being interviewed and keeping the conversation going, despite the fact that it's rude as fuck? Christ, how anyone puts up with them at this point is actually incredible.
There are also the numerous moments of intense eye contact while they're mid-conversation, the way Charles will remember the tiniest mention of Max from his engineer during a race and then bring it up, and Max fucking lighting up like a Christmas tree when he gets the chance to talk to Charles about it, and the way Charles is licking his lips before he realizes he's being recorded by Max. And anon, don't even get me started on their obsession with holding each other's waists as if that is a totally normal thing to be obsessed about with your emotional support rival. (Don't mind us, just gonna stand here and hold each other's waist while waiting for the others.)
Look, I am the absolute worst at keeping track of gifs and videos, which is probably for the best because if I was better at it, this would turn into a goddamned thesis, but there are just an endless supply of moments between Max and Charles where the vibe is just so far from being like the vibe either of them seem to have with any other driver on the grid. There is an underlying weirdness/awkwardness/shyness between the two of them that just screams "teenagers with a crush" for me, and that's why it's so easy for me to ship them. (And why it's impossible for me to ship either of them with someone else.)
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what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?
hi and thanks for the ask! ok this may seem a bit reckless but ive really wanted to get into dirt biking :P im not sure how realistic that is given my disabilities but i think it would be so fun! especially because i have a lot of energy and it seems like a fun way to get it all out haha
my old horseback riding instructor used to say that a lot of people who rode motorcycles would enjoy horseback riding and vis versa bc she thought the level of freedom it gave u was very similar! so ever since she told me that the idea of dirt biking has been lingering lol!
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a lesson on style - vi . [ ljn | njm ]
pt. i, pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv., pt. v, pt. vi
you’ve always been content with being associated with one word and one word only: average. average in looks, academics and social skills, you’re just looking to graduate high school without causing disasters you’ll have to live with until you kick the bucket. when you’re paired with school king lee jeno for the semester-long physics thesis, you can’t help but think the entire situation has pretty much set itself up for failure. that is, until you strike a deal with your partner.
alternatively: an au tale involving lessons in popularity, eleven consecutive B minuses, a secretly sensitive, chess-loving jock, and an amateur sex tape.
pairing: jeno x fem!reader, jaemin x fem!reader verse: high school au { jocks!nomin ft. a super cute whiny ap physics genius renjun } rating: M chapter warnings: none word count: 8.1k
author’s note: this was actually supposed to go on for a lot longer but... it might've reached a solid 13-15k and i just thought it would be better to split it into half-ish, so nothing major happens, although i definitely enjoyed yet another mc/jaemin real talk session that i also hope you enjoy! :^)
tagging: @justalildumpling, @spiderrenjunfics (no longer available, please give me your new url if you're still interested!)
You think now is as good a time as any for you to say something that’ll easily impact the trajectory of your life forever; after all, Jeno’s essentially given you the floor after such a strange and honestly shocking turn of events. You’re aware of the fact that his thumb is still traveling across your cheek, more idle as an action than anything else, but you seem to be experiencing the feeling as something closer to an out-of-body experience than an actual first-hand one; the tingles they send to your heart are weird and blurry, like your body can’t process his touch well enough to understand it fully. You suppose it’s because of your confusion at what he’s saying, which leads to your second option: asking him what he means.
There’s little to interpret at face value, but what his words do is essentially unlock a torrent of other weird questions in your head. For instance: how long had he known that you liked him? Had he known this entire time? Did something you did make it painfully obvious? If he wants you to like him — and, as he says, only him — does that mean he’s essentially accepting your feelings? Does this mean… he likes you back?
You assume this is one of those moments where, because your mind is going a million miles a minute, a lot of time feels like it’s passed even though it’s just been a small handful of seconds. This assumption is quickly broken by Jeno’s expression of concern.
“_______________? Say… something.”
“Um,” you start before you can even figure out what you want to say. The easiest answer comes to mind: It’s always only been you. But that’s weird, and this isn’t a 90’s Western movie, and if it were, you certainly wouldn’t be the eloquent main romance interest, even if Jeno’s gaze could easily fool you into thinking that. You think about making a joke, but you’re befuddled and also fresh from tears that — if Jeno’s abrupt story is actually true — were totally useless and unfounded in nature.
Also, you’re really not that funny to begin with.
“I just…” you try again, and his eyebrows raise slightly in anticipation for your next words. Nothing else comes out after a few seconds, though, and he realizes this is just another false start, his hand falling onto your shoulder (maybe he’s tired of trying to coax it out of you with the thumb-on-cheek method, which admittedly had you clamping up more than anything else).
“You can just tell me how you really f—”
“I think I have to go.”
No. No. Why would you say that? The surprise on his face quickly morphs into something that looks almost crestfallen, an expression you’d never imagine seeing on bright, confident Lee Jeno, let alone ever be the cause of. His hand slips from your shoulder quickly, like he’s now worried touching you will electrocute him.
“Oh. I’m sorry — I didn’t… mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m… I’m not.” You’re not, are you? “Maybe a little, but it isn’t really you —”
“Something I said, then—?”
“No, I…” Your fingernail digs into the pad of your thumb, with you trying to use the sting of the pain to jolt you out of this nervous, inarticulate state. “I just don’t think… I have anything of value to say right now.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because…” Grappling for words is like trying to break through the surface of water; you’re almost there, but somehow you’re still floundering, and that only seems to be making it much worse. “Because I never really thought about what I’d do… if you really found out I liked you.”
When you say it, it suddenly makes sense. For some reason, you’d always lived your life shuttling between point A (liking Jeno quietly in the comfort of your own mind palace) and point Z (fantasizing about your life with him where you live in a quaint townhouse with a cute mailbox and three kids), but you’d never really given much thought to all the points in between, especially not one that contains a scenario in which he’d find out and seemingly be okay with it, which, based on the current conversation, somehow seems like a reasonable thing to assume about him.
You’ve always wanted it — him knowing, him accepting it, maybe even him liking you back — but it kind of felt like, deep down, you hadn’t really believed it would ever happen.
And you were kind of content with that, because you wouldn’t ever really have to deal with the complications of it. Right now, you’re feeling unprepared and a little exposed, weirdly vulnerable to his gaze. It once again, for the hundredth time tonight, it seems, triggers some kind of flight instinct in you that has you looking anywhere but at him all of a sudden.
“You can think about it… now,” he suggests carefully. Being put on the spot doesn’t really ever bring out the best in you — a fact that might be known to people who were actually paying attention to your failed impromptu speech about whale hunting in your sixth grade English class — so you just pretend that the silhouette of Jaemin’s front yard tree is supremely interesting to you all of a sudden, never mind the fact that it’s about a few inches from Jeno’s ear from your vantage point. You don’t really want to see his expression right now, especially if that means it’ll only fluster you back into speechlessness.
“I don’t really know if I can,” you admit. From your peripheral vision, you see what seems like a flash of discomfort pass across Jeno’s face; you’re sure you just imagined it, considering you’ve never imagined cool, aloof, king of your heart Lee Jeno as exuding anything other than utmost confidence. Still, his next words do make you question that notion twice over.
“Did I… misunderstand something? Is it that you don’t have feelings for me?”
“No, I… you know. I… yeah, I do, but I just —”
“You’re seeing someone else?”
“No,” you say more fiercely, and for a brief moment, you’re so appalled at the thought that your eyes flicker to his, which ends up being a terrible mistake because the confusion in his gaze is so profound that the guilt in you swells tenfold.
“Because I thought… maybe the reason Renjun and you —”
“He’s — honest to God — he’s just my friend.”
“And Jaemin is…?”
“My… next door neighbor?” You blink rapidly at the lights still coming from his house, wondering now what Jaemin has to do with all of this in the first place. For someone who seems like he would be extremely uninvolved in this general progress of events, he seems to crop up time and again, weirdly always around when you need someone. Maybe it’s a neighbor thing, or maybe he’s a little nosier than you thought. But thinking about another element in this situation is starting to give you a headache, and you’re way past the time you’re usually already in bed avoiding homework and watching shitty dating reality shows instead. “I don’t really understand what he has to do with this either. I just don’t think I’m prepared to have this conversation at all.”
“But you like me, don’t you?”
It’s weird, actually, now that you think about it — why does he have to confirm the fact time and time again? It’s almost like he’s worried, although you can’t imagine why he would be. More than anything, you’d kind of assumed that he would find that information pretty repellent, but with the way he’s asking in earnest, it almost seems like he wants to keep the knowledge of that like a talisman.
“I do,” you admit, mostly because it’s out in the open, but also partially because you’ve made the mistake of looking at him again, and you start wondering how he could even wonder when everyone seems to like him (you, perhaps, to a somewhat unhealthy degree).
“More than them?”
“I—” Your brow furrows, another wave of confusion washing over you. But his eyes are much too honest in their questioning, and you speak before anything else can come to mind. “More than anyone, Jeno.”
What looks oddly like relief settles on his face, and you notice only then that his shoulders have been tensed up because he seems to relax them all of a sudden. “Oh. Good. Great. So listen, now that we’re on the same page, I—”
Jeno’s interrupted by one of the guys in a university sweater calling out to him from across the two lawns, voice booming to a degree that sets off a few annoyed dogs in your area. Jeno raises a hand to signal him to wait, his mouth still open on whatever words he wanted to complete his sentence with, but the sounds he was trying to make quickly die into silence anyway, drowned out by a huge crash inside Jaemin’s house.
You’re not entirely certain of what he wants to say — on the bright side, he could have been ramping up to a point that could easily make all your dreams from middle school to now a perfect reality, but he also could have been setting you up for some kind of grand, embarrassing failure — not by his design or by malice but just by the pointing out of the fact that you two lead different lives and things would likely never work out, anyway, but it’d be cool that you liked him in your own time, and he’d allow it as long as you didn’t get drool all over his notebook in class.
Either way, you don’t think now, with a bunch of inebriated college people shouting profanities on Jaemin’s lawn and a gaggle of high school kids panicking about what sounds to be a broken table and a whole bunch of pizza on the floor, is the best time to be processing those things.
“I actually,” Jeno turns his gaze to you again, strangely alert, like you’d just whistled for a dog’s attention. You’ve never seen him like this, and it’s weird to think that, at this awkward moment, you can still find him painfully endearing. You have to shake yourself out of the grip of the already beckoning force that tells you to sigh dreamily about how adorable he is. “Think I should really be heading inside. Looks like they also need you for some kind of damage control, anyway.”
The same college kid calls for Jeno again, dragging out the vowels of his name kind of annoyingly. Jeno sighs, nodding slowly enough for you to know he’s caught on — this probably isn’t the right time to have such a weirdly heavy conversation.
“Yeah. I probably need to help clean up, anyway. No one’s going to want to do it, and Jaemin’s already chewed me out for bailing on mop duty a few times.”
“Why’d you bail?”
“Just… got busy, personally.” He looks sheepish, and it doesn’t take a bunch of lightbulbs going off for you to cotton on as well. Now, you’re just wishing you hadn’t asked, so you didn’t ever have to imagine it. Still, what’s done is done. You have to focus on keeping the discomfort out of your face this time. “Um… that’s not important, though. Anyway —I’ll talk to you soon, okay, ________________? Like… maybe we can catch up at school? You know, talk about our thing — the project, I mean — and like… et cetera?”
“Yeah, for sure.” Your smile’s weak, and so is your joke, but you should at least try to hold up casual pretenses as much as he does, even though he’s obviously much better at it. “I’ll tell on you to Hwang if you don’t, you know.”
His laugh is soft, but it at least sounds genuine; his smile still reaches his eyes, which already makes your heart feel a little lighter. But instead of trekking off immediately, he lingers, strangely, until his grin winnows down into just the ghost of a smile on his lips. Even weirder are his hands, slightly outstretched towards your waist, like he’s trying to cross the gap between you (even if it’s admittedly very minimal) but suddenly decides not to. The result is him looking strangely stiff and uncharacteristically hesitant, but you chalk it up to him simply not knowing how to end such a weirdly situated conversation. You know you’d have an even worse time doing it if it were up to you, so you can’t really blame him.
In the end, he closes the dialogue with ‘see you around, ________________,’ and a quick pat on the shoulder, which, if you think about it, seems a little disappointingly different from when he’d had his hand against your cheek a few minutes ago. Then again, you’re not sure you could handle something like that again, anyway.
You watch him walk off back towards Jaemin’s house, and some pitiful, pathetic part of you is expecting him to look back, say one last goodbye to you, or something, but the university guy that had belted his name out so vigilantly just swings an arm around Jeno’s neck and drags him to a corner where a bunch of other similarly dressed people, to whom Jeno starts talking to almost immediately.
Cutting this conversation short was probably for the best, anyway; you have no idea what he would have said, but you’re very sure you wouldn’t have been prepared for it either way. You trudge into your house and up into your room, already mentally prepared to spend the rest of the night obsessively mulling over what it all meant and what he had really been planning to say at the end. The process starts some time in the shower, while you’re shampooing your hair and you embarrassingly remember the feeling of Jeno’s hand tangled in it. The moony expression that the thought of it leaves on your face is present up until you see how stupid it looks in the fogged up bathroom mirror.
Renjun still hasn’t texted you, which is honestly starting to be a source of mild anxiety because you can’t be sure if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere or just ignoring you for some unknown reason. Whatever it is, you leave like three messages wondering where he’s at and asking him to call you. You’re on your fourth message, which is asking to confirm about tomorrow’s movie (something you’d almost forgotten about save for the fact that you’d remembered this would be a point of argument for you both once again if you spaced on it) when a notification pops up that once again gives you a heart attack.
Lee Jeno: u looked pretty tonight, btw :)
You: oh!! thank you…!
You: you looked great tonight too…! :)
Lee Jeno: haha… cute :)
Lee Jeno: goodnight, ____________ :)
This is the most emojis you’ve ever seen used in a single brief conversation, and you can’t help but feel like it might be a little juvenile, but it doesn’t even matter because Lee freaking Jeno called you pretty and cute in the span of five minutes. Your thumbs are shaking as you type back a typo-laden goodnight that takes you a full other minute just to edit before waiting a little more, but nothing else comes. Maybe he’s driving home, or something. You toss your phone onto your bed, away from easy reach, before you can start overthinking what this silence means again.
Your reflection in your window mirrors the same scene you’d encountered in the bathroom: you, hair bundled up in a wet towel, bare-faced with a stupid grin across it. You’re so caught up in the act of reeling from Jeno’s three texts that you belatedly notice a square of light beyond your bedroom window. You almost duck out of sight when you see a shadow there, thinking about crying bloody murder, until you realize it’s Jaemin, who’s watching the ridiculous expression on your face with a curious gaze from a distance. He’s still in the same clothes he’d worn to the party, but you can see, even from this far away, that there’s this dark patch on it that looks suspiciously close to the way your shirt had on the day his coke had emptied itself out on your back. That must’ve been from the crash earlier, you deduce.
You think he’s just zoning out facing in your direction, and you find there’s no need to meet his gaze, but there’s still something a little unsettling about having someone spacing out in your general direction, so you reach up to pull your blinds down. Your hand almost reaches the string, but Jaemin’s hand suddenly starts going up too, like it’s trying to follow you, and you freeze in your movements. His keeps going, though, up until it’s close to his face, and suddenly, he’s moving it side to side, in some weird regular pattern.
He’s waving, your tired, overworked brain tells you belatedly. The string of your blinds tickles the tip of your fingers.
Unsure and a little self-conscious, you wave back, hoping he doesn’t notice that you were about two strong pulls away from drawing yourself out of sight. This is clearly the right response, because even from this distance, you can see the brilliant white of his teeth as he smiles, fully and unabashedly, at you.
The first thing you do when you wake up the following morning is check your phone. You’re not even really sure what you’re looking for — maybe a text from Jeno, who, if you think about it now, probably has nothing to say in response to your boring ‘goodnight’ anyway (but you can still dream), or maybe a missed call or two from Renjun, who should at least be offering you some explanation as to why he was completely out of sight after parting ways with you and Mark Lee last night.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing on your screen, apart from the stupid 번장 notification that tells you the pocket punch board you’ve been wanting for no good reason has been discounted by the seller to a price you still can’t reasonably afford anyway.
You certainly can’t do anything about Jeno’s lack of contact, and to be completely honest with yourself, you’re not even really that sure if you want to. Something about yesterday’s conversation, while not exactly a train wreck, makes you very nervous to have a full conversation with him, and you’d much rather it stick to very basic, kindergarten-level things, like ‘you look cute’ and ‘haha’ and ‘:)’, but since that isn’t completely in your control, you decide you simply don’t want to do anything about it.
Renjun, however, is a completely different matter. You don’t understand why he’s ignoring you if he is, considering you had spent the better part of the night (at least, the parts during which you weren’t crying on your lawn) looking for him, so this silence, if deliberate, doesn’t seem fair or even reasonable. You decide that it’s much too early to be getting an earful from you in the end, so you just send a very emphatic ‘WRU?????????????????’ through both text message, KakaoTalk, and Facebook Messenger to him, hoping the repetition of both sentiment and punctuation mark through multiple platforms is enough to faux-yell to him what you’d otherwise be real-yelling to him over the line. You can’t tell if it gives you any sense of comfort to see he hasn’t been online and active for the last 15 hours.
All the tossing and turning of last night, courtesy of the endless loop replay of “I want you to like me — just me” Lee Jeno edition, had consequently left you worse for wear; you’d gotten up at the rising of the sun (something you’d sworn never to do during the weekend) and had opted to just stay in bed for another hour, trying so hard to get over the feeling of his fingers against your skin that you end up committing it to long-term memory. The sunlight peeking through your blinds is what gets you to throw off your covers and admit defeat to the fact that sleep would never come back at this rate, and you decide to just head down, rubbing the lethargy out of your eyes before you make a poor man’s breakfast. You’re halfway through the jelly slice of your sandwich when your sister comes through the doorway, yawning loud to announce her presence.
“G’morning, bedhead baby,” she greets, and you use the non-knife-holding hand you have free to rake through your hair. “Big rager last night, huh?”
“Yeah — wait, how’d you know?”
“We live a door down from Jaemin oppa’s house? Na Jaemin? Our next door neighbor and his whole family? We can see out the window into his lawn? Sometimes we get our sidewalk trash cans mixed up with theirs? Hello?” Sooyeon smirks, albeit a little sluggishly, as you wave her grating words away. “I saw you out there with him, you know.”
“With who? Where? Who?” You demand, your jelly-laden knife freezing in mid-air, the grape blobs slipping dangerously off the edge onto the middle of your bread.
“You. And Jaemin oppa,” she says each syllable slowly. “In front of our house.”
“Oh.”
“So usually how these conversations go is: I bring up a juicy piece of information pertaining to you, and because you experienced it first hand, you have to then expound on the piece of information, thereby making it juicier. ‘Oh’ doesn’t cut it. Not by a long shot.”
“There’s not much to tell.” You wonder, briefly, if you’re now obligated to bring up the Jeno aspect of the night — which, for all intents and purposes, honestly felt like more of a big deal than anything else — but you quickly decide against it, chickening out when she approaches you at the counter and starts unscrewing the lid of the peanut butter jar. That might be giving too much away, considering she didn’t even seem to notice that you’d been bawling when you’d crossed the property line. “He just walked me back here.”
“Oh, yeah, because that’s what people who live next to each other in a not-so-close-knit community do: walk each other two steps home, to keep the baddies away.”
“He’s just a naturally nice person, I think. Most people are, aren’t they?”
“I thought you guys were close. Didn’t he give you his varsity jacket? That sounds like a closeness thing.” She knots her index and middle finger together, and you slap it away.
“We’re close only in the same way as you are.” When she gives you a quizzical look, you sigh. “Proximity-wise.”
“Still doesn’t explain why he was out there, caressing your hair lovingly.”
You freeze, as opposed to Sooyeon’s comically relaxed posture as she scrapes the peanut butter across your other slice of bread. “He… was not. Caressing me. My hair. Lovingly.”
“I have eyes for the sake of seeing.”
“There was just something in it. In my hair. A leaf.”
You’re not sure why you lie; the largest part of the reason is that you don’t want to have to go into the horrifyingly awkward details of your emotional state last night, but there’s something oddly nagging at you that you can’t quite place. It takes a minute of staring at your sister spreading the peanut butter evenly across the bread and humming to herself while closing the sandwich up that you realize that you don’t want her getting the wrong impression about anything.
Which is weird, because there’s nothing to misunderstand.
Jaemin, albeit the fact that he’s been chattier to you as of late, more so than any other time in your life, is still just your neighbor. Maybe he’s graduated from being your sort-of acquaintance to something that vaguely resembles an arm-distance-ish friend, but the notion that you’re anything closer than that makes you feel a bit strange — almost like it… scares you, which is extra weird to think about, because there’s actually nothing inherently harmful about being casual buddies with some guy who lives close enough to wave at you from his window.
Maybe it’s because it’s Jaemin, and that’s what might be tripping you up the most. He’s not just Jeno’s friend; he’s practically some kind of counterpart to him, and it feels weirdly like a line you can’t cross. Or maybe it’s because… Jeno had asked you about him last night, which had made you feel even stranger. Like he’d been worried about something — like Jaemin was a no-go zone for him, specifically.
As you dully watch your sister take a bite off of your breakfast, it dawns on you: maybe you just don’t want people to think you like anyone other than Jeno.
“Okay, well, you know better than I do,” she singsongs in a tone that tells you that you actually don’t. Sooyeon doesn’t press, but she also doesn’t make you feel like the conversation is over — even if she trills I’m going back up; thanks for the sandwich in that same voice before leaving you alone in the kitchen with half of it on the plate.
Because the truth is that you don’t really know; you don’t know what’s so unsettling about being associated with Jaemin. Your sister’s not aware of the intricate ins and outs of your (delusional) relationship with Jeno, apart from your (apparently evident to everyone) crush on him, but you also know she’s not really deeply invested in where your heart lies; all she does is make conversation, as is her personality, as a form of bonding you’ve never really quite been able to navigate well.
You just don’t get why the mention of Jaemin, now, makes you feel… something. What that is, you’d rather not dwell on. So you just won’t.
You’re walking out of the kitchen, cheeks filled with peanut butter and jelly, when you see block letters on cloth, spelling out a familiar last name: Na.
You still haven’t given back Jaemin’s stupid jacket.
Today is the day, you decide. This seems to have started the whole conversation to begin with: the jacket that somehow brought Jaemin two steps closer into your life, the article of clothing that had opened the door to what shouldn’t even be a talking point between you and anyone else.
This should be the proverbial swan song for this whole topic; you snatch up his jacket (and immediately regret doing so in such a brutish manner, noticing you’ve got a few specks of breadcrumbs on the lettering) and head out of your house, your bedroom slippers absorbing morning dew as you march yourself over to your neighbor’s. You should’ve done this earlier, really; there was no reason for you to hold on to it.
Honestly, you’d just forgotten, given that you were more preoccupied with things that started with L and ended with ee Jeno, but you’d rather not extend any more misunderstandings.
And even if Jeno isn’t here to see this grand closing gesture, maybe, just maybe, this will help you stop feeling so cagey about everything he’d asked last night.
I want you to like me — just me.
Because why would he even think you liked Jaemin at all? Or make it sound like he thought you did? Ridiculous. Unfounded. Kind of alarming.
There’s noise in the air the closer you get to the Na household porch; it sounds a bit muffled, like it’s fighting the breeze, but you realize thereafter that it’s music coming from a tiny speaker sitting on the hand railing. It’s playing Dongbangshinki’s Here I Am, and something about that song stirs your stomach into swooping ten miles down as you approach.
Your initial plan was to ring the doorbell and pray that Jaemin was still knocked out cold on a Saturday morning so you could pass the jacket off to one of his parents and be done with it, but you’ve no such luck; it seems like he’s an early riser, considering how he’s seated right there, on a wicker chair by his door, hunched over a half-played chess board. There’s no one across him to block his view of you coming up the steps, and he looks up the moment he hears the creaks of the wood under your feet.
“Hey, ______________,” he doesn’t look surprised; in fact, he looks a bit relieved, for some inexplicable reason. “Didn’t think you’d be up so early.”
“Could say the same for you.” You have no idea what causes heat to flush across your cheeks; has Na Jaemin’s gaze always been this intense? “Um. Good morning?”
“Morning.” His laugh is an easy one; it always has been, and it kind of suits him, you note, before you realize how weird it is to think that. “What’ve you got there? Gift for me?”
“Wha — oh, yeah, I mean — no, but it is for you.” You hold up his jacket, hooked on your forefinger, to reveal it to him. “Sorry it took so long to give it back.”
This time, he actually looks a bit taken aback. “Did you stop needing it?”
“Um… I haven’t really used it, if I’m being honest.”
“Oh. Well, there wasn’t any rush. You could’ve kept it for as long as you needed. No pressure, or anything. I’ve got others.”
“You don’t need it at practice, or anything like that?”
“No; most guys don’t even keep theirs. They give them away, for… you know. So it’s no big deal.”
You fall silent; for some reason, his tone makes it seem like he wants you to keep it, which is just preposterous. You instead hang the jacket onto the back of the wicker chair opposite him and step back, like you’ve just set up a land mine you’re afraid of detonating.
“Well, thank you all the same. I really… appreciate your help. That day. You know.” You’re not sure why you can’t form any sentences long enough to signify you do actually belong in the same year level as him, but he at least doesn’t comment on your ineloquence.
Instead, he just stares for a bit, at the jacket and your retreating hand, before piping up over his music.
“You wanna play a round?”
“What? Oh, I’m…” You wave your hands aimlessly. “I’m not good at chess. Actually, I barely know the rules. Plus, you seem kind of busy playing against… your imaginary friend?”
He chuckles again. “Just playing myself.”
“Trying to outfox the old fox?”
“Sometimes it helps to know how you’d get out of a sticky situation you made by your own doing. Helps you see what your opponent sees when it all boils down to it.” He gestures again at the chair across him. “Humor me a little. It’s not as fun just talking to yourself.”
You hesitate for a second; you came here to return the jacket, and that much was done easily, albeit a little more awkwardly than you ever wanted to. Jaemin’s aura is laid back and friendly, but you’re not sure why you’re teetering on the edge of panic again. Jeno’s words seem to be echoing in your head.
And Jaemin is…?
Jaemin is your next-door neighbor, it’s true, but you can’t say that’s really your only point of connection; if it were, he wouldn’t be expectantly waiting for you to take the seat across from him. And when you look at his hand now, idle against the chessboard, you can’t say you aren’t thinking of the way it patted your hair soothingly the night before. All that does is make you wonder the exact same thing Jeno asked you.
What is Jaemin to you? A friend, perhaps, and definitely a nice person — nice enough to help you out, keep you company during a few low points. He’s a person willing to listen to you, funny enough to lift your spirits, and genial enough to not break your fingers for returning his things way too late (a low bar, but a good one nonetheless). Na Jaemin is a good individual, with pretty good music taste (based on the fact that his playlist, trudging on next to him, is now playing H.O.T.’s Happiness), and a good disposition about him that seems to make no small amount of people gravitate towards him.
But you don’t really want to dwell on what Jaemin is to you; more than that, you can only really be reminded of what he isn’t.
He isn’t Jeno.
And Jeno knows you like him; he’s not only noticed it but confirmed it multiple times in a single conversation. Surely, then, nothing else should matter to him — or, for that matter, to you.
You swallow down the refusal and nod, trying not to read into the fact that Jaemin’s face lights up when you pull the chair back and settle down on it.
“So let me get this straight; you don’t know how to play chess?”
“I know a couple of pieces go in weird directions,” you admit. “That’s about it.”
“Perfect.” His long fingers drum against the wood of the table. “I’m going to whip you into competitive chess-playing shape, my young pupil.”
What starts off as a casual, humor-filled lesson on the roles of each chess piece suddenly becomes an actual lecture; you’re not sure if Jaemin is getting a kick out of instructing a rookie like you on the different plays — which are infinite, a fact he’s drilled into you several times — or if he’s really just enthusiastic about the game (no, sorry, sport, since he’s chastised you about three times on this terminology already), but whatever the reason is, you have chess pounded into your brain for the better part of an hour. By the time he asks you to actually start playing against him, the sun’s fully up in the air and you’ve had to tie your hair up to keep it from sticking to your neck.
“I’m glad you got home safe last night,” he hums, pushing his black pawn to meet yours in the middle of the board. The Italian Game, he called it — not to be confused with serenading someone over pasta, a different kind of Italian game. That had gotten a long laugh out of you. Your hands flit over the white pieces, unsure of your memory. You only respond when you’ve moved your bishop to the same row.
“Well, it was a very long and tumultuous journey, but I managed, with some help.”
His knight comes out next, smoothly and quickly; you pause, rubbing the back of your neck. Surely, there was something else he’d taught you?
“What a chivalrous, ah, knight, that person must’ve been.” He raps a knuckle onto the table, starting you out of the act of racking your brain. “Perfect joke. Well-timed. Excellent chess pun. I think I deserve an award.”
“Does whooping my ass two moves into the game count as a prize?”
“I don’t want to rob you of the feeling of hope this early in the match. Take your time,” he chuckles, leaning back against the throw cushion behind him. He fiddles with the speaker, and the songs skip one by one, until he lands on a song you don’t know — some Japanese track that sounds suspiciously like an animation opening. It’s lively and admittedly a bit loud, and Jaemin hums to the guitar riffs with surprising accuracy. “Anything interesting happen when I left?”
You freeze for a moment, your fingers still hovering over your own knight in hesitation. You know what he’s asking, and for some reason, you’re tempted to tell him — then you remember that it actually isn’t really his business, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself.
“Not really.” You feign casual disinterest as you move your knight above your pawn line; from here on out, you have no clue what to do. Jaemin, on the other hand, is so sure-footed about his own skills (which are infinitely more advanced than yours) that he doesn’t even take his eyes off you to look at the board as he moves his next piece. You’re stuck thinking about what to do again — in the game, that is. Not about his gaze, which you try to avoid. “Just, you know. Talked with Jeno for a bit. Nothing major.”
Nothing major to him, you remind yourself. To you, your entire world had just been flipped over onto its belly.
Jaemin hums again, this time in understanding, but you notice (from your very surreptitious glances of him) that this time, it seems like he’s choosing what to do. You think it’s for the game, but when he counteracts your own (poorly planned) move with a swift response from his own pieces, you get the odd feeling he’s trying to choose his words carefully.
“Was it a conversation where you all got along?”
You hadn’t argued, but you’d never really thought about the whole stint long enough to classify it as good or bad. You supposed it wasn’t anything horrible in the end, although the fact that it had robbed you of precious hours of sleep wasn’t exactly the best outcome. But Jaemin’s not watching your expression now; he’s intently looking at the board, even if he’s not the one about to make the next move.
You get the feeling he’s suddenly avoiding eye contact too, which is weird, because he’s never been one to shy away from looking you straight in the eye. For some reason, that makes you feel like he doesn’t want to hear an answer.
“It was fine. Nothing… bad happened.” You know that’s true, but somehow you feel like it’s still not truth. “He explained… stuff. Who she was. Why it happened. Totally understandable stuff, I think.”
You choose not to mention anything apart from that — that he’d asked you to like him, nor that he’d asked you about your relationship with Jaemin. More than deciding it wasn’t going to be anything contributive to the conversation at hand, you also just didn’t want to.
Jaemin stays silent for a while; he moves his piece, then taps his queen — for some reason, he’s letting you know something about his next move. What it is, you haven’t puzzled out; it’s not like you know which direction he’d be taking, and even if you did, you’d surely not know how to respond to it, anyway. You guess he’s just throwing you a bone, but why he would, you also just don’t see the reason for.
You’re pushing your pawn hesitantly diagonal to capture one of his when he speaks up again.
“Did he tell you how it ended? With the two of them, I mean.”
He says it so calmly, capturing your bishop with his queen in the process, that you feel like you’re just talking about the weather and who won yesterday’s league basketball match. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, clearing your throat, but you only actually manage to shake your head.
“She cheated on him. Some college guy that she met during her orientation; you know she’s older than him, right? He’s never dated seriously since then. I think he was really hung up on her for a while — until recently, that is. I think. He hasn’t been that close to many girls.”
“That’s… that’s awful.” You’re not sure why Jaemin’s telling you this; it honestly feels illegal to know. “I didn’t think… anyone would. Cheat on him, I mean.”
“Even good-looking bastards like him can have rotten luck.” Jaemin’s smile borders on wry. “I don’t know why she showed up, honestly. Word probably got around… but she probably just wanted to know what would happen if she stirred something up with him one last time. He likely didn’t see it coming.”
You stare at the board, unsure of what to say. It makes sense, but something doesn’t really sit right with you either — why Jeno would let her come close to him at all, let alone allow her to completely eliminate the distance between his mouth and hers for longer than a second. Even thinking about it makes you want to throw up all over again.
“But deep down, I don’t know if Jeno completely got over her.” Jaemin continues, snapping you out of your short trance. “For a while after, they kept in touch. I think they even tried to work it out, but… obviously, it wasn’t easy. Until now… I’m not really sure.”
“Why,” you swallow hard. “Why… are you… why should I…”
“It’s not easy to be a player when you don’t know much about the game, is it?” He’s still staring at the board, but you get the sense that he isn’t just talking about chess. “Like I said, Jeno’s a pretty complicated guy. It’s not really my place to say anything, but…” Jaemin’s eyes flit upward for a second, and he offers you a small, almost pitying smile. “I think you need to know anyway.”
“But it has nothing to do with me. His life… I mean, his ex, and stuff.”
“I’m not too sure about that. If you like him that much… doesn’t that just mean you want to be part of his life?” He topples a pawn of yours, but you barely register the clattering noise or the fact that he drags it unceremoniously off the board. “I think you should at least know what you’re getting into. Jeno hasn’t liked someone seriously for a while, but you seem… to be the opposite. How much do you actually know about what he’s like?”
You don’t know why that kind of hurts your feelings; maybe it’s just because you have to face some kind of truth about how you don’t know much about Jeno’s private life, as badly as you want to. You even have to hear about it from someone else — someone easily kicking your ass in a dumb chess match.
“I think everyone has baggage,” you say slowly, pushing your rook forward. You realize it’s trapped behind two different pawns, so you’ve essentially backed the piece into its own corner. Jaemin doesn’t seem to care; he’s too busy executing what clearly is a ten-stage strategic win on the other side of the board. You don’t really care.
“That’s true,” he concedes, toppling your knight. “But some more than others, I think.”
“If he wanted me to know, he would’ve told me, right? Yesterday, I mean.”
“That’s may also be true, although I can’t say that with absolute certainty.” He looks thoughtful, and the pause gives you a bit of reprieve — enough to make a bad move that you instantly regret the moment you put your one remaining bishop on a square. Something like amusement flickers across Jaemin’s face, but he doesn’t make a move immediately. “Do you know what makes chess such a great game? In my opinion, anyway.”
“No?” The uncertainty in your voice is from a lack of understanding at the sudden shift in topic.
“Whenever you play someone, you get to see what they’re like — what their priorities are, you know?” His finger lands on a rook, inching it back and forth with idle intent. “You see how their mind works, what they’re like when they’re winning or losing, and what they think of you. Check, by the way.”
You’re silent as his rook captures your bishop, and he picks your fallen piece up and sets it aside with his growing pile of white.
“I’ve actually asked Jeno to play with me a few times, just for the fun of it. Sore loser,” he laughs lightly, one hand reaching out to lower the volume of his music. You notice the opening bars of Winner’s Really Really come through moments before it’s toned down. “Doesn’t really know or care about the rules, but he really likes to win. That’s kind of what makes him the star player on the team, actually. He really hates being backed into a corner, but all that focus on winning kind of tunnels his vision sometimes. Leaves him open to some attacks from another angle. He really hates that — which is probably why we barely play chess together in the first place. Apart from the fact that he thinks it’s boring.”
You’re staring at your pieces, now very pitifully winnowed down in number, and you feel stuck. You’re not sure what to do, but you’re pretty sure any move is going to make you look dumb in front of Jaemin, who’s clearly a pro — so much so that he seems to know what you’re going to do before you even decide yourself.
“You know what I like about your playing style, though?” He interrupts your train of thought again. You look up from the board, bemused; you’ve just been struggling to humor him since your first move, and it obviously isn’t working, since he seems more invested in the conversation than in the game. “You’re just trying your best, even if you’re new at this — even if you think you’re going to lose.”
“I just don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten everything you just said,” you respond, smiling weakly.
“You can’t always predict what’s going to happen in a game, even if you know the pattern anyway. Isn’t that just natural about anything in life?”
“You seem to know, though,” you grumble, tugging on your ponytail. You throw in the only option you have left: pushing your queen in front of your king as a last line of defense. “You’re barely paying attention to the board.”
“It’s just constant practice — a lot of hard work on my part. I don’t mind the grind of it, if it gets me somewhere good in the end.”
“So is that the kind of player you are? Just… a hard worker?”
“Maybe. I like to look at things from every possible angle. I guess that’s why I like chess when most people find it a headache.” He picks up his queen, rolling it in his palm. “Although, I guess Jeno and I have one thing in common — as players, that is.”
“What’s that?”
“I also really hate to lose.”
His queen knocks over your own with a pitiful clatter, taking its place on the board. When he picks up your piece, instead of adding it to his knockout count, he offers it to you. You take it gingerly, opting to focus more on it than on the soft smile that’s now playing on Jaemin’s lips.
“Checkmate,” he announces lightly. “Good game, _____________. You’ve got the makings of a star player.”
“You’re patronizing me, aren’t you?” You sigh as the two of you start resetting the board; you have to watch Jaemin’s pieces get rearranged to position your own.
“Only a little bit. I see a lot of quiet drive in you.”
You place the last of your pawns in a neat row; the board looks like it hadn’t even been touched. “Jaemin, how did you and Jeno become this close? You seem… I don’t know.”
“Yeah, we’ve definitely got our unique quirks,” he chuckles softly. “But Jeno and I… we just go way back, I think. When you’re friends with someone from a young age, you tend to grow with them. He’s a good dude, really, even if our personalities are different, and it’s always a fun event so long as he’s around. Well — mostly. I’d say a good ninety-nine percent of the time.”
You pointedly ignore the sheepish smile he throws your way.
“You said before that you’re not the type to… you know, share your feelings, and all that. Then how do you… like what do you guys even talk about?”
“What do you and Renjun usually talk about?” Jaemin grins. “Anything and everything, really. Movies, games, why the jerk from Yongsan International gets on our nerves when he chews his gum. We just… have a tendency to be interested in the same things, no matter if our perspectives are different.”
While talking to Jaemin is fun, you can’t help but feel like he has a tendency to speak in riddles. You still don’t really see any strong similarities in their approaches to their interests, similar as they may be, but what do you know, anyway? It isn’t like you and Renjun are exactly peas in a pod on paper.
His eyes lose focus for a second, hitting somewhere behind your ear before they quickly turn back to you. You have no idea why this makes you feel a little put on the spot.
“Hey, you want to have brunch here? My mom makes a mean soybean paste stew.”
“Oh,” you press your hand against your stomach, wondering if the swooping feeling in it is from hunger or something unrelated. “No, I actually just ha—”
“_____________?”
You swivel around in the chair, and your heart stops; you're not the least bit prepared to see Lee Jeno standing at the foot of Jaemin’s porch steps, a quizzical look very clearly etched on his sharp features.
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Impact of figure skating politics on post-canon Yuri!!! on Ice
So, even aside from the rampant doping, I think many people are familiar with how the politics within the sport of figure skating really suck -- whether that's in terms of how skating federations meddle with their athletes' careers in ways these athletes clearly don't want or don't even know about, the way regulatory bodies -- the International Skating Union (ISU), and its various Commissions -- can and do remain silent when it comes to speaking out on abuse or corruption, or the complete shit-show of bias within judging, sometimes on a ludicrously visible level.
After all, this is a sport where a judge that showed clear bias at the PyeongChang Olympics was not only invited back to judge at the Beijing Games, but was given the position of being the technical controller!
Sheer madness...
It makes sense why Yuri!!! on Ice didn't delve into this stuff in a 12 episode season b/c the reality is: it's a major bummer.
But I work in public policy and am a social justice researcher whose career focuses on institutional change. So I often find myself asking the question "what would cause institutions/people/movements -- especially with a lot of history and influence behind them -- to change for the better, whether by 'force' (public outcry, insider advocacy, etc.) or their own volition?" It's a question I started thinking about a lot almost as soon as I got into Yuri!!! on Ice a few years back, and specifically, thought about in a post-canon context.
Some of the politics-related questions that surfaced for me, included:
-When Viktor returns to skating, how would his federation (the FFKKR) choose to treat his absence? Would they, perhaps, "make an example" of him at the Rostelecom Cup, purposely underscoring his performances? Or, would they have "given up" on him, trying to focus all of their attention/resources on Yurio's obvious rising star potential?
-Further, would they (with tacit or explicit media support) take a negative stance regarding his and Yuuri's highly public relationship -- perceiving Viktor's romance as a "threat" to his ability to return to the field as strong and focused as before -- or would they choose to ignore it, altogether?
-How would Yurio's growth spurt (which is hinted at in canon) impact the FFKKR's treatment of Viktor if the former is no longer able to put out the kind of performance that he did at the Barcelona Grand Prix Final? Or if Georgi retires from the field?
-How would skaters that wish to skate independently of corrupt federations -- something that is currently not possible under the way the ISU is structured with 'member nations' -- navigate their careers, and what avenues would they have at their disposal to avoid burn-out from the shitstorm of pervasive corruption?
-How would politics affect our favorite characters at an event as globally visible as the PyeongChang Olympic Games, and in its aftermath? (I say this with the caveat that I generally write yoi fic w/ the premise that it took place during the first half of the 2016 skating season, though there is no way to pinpoint the actual season).
All of these questions kept circling about in my head, and I felt highly motivated to begin writing a multichapter, post-canon "future fic". Specifically, a fic that would tell the story of married Yuuri/Viktor at the 2022 Olympic Games, but jumping back in time at various points over the previous five years to showcase how a particular scandal -- other than doping -- at the 2018 PyeongChang Games has "followed them" throughout the years (and has deeply impacted the sport/our other favorite characters).
This fic turned into a series called "Gold's On The Inside, Elevated My Feet", which currently is at 293K total words, and is being updated 1-2 times per month.
I know a lot of people aren't into long, novel-length works, especially if they're WIPs, but if you, like me, are fascinated by some of the real-world issues that might impact Yuuri/Viktor/Yurio and others post-canon, I hope you'll consider checking my work out.
I've included a spoiler-free excerpt from Chapter 11 of part 1 of the series, below, that I feel hints at the politics while encapsulating the Viktuuri fluff, friendship antics, and overall supportive themes that I've tried to weave into my stories.
I hope it piques your interest and encourages you to check the series out, or my other Yuri!!! on Ice fics!
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“First of all, how the hell would you have even managed to contact me from all the way over in the Kiss and Cry?” Phichit went on. “Did they imagine you had waved a wand to send a carrier pigeon flying through Gangneung Ice Arena to land directly on my head ? After which, it would peck an intimidating message in Morse code straight onto my scalp?”
Yuuri was now hiccuping giggles, and he was pleased to see that he’d begun to wipe a profuse quantity of tears from his cheeks.
When his best friend had told him that he wanted to hear all the nitty-gritty details of his International Court of Arbitration for Sport (ICAS) hearing, Phichit had definitely had some misgivings; Yuuri and Viktor had flown to Lausanne for their own proceedings directly after the latter’s retirement party in Milan, and given what they’d told him about each brutally long-winded 4 hour session, he’d known fun things were not in store for him.
“But Yuuri without his glasses on can be very intimidating…very sexily intimdating,” Viktor said with a grin, prompting a playful slap on the arm from his fiance; thanks to Yuuri’s thirsty fans, the hashtag #Yuuri’sNearsightedSexySquintTally had become a staple on the competition circuit, and both he and Viktor had taken to alluding to the phrase as much as possible.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what permanent-frown-dude-arbitrator was referring to,” Yuuri responded, sarcastically, “my nefariously sexy squinting that so very clearly spelled out that Phichit better file a claim, or else.”
He and Viktor both laughed, and he shared a few more snippets from his hearing before conversation moved along to discussion around the other Olympics claimants’ hearings.
“Oh my god, just imagine Christophe during his,” Yuuri said, before giving Makkachin a kiss, right to the top of her fuzzy head.
The poodle was splayed out across both of her dog-dad’s laps, taking up much of the bench directly in front of the rink boards at Hasetsu’s Ice Castle. After their hearing, the couple had flown to St. Petersburg, spending just a few days there to get Makka and Meni and do a round of cursory packing. They’d then taken off for Japan where they planned to stay until mid-June, which was the beginning of the rainy season.
Even from afar, Phichit had been able to keep tabs on Yuuri thanks to Nishigori Yuuko. After thoroughly bonding with her at Viktor’s retirement party – after all, a willingness to drunkenly act out the unhinged plot of The King and the Skater 3: Because Time Loops Are A Thing tended to solidify people in Phichit’s mind as lifelong friends – she had been messaging him through Instagram as well as contributing heavily in the “Yuuri Support Squad” chat.
Soon enough, he’d be able to keep tabs on him in-person, as his own trip to Hasetsu was just three weeks away.
“He’d be all: ‘And then, my esteemed arbitrators, I got distracted from calculating Yuuri’s grade-of-execution, because my eyes were too busy lingering on his delectably muscled thighs as he came out of his triple-lutz, triple-toe combo’,” Viktor said, in a deliberately put-upon Swiss accent, while lasciviously licking his lips.
Phichit barked out a laugh while Yuuri grinned at him.
“Are you sure you aren’t just verbalizing the thoughts you wish you could have expressed during your hearing?” he asked his fiance.
Viktor gasped, theatrically, and clutched Meni even more closely to his chest before responding.
“I would never think such a thing! I’ve become an expert at admiring your beautiful thighs while simultaneously calculating your GOE,” he said, sounding proud. “As any good coach should be.”
#yuri on ice#yuri!!! on ice#viktuuri#victuuri#my writing#ao3 writer#victor nikiforov#viktor nikiforov#katsuki yuuri#yuuri katsuki#phichit chulanont
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Okay as is tradition for me I've thought of a rarepair and am now being entirely and utterly consumed by them so. Argepard?? Gepargenti? Argeppie?? I like argeppie. ARGEPPIE GETTING TOGETHER STORY UNDER THE CUT
They meet because Argenti wants to preach Idrilla's beauty to Belobog and runs into some issues with the Silvermane guards for challenging strangers to "duels of honour" as a way of trying to make friends. Gepard ends up having to deal with him and Argenti basically just calls him beautiful and apologises for any disruption, and also hey wanna join my religion? I'm sure Idrilla would love you to uphold her legacy, and you look absolutely incredible in such fine armour, Lord... what's your name? Ah, but a rose by any other would smell as sweet!
So Gepard gets flustered but he's pretty used to criminals trying to flirt their way out of charges (ahem Mr cold feet) so he manages to send Argenti on his way with a warning before he actually combusts. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, Argenti has now fallen in love at first sight and keeps showing up around where he patrols to compliment him, bring him roses, etc etc.
Gepard finds himself slowly being charmed by this weirdly chivalrous guy who refuses to let him step in any puddles and insists on holding his hand and guiding him down or up stairs and into trams. He's not a bad guy, he just doesn't quite get that on Jarilo-VI most people don't act like that. One day, he awkwardly asks Argenti on a date (he may as well, since the guy's trying so hard to win his favour) and is met with an enthusiastic yes. The date is the most cheesy romantic thing he's ever witnessed. Wherever this guy is from, they must all be living in a 1940s romance film, but Gepard doesn't mind. He quite likes it, actually, and despite the fact that Serval will never let him forget just how over the top Argenti can be, he asks him out again. And again. And again.
After one of their dates, Gepard walks Argenti home (or, rather, to his hotel) and they stand by the door. He's been given a bouquet of roses today, and a very expensive dinner that cost money he didn't know Argenti had. He was then taken dancing, which he's not all that good at, but Argenti didn't care. He guided him, holding his hand and his waist and whispering where to go and what to do next into his ear. It was... a lot. And incredible.
So, before Argenti goes inside, Gepard gives him one of the roses, apologises that he didn't bring him any flowers of his own this time, and kisses him instead.
The Knight thinks that this is very much one-upping his bouquet, but he doesn't mind at all. No, he's actually overjoyed at this development, and when Gepard pulls away, as red in the face as the bouquet and hurrying a goodbye so he can go and jump in a hole and die, Argenti takes his hand and kisses it.
The guard is lost for words, so he appreciates when Argenti thanks him, insists that he go home and warm up because "as beautiful as you are with rose-tinted cheeks, I despise that you might risk falling ill, my dear." and bids him goodnight, disappearing inside.
He's left out in the cold, his heart going faster than it's ever gone before. He stares down at the roses.
God, he's really head over heels this time.
#honkai: star rail#hsr#argeppie#argenti#argenti hsr#gepard hsr#gepard landau#honkai star rail#gepard x argenti#argenti x gepard
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