#yet it acts like it's groundbreaking

[lakemichigans]

man i was actually excited for barbie but it felt like the equivalent of a "she believed she could so she did" wall decoration from hobby lobby marked 75% off

[salemlunaa]

𓆉 ˚∘YOU ARE NOT BOUND TO THIS REALITY࿐

stop acting like this place is your home, it’s not. Same thing with those trying to manifest things. You’re manifesting a new body but You believe that your home is the reality where you hate your body and that you’re doing something grand and groundbreaking by trying shift from that. You want your dream life through the void state. But you believe this reality you’re experiencing right now is your home. Your base point. Your starting ground. And you think that because you are so tied to this reality by scripting and shifting to a new life you’re doing something crazy and out-of-body like.

Let me tell you something. You aren’t. This is going to sound insane but you are as close to this reality as you are to your dream life. You are as bound to the reality where you have your dream green eyes than you are to the “current” where you have blue eyes that you don’t want.

The only reason that us bloggers use the term “current reality” is because this is the reality where your consciousness lies. I will say this again: there are multiple different versions of you reading this that you aren’t aware of and they’re probably not aware of you. Think of the country you live in right now. There’s a version of you that is from somewhere else and may know nothing about the place you call home and haven’t even stepped foot there. It’s so trippy to think about but what i’m trying to get at is that this isn’t your home. It’s nothing to be scared of, shouldn’t it be empowering and comforting to know you could be anyone you want to be?

like this is literally you:

(found this from @shiftinglea)

It’s so easy to shift your consciousness it’s not something you need to mentally prep for, there’s nothing to do. As soon as you want and intend the shift, it happens, regardless of what you’re seeing. You aren’t stuck here, and it pains me when you guys speak about circumstances as if they’re permanent. They don’t have to exist at all. There is no journey, it’s just immediate teleportation. Think as if. Think of your “desired reality” as your current. Place your awareness there.

The reason you have so much resistance is because you believe you have to. Deep down, you believe effort is needed to leave, you believe you need some extravagant journey as you’re leaving the place you felt bound to all this time. You don’t, you’ve left. you’ve shifted. You can’t grasp that nothing, absolutely nothing needs to be done to enter the state of pure consciousness, your literal naked self.

You believe it needs to be hard because it’s too good to be true.

Leave that belief behind. You aren’t far from your life. The life you intend to have. In fact, you’re right there. Think of all these realities like your children. All of them are related to you in the same way. You don’t have one child that you’re absolutely bound to, assuming you’re a good parent with no favourites. They’re ALL close to you in the SAME PROXIMITY. They ALL have the same relation to you. It’s YOUR BLOOD aka YOU running through their veins, all of them, the veins of all these realities, even the ones you aren’t conscious of yet. You aren’t just bound to one.

So you don’t need to work super hard for that body, that shift, that face. When we say it’s yours we aren’t just trying to be encouraging it’s just facts. I’m not the most well versed marvel fan, but does Dr. Strange have a hard time shifting or does he just know where he wants to go and opens those portal thingys? Be like him. Know where you want to go and leave.

Wash your hands of what you don’t want and think as if. Thinking as if = placing your consciousness in desired state = you are in desired state = 3d will follow.

This isn’t home base. There isn’t a home base. Take that into consideration when you’re struggling to truly “just be” while trying to induce the void.

THESE REALITIES ARE ALL THE SAME. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS DECIDE WHERE YOU WANT TO BE ࿐

[ratatoilett]

the first time katsuki saw you, he didn't think much of it.

just another face in the crowd, just another moment in his day. but then you opened your mouth, and it was like the whole damn world tilted. a casual greeting, just a simple 'hello'—nothing special. nothing groundbreaking. but it fucking knocked the air from his lungs like he'd taken a hit from a villain twice his size.

you didn't seem to notice. he played it off like he always did, all rough and sharp words, trying to act like he wasn't already memorizing the way your lips moved when you spoke. trying to ignore the way something settled, deep in his chest, like a missing piece he didn't even know was gone.

and then, just as quick, you were gone, leaving him standing there like a goddamn idiot.

goodbye.

a single word that rattled in his head for days, looping over and over like some cruel joke. and for the first time in his life, he felt helpless, 'cause, see, katsuki didn't lose. ever. but that night, lying awake, staring at his damn ceiling, he felt like he had. like something was missing. like you were supposed to be there.

and maybe he was crazy, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. couldn't stop seeing it—his future, sketched out in blurred edges and soft colors. a house on a hill, pencil marks scratched into the doorframe, tracking heights of you, him, and your rowdy kids. a framed picture on the kitchen windowsill, snapshot of something real, something whole. kids laughing outside, feet pounding against the grass, voices bright and full of joy.

he could see it. you.

but you didn't know it yet.

the next time you met, it was over coffee. a stupid excuse, really—he didn't even drink the shit. but you did, and that was enough.

you sat there for hours, the words caught somewhere between you, unspoken but understood. you talked about your day, about some stray cat that wouldn't leave your doorstep, about the books stacked on your nightstand, half finished and waiting. katsuki listened. he never listened, not really, not like this. but with you, every word felt important, every pause filled with something electric.

and when you were quiet, when there was nothing left to say, the silence didn't feel empty. it felt full.

that's when he knew.

that maybe, just maybe, you were meant to be his.

that maybe this wasn't just some fleeting thought, some stupid fantasy he'd forced himself to forget.

that maybe this was the plan from the start.

from the moment he met you.

and you just didn't know it yet.

[aryadelvich]

May the act begin - Luigi Mangione x reader

Notes : It’s been a little while since I last posted—I’ve been really wanting to write an enemies-to-lovers story so badly (sigh, Lu). Anyway, here it is! And don’t worry if you’ve sent a request—I’m currently working on it!

Warning : NSFW, enemies to lover, fake dating, submissive Luigi, submissive reader, dominant Luigi, dominant reader, cunnilingus, blowjob, P in V, doggy style, gentleman Luigi, caring Luigi, slapping, rough, talk trough it, breeding kink (I’ve seen a lot of writers doing this so I’m following the move, please let me know if I forgot anything !!!)

Words count : 7.1k

Updated Materlist

"You little freak. I knew it the first time I saw you," he said, smirking as he kissed you deeply.

"Groundbreaking, Luigi," you replied dryly, full of sarcasm.

He laughed and kissed you again—this time with more hunger.

This wasn’t love. It wasn’t tender. This was fucking, plain and simple. Tonight, you could do whatever you wanted to him—and he could do the same to you. He was your puppet, and you were his. He was here for one thing and one thing only: lust.

Because the truth was, you despised him. Mentally, emotionally—you couldn’t stand him. You hated him so much that you could ruin him and not feel a thing. You didn’t care about the consequences. It was Luigi, after all. One more reason for him to hate you wouldn’t change a damn thing between you.

And the cherry on top? You got to mess with him. That gave you more satisfaction than anything else happening right now. You wanted him to suffer. Because of you. You wanted him to beg. To fall at your feet. To be your obedient little toy.

"You're so fucking pathetic," you said, ripping open his shirt, buttons popping and scattering across the floor.

"Yeah? And yet you’re the one tearing off my clothes," he shot back without missing a beat.

"You begged me with those sad puppy eyes—‘Please Y/n, sleep with me. I’m just the poor nerd no girl wants,’"you mocked in a low, exaggerated voice.

He grinned and pulled your top over your head.

"Funny how at least one girl seems pretty into me right now."

You shoved him down onto the bed. He leaned back on his elbows, eyes gleaming with that same smug, infuriating glint. Then you straddled him, taking control.

"You’re so desperate you’re fucking the one girl who can’t stand you. Tell me—how deep does the self-loathing have to run to go crawling to the person who probably hates you the most?"

"What’s hilarious is that you're saying all this while grinding on me. Isn't that... ironic? Or is it an oxymoron?"

"Wow, learned a new word? Does playing the intellectual work for you often?"

He placed his hands on your hips and began to guide them, slow and deliberate. You couldn’t hold back the moan that slipped from your lips. Even through your jeans, you could feel how sure of himself he was—how in control. And God, you didn’t know how long you’d last.

Because damn, he was beautiful.

You had no idea that underneath those repetitive, boring clothes was a body like this. Broad shoulders, thick arms that looked like they could hold you down or hold you together. His chest was full and firm, pectorals sculpted like he’d been drawn by an artist. His collarbone was sharply defined, his neck thick and perfectly proportioned. You watched the way his Adam’s apple shifted when he spoke.

Even his nipples were perfect.

That little voice in your head got louder.

You pinched his right nipple—just to see what would happen.

He flinched, face twisting slightly, and you weren’t sure if it hurt or if he liked it. But deep down? You already knew.

He loved it.

The real question was…did you?

"Okay, that’s a first,"he said with a half-laugh. "Pinching my nipple? Seriously, Y/n? You’re so weird."

"I prefer the term unpredictable," you shot back. "And of course no one’s ever done that—you’re a loser who only hangs out with guys."

You didn’t give him time to answer. You leaned in and licked his nipple once, then glanced up at him, waiting for his reaction.

He slid a hand into your hair, giving a small nod.

You licked again—slower this time—then gently caught it between your teeth, biting just enough to make him feel it. His back arched against you. He hadn’t expected the sensation to hit him so hard.

"Go lower,"he ordered.

"Don’t give me orders,"you snapped, voice cold.

"Please," he said quickly. "Go lower. I’m begging you—I can’t take it anymore."

Much better.

You stood and slipped off your jeans and underwear in one smooth motion. Now you were completely naked in front of him, and there wasn’t a hint of shame in your posture. Why would there be? It was Luigi. What could he possibly say—insult you? Like that would faze you.

And… maybe it was more than that.

You trusted him. Despite the constant bickering, the tension, the games—he had never crossed the line. Not once.

Now he looked up at you, starry-eyed, lips parted in awe. That soft, almost reverent smile playing on his face.

"So that’s what a real woman looks like," you said, tilting your head. "In case you were wondering. A real one—not the fake ones in all that porn you probably watch every day."

Your gaze flicked to his nightstand, looking for a telltale box of tissues—something to prove your point.

Nothing. Just books and a lamp.

And since you showed up unannounced, it wasn’t like he had time to hide the evidence.

So maybe… he really didn’t.

And weirdly, that disappointed you.

You’d had so many jokes lined up.

"I don’t watch porn," he said as he unbuttoned his pants. "I’m against it."

You rolled your eyes.

"Wow, you’re so different. Should I give you a medal?" you replied, all sarcasm.

But part of you found it… refreshing. A guy who actually had thoughts of his own. Who didn’t just follow every urge or trend.

“I’m not a slave to my desires. I can stop whenever I want,” he said, like he meant it.

“Then let’s stop,” you challenged, though your voice faltered just slightly. You didn’t really mean it.

His expression shifted—something cracked beneath the surface.

“I... I don’t want to. Not now,” he murmured, placing a hand on your hip and gently drawing you back in. This kiss was different—softer, slower. Tender, even.

“Alright,” you breathed, ruffling his curls with a smirk. “I’ll take care of you. Then I’ll vanish from your life like a good little mistake.”

“I’ll take care of you too,” he replied, mirroring your tone. And just like that, your heart clenched. There was something in his voice—warm, sincere. Vulnerable. It made you feel… special. Like you were seeing a version of him no one else got to.

“You really had me fooled,” you teased. “You’re not the sweet little Luigi everyone thinks you are. Am I surprised? Not even a little.”

“That side’s just for you,” he said with a crooked smile. “You’re too far gone to handle the nice guy act anyway.”

“Wow,” you said, voice thick with sarcasm. “Now I feel so important.”

“Then shut up,” he growled, smirking, “and get back to what you were doing. You’ll thank me later.”

He lay back again, and you moved to straddle him. Slowly, you started trailing kisses—his lips, his jaw, then down his throat. Your mouth explored every inch: his collarbone, his chest, the defined curve of his abs, the faint line of hair leading down to where his boxers sat low on his hips.

You could already see how hard he was through the fabric.

With deliberate slowness, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and pulled them down. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, and for a second, you just stared.

Perfect. It suited him—confident, imposing. Almost too much, but somehow exactly what you'd imagined.

You ran your hand down the length of him, gentle and curious, watching every shift in his expression. His head fell back with a quiet groan, and his hips twitched beneath your touch.

“Fuck… you’re too good,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” you whispered, amused.

He sat up, planting his feet on the floor at the edge of the bed. And without missing a beat, you dropped to your knees in front of him. The hardwood was cool beneath you, but the heat between your bodies was burning.

His breath caught as your hands moved on him, slow strokes that made his cock pulse beneath your fingertips. He was already aching, hard, and waiting—and just the sight of it made your mouth water.

“Y/n…”

His voice was rough, gravel and heat, and it went straight through you.

But you didn’t look up. Not yet.

You leaned in, let your breath brush the tip, and felt his thighs tense.

Then, with no warning, you took him into your mouth—slow, deep, warm. His groan was instant and primal, his hand sliding into your hair, fingers curling but not pulling. You started slow, taking your time, teasing. Your tongue swirled as you set a rhythm, your lips moving around him with practiced control. But you could feel the shift—his breathing quickened, his hand tightened in your hair, his hips barely holding back. He wanted more. Needed it. And you wanted to give it to him so bad.

You picked up the rhythm, your lips and tongue working him harder, more relentlessly. His hand gripped your hair, guiding you deeper with each thrust. You felt him push past the back of your throat, your nose brushing against his stomach. You didn’t stop. You welcomed it.

“Fuck, Y/n…” he groaned, voice breaking, body trembling beneath your hands. His hips started moving, shallow thrusts into your mouth that grew rougher, more urgent. You held onto his thighs to steady yourself, letting him take control.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft. And you didn’t want it to be.

The room was filled with the sounds of his pleasure—his moans, the wet glide of your mouth, the low curse he whispered every time you took him deeper. Your throat ached, your jaw burned, but the way he responded, the way he came undone beneath you—it was worth everything. He was close. You could feel it. His movements became unsteady, his groans deeper, more desperate.

“I’m gonna…” he rasped. “I’m—”

You pushed him all the way in just as he came with a choked cry, his body tensing as he released into your mouth. You swallowed everything, not pulling back, letting your tongue gently coax him through the aftershocks. His body finally slumped, spent, his grip on your hair going slack. You stayed there a moment, catching your breath, your lips still around him. Then you slowly pulled back, letting him go with a soft pop. You looked up—lips swollen, eyes dark, breath slightly uneven—and found him staring down at you, chest heaving.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, still trying to recover. “I knew you were a freak, but… this? Damn.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm as you stood.

But the second you moved, he grabbed your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he said, smirking. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Nowhere…” you replied, a breathless murmur.

He pulled you down with him, laying back on the bed and dragging you onto his chest, holding you there like he wasn’t letting you go anytime soon. He kissed every inch of your body as he gently laid you down on his bed. His mouth found your breasts, biting and teasing your nipples as if getting revenge for what you’d done to him earlier. Your head tilted back—he hadn’t even gotten to the main part yet, but it was already a lot. You had to admit, he was good. He flipped you both over, switching positions—he was now beneath you, and you were on top. You met his gaze and instantly understood what he wanted. You lowered yourself, settling your core over his lips, and he didn’t waste a second. His tongue and mouth got to work, licking and sucking at your most sensitive parts. Your hands tangled in his curls, holding tight, while his big nose pressed perfectly against your clit. It was too good. Even better when you moved your hips to your own rhythm, hearing him moan underneath you, struggling to catch his breath—but that was on him. He was the one who asked you to sit on his face. If he choked, well, too bad. You didn’t care.

Not that you’d last much longer anyway—it felt way too good.

At one point, you noticed he wasn’t making any sound at all. Just to be sure, you lifted yourself off of him, checking to see if he was still alive and not suffocating beneath you. What a pathetic way to die… or maybe honorable? Dying while giving pleasure to—well, you weren’t his wife, but still. A woman.

“You good?” you asked, a little breathless. “You got quiet for a second.”

“I’m fine. Get back here,” he said—more command than request.

And this time, your hips moved faster. His hands gripped your thighs, anchoring you to him as your hips rocked harder against his mouth. The pressure, the rhythm—it was maddening. You could feel him groan into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. He was insatiable, and you were right there with him.

You didn’t care how you looked. Hair messy, breathing ragged, legs trembling—none of it mattered. Not when his tongue was moving like that. Not when your whole body was tightening, coiling, ready to snap.

You cried out his name—louder than you meant to—as your climax hit you like a wave crashing hard and fast. Your body arched, your fingers pulling at his hair, and still, he didn’t stop. Not even when you shuddered above him, gasping for air. He kept going, slower now, teasing you through the aftershocks until you were too sensitive to handle another second.

You finally pulled away, legs shaking as you slid off him, collapsing beside him on the bed. He was grinning—smug, flushed, lips wet.

And now, the real things were beginning. The excitement hadn’t faded—if anything, it had only grown. Every second with him made you want more. He was addictive. Like a high you couldn’t come down from. He gave your ass a light smack.

“On all fours,” he ordered.

You moved into position without hesitation, your breath already catching. The anticipation alone had you soaked. That familiar, maddening ache was back between your thighs—buzzing, pulsing, desperate.

You felt the bed shift as he knelt behind you. Then the head of his cock brushed against your entrance, teasing you, gliding through the wetness. You whimpered, pushing your hips back, silently begging for more. He didn’t need to see your face to know how badly you wanted it—but you could feel the grin pulling at his lips anyway.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, cocky and amused. “You want this so bad, baby?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He chuckled softly—then slammed into you in one sudden, brutal thrust. Normally it would’ve hurt, but you were so ready for him, maybe even too ready. Another cry slipped from your lips, and you cursed yourself for it—you didn’t want to feed his already massive ego. But he groaned too as he sank into you.

It felt too good. Like he was made for you. Every inch of him hit exactly where you needed, the length, the thickness—like it was meant to be. You already knew you wouldn’t last long, no matter how much you wanted this to last all night.

His hands roamed your back, finding a firm hold on your hips before he started to move—slow at first, deep and deliberate, then faster. One hand slid to your neck, steadying himself, grounding you, and somehow making the pleasure sharper, more consuming.

“Say it,” he growled behind you. “Say this is what you wanted. That all your attitude was just you begging for me to shut you up and fuck you properly.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“What? Nothing to say now?” he taunted. “You’re always running that mouth. What happened—did I fuck the words out of you?”

Still, you stayed silent. That only made him smirk. You didn’t need to see it to feel it.

He reached for your mouth, trying to push a finger between your lips. “Say it.”

You didn’t—because instead, you sank your teeth into his finger.

“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, yanking his hand away.

You took your chance. With a sudden push, you flipped him over, climbed on top, and straddled him. Now you were in control—even if a part of you missed the way he was handling you seconds ago.

“Piece of shit,” you snapped, gripping his throat with one hand and squeezing.

He barely reacted. “You only managed that because I let you,” he said, calm, amused. “We both know I’m stronger than you.”

He slapped your ass—hard. Your body jerked, and a surprised moan burst from your lips before you could stop it. You glared at him, breath ragged, heart pounding—but your hips had a mind of their own. You rolled them forward, slowly, deliberately, feeling the way he stretched you, filled you. His hands rested on your thighs, just watching you for a moment, hungry eyes. You moved at your own pace, savoring every friction, every sensation that rippled through you. The way his body responded to yours, the way your pleasure stirred his, it was intoxicating.

“You’re riding that dick… so good,” he growled, his grip tightening on your thighs as if anchoring himself.

You rolled your eyes. Luigi, giving you a compliment? That was new. And okay—maybe not the most poetic, but still. Sometimes, in the middle of everything, he'd let little things slip. Baby… You feel so good.

“You’re not used to compliments from men, huh? Your father never said anything nice to you?” he teased, eyes dark, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes again, but this time with a crooked little smile.

“You’re so fucking annoying, you know that?”

“Yes or no?”

“Can we not talk about my family while we’re fucking?”

He nodded, looking a little apologetic. Then he shifted, sitting up, pulling you tighter against him as he thrust up into you. His rhythm picked up. His breathing grew ragged. You felt him twitch inside you—he was close. So close.

“Can I breed you?” he groaned into your neck, voice all heat and desperation.

“What? No.” You gasped between moans, brows furrowed.

He started to pull out, but you locked your legs around him, holding him in place.

“Stay. I’m about to cum… hold it together.”

“Oh fuck… I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” You gripped his shoulders, grounding him. You were barely hanging on yourself, your whole body tense, drawn tight like a bowstring.

“Stop looking at me,” he panted. “You’re making it worse.” He looked like he was unraveling. “Can I cum? Please?” he asked, voice cracking, raw and pleading.

“Oh my god—no. Just hold it. I’m right there.”

“You’re so fucking selfish… you little whore.”

“Don’t call me that—you’re seriously making it worse.”

“Shut up.”

Sat up, locked together, still moving. Still trembling. Still chasing that edge. You leaned in, lips brushing his ear, breath hot and shaky.

“Yes” you whispered.

The words had barely left your mouth before he came, hard, moaning deep in your neck as he emptied himself inside you. His release triggered yours, like a chain reaction, and your moans tangled in the thick, heavy air between you. It was overwhelming. Perfect. Too much and not enough all at once.

“You’re so good,” he murmured against your skin, pressing a kiss to your neck.

You fell back against the bed, catching your breath, still dazed. He was beautiful. Disgustingly so. Like something carved from marble—his curls messy from your hands, his chest heaving, his eyes half-lidded. He looked unreal with the sweat all over his body, he was all shiny, all of this for you. And it pissed you off. Because he wasn’t just beautiful. He was kind. Gentle. Sharp. Honest. Clever. And you’d never admit any of it—not to him. Not even to yourself.

You hated him. You liked hating him. It was safer that way.

Even if tonight—just tonight—you’d let him in.

He slowly pulled out, and you felt his warmth drip from you, sending one last shiver down your spine. But before you could move, he pushed back in again—slow, deep—like he wasn’t done.

“I’m putting babies in you,” he whispered with a smirk.

“You’re so embarrassing,” you muttered. But the truth? The way he made you feel—that was what really embarrassed you.

“You don’t like it?”

“I don’t mind,” you said.

A lie.

Because you loved it. Luigi collapsed on top of you, his full weight pressing down, stealing your breath—but it felt good. He was big, he completely covered you, and somehow, like this, you felt safe. Slowly, your bodies started to calm, the high began to fade.

“Second round?” Luigi asked with a teasing look.

You traced lazy circles on his back, running your fingers over his thick arms, into his curls, down his neck—everywhere, really—while he nuzzled into your collarbone, his breath and kisses tickling your skin.

But then—a knock at the door shattered the moment.

You groaned internally. Who dared interrupt?

Luigi sighed, growling under his breath as he lifted his head.

“You don’t have to answer,” you suggested, praying he’d listen and come back to where he belonged—on you, his head tucked into your neck, wrapped in your arms.

“You’re right,” he agreed.

He was just about to lie back down when a girl’s voice echoed from behind the door.

“Luigi? You in there?”

He shot up immediately, much to your dismay, and scrambled off the bed.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he hissed, yanking on his boxers and pajama pants in record time.

“Who is it?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “You better not have a girlfriend, Luigi. You wouldn’t dare, right?”

“Shh, not a sound. You’re not here, okay?”

You fell back onto the bed with a frustrated sigh. What the hell is happening? You’d just assumed you’d have him to yourself at least for the night.

He cracked the door open, just enough so the girl outside couldn’t see inside.

“Hey,” she said casually.

“Hey. What brings you here?”

“Um, I texted before I came over…”

“Oh, didn’t see it. I was… busy,” he replied, glancing back at you quickly.

Who is this girl? And more importantly—why does she have his number? You didn’t even have that.

“I wanted to talk about meeting your parents. Which dress do you think is better?” she asked, showing him pictures of dresses on her phone.

Seriously? She came all the way here for that? Meeting the parents? That sounded… serious. And if it was serious, it probably meant your little fling was over before it had really begun.

“You came over for that?” Luigi raised a brow.

“Yeah, I want to look perfect for them. I mean, they’re your parents. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

You shifted slightly on the bed, making it creak.

“Is someone in your room?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“What? No,” Luigi replied instantly.

Now you had two options: stay quiet and hope she left, or do something to make sure she knew you were there.

Option one? Boring.

Option two? Way more fun.

“Luigi?” you called out across the room, loud and clear.

He spun around, eyes wide, mouthing for you to shut up. He looked completely panicked, which made it even more hilarious.

“Is there someone in there?” she asked again, more suspicious now.

“No, that’s my sister. She’s on FaceTime,” he said quickly.

“Mmh… That didn’t sound like your sister’s voice. And it was way too loud to be coming from a phone,” she replied, not buying it.

She knows his sister? Oh wow. You suddenly felt like you’d walked into something way more complicated than expected.

Then, without warning, she shoved the door open and stepped inside—only to find you sitting at the edge of the bed, quickly yanking the covers over yourself. Of course, you were completely naked.

“Seriously, Luigi? Who is she?”

“She’s just a friend,” he said.

“Well, this has nothing to do with me. I should go. Good luck to both of you,” you say, calmly but firmly, as you start gathering your clothes scattered across the room. The sheet is still wrapped around your body like some fragile shield.

“No. You're staying. You're my guest,” Luigi says, voice steady with just a hint of tension.

You raise an eyebrow. What is he even talking about?

“Look,” he turns to the girl, “we haven’t been together in a long time. I tried getting back with you—several times. But you kept shutting me down. I think I’m allowed to move on.”

“But I was finally ready. You didn’t try hard enough,” she snaps back, furious.

“Please don’t do this. I tried more than once, and every single time, it was the same wall. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Then fine. I’m not coming tomorrow,” she huffs, arms crossed like a final strike.

You glance at Luigi. Is this meeting really that important?

“But I already told my parents you were coming. They’re looking forward to it.”

“I don’t care. It’s over,” she says before walking out, slamming the door behind her.

Luigi exhales deeply and turns back to you.

“Wow. You really suck,” you mutter, half-teasing, half-exhausted.

“She just wanted to keep me around as a backup. It took me five failed attempts to realize it.”

He sinks down beside you on the bed and throws you a playful look. “You ruined everything… like always.”

“You did that all by yourself.”

“Okay, okay, fair. I just wanted to blame someone else for once,” he says with a soft grin, running a hand through your hair. Then, his tone shifts, quieter now. “It’s just… I talked about her to my parents so many times. They were really excited to meet her. Back then, anyway. I didn’t want to let them down, so I invited her. But yeah, it was a dumb move.”

“It’s never a good idea to chase someone who’s already made up their mind,” you reply, stretching out on the bed and patting the spot next to you.

Luigi lies down facing you. His eyes search yours, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. It’s oddly intimate. You eventually look away, just as his phone vibrates on the nightstand.

“Probably my mom,” he mumbles, grabbing it.

It is. He reads her message, then sighs.

“She’s so hyped to meet my ‘girlfriend’, I don’t even know how to tell her she’s not coming anymore.”

“Maybe talk to your ex—maybe she’ll reconsider.”

“She won’t. Especially not after seeing you.” He pauses, then smirks at you. “Actually… I’ve got an idea. What if you came instead?”

“What? No way. I’m terrible with parents. That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Oh, come on. This is in part your fault. You completely distracted me and now I’ve got no one to bring. You owe me.”

“My fault?” you laugh. “I didn’t forced you. And let’s not forget—we don’t even like each other.”

“Just once. Be my fake girlfriend for one night. And in return, I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Yes. Within legal limits, of course.”

“…Fine. When?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll come pick you up.”

“Alright.”

You get up and start dressing, gathering your things again. But Luigi catches your arm gently.

“You’re not staying?”

“Nope. I need to get ready for your big parent trap tomorrow.”

“Come on, just one last kiss,” he says, looking up at you with his best sad-puppy eyes.

“Nice try. We’re not a couple, Luigi.”

“We’re just practicing for later”

“No kiss”

Reluctantly, he lets go. You get dressed quickly, and head for the door.

•• D-Day •••

You were ready. You had slipped into one of your nicest dresses—elegant but understated. Your makeup was simple, just like you always wore it, and you’d curled your hair into soft waves. You didn’t feel particularly nervous. After all, it wasn’t really your in-laws you were about to meet, and you weren’t in a real relationship. You had no one to impress, so you decided to just be yourself.

A knock at the door.

You opened it to find Luigi standing there.

“Wow… you look stunning.”

“Thanks… you’re not so bad yourself.”

He had dressed up in a smart little suit, a light blue shirt, and a violet tie. He looked charming—like the ideal son-in-law. It was almost suspicious.

“Shall we?”

He offered his arm with a warm smile. You looped yours through his, and the two of you headed to his car.

“So… what’s our story?” you asked as he started driving.

“Just be yourself,” he replied easily.

“And if someone asks me stuff about you? I barely know anything about your life. All I know is that you’re kind of an idiot.”

He chuckled, eyes on the road. “Well, my favorite color is blue. I love video games, traveling, hiking, and reading. That’s all you really need to know.”

He glanced your way. “What about you?”

“My favorite color is orange. I’m into movies, love hiking too, and I listen to a lot of music,” you said, listing the basics.

He put on some music, and the drive continued in comfortable silence. Eventually, you pulled into a quiet, upscale neighborhood lined with stunning homes.

“Whoa… your house is huge.”

He nodded, visibly a little awkward. You hadn’t expected this. You knew he was well-off, but this was another level.

“Ready?”

“Too late to run?” you muttered.

“You’ll be fine.”

You stepped inside, and it was instantly overwhelming. The house was packed with people—laughter, conversation, children screaming in the background.

“Okay, your family is huge. I thought it was just gonna be your parents.”

“Welcome to the Mangione family,” he said with a smirk. “We’re Italian. We don’t do ‘small gatherings.’”

“You tricked me, you sneaky bastard.”

He grinned. “I told you you’d meet my parents. I just might’ve skipped a few... logistical details.”

“Luigi! You’re finally here!” a woman’s voice called out.

His mother rushed over, pulling him into a tight hug. His father followed right behind.

“Hi sweetheart. And you must be Bianca! It’s so lovely to meet you!”

“Actually, it’s Y/n,” you corrected gently.

His mother froze, clearly caught off guard. You shot a subtle glare at Luigi.

“Luigi must’ve given you my full name. Everyone close to me just calls me Y/n.”

“Oh! Right—of course! So sorry about that,” she said quickly before pulling you into a warm, affectionate hug.

His father, more formal, gave you a firm handshake and a respectful nod. “Welcome.”

May the act begin.

The living room was buzzing with chatter, clinking glasses, and bursts of laughter. You could barely keep track of all the introductions—uncles, aunts, cousins, second cousins, grandparents, people who seemed only vaguely related but were welcomed like blood.

At first, you stuck close to Luigi’s side like a quiet shadow, offering polite smiles and nods, but you slowly warmed up. His family was surprisingly welcoming. One of his aunts complimented your dress, another asked about your job, and a cousin asked if you liked tiramisu before dragging you to the dessert table.

You played along, smiling, answering, even asking a few questions back.

A pair of twin boys, no older than six, were zooming around with toy airplanes, nearly colliding into furniture. One of them tripped and fell right at your feet, letting out a frustrated groan. You bent down to help him up and, without thinking, made a whooshing airplane noise that sent both kids into a fit of laughter.

Moments later, you were on the floor with them, flying invisible jets and dramatically crashing them into pillows. Luigi watched from across the room, amused, arms crossed and an endearing smirk tugging at his lips.

"You’re surprisingly good with kids," he said as he walked over.

"That’s because I am one," you shot back, brushing imaginary dust off your dress. He puts his hand on your hips.

“Fair.”

Then someone called out from the dining room: “Alright, time for the family game!”

Everyone shuffled into the large room where a game of charades was already being set up. You and Luigi exchanged a quick look—half dread, half challenge.

“Wanna team up?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re going down.”

You were put on Team Mangione A—alongside Luigi, one of his younger cousins, and his aunt with the world’s most aggressive poker face.

The game was chaotic. People shouted ridiculous guesses, exaggerated movements filled the room, and someone kept snorting every time they laughed. When it was your turn, you mimed “Titanic” with such dramatic flair that Luigi burst out laughing mid-guess. When it was his turn, he attempted “The Godfather” with a horrible accent and somehow still managed to get it right.

You were in sync. Every round, you guessed each other’s clues within seconds, communicating with just a look or a barely-there gesture.

In the final round, it was between your team and another, and it all came down to you. You drew the last word, looked at Luigi, and started acting.

“Rollercoaster,” he shouted instantly. “Haunted house? Spider… explosion? Fireworks!”

“Yes!” you cheered, pointing at him as the room erupted in noise.

Your team had won.

Everyone clapped and whistled, and someone passed out slices of cake in celebration. You flopped down onto the couch beside Luigi. He leaned in a little, voice dropping low enough that only you could hear, a smug grin on his face. “Can I kiss you?”

You looked back at Luigi. “We can’t,” you whispered, trying to suppress a smile. “Not in front of your whole family.”

It wasn’t long, just a soft, quick press of his lips against yours—but it made your breath catch anyway. Warmth bloomed in your chest.

When you pulled away, the room had gone suspiciously quiet for half a second—just long enough.

“Oooooh!” one of the cousins howled.

“The lovebirds strike again!” another shouted from the armchair.

“Somebody get them a balcony already!” an aunt cackled, raising her glass.

You buried your face in your hands, laughing. Luigi just leaned back casually, looking smug as ever.

You were all chatting casually over appetizers. The conversation turned, naturally, to food.

"Do you cook, Y/n?" asked the nonna pouring herself another glass of sparkling water.

"A little," you replied. "But I’m more of a dessert person. I love trying new recipes."

Luigi’s cousin perked up. "What’s the craziest best you’ve ever tasted?"

You smiled, thinking back. "Okay, don’t judge me — but once, I had a kinder bueno tiramisu."

Suddenly, the room fell silent. Forks froze mid-air. Luigi slowly turned to you, eyes wide.

"A… Kinder… tiramisu?" he repeated, like you had just insulted his grandmother.

"Yeah," you said, blinking innocently. "It was actually really good—"

"Madonna mia," someone whispered across the table.

His aunt clutched her chest dramatically. "Che sacrilegio!"

One of the uncles shook his head like he was grieving. "They ruin everything these days…"

Luigi covered his face with both hands. "Y/n, why would you say that here ?"

"I didn’t know this was a sacred topic!" you said, laughing nervously. "I mean… it still had mascarpone!"

"That’s not enough!" his nonna cried from across the room. "You don’t mess with tradition!"

By now, everyone was laughing — half in horror, half in amusement — and you felt yourself relax. Even if you were an outsider, at least you were now part of the joke.

Luigi leaned in close, his voice low and amused as he whispered in your ear, “You just committed culinary blasphemy in front of three generations of Italians.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I didn’t realize it was that serious.”

“Oh, it is,” he said with mock solemnity. “You just lost Nonna’s blessing.”

You gasped dramatically. “Then I better go make things right.”

He watched with a grin as you stood and made your way over to his grandmother. From across the room, he saw you speaking with animated hands, full of charm, while she listened intently. A beat later, she broke into a warm smile, pulled you into a hug, and kissed both your cheeks.

Luigi laughed softly to himself. Of course she forgave you.

You walked back toward him, head high, a triumphant glint in your eye.

“She forgave me,” you announced, grinning.

He leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed, trying not to smile too hard. “You charmed my Nonna. That’s dangerously powerful.”

“She said I had good manners. And taste — except in tiramisu.”

He laugh and put his hand on your hips.

A flicker of guilt tugged at you. Pretending in front of people who had welcomed you so warmly—it didn’t sit right. Maybe that’s why you weren’t letting yourself relax completely. You knew, sooner or later, this would all come to an end.

You slipped away to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, needing a moment to yourself. Luigi followed without saying a word. When you stepped into the room, his father was already there, leaning casually against the counter.

“You’re not joining the game, Dad?” Luigi asked, pulling a chilled bottle of water from the fridge. He grabbed a glass, filled it, and set it in front of you with a small smile.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

His father chuckled. “Your old man’s too ancient for that kind of chaos.”

“Oh, come on,” Luigi teased. “You’re just scared you’ll lose. Admit it.”

Luigi’s father gave a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he sipped his glass of wine. Then he looked at you, his tone softening.

“And you? You like games like that?”

You paused, fingers curling around the cool glass in front of you.

“I do,” you said slowly. “I used to play all kinds of silly games with my dad when I was little.”

There was a pause, the kind that feels like a breath held in the air.

“But… he passed away when I was twelve,” you added, your voice quieter now, steady but tinged with something deeper. “If I could play just one more game with him… I wouldn’t think twice.”

Luigi glanced at you, something tender flashing in his eyes.

His father was quiet for a moment, then straightened up and gave a small nod.

“Well,” he said, setting down his cup, “guess I better not waste the games I still can play.”

He gave you a gentle smile, then patted Luigi on the shoulder. “Let’s go. Before your aunt claims she’s undefeated.”

You smiled softly as he walked out of the kitchen, a little faster than before.

Luigi looked at you, voice low. “I’m so sorry”

You gave a half-shrug, blinking back the emotion that had snuck up on you. “Just telling the truth.”

He didn’t say anything right away—just reached out and gave your hand a quick, quiet squeeze.

He takes your hand and leads you into a room, quiet and empty. The moment you step through the door, recognition hits you — it’s his teenage bedroom.

"My old room," Luigi says, eyes gleaming with nostalgia. "What do you think?"

"I think… I would’ve been so jealous of you if we’d been friends back then. Oh my God — is that a GameCube? That’s insane. You really are the nerd I thought you were."

Luigi bursts out laughing.

"What was your favorite game?" He ask, curious.

"Mario Kart — the classic version. I used to play it at the mall, in the electronics section. What about you?"

"Wait, seriously? At the mall? Man... Zelda. Nothing beats Zelda."

"Yeah, we couldn’t afford one at home. So every time we went shopping, I’d spend hours in that aisle, just playing. You probably wouldn’t get that — you must’ve been rich, rich, rich."

You sit down on the bed, your eyes drifting to the bookshelf, packed with novels and games. You look at his photos with his family. And then, without warning, tears well up in your eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey," Luigi rushes over, dropping to his knees in front of you. "What’s wrong? Why are you crying?"

"It’s just… your family is so kind…"

"Hey, don’t cry. Come on, dry those tears. You’ll see them again soon, I promise. I want to see you smile, okay?"

You wipe your cheeks, and he pulls you into a warm embrace, leaving a trail of gentle kisses in your hair.

"I’m sorry about yesterday... when I brought up your dad. I didn’t know—"

"You didn’t know," you say softly, cutting him off. "It’s okay. I forgive you."

“I’ll walk you home,” Luigi offered.

You nodded, and both of you stood. Without a word, he took your hand. It caught you off guard, but you didn’t pull away. As you made your way through the house, you said your goodbyes—his mom wrapped you in one last warm hug and handed you a big container of food. His dad gave you a quiet, reassuring look.

Then you stepped outside together.

The drive back was quiet, peaceful. His playlist played softly in the background, filling the silence just enough. Neither of you needed to speak.

When you reached your place, he pulled up to the curb and turned to you.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, smiling gently. “Tonight was amazing. You were amazing.”

You smiled back. “I really loved it. Your family’s incredible—so genuine, so grounded. Time just flew by. Thank you.”

He gave a small nod, eyes lingering on you for a beat, then walked you to your door.

That was how the night ended.

•• Weeks later ••

Luigi got back together with his ex.

And you—quietly, completely—chose to never speak to him again.

As if none of it had ever happened.

💭Next part

Tags : @bean-is-reading @iinfinitelimits

[reasonsforhope]

"The Hague made international headlines for being the first city in the world to approve legislation prohibiting marketing of fossil fuel-related products and services. This major ruling, issued earlier this month, seeks to limit the promotion of items with a high carbon footprint, such as gasoline, diesel, aviation, and cruise ships. The ban, which goes into effect at the start of next year, will affect both government and privately funded advertisements, including those on billboards and bus shelters throughout the Dutch metropolis.

This groundbreaking legislation establishes an important precedent in the global fight against climate change. Other cities have attempted to limit the reach of high-carbon items through council ordinances or voluntary agreements with advertising operators, but The Hague’s prohibition is the first that is legally binding. It is a major step forward for cities around the world that want to reduce carbon emissions and combat climate change head-on.

A response to global calls for action

The prohibition comes after UN Secretary-General António Guterres called earlier this year for countries and media outlets to take tougher action to combat fossil fuel advertising, citing parallels with existing tobacco advertising bans. Guterres stressed that, as with the tobacco industry in the past, fossil fuel businesses are contributing to a worldwide public health crisis—in this case, climate change. Governments can help change public behavior and prevent the normalization of high-carbon lifestyles by limiting their capacity to market.

Several cities have already made tiny moves in this direction. Edinburgh, for example, approved a council vote in May prohibiting fossil fuel-related ads in city-owned venues. The Scottish capital also prohibits enterprises that sell these products from sponsoring events or developing partnerships. However, unlike The Hague’s legislation, Edinburgh’s ban is voluntary and only applies to council spaces.

A legally binding first

The Hague’s new law is significant since it is legally binding. The restriction affects not only specific items, such as gasoline, diesel, and fossil fuel-powered vehicles but also businesses such as aviation and cruise ships. However, the rule exempts fossil fuel firms’ political advertising or efforts supporting a generic brand, allowing these businesses to keep prominence...

The impact of advertising on behavior

Advertising’s impact on consumer behavior is well-documented, and many experts say that fossil fuel marketing undercut climate legislation by encouraging unsustainable behavior. Thijs Bouman, an associate professor of environmental psychology at Rijksuniversiteit Groningen, stated that “fossil fuel advertising normalizes the use of high-carbon products and services, making it more difficult to change consumer habits.” ...

Catalyzing change worldwide

The Hague’s move may have repercussions beyond its borders, spurring similar actions in other cities around the globe. Cities such as Toronto, Canada, and Graz, Austria, are already launching campaigns to outlaw advertising for fossil fuels. In the Netherlands, both Amsterdam and Haarlem have outlawed marketing for climate-damaging products like beef, but these measures have yet to become legislation.

Sleegers believes that The Hague’s move will act as a spur for other towns to follow suit. “More cities have a wish to implement the fossil ad ban through ordinance, but they were all waiting for some other city to go first. The Hague is this city,” she said, predicting that more local governments will now feel empowered to act...

As the world grapples with the rising costs of climate change, The Hague’s pioneering move provides a potential model for other cities looking to minimize their carbon footprints. With cities like Toronto and Amsterdam keeping a careful eye on things, this legislation has the potential to start a global campaign to prohibit fossil fuel advertising. 

More cities may follow suit in the coming years, hastening the transition to a more environmentally friendly and sustainable future."

-via The Optimist Daily, September 26, 2024

[magda-kb]

Character Analysis Of Luis Serra:

I just think someone needs to do this here on Tumblr so here we go…

Born in the remote and devoutly Catholic village of Valdelobos, Spain, Luis grew up in a reclusive, pre-industrial community that shunned modernity. The death of his mother during childbirth left him in the care of his grandfather (Man in the picture above together with Luis), a hunter whose wisdom and love shaped Luis’s early years.

From a young age, Luis displayed an insatiable curiosity and intelligence that set him apart. While his peers clung to the village’s traditions, Luis dreamed of the world beyond its mountains, finding solace in fairy tales and stories, particularly the adventures of Don Quixote. His grandfather recognized his potential, lamenting the limits imposed by their isolated life.

Later on his grandfather was attacked by a wolf and succumbed to a mysterious illness. Rumors of madness swirled, and fear gripped the superstitious villagers. The village’s chieftain, influenced by paranoia, ordered the family cabin to be burned to prevent the spread of the supposed "infection." According to the texts found throughout the game, the boy stood outside the house the whole time watching the flames, the next day he had disappeared from the village and nobody knew where the boy was.

In the modern world, Luis thrived, earning recognition as a prodigy in biology and securing a position at Umbrella Pharmaceuticals. Despite his remarkable achievements, including work on groundbreaking research, his tenure at Umbrella left him disillusioned. For example, we know that he was an employee of Project Nemesis (note to Racoon City - Nemesis T-Type).The corporation’s ethical compromises clashed with Luis’s growing moral awareness, leading to his resignation. This decision underscored a recurring theme in Luis’s character: the struggle between ambition and conscience.

Luis’s return to Valdelobos in 2004 placed him at the center of a nightmare. The village had fallen under the control of Los Iluminados, a cult manipulating the villagers’ religiosity to propagate a parasitic organism known as Las Plagas. Saddler, the cult’s leader, enlisted Luis for his scientific expertise, tasking him with enhancing the parasites. Initially compliant, Luis became horrified upon realizing Saddler’s true intentions. His guilt over his role in the cult’s atrocities drove him to seek redemption.

This is where Luis’s complexity truly shines. Torn between his past mistakes and a desire to atone, he takes enormous risks to undermine Saddler. Partnering with Ada Wong, Luis orchestrates plans to escape with the cult’s critical research sample, the Amber.

Here, too, I would like to emphasize a particular passage from the Separate Ways DLC that was already a bit of a foreshadowing of what his fate would be: Namely, during the scene in which other village members fell victim to the cult, Luis spoke of the fact that the next dance would be his… It should also be noted here that the already deceased was lying in exactly the same posture as Luis will later do… So it really was his “last dance”, so to speak (You can see it a little in the photo below, but it is clearly visible in the game itself)

Luis’s interactions with Leon S. Kennedy in the main game reveal yet another layer of his character. Despite their initial mistrust, Luis proves his worth as an ally, displaying a blend of wit, vulnerability, and a desperate need to make amends. His decision to assist Leon and Ashley, even at great personal risk, underscores his transformation from a man driven by self-interest to one guided by selflessness.

Ultimately, Luis’s arc concludes tragically yet heroically. Fatally wounded by Jack Krauser, Luis uses his final moments to ensure Leon and Ashley have the tools to fight back against Saddler. His death is not just a sacrifice but a culmination of his redemptive journey—a final act of defiance against all the things he did in the past. There is also the fact that Luis has doubts. Mainly about the things he himself has done in the past - And it is precisely these doubts that seem to characterize his last moment.

Something I would like to add: Krauser threw his knife directly into Luis’s spine. I mean clearly he aimed to kill. When a victim is stabbed in the area of the spinal cord, the spinal cord can be severed, sheared, torn, or otherwise damaged. This will result in a loss of function below the point of injury. That’s why it’s so impressive and powerful that Luis was able to muster up the last of his strength and force his hand to shoot at Krauser-hitting directly at his knife that could have killed Leon. That would now also explain why Luis can’t properly use his lighter and needed Leon to do it for him. Because after the lighter drops we can not see him move his body again…

Luis Serra is a character defined by contradictions: a brilliant scientist haunted by his complicity in unethical experiments, a dreamer shaped by the harsh realities of his upbringing, and a man who ultimately chooses redemption over survival. Something I would also like to point out is to link the whole story to Don Quixote. Because just like the self-proclaimed knight, he also had this urge of idealism throughout his life - which also led Don Quixote to make mistakes in the end and ultimately to his death... But in the end he became a hero and more or less passed on the title of knight to Leon...

[hrrtshape]

　　 THE ROLES IN MY FAME DR. . .

quiet, quiet !!! centre stage, lights dimmed, audience hushed. my fame dr is essentially me winning the metaphorical acting olympics while everyone else is still lacing up their shoes. it’s, like, a line-up of roles so iconic, so overpowered, it’s like i’m thanos snapping my way through hollywood history. i wanted the cookie, and i baked the whole bakery.

here’s the rundown.....each role is a slice of cinematic perfection, OKAY, served with a side of "how does she do it? why does she do it?? how many oscars do you need??" energy.

　꒰ 2002. . . ' PONETTE ' as ponette. — picture a four-year-old (shut up) absolutely devastating audiences, grappling with grief and holding onto the wisp of hope that her mom might waltz back from the afterlife. tiny me..... heartbreaking. oscar-worthy. a pint-sized tour de force !!!

　꒰ 2006. . . ' LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE ' as olive. — quirky underdog vibes. a beauty pageant dreamer dragged through chaos on a family road trip. big glasses, bigger heart. adorable chaos incarnate.

　꒰ 2007. . . ' LÉON: THE PROFESSIONAL ' as mathilda. — street-smart, sharp-tongued, and navigating grief and revenge. turned “child assassin vibes��� into a genre.... unlikely bond with a hitman? groundbreaking.

　꒰ 2008. . . ' ATONEMENT ' as briony tallis. — precocious young writer turned accidental chaos agent. one little misunderstanding, and boom !! tragedy for everyone. the literary girls wept.

　꒰ 2009. . . ' TRUE GRIT ' as mattie ross. — fearless teen avenger with a rifle and a vengeance. sharp-tongued, sharp-shooting. unstoppable.

　꒰ 2011. . . ' LOLITA ' as lolita /// dolores haze. — a beguiling and precocious girl cloaked in innocence but steeped in rebellion, a mix of youthful charm and intoxicating danger. made everyone very uncomfortable because it wasn't directed by a pervert but instead an actual person who understood the book !!

　꒰ 2012. . . ' MOONRISE KINGDOM ' as suzy. — whimsical runaway girl with a suitcase full of records and big dreams, embarking on an adventurous and heartfelt runaway journey with her first love.

　꒰ 2013. . . ' BLACK SWAN ' as nina sayers. — the drama. the descent into madness on the basis of perfection. a ballerina teetering on the edge of perfection and chaos.

　꒰ 2014. . . ' THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL ' as agatha. — the sweet baker who saves the day in a pastel-hued, heist-filled fever dream. you could say i was the cinnamon roll that held the plot together.

　꒰ 2015. . . ' CINDERELLA ' as cinderella. — glass slippers, big dreams, unapologetic faith in the universe. cottagecore princess moment.

　꒰ 2017. . . ' LADY BIRD ' as christine "lady bird" mcpherson. — high school angst meets big-city dreams. small-town girl, big personality, fiercely independent. greta gerwig girlies cheered.

　꒰ 2019. . . ' ROMEO AND JULIET ' (dir. sofia coppola) as juliet. — tragic romance, youthful rebellion, a modernised shakespearean masterpiece. the english teachers are obsessed.

　꒰ 2019. . . ' ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD ' as sharon tate. — an enchanting actress and rising star, embodying the golden glow of hollywood’s bygone era with grace and optimism.

　꒰ 2019. . . ' LITTLE WOMEN ' as amy march. — ambitious, artistic, unapologetically confident. justice for amy achieved!!!

　꒰ 2019. . . ' STRANGE COLOURS ' (dir. david lynch) as naste. — struggling sculptor in post-war 1950s paris, whose pursuit of success leads her to morally complex decisions in a crime and punishment-inspired tale.

　꒰ 2020. . . ' THE QUEEN'S GAMBIT ' as beth harmon. — a brilliant yet troubled chess prodigy navigating personal demons, ambition, and addiction while conquering a male-dominated world.

　꒰ 2021. . . ' THE FRENCH DISPATCH ' as juliette. — a cynical and enigmatic character in a whimsical anthology capturing the spirit of journalism and artistic eccentricity.

　꒰  2021 . . . ' PROFIL PERDU ' as josée. — a woman caught in a crumbling marriage, drawn into a web of intrigue and liberation when a wealthy magnate offers her a new life filled with possibilities.

　꒰ 2021 & 2023. . . ' SUCCESSION ' as lukas matsson's complicated girlfriend. — it’s giving chaos. it’s giving scandal. the girl who walked into the roy / mattson power vortex and made it just a tad messier.

　꒰ 2022 & 2025. . . ' SEVERANCE ' as helly r. — kafkaesque corporate dystopia, dual personalities, fighting against the machine. the drama of it all.

　꒰ 2022. . . ' X ' as maxine. — it’s sexy, it’s terrifying, it’s iconic. a daring and ambitious young woman pursuing fame in the adult film industry while navigating fear and survival in a horror setting.

　꒰ 2022. . . ' PEARL ' as pearl. — a dreamer turned unhinged by isolation and frustration, whose violent tendencies emerge as her craving for stardom spirals into tragedy.

　꒰ 2023. . . ' POOR THINGS ' as bella baxter. — a curious and eccentric woman reborn into a surreal world, exploring life with uninhibited wonder and self-discovery. an eccentric frankenstein moment.

　꒰ 2023. . . ' THE HUNGER GAMES: THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS & SNAKES ' as livia cardew. — capitol decadence personified. the symbol of privilege and mean-spirituality. as well as coriolanus snow's future wife.

　꒰ 2024. . . ' MAXXXINE ' as maxine. — a raw and determined character fighting to make her mark in a world that feeds on fame, continuing her saga in the x-pearl trilogy.

　꒰ 2025. . . ' FRANKENSTEIN ' as the bride. — a haunting and tragic figure, torn due to her her husband's newest project.

that oscar is practically monogrammed with my soul. engraved, embossed, bedazzled in my honour. if possession is nine-tenths of the law, that golden man is legally, spiritually, and cosmically mine. you ever look at something and just know?? that’s me with oscar excellence. signed, sealed, delivered. twice for emphasis.

also....dividers not mine !!!!!

[gilbertscurls]

no way out — matt sturniolo

You told yourself you weren’t going to do this.

Not again. Not after what happened last time—the late nights, the half-typed texts, the lingering glances that never turned into anything real. You promised yourself that you would stop chasing ghosts with good hair and better smiles. You swore off boys like Matt: warm-eyed, too charming for his own good, and unknowingly addictive.

But here you are. Again.

Watching his latest video for the fourth time. Not because he said anything groundbreaking, but because he laughed at something stupid and tilted his head just the way he always does, and now you’re clutching a pillow like a lovesick idiot in a high school movie.

You don’t even know him. Not really. You’ve exchanged a few DMs, liked each other’s stories, sent a couple of “you’re hilarious lol” type messages. But now you’re here, spiraling into full emotional investment like it’s your job. You know he had a girlfriend. You know they broke up. You know he was on tour, know every single of the surprises shown the fans.

You probably shouldn’t know that much. But you do. Because you’re in too deep.

Because somehow, without meaning to, he slipped under your skin.

You try to keep it casual—play the “cool girl” game, act like you’re not obsessively rechecking your phone whenever he posts something. But the truth is, he’s in your head. Occupying that weird little daydream space where he shows up at your door unannounced, eyes wide and heart full, saying something like “I don’t know what this is yet, but I know I want to find out with you.”

You imagine it more often than you’d like to admit. Him in his hoodie and beat-up sneakers, standing in your doorway with the same unsure smile he wears when he’s being vulnerable on camera. You picture the way his voice would drop when he said your name for the first time in person. How it would feel to hear it instead of read it.

You haven't even met him. Not really.

But you wake up in the middle of the night sometimes—phone face down on your nightstand, your room too quiet—and feel that dumb ache in your chest like something’s missing.

Like he's missing.

And that thought? That right there? That’s when you know you’re screwed.

Because it’s not just a crush anymore. It’s not just infatuation. It’s something warmer, deeper, and so much more dangerous. It’s standing at the edge of the diving board, knowing the water’s cold and probably too deep and still jumping anyway.

And it feels reckless.

And it feels right.

Because yeah, this might be the wrong thing. You might be a story he forgets. You might be another what-if he files away under “Nice girl, bad timing.”

But you’d rather be the mistake than the missed opportunity.

So when your phone buzzes at 1:12 a.m. with a message from Matt that just says:

“Can’t sleep. You up?”

You stare at it for a second, heart racing. Then, you reply.

“Yeah. Wanna talk?”

And you do.

About everything and nothing. About tour and old movies and why thunderstorms are underrated. And he laughs at your jokes, and calls you by name like it means something. And maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t.

But in that moment, lying in bed in the dark, you realize you’re already in the deep end.

And you don’t want out.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @shadowthesim237, @courta13, @frankdelreyy, @evansturn, @bamsblooming

[n0vazsq]

Love shot | MV1 x Reader

pairing . . . hitman!max verstappen x mega!rich!reader

summary . . . You never suspected to fall in love with your assistant, but when he tells you something groundbreaking, you don't know what to believe

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.4k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . i feel so bad for reader omg like girl you dont deserve that?? also yes i am acting like i didnt write this shit

. . . You had never been one for grand parties or society's shallow circles. You were the heiress to a vast fortune that seemed to grow larger every day, yet it never seemed to fill the emptiness inside you.

After your father’s passing, the inheritance came with a weight you never asked for, pushing you into a world of power and danger you barely understood.

The mansion where you lived, nestled away from the prying eyes of the city, was meant to be your sanctuary, but it often felt like an extravagant cage.

You preferred the solitude of your home, away from the pressures of high society and endless obligations. That’s when you had started to notice him, the quiet figure in the background.

He wasn’t like the others. While your estate was filled with a rotating cast of servants and security, there was something different about Max, or as you had come to know him, Marcus.

He introduced himself as a personal assistant, a new hire who would help with the day to day operations of the house. His professional demeanor and neatly pressed uniform made him seem like just another cog in the machine.

But Max, Marcus, wasn't like the others. He moved with a practiced ease, slipping between tasks without drawing attention to himself, yet somehow, you found yourself drawn to him.

At first, you thought it was just the feeling of having someone new in your otherwise quiet world. But the more you saw of him, the more you began to notice things that intrigued you.

There was a quiet strength about him, an air of mystery that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He never stayed long in any one place, his presence often fleeting, but you caught glimpses of something deeper when his eyes met yours, something more than just professionalism.

It was on a chilly evening, weeks after Max had started working for you, that the first real conversation between you two happened.

You had been sitting by the fire, absently flipping through a book when you heard footsteps approaching. Without looking up, you assumed it was just another of your staff, but the voice that interrupted the silence made you glance up.

"Is it too late to bring you something warm, Miss? Tea, perhaps?" Max’s voice was soft, almost hesitant.

You smiled, gesturing to the seat across from you. "Tea sounds perfect."

As he moved to prepare the tea, you watched him carefully. The way his hands worked with precision, the way his body language was always so controlled; it fascinated you.

He wasn't like any of the other assistants or servants you had encountered. Most of them treated you with a kind of cautious respect, but Max seemed different. His eyes, though polite, didn’t shy away from meeting yours.

They weren’t filled with the usual fear that people often had when they dealt with someone of your status. There was something in his gaze, something that made you wonder if he saw you as more than just the heiress of a fortune.

After a moment, he placed the tea down in front of you with a small, respectful nod. "I didn’t mean to intrude, Miss. But I thought you might enjoy some company."

You looked up at him, surprised by his words. He had always been so reserved, never seeking attention or conversation. It was strange, and yet it made you feel a little less alone.

"You don’t have to be formal with me, you know," you said, offering him a soft smile. "I know you're just doing your job, but I appreciate the company."

Max paused, his eyes flickering toward the fire before looking back at you. There was something about his gaze that was softer now, less guarded. "It’s… not a bother. I find it nice, talking to you."

The words hung in the air between you two, and you both fell into an easy silence, the crackle of the fire filling the space where words would’ve been.

Over the next few weeks, your interactions with Max grew more frequent, and you found yourself looking forward to his presence.

It was subtle at first; a quiet conversation over dinner, a brief exchange in the hallway, the occasional shared look across the room when you were in the same place. But it wasn’t long before you began to feel a connection with him, one that went beyond just the formality of employer and assistant.

One evening, as you both worked late into the night, you looked up from the papers spread across the table to see Max standing by the door, watching you. His gaze was focused, his expression unreadable. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, what he saw when he looked at you.

"Max," you said softly, your voice breaking the silence. "You don’t have to stay this late. I can finish up myself."

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don’t mind. You’ve been working hard. Besides, I… enjoy being here."

The words left you with a flutter in your chest. There was something so genuine in his voice that it made you rethink your previous assumptions. He wasn’t just a hired hand, he was different, and you felt it.

Days turned into weeks, and with every passing day, the space between you two seemed to shrink. He would find ways to help you with little things; bringing you coffee in the morning, offering quiet advice when you were stressed, and sometimes even staying to talk about things that weren’t about work at all.

You learned small details about him; how he liked to keep to himself, how he didn’t share much about his past, and how his eyes seemed to soften whenever you spoke to him.

In return, you found yourself opening up to him more than you had to anyone else. You shared your fears about the empire your father left behind, your loneliness, your struggles to fit into a world you never chose.

In those moments, you didn’t feel like the heiress; you felt like just a woman, speaking to someone who didn’t look at you with judgment or expectation.

And then, one day, it happened. You were sitting together, talking about your father, when he asked, almost out of nowhere, "Do you ever wish things were different? That your life wasn’t so… tangled up in all this?"

You stared at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. You had never expected Max, of all people, to ask such a question. But in that moment, you saw something in him, a depth that you hadn’t noticed before.

"I wish things were different every day," you said softly, meeting his eyes. "But I don’t know how to make it stop. How to be free of all of this."

Max’s gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the weight of his unspoken thoughts. He opened his mouth to say something but then hesitated, his expression clouded with something you couldn’t quite read.

"Max, what’s going on with you?" you asked, your voice soft but firm. "You’ve been acting different lately. What’s on your mind?"

For a long moment, he said nothing, and then, almost reluctantly, he spoke. "I… I never meant to get close to you. That wasn’t part of the plan."

Your heart stopped. The words hung in the air, and you could feel a lump form in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. Was this the moment you had been dreading, the moment he would reveal the truth about why he was really there?

"I was hired to watch you," he continued, his voice barely a whisper. "To make sure you didn’t become a problem. I was supposed to kill you."

The world seemed to freeze in that moment. All the warmth, the connections, the late night talks, the quiet laughter; it all felt like a cruel lie.

"You…" you whispered, trying to process his words. "You were hired to kill me?"

Max’s eyes were filled with regret, but there was no way to undo the truth. "I didn’t expect any of this," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "I didn’t expect to care about you."

Silence settled between you two like a heavy fog. The world around you seemed to collapse, leaving you with only the bitter reality of his confession. You had trusted him, you had opened up to him, and now you didn’t know who he was anymore.

"I don’t know if I can trust you," you said, your voice shaking. "How do I know that you really care about me? Or if this is all just part of your plan?"

Max stepped closer, his expression softening. "I never meant for it to happen like this, but I do care. I swear to you, I do."

Your heart pounded in your chest, your emotions a tangled mess. You wanted to believe him, but could you? How could you be sure he wasn’t lying?

But before you could ask another question, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps; heavy, purposeful, coming down the hallway.

Max’s face hardened. "We don’t have time for this."

He turned to face the door, and you realized that whatever came next would change everything.

And as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, you knew that your life, your future, was no longer in your hands.

 taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[cherieberri]

𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢 ۶ৎ a levi ackerman drabble series

“Y/n, she’s not letting go.”

Levi’s voice was calm, but you could hear the strain beneath it as he stood in the living room, holding your daughter. Or rather, attempting to pry her tiny hands off your leg. She was like a barnacle, clutching your pants with all the strength a two-year-old could possibly muster.

“I know, Levi,” you sighed, tossing yet another pack of baby wipes into the already bulging baby bag. “She’s in one of her moods.”

“Mood?” Levi deadpanned, glaring down at the toddler who was now clinging to your leg like her life depended on it. “She’s acting like she’s being sent to war, not daycare.”

You crouched down, brushing a strand of hair from your daughter’s tear-streaked face. Her big, watery eyes looked up at you, and your heart softened. “Cherie, it’s just for a few hours. Mommy and Daddy will come pick you up, I promise.”

“Nooo!” she wailed, tightening her grip. “I stay with Mommy!”

You glanced at Levi, who stood there with his arms crossed, clearly waiting for you to handle it. “A little help?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

He scoffed. “I tried. She screamed in my ear like I was some kind of monster.”

“She gets it from you, you know,” you muttered, hoisting her up into your arms. Your daughter immediately buried her face in your shoulder, her tiny hands clutching the back of your shirt.

Levi frowned. “She does not. I don’t cling.”

“No, but you sulk,” you teased, slinging the baby bag over your other shoulder. “Same energy.”

He rolled his eyes but stepped forward to take the bag from you. “Give me that. You’re carrying her.”

“Obviously,” you said, adjusting your daughter on your hip as she sniffled into your neck. “She’s not letting me go anytime soon.”

Levi sighed, opening the door for you. “This is why we should’ve left ten minutes ago.”

“Wow, thanks for the groundbreaking advice, Levi,” you shot back as you stepped outside. “I’ll be sure to tell time to stop for us next time.”

He gave you a flat look but didn’t respond, instead walking ahead to load the baby bag into the car. You followed, murmuring softly to your daughter in an attempt to soothe her. She was calming down, but her little arms were still locked firmly around your neck.

“Alright, car seat time,” Levi said, turning to take her from you.

The second she saw his hands reaching for her, the waterworks started again. “Nooo! Mommy!”

Levi sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. “Y/n, she’s doing this on purpose.”

“She’s two, Levi. It’s not a master plan,” you said, handing her over despite her protests. “She just loves me more.”

Levi shot you a look as your daughter wailed and flailed in his arms. “You think this is funny?”

“A little,” you admitted, biting back a smile. “But you’re doing great, Daddy.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded a bit too much like “brat” before maneuvering your squirming daughter into the car seat. After some strategic maneuvering and a few soothing words from you, she was finally buckled in, though her pout could rival Levi’s.

As you slid into the passenger seat, you glanced at Levi, who was gripping the steering wheel like it had personally offended him. “She’ll be fine, you know. It’s just daycare.”

“I know,” he muttered, backing out of the driveway. “But she’s got your stubbornness.”

You smirked. “And your attitude.”

Levi glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his lips twitching. “Wow. Great combination.”

You reached over to squeeze his hand. “It’s perfect.”

From the backseat, your daughter piped up with a sniffly, “Mommy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” you said, turning to look at her.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered, her big eyes welling up again.

Levi sighed, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Operation daycare might take longer than expected.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Levi muttered, but there was a soft fondness in his voice as he glanced at the rearview mirror, catching his daughter’s teary gaze.

You leaned back in your seat, already preparing yourself for round two.

post-read notes; I wanna make this a series , but im not sure if anyone will read it lowk so tell me if you guys want me too! also im open to requests..hahah!! ur soooo shy ahahah. check out my masterlist <3 part two

congrats you read 691 words!

[hotvintagepoll]

Donald O'Connor (Singin' in the Rain, Francis, Call Me Madam)— LOOK AT HIM. Those giant blue peepers. Those tappy tappy little feet that don't quit. The ears that stick out like little wings, ready to lift him up to goofy heaven. The way his face contorts into the strangest yet most endearing expressions. His ability to sing and dance alongside the hunk that is Gene Kelly and yet pull all attention away with his big-eyed buffoonery. The way his energy is unmatched in songs like "Make 'em laugh" - bouncing off the walls and tumbling through the air straight into my cold cold heart. Who else but a true scrungly lil guy would sit upon the witness stand and defend a talking mule with all the love and affection in the world - staring out into the court room with his bright wide eyes and eternally mouse-like expression, openly admitting that the mule is his best friend?!??! I see him and I want to pull him from the screen into my hand and just squiiiiiiiiiiiiish with all my might. I want to pinch his cheeks and have him bat those eyes at me. He just makes me go "eeehehehehehe" every time I see him and his silly little self. He is pure chaotic, ridiculous, scrungly perfection!

Mantan Moreland (Mr. Washington Goes to Town, Cabin in the Sky)—i love mantan moreland SO. MUCH. and he is the pERFECT scrungly little guy!!!!! like a lot of black actors at the time he was always getting sidelined into small parts, but unusually he also managed to become a star in his own right and was almost one of the three stooges! he was a groundbreaking comedic actor known for his distinctive stare (very good for the horror movies he did), and he always is way more fun to watch on screen than anyone else. he had a famous double-act where he perfected this technique of non-conversations (where both people keep finishing each other's sentences before any actual information is conveyed). a lot of his movies are free on youtube and i really enjoy seeing him do his silly little guy thing in all of them!!! anyways yeah please include mantan he deserves some recognition as peak scrungle

This is round 3 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Donald O'Connor:

My silliest little guy. My funnyman. My horsie. I have watched many a bad movie for this man. The scrungliest fact I know about him is that he was supposed to star as Danny Kaye's role in the iconic White Christmas (1954), as he had known Bing Crosby since he was a child, but couldn't because he caught a mule disease while working on those Francis the Talking Mule films Universal endlessly made him do. I wouldn't exactly recommend those movies, but Don's character getting psychologically tormented by a sardonic mule does make for quite a good movie night, if you know what you're getting into. Are You With It? is another one I don't exactly recommend, but it does open with Donald as a math genius actuary who is about to kill himself over a displaced decimal point before getting taken in by a traveling carny instead. His more well-known and beloved roles have plenty of scrungliness too, in my opinion. This man slapsticked so hard he wound up bedridden for his physical exertion! Rather than submitting Make 'Em Laugh, which the electorate has likely already seen (I hope), I'm submitting an underrated dance number of his, where he explains maths through tap dance. That movie is Not good, but god do I love him in that role.

I think it's arguably very scrungly to seemingly be a real life cartoon character made out of rubber, as proven by how slapsticky the list of scrunglies is so far. In which case, Donald O'Connor? He scrungles supremely. He even played Buster Keaton in a movie (that apparently can't be recommended, but still).

Mantan Moreland:

here's his double act in action!! [editor's note: Benson Fong cameo too!]

He just had a scrungly look about him and he played big with his roles so any of it became especially scrungly. Plus he was very funny in the way only scrungly people can be.

the FUNNEST GUY TO WATCH ON SCREEN. he was an immensely gifted physical comedian, able to convey loads with his eyes, and while some of his parts are so sad and cringeworthy, I feel like he always brought a humanity and humor that lifted them beyond cheap stereotype.

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 11.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! (we back at it)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.12.

word count: 6,3K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: My humble offering after the stress of previous chapters. I promise there is fluff.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

Christmas at home unfolded in its usual rhythm, but this time, it felt different. Despite your own scepticism, you actually attempted the moon salutations your dad had badgered you about. Later, you unapologetically devoured an inhuman amount of pierogi, earning both admiration and disapproval from your relatives. Yet, for the first time in years, you found yourself genuinely enjoying the festivities. Somehow, the snow fight with Viktor, and everything else that came with it, had lightened something inside you. The weight you hadn’t realised you’d been carrying felt less oppressive, and the chaos of your family became something you could actually laugh about.

For Viktor, Christmas with Jayce and his family was quieter than expected but in a way that felt oddly relaxing. Jayce, ever the enthusiast, made a commendable attempt at cooking a festive dinner, and despite Viktor’s initial doubts, it wasn’t a complete disaster. They spent the evening exchanging stories, the crackle of the fireplace filling the silences, and for the first time in a long time, Viktor didn’t feel like an outsider looking in on a tradition.

You returned to university on a train with Hale, the two of you chatting about everything and nothing. Hale, perceptive as ever, avoided probing you about Sheffield or Viktor, instead letting you adjust to the shift in pace on your own. Your laughter filled the carriage as you shared stories about your holidays, the comfort of familiarity easing the transition back to reality.

And yet, both you and Viktor found your thoughts drifting back to the snow—the cold biting your skin, the warmth of your laughter, your anger, and your resolution. You had kept it to yourselves, not out of secrecy, but out of reverence for how rare it felt. Now, as you both prepared to return to university, a mix of excitement and nervousness settled in your chest. Whatever had happened in Sheffield, whatever had moved, would soon be tested by the reality of your everyday lives. Neither of you knew what would come next, but Viktor’s fear had smoothed around the edges, and your hesitation had warmed up to hope.

When you all met by the entrance, it was hard not to skip slightly. Jayce was unloading his and Viktor’s bags from the trunk, while Viktor leaned against the car, waving his hands in the air, clearly saying something important—or groundbreaking.

“I’m thrilled to see you again, gentlemen,” Hale smirked, taking in the uneven division of labour. “I have to admit, this is exactly how I pictured your setup,” he wagged his eyebrows at Jayce, who only shrugged, playfully unbothered.

You walked up to Viktor, giving him a small, casual wave. He responded with a quiet “hi,” and before you could ask anything, he took a step, closing the distance between you. He had rehearsed the moment of your next meeting in his head, and this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but his body acted entirely outside his brain’s jurisdiction.

“What are you—” you started, but your question was cut off when he leaned in and kissed you. Your body froze in surprise—hands hovering over his shoulders, tentative—before you relaxed into it, placing your palms on his arms.

The kiss was enough to make Jayce and Hale freeze, eyes wide and jaws dropped, as if they had just witnessed something completely impossible. When Viktor pulled back, he looked at you for a moment, his breath shallow. “I’m sorry I haven’t texted, I—”

Your lips quirked into a smile. “My family hunts down anyone that uses a phone over Christmas with torches and pitchforks,” you teased, your tone light, though it still carried a slight tremble of nervousness.

Hale burst your bubble with a loud clearing of his throat, his eyes rolling knowingly. He propped his hand on his hip, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement, and then turned toward Jayce, holding out his other hand. “Alright, pay up, unbeliever.”

Jayce, still a little stunned, dug into his wallet without saying a word, pulling out a ten-pound note and handing it to Hale. “You are a fucking witch, Hale.”

“I’m sorry, did you take bets on my private life?” you scoffed, slightly bemused in mock offence, your arms now circled around Viktor’s waist.

“We didn’t bet against you if that’s what’s worrying you. Just the time frames,” Hale said, waving his hand vaguely between you and Viktor. “Jayce wouldn’t accept that this”—he gestured loosely—“will resolve itself before mid-terms.” He shrugged, fanning himself playfully with his illegally acquired tenner.

“I hope now you know that my powers have no limit, and that I am always right,” he announced triumphantly in Jayce’s direction.

“I don’t even want to know what you guys talked about when we weren’t around,” you sighed, resigned to the thought of your little drama becoming fodder for your friends’ gossip routine. It felt completely alien to be wrapped around Viktor in public, though not unwelcome—he had solved your next equation for you: how you were going to tell the group that the volatile times were over.

Jayce seemed happy enough about losing the bet; he gave Viktor a pat on the shoulder and ran off to see Mel. Hale strolled off toward his dorm building, leaving you and Viktor to grab your bags and march together into whatever was coming next. You exchanged awkward small talk about your holiday experiences as you walked toward the lift, your hands loosely tangled together.

You entered the elevator with two other girls, who eyed you suspiciously. Viktor pressed the button for his floor with his cane, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, completely ignoring your questioning gaze.

“Excuse me, and what about my floor?” you asked, your eyebrows raised in mock offence as you shifted your bag higher on your shoulder.

“We are not going to your floor,” Viktor replied calmly, not even sparing you a glance as the elevator began its ascent. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, letting part of his weight rest on you.

“Oh, we’re not, are we?” you challenged, turning to face him fully. “And where exactly are you dragging me, Mr. Master Planner?”

“Obviously, up to my room,” he said, his tone so unbothered it almost made you laugh.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “And what would I possibly want to do in your room?”

Viktor’s lips twitched into a sly smile as he glanced sideways at you, his voice low and laced with amusement. “It’s about what I want to do. But if you have to ask so many questions...” He leaned in closer, his breath brushing your ear, and you could feel the smug grin blooming on his lips. “I want to eat you out.”

The two girls in the elevator exchanged a glance, one of them scoffing in incredulity, while you whisper-shouted at him in shock, “Viktor! There are people here!”

“You insisted. Now you know,” he replied, unfazed, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as the elevator continued upward.

The moment the door to Viktor’s room shut behind you, the tension you’d carried up the lift broke like a dam. You spun on your heel, shoving Viktor lightly against the door, your lips finding his in a hungry kiss. Your hands tangled in his hair, mussing the strands with reckless abandon. Viktor let out a soft noise of surprise, barely managing to steady himself with his cane before surrendering to your fervour.

Your fingers made quick work of his belt; the metallic clink startlingly loud in the otherwise quiet room. You barely pulled back from the kiss, your breath hot against his lips as you whispered, “God, you’re hot.”

Viktor’s ears burned red, his breath hitching as he stared at you, stunned and flustered. “Where did that come from?” he asked, his voice uneven, the faintest hint of a nervous laugh escaping him.

You smirked, tilting your head as you undid the last of his belt and tugged it loose. “Have you seen the mirror like… ever? You are always hot,” you breathed against his neck, unceremoniously shoving your hand down his pants, making him release a startled moan. “But now you are the hottest,” you said eagerly, wrapping your fingers around his cock.

Viktor jumped at your touch, his body instinctively trying to wiggle out of your grasp as he rasped in surprise, “I thought I made myself clear in the lift, so what is this you’re trying to—ah!” He broke off, his breath hitching as your fingers traced a particularly sensitive spot. His protest melted into a half-laugh, half-groan before he finished, “…do?”

“Maybe I want to eat you out first?” you retorted playfully in between kisses, as you walked him carefully toward the bed, plucking his cane from his hand and sitting him on the mattress. And he let you. He let your hands guide his torso to splay flat and your palms to travel down his chest and thighs, your skin hot with yearning, as you positioned yourself between his legs. He propped himself up to run his hands up your thighs, only to discover it was stockings hiding beneath your skirt.

“Is that for me?” It was meant as a tease but came out too admiring to provoke anything else than a smile on your face.

“Yes,” you said bluntly, and seeing some other remark already dancing on the tip of his tongue, you leaned in and took a long, deep whiff of his cock through the underwear. Viktor’s head fell back onto the pillow as he released a loud groan, his body curling up in heat. His words caught in his throat, and all he could manage was a shaky laugh. “This… isn’t fair play.”

“Oh no, Viktor, you’d better call the police,” you mocked, sliding his pants and boxers down to take him in fully, for the first time, in broad daylight. You paused, your eyes fixed on him, flustered and dishevelled by the doings of your own hands, and whispered in awe, “You are so fucking hot.” A smile bloomed on your face as you noticed the blush rapidly creeping up his chest.

Viktor took a couple of long breaths to steady himself, your warm hands resting in the creases of his thighs making him twitch slightly. “I might have come up with a compromise,” he managed to say, his words escaping in a desperate exhale.

Seeing your eyebrows shoot up in question, he motioned for you to come closer. Wordlessly, he guided your hands to rest on his hips and positioned your hips over his chest to straddle him. Your fingers tensed up, digging into his hipbones, so he soothed you sliding his palms flat over your ass cheeks and whispered into your core, “Trust me.”

You hesitated, waiting for him to make the next move. When you felt his face hovering over your underwear, you jumped slightly at the heat of his breath. “It seems to me that you come unprepared… though not unready.” He smirked, seeing the moisture that had already pooled itself through your knickers. “How attached are you to those?” he asked quietly, gliding his hands underneath the material.

“Not very attached, why?” Your tone was light, though trembling at the edges. Your eyes were transfixed on his cock already weeping at the tip, but Viktor didn’t see. All he saw was what was in front of him, when he ripped the material in one smooth motion and placed an outrageously loud, moany kiss on your core, sending a jolt up your spine. “Well, that’s just beautiful, isn’t it.”

He peppered slow smooches all over you and you jumped at each and every one. This was perfect—a sudden surge of affection tore through him, as he felt a strange sense of belonging there, smothered by your thighs. He scratched his nails on the meat of your ass and pushed his nose inside you, taking a long whiff. It went through your mind how incredibly gross and hot it was simultaneously, when your own whimper broke your focus—Viktor licked your clit with a hard tongue, while teasing your entrance with the tip of his nose. A low chuckle echoed through you, when he felt your inside clench on nothing.

You had to recollect yourself quickly, though Viktor’s tongue made it so, so difficult. You steadied the base of his cock in your hand and kissed the tip sweetly, drawing a muffled moan from his lips. His face snapped an inch away, only for him to brush his thumb against your clit playfully, causing your rhythm to stutter. You huffed, as if to scold him, but your mouth, already wrapped around his cock, never left him, and it made him giggle.

Seeing your resolve wouldn’t faulter, Viktor hooked his arms around your thighs and buried his face greedily in your core. The groan you let out caused his belly to knot tightly and send a vibration all the way up to his mouth, which he delivered back as a helpless mewl against your lips.

None of you would give in, completely invested in drawing hums and growls from each other, just to send one another over the edge. Until Viktor used his last resort—he pushed two fingers inside you to join his tongue in this sweet torture and you fell for the first time that day. You snapped your mouth away from him, your spine pulled up like that of a puppet to grind your hips down on Viktor’s face, as your wordlessly came into it, covering his mouth, nose, and cheeks with your sleek.

It was a completely new kind of intimacy for you. The gentle struggle for control between you mirrored the way you had pushed and pulled at each other emotionally, leaving you both nervous and excited all at once. The sound of your own heavy breathing filled the silence, and you found yourself torn between wanting to hug him, suck him off into oblivion, or scream at him—all these feelings mingling together, none overpowering the others.

“Good girl,” he let out a breathy laugh, slapping your ass cheek playfully. You groaned at your defeat, but having your full focus back, you eagerly resumed the work on the assignment. Having Viktor trapped underneath you, you cupped his balls in one hand and let your throat relax over his length.

You considered teasing him, but the thought vanished the moment your skin met his again. The helpless twitch in your mouth made you release a muffled yearning moan, and you realised that the feeling of pleasure spreading through your bodies was mutual.

Your mouth was hot on him, and the feeling of Viktor’s body writhe underneath yours, now nestled comfortably in his edges, made your chest fill with warmth. You worked him slowly, thoroughly, taking in all the small sounds his lips would give you. His hips bucked once in a while and when he couldn’t hold himself back much longer, he bit on your ass cheek, sending your chuckle straight into his burning core.

“Ah, I can’t—,” Viktor tried to plea, but you wouldn’t release him. You held his hips down with your weight and allowed him to spill himself into your mouth, the taste of him salty and heavy on your tongue as you pushed it down your throat, keeping it to yourself. His cock finally broke free with a quiet ‘pop’ sound, making him release a small hiss.

Viktor lay still, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths, your weight pressing down on him in a way that was both grounding and liberating. He felt no pain, no discomfort—only the warm afterglow of bliss, a soothing wave that enveloped him as you rested on top of him, your body soft and pliant against his. For a moment, time seemed to stretch, leaving only the two of you, intertwined like figures on a set of poker cards, your softness pouring itself between his sharp edges. The silence between you felt full, almost sacred, as Viktor's mind slowly unfurled, each thought calmly finding its place in the serenity of the moment. In this stillness, there was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet, powerful understanding of everything you had shared and the comfort of knowing it wasn’t over yet.

“Hey, come up here,” he took a deep breath, his fingers tracing a line up your spine. You obliged wordlessly, settling yourself in the crook of his neck, when he pulled you into a slow, grateful kiss. He could feel the taste of himself on your mouth, which made him deepen the kiss and pull you closer.

“I guess this is not on your mind now, but I just want to let you know that I’m healthy,” he said quietly, his expression thoughtful.

You blinked twice, your mind slowly coming back into your body. Fuck, right. “Jesus, I didn’t even think—”

“That’s alright. If you need some sex ed, I can be of service,” he smirked, right into your face. “Now would be the time you tell me about yourself.”

“Hm, I don’t know, I had this weird rash for days, can you take a look?” you started pulling your shirt up in a joke and Viktor whined, ��Get off me, you vile woman!”

You both laughed, the sound light and easy, before he pulled you back in, his lips finding yours again in a deeper, more lingering kiss. “You are such a weirdo,” he said, affection dripping from his voice. He nuzzled his face into yours and let out a content sigh.

“I’m healthy too,” you smiled, feeling the familiar warmth between you two. It was strange how easy it felt to talk to him about something that could be so awkward with anyone else. It felt natural, in a way that wasn’t foreshadowed by the route you had to take to get there.

“I guess this would also be a good time to tell you I’m on the pill?” you said, your voice playful, your fingers tracing circles on his chest.

Viktor paused, his expression shifting as he gently cupped your face, making you meet his eyes. His gaze was serious, his tone low but steady. “That’s your decision,” he said, his thumb brushing over your cheek, “but just know that other methods work for me too, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

You smiled at him, the warmth in his voice making your heart flutter. Leaning forward, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering just for a moment longer than necessary.

You settled into a silent lull, tangled with each other. Viktor didn’t break the stillness for a moment, his thoughts weighing on him, before he finally spoke, his voice quieter than before.

“So... would you go on a date with me?” he asked, a slight nervousness creeping into the edges of his words.

Your lips curved into a soft, genuine smile, your eyes bright as you responded, “I thought we already were.”

He chuckled, the sound a little more relieved than he expected. “Not quite what I meant,” he said, his fingers lightly tracing the line of your jaw. “But yes, this is me asking... would you?”

You laughed softly, teasing him. “Well, I guess since you asked so nicely… yes.”

Viktor’s smile softened as he leaned in to kiss you again, the simple act of asking suddenly feeling like one of the most important things he had done in a long time.

***

The simple act of getting dressed wasn’t so simple, though. You paced up and down your room, your wardrobe splayed out—well, everywhere—as you eyed every single item of clothing, only to toss it aside with a grunt.

“Where is he taking you?” Sue asked, knowing she had to tread carefully. When she suggested that jeans and a t-shirt would fit anywhere, you responded with a huff and a pair of rolled-up socks thrown in her direction.

“I. Have. No. Idea,” you finally slumped down on the bed, surrounded by the pile of clothes. “Sue, I’m losing my mind. I think I should break up with him.”

“Jesus, I don’t know which one of you is worse,” your friend chuckled, proceeding to ruffle through her own wardrobe. She pulled out a simple blue dress with spaghetti straps. “There—you could wear this for a restaurant, a museum, or even a club. Maybe a pub too, but you might turn a couple of heads in it,” she said, placing the dress at your feet.

You peeked through your fingers, then paused. This... might work. “Do I get your boobs with it, though?” You shot Sue a glance, measuring the fabric against your chest.

“Will you stop being such a twat? I already feel like I’m overstepping. Hale should be your fairy godmother here,” Sue crossed her arms over her chest. “This is my lucky dress, and you will treat yourself with respect when you wear it, young lady!”

“Uh, how many times did you get lucky in it?” you said, feigning disgust as you held the dress in front of yourself by the straps dangling from your fingers.

“It’s freshly washed,” Sue shot you a sweet smile, and you only rolled your eyes. You put the dress on and, surprisingly, it fit. It actually fit so well that you worried it might be an overkill. A knock on the door pulled you out of the debate about whether you should go with jeans and a t-shirt instead.

“Are you… oh,” Viktor’s voice caught in his throat, and you immediately abandoned the jeans-and-t-shirt idea. He cleared his throat and repeated, “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” You eyed him up and down—he looked… nice. Nicer than usual, as much as that was possible. He was wearing a long coat, dark brown woollen pants, and a white shirt that peeked out from under his red pullover. A matching red scarf hung loosely from his neck, and you suddenly remembered it was winter, so you had to wear a coat as well.

“Or rather, almost ready,” you quipped, grabbing your coat and a small purse.

“And why haven’t I seen this dress before?” Viktor leaned in to give you a peck on the cheek, his hand sliding down your waist.

“It’s Sue’s lucky dress, apparently, so whatever luck happens tonight, we have Sue to thank.” You tried to sound composed, but your nerves got the better of you, and it came out breathy.

“No shagging in my dress, please,” Sue said bluntly, trying to sort out the mess you were leaving behind. “And have fun, you two.”

Viktor took your hand as you walked out together—a completely simple and innocent, loving gesture that made your heart race with panic. Were your hands sweaty? You were the one who had forgotten gloves this time. You struggled to think of anything to say that might sound natural and suddenly felt trapped in your own awkwardness. Your nerves bubbled up, and you squeezed his hand lightly, trying to distract yourself.

“So,” you began casually, your voice a little too high-pitched, “where exactly are you taking me?”

Viktor gave you a sideways glance but didn’t answer immediately. He had the same tight, focused expression he always wore when he was working. You raised an eyebrow. He was definitely keeping something from you.

“Come on,” you prodded, “You can’t just say ‘you’ll see’ and expect me not to get curious.”

“I think you’ll like it,” Viktor replied, his voice even, but you could sense the hesitation beneath it. He had no idea if you would like it, because when he picked the place, it struck him so suddenly that he didn’t have the faintest idea about what you might’ve liked in the first place. So, he picked the most generic, fancy place he had heard of, and right now it made his skin crawl that he'd heard of it from Heimerdinger.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to read him, but he kept his usual unreadable composure. After a long pause, you gave up, deciding to let the mystery unfold. Though you had no idea what you were about to walk into, it was strangely... exciting.

The restaurant was nothing like you had expected. You blinked in surprise as you entered a lavish, high-end dining room with dim lighting, white linen tablecloths, and waiters gliding silently between tables. It felt stiff—formality hanging in the air like the scent of all things expensive: leather, wine, and heavy perfume. You felt suddenly out of place in your casual dress, surrounded by the perfectly groomed people around you.

“Viktor…” you murmured, looking at him. “This is... this is fancy. Are you sure this is the place?”

Viktor smiled nervously, almost as if he was trying to reassure himself as much as you. “No, I haven’t been here before, but I’ve heard it’s really good.”

You gave him a half-smile, your nerves beginning to spike. You hadn’t expected this. He was acting like he had no idea what he was doing, but there was a determination in his eyes that made you wonder if he really was as out of his element as he seemed.

As you were led to your table, the waiter noticed Viktor’s cane and immediately straightened up, his eyes scanning the space. “Would you prefer a more comfortable seat, sir?” he asked politely. “Something with more support?”

Viktor’s hand twitched on his cane, and you quickly jumped in. “No, this is fine, thank you.” Oh God, why couldn’t you just shut up?

When you sat down, you glanced at the menu, but the silence stretched out between you as you searched for words. You glanced at Viktor, who was completely absorbed in the card, and you could swear there was a drop of sweat forming on his temple. You picked up the menu, flipping through it but barely taking in anything. Your eyes landed on the prices, which made your throat tighten.

After a beat, you asked, trying to hide the edge of concern in your voice, “Are you sure about this place? The prices—uh, it’s a little... well, it’s a lot.”

Viktor didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked at you with an unreadable expression, and the silence settled in again. Finally, he asked, his voice quiet but sharp, “Why are you acting so weird?”

You blinked, feeling a rush of heat rise to your face. You could barely meet his eyes, feeling like you were under a microscope. “Me? Why are you acting so weird? You barely said a word tonight,” you shot back, your voice rising slightly in defence. “Is this what you think I like?”

“I… guess I’m… nervous?” Viktor’s voice faltered, sounding more like he had just begun searching for an answer. “Also… I actually might not have the faintest idea what you would like, and well…” His hand gestured vaguely, as if trying to dismiss the discomfort between you.

You blinked, your brows furrowing. “So you decided to take me to a place that makes me incredibly uncomfortable, instead of asking me?” Your voice came out sharper than you meant, more accusatory than you intended, but you couldn’t hold it back. “Why... why did you ask me out in the first place?”

Viktor’s face twisted in frustration, his lips curling into a tight line. “Because that’s what normal people do?” he retorted, his whisper barely containing the tension bubbling in his chest. “You will forgive me, but have I breached some kind of rule that you have made up in your head?”

Your chest tightened, but you couldn’t decide whether you were surprised or offended. You almost wanted to throw your hands up, but instead, you exhaled sharply, trying to rein in your growing frustration. “No, oh God, it’s not about that. Did you ask me on a date because you wanted to spend time with me, or because you felt like you had to?”

Viktor's expression faltered, his jaw clenching as if he were searching for the right words. His voice dropped even lower, still sharp but full of confusion and vulnerability.

“Jesus, please don’t do this,” he muttered, his eyes flickering with a mix of guilt and exasperation. “I asked you because I’ve never asked anyone before, and it felt… right. No matter how wrong it feels now,” he finished with a frustrated whisper-shout.

You blinked, the sudden honesty hitting you like a slap to the face. “Wait. You’ve never been on a date before?” You couldn’t hide the shock in your voice, your wide eyes searching his face for any hint of a joke. “Are you serious?”

“I didn’t say that,” Viktor shot back quickly, his voice almost defensive. “I have been asked out. But I have never asked anyone.” He looked down, his gaze turning away from you as though the words stung more than he’d let on, like admitting it was something of a personal defeat.

Your heart softened for a moment, but you quickly masked it with your usual teasing demeanour.

“I, um…” You hesitated, the weight of the awkward silence pressing down on you. You could see the evening unfolding in your mind’s eye: a tiny, overpriced meal, polite conversation, and then a quick parting with a stiff “goodnight.” That wasn’t what you wanted, but you weren’t sure how to get the two of you out of this pit you’d dug. “Where… would you take me if…”

Viktor gave you a sideways glance, his brow furrowing as he considered your words. “If I actually knew something about you?” His voice softened with a hint of uncertainty. “I don’t know. How about you tell me?”

You bit your lip for a moment, staring down at your menu, trying to figure out how to salvage this. “I… like chips?” you offered, the words feeling ridiculous as soon as they left your mouth.

Viktor blinked, clearly caught off guard, before a small laugh bubbled up from his chest. The sound was warm and genuine, cutting through the tension between you. You couldn’t help but laugh too, the absurdity of it all breaking the ice.

“Chips?” Viktor chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Hey, don’t judge,” you shot back, still grinning. “It’s the simple things. Who doesn’t like chips?”

Viktor’s smile softened as the awkwardness between you began to melt away. He leaned back slightly in his chair, looking at you with a glimmer of something less guarded in his eyes. First, he spoke your name with exagerrated sincerity. Then, he took a deep breath, his voice a little more serious now, but still light. “Would you like to get a beer and fish & chips with me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. It was simple. It was perfect. You let out a soft, relieved laugh. “I thought you’d never ask,” you said, your voice lighter, warmer.

Viktor’s smile deepened, the weight of the evening’s tension finally starting to ease. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, leaning forward just enough to meet your eyes. “Should we run then? I’m low-key scared of that waiter,” he whispered loudly into your ear, leaning over the table.

You nodded eagerly and stood up from your seat. “Do you need some assistance in walking, sir?”

Viktor snorted at your weak attempt to mock the waiter’s accent, stood up, and pulled you under his shoulder, leaning his weight on you. “Yes, I’m afraid you will have to carry me to our next destination.”

*

“Hmm, that’s it. I’m planning our dates from now on,” you sighed, clearly pleased with yourself and the dinner you were eating out of the newspaper.

“Is that so? Bossing me around already?” Viktor hooked his arm around your shoulder. The two of you sat on the bench next to the fish and chips shop, and it was unbearably cold. You were wearing only a silly dress and a coat with no scarf or gloves because you had no idea what to wear and had left in a hurry. And he knew it.

“Are you complaining?” you asked, your words muffled as you were still chewing. You shot him a look, as if challenging him, though it would have been perfectly reasonable to complain—he had fallen only once, and only because he was trying not to. As usual, the moment led him to a more significant answer to a more significant question.

“No,” Viktor deadpanned. No, he wasn’t.

“That’s it? No?” You nuzzled closer into his arm, still eating. The vinegar made your nose burn—your other source of warmth, aside from Viktor.

“Eh, I am slowly accepting my fate,” he shrugged, completely unfazed. “It’s not going to be normal, is it?” It was more of a statement than a question, mused into the cold air. It made him feel warmer, though he had no idea what normal even was.

“No. Not in my nature. Also—who are you to demand normal?” You snorted, thinking of how weird the last three months had been, how weird your parents were, and wondering if it wasn’t just you who was not normal, but actually weird, in a way.

“I’m not demanding. As I said—I am slowly accepting my fate.” And it was the truth. Slowly, his fate was facing acceptance. Or rather, rapidly, as it had already been accepted and settled in his head: no other way from that point forward was possible for him.

“It must be terrible, to carry such a burden.” You let out a long sigh, intending to mock him but lacking any real bite in the end. You tried to eat your last chip but faltered and dropped it idly back into the newspaper.

“You have no idea.” You haven’t got the faintest fucking idea.

***

“Come on, last chapter,” Viktor nudged your elbow. Your head was resting limply against his desk, your hands hanging at your sides.

“I am never asking you again,” you groaned. It was so late, the letters had stopped making sense a long time ago. “I miss Sue.” It was meant as a joke, but you almost wept at the memory of you and Sue saying, “fuck it” and going to bed when you studied together.

“Don’t be such a baby. People would kill to have me as a study buddy.” Viktor leaned in and placed his hand on your neck. It was warm and made you even sleepier.

“I hope they kill me,” you said, lifting yourself up and slumping your hands onto his shoulders to look him dead in the eye. It was no joke.

“Please, I’ll feed you anything you want after that.”

You blinked at him absentmindedly. “Are you expecting me to say something very specific now?” Your eyebrow shot up, as if the dots had magically connected themselves. You weren’t going to say it, though—your mouth was dry, and your eyes were tearing up from exhaustion.

“I wasn’t. Now I am.” Viktor shrugged, his lips curling into a smile as he watched you like this. “Stop this; distraction won’t save you.” As if you could pull anything like that off right now.

“Viktor, how about begging? I am so. Tired. I beg you; I need to splay myself flat or I will die,” you whined theatrically, dropping to your knees before him, your hands gripping his thighs.

“You should switch departments,” he chuckled at your desperation. It was much cuter than Jayce throwing books at him in the exact same setup. “But, eh, I guess it’s fine. What time is the exam?”

Which was why he faltered. You had no idea how many things you could’ve asked.

“11. Yes—” You raised your head and looked up at him. He was already opening his mouth to say that you should revise in the morning, though his smile was saying something else.

“I will revise in the morning.” You smiled softly, almost whispering. I love you for this.

“It’s settled then. Will you stay?” He held out his hands to help you up.

“Viktor, I can barely move. I’m no use here now.” You took his hands, though you tried to get up using as much of your own strength as possible.

“To sleep, you degenerate,” he scoffed, still smiling. “To splay yourself flat and sleep, instead of, I don’t know... dying.” Stay, stay, stay.

“Yes.” You nodded many times to emphasize how much you were staying. I also love you for this. You could cry if you weren’t so tired. You almost did when he gave you a spare toothbrush, a towel, his boxer shorts, and his green jumper to sleep in. You smelled entirely of Viktor now, and you decided that any other smell stunk.

You sank into the mattress, tangling yourself around him like a snake—your thigh between his legs, his bad leg propped on your hip. Your arms wrapped around his waist, fists clutching his sleeping T-shirt with I ♥ Jayce Tallis written on it, your face pressed against his neck, as if your own smell of Viktor wasn’t enough smell of Viktor.

His hand rested in the small of your back, the other splayed under your head. He spoke your name softly.

Silence. Only breathing. He fumbled for his phone on the bedside table to set the alarm. 7 AM—you were going to have his head for this.

He whispered your name again, this time to himself. I am rapidly falling in love with you. You had stayed the night.

[the-scandalorian]

Mine

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: Explicit, 18+ Word Count: 4k Content Warnings: anal, ass play, rimming and oral (f-receiving), spit as lube, threatened violence against the reader (not by Joel), canon-typical violence Notes: Endless gratitude to both @frannyzooey and @oscarseyebrow for the help, literally would not have finished this without you two gems xx

He wants it—has wanted it. 

He wants the claim. The utter possession.

Whenever he puts you on your hands and knees, Joel settles a splayed hand on your lower back, and it always slips down, his rough palm sliding further and further the more he loses himself in the pleasure. It drops along with the register of his groans and the steady slap of his hips. He lets his hand shift until his thumb is tucked between your cheeks. And when he’s grunting low and deep, about to pull out so he can come—so he can paint himself in warm streaks across your skin—he’ll press the pad of that finger firmly against your asshole. 

Not inside, not yet. He doesn’t go further than that.

He’s waiting for you to say it. He wants to hear those words, begged so pretty and desperate in your breathy whine. He wants you to plead for it when you can’t wait any more.

He wants you to tell him to fill you in the way he can’t—won’t—risk with your pussy.

He wants you to ask him to make you his.

He dreams about it.

Please, Joel.

*** You’ve been waiting for him to say something—to act on it. You know he wants it.

You’re used to Joel taking what he wants. Never forcefully, not with you. You revel in the privilege of being a singular exception in that way—in being the one type of relationship left for him that isn’t ruled by violence. When he wants something from you, he doesn’t hesitate or hedge or waver. He just says it, lays it out.

Like that first time so many months ago when he fixed those serious brown eyes on you—on you—and said, “Come home with me.”

A statement, not a question. An invitation for you to take or leave. 

Take.

This, for some reason, seems different though.

He’s waiting on you to ask for it.

It’s not some groundbreaking thing that precipitates it. What happens is wearily commonplace in the QZ.

A stupid kid, some nineteen year old with the power trip of a pistol in his hand, gets the jump on you. You’re alone, and he sneaks up behind you in an alley.

The cold barrel is pressed to your temple before you can react.

“Stay quiet,” he breathes, his hot breath reeking of alcohol next to your ear. It has the heady bite of too much ethanol, something he made cheap and easy.

You do mental calculations as he walks you to a brick wall, crowding you up against it until your cheek is pressed to the cool, rough surface. A groping hand reaches into your jacket pocket. He just wants your ration cards, and it’s probably easiest to let him take them and turn tail.

But then he steps back, the steel of the gun moving to press between your shoulder blades, and you can feel the rake of his eyes down your body.

“Well, you’re pretty, aren’t you?”

Your gut fills with lead. The air in your lungs tightens as his intentions shift. You’re about to move, to reach for the switchblade in your inner pocket when there’s a yelp—the pressure of the gun disappearing from your back—the scuffling feet on asphalt and a low grunt—

You turn, and Joel has the guy hauled up against a half-collapsed chain-link fence, his cheek pressed into a tangled coil of barbed wire. He disarmed him in the same movement, the butt of the pistol visible over the waistband of Joel’s jeans, holstered at his lower back.

Joel, who had come looking for you when you ran late.

He seems perfectly calm when he meets your gaze, but you know the tightness in his shoulders, that muted threat in his blown pupils. He’s agitated. Uneasy. Mad at himself that you were alone. You catch it when his eyes flick down and up again, surveying your body for injury.

“Yes or no?” he asks.

You consider for a moment, appreciating the raw fear in the young guy’s eyes—how quickly Joel turned him from a predator to a shifty-eyed, skittery little rabbit. His breathing is a shallow, frantic pant.

“No,” you decide.

Joel nods and shoves him away, and the kid stumbles. When he glances back over his shoulder, you can see fat tears of blood oozing from the shallow cuts below his eye. He’s too shocked to speak, to do anything. He just staggers into a run and disappears.

Your eyes slide back to Joel, and something clicks into place as you watch each other—you realize just how utterly and completely he has you. That he’d burn the world for you if you asked. And you’d do the same for him.

He approaches you with quiet steps. A warm hand settles on your waist.

“Alright?” he asks, looking down at you, his thumb stroking the cotton of your shirt. 

Tension is a precarious, taut thing between you, like a spring-loaded trap ready to bite.

You nod and say, “Take me home.”

*** His apartment is flooded with afternoon sun. Golden beams of light streaming in between the half-closed curtains are shot with suspended motes of dust. Everything always feels still within these walls, like he really can shut out the rest of the world when he closes the heavy door behind him.

He’s on you as soon as he does, his hand coming up to cup your cheek and his mouth on yours as he guides you backward toward the bed.

You both need the reassurance of touch.

You need more than that: you want him to accept the control you're offering with willing hands and take.

As you move together, you let the lingering hum of adrenaline in your bloodstream pull the words—the ones that might have otherwise gotten stuck in your throat—out of your mouth. 

You whisper against his lips: “I want you to fuck my ass.”

He goes rigid for a moment, his breath a pant against your lips, and then he dips his head to your ear. 

His voice is something else entirely now—no more veiled fear behind his rasp, just a honeyed growl of pure desire: “Say it again.”

You bury your face against the hollow of his throat and smile.

“Go on, I want to hear it.”

You squirm and slip a hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Be a good girl and say it for me,” he prods, dragging the tip of his nose up your cheek. He slips his hand down your back and over the swell of your ass, pulling your hips forward into his, and squeezes. 

You give him what he wants, what you both want: “I want you to fuck my ass.”

He hums his approval and takes a long, slow inhale to savor the thought of it. He’s just as pleased as you’d hoped he’d be. More, maybe.

He moves his hand inward, tracing the middle seam of your jeans with a light touch.

“That right? You gonna let me in here?” 

His voice is smug, a cocky drawl, but when you look up into his eyes, there’s a hint of desperation skulking behind his dilated pupils, like he’s not quite sure what he’d do if you said no. Like he needs you to want it. 

“I know you want it,” he says, his breath hitching. He tries to convince you, even though you are already won—were won, long ago. “I feel the way you press back against me, just begging for it—I see how quick you come on my cock when I touch you right here.” 

You press a kiss to the taut lines of his neck. He’s right.

He slips his hand down the back of your thigh and hitches your leg up, rolling his hips against you. Once.

“You gonna let me come inside your tight little ass?”

Twice.

You lean away to brush a hand over his crotch, over his fly where you can feel the thick roll of him straining against the denim, and nod up at him. Joel’s gaze is barbed with desire, with a heat so tangible it burns.

*** He lays you out on his bed, strips you bare, and kneels over you. His shirt is quickly discarded on the floor, his belt buckle left open. His lips pull to the side in a casual smile as he looks down at you—surveying the luxurious lines of your body on display for him—but there’s a feral glint of need in his dark eyes as he settles into a familiar position over you, his hips caught between your spread thighs. 

You reach up to run a hand through his silver-flecked hair. 

Joel sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, and when he pulls them out, he leans down to kiss you just as he slips those two shiny, spit-soaked fingers down between your thighs, past where he usually settles them, until he finds that tight ring of muscle. He groans at first contact, pressing lightly, testing the resistance. 

He’s eager. Getting right to it. Your body is tense with the newness of it—with anticipation, with want—but you know he won’t rush it. You trust him to set the pace.

“Relax for me, honey,” he murmurs against your lips. 

The low, husky twang in his command is like a sedative. In and outside his bedroom. It’s easy to surrender to someone who never lets you down—to someone who protects you with bared teeth, white knuckles, and no quarter.

His mouth claims yours again, his tongue dipping past your teeth. Joel asks for a lot when he kisses you—always has. He takes a lot. It’s deep and needy. Possessive. The scratch of his facial hair against your skin is familiar, the smell of him overwhelming when he’s so close.

Clean laundry, warm sun, a light hint of sweat from working outside. Joel.

He kisses down your neck with an open mouth, cloying and distracting, as he massages his wet fingers over your asshole. 

He teases. Pets. Coaxes. All the while, his mouth does the same—on your throat, your chest, your breasts. Hungry and wanting. Joel moves at a leisurely pace, dropping himself down to nip at your ear lobe, pinching and rolling your nipple with his other fingers. 

He’s working you up, making you ask for it, and it’s effective.

When you start to writhe and whine, he finally shuffles down your body and takes up his rightful place with his head between your splayed thighs.  

Joel watches you when he goes down on you, his eyes flicking up to your face and back down to where you’re aching for him—constantly. Always assessing. Studying. Devouring. Gauging how hard or how easy to push you.

He spreads you open and dips his head to lick your clit with the broad sweep of his tongue, taking you apart as he works you open. He’s well-practiced in the art of dismantling you.

He gradually increases the pressure—of  his tongue and his finger—ratcheting up the pleasure, until your legs are shaking around his ears. Until one of your hands is fisted in his short, thick hair. Until you’re canting your hips up and up and up to fuck yourself against his face.

You drag your arm over your eyes, overcome—

Joel looks up—his hot mouth leaving you cold—and tsks, pulling your arm away from your face. “Let me see you.”

His lips shine with your arousal.

Your stalled pleasure has your mouth dropped open, but Joel resumes the steady sweep of his tongue and the firm press of his nose against your mound right away, catching you midair and dragging you right back to the brink of an orgasm. Your heels slip down the sheets, your head pressing back into the pillow as you moan and ride it out.

Joel grunts when he feels it, when it spreads through your veins like lightning.

You meet his eyes as you pant through the aftermath—his brow is creased deeply, his lips parted just a little when he pulls away, his breath barely audible—and while you’re mellow and unwound, he presses his finger inside. He squeezes his eyes shut against the pleasure, reveling in the warm pull of your body, and you arch. A heavy hand settles on your chest.

“Easy,” he says, his voice low, “easy now.”

He waits for your muscles to relax, for you to give him an encouraging nod, and he works that finger a little deeper in your ass, thrusting it shallowly. He can feel your body responding to it—acclimating to, asking for it.

“Turn over for me,” he says, his voice even gruffer than normal. “Get on your hands and knees so I can see it.”

You flip for him, situating yourself on your elbows. The bed creaks as he slips off it behind you. There’s the metal sound of a zipper and the rustle of denim, and then the mattress dips again as he settles behind you.

He leans down to purse his lips and spit. It drips, warm and wet as it slides between your cheeks, and he catches it with two fingers, smearing it over where he’s started working you open, where you feel warm and ready for him, inviting—where you glisten with it. You expect him to press one inside you again, but instead, he leans down and his tongue takes it place.

Your hips jerk forward reflexively at the foreign feeling, at the press of the wet muscle against sensitive skin, but as soon as your mind catches up, you shift back to chase the sensation, that warm, slick slide—the welcoming heat of his mouth. A series of sloppy kisses, wet and open.

Joel’s hands spread you as he tastes you. He licks and laps, his tongue exploring every inch of your puckered rim, and the feeling unfurls over your skin slowly—hot and syrupy and decadent—dispatching a delayed shiver down your spine. The pleasure crackles and spits, your nerves a circuit of live wires.

You moan into the feeling, letting your body arch, and shove yourself against the fervor of his mouth. You wonder why you didn’t ask him—beg him—for this sooner. 

It’s brief. He wants to stay there—you can tell by the low sound he makes against your body, the sound that deepens when you push back against his mouth, so deep it vibrates—but he’s impatient.

Impatient to be inside you.

He spits again, another rush of warmth, and pulls away to say: “Touch yourself, honey.”

You obey, settling a cheek on his pillow, one hand between your legs. His first finger returns. A second one joins it, and you whine at the stretch when he edges them inside.

“I know—I know it’s tight, baby.”

He soothes you with a heavy hand on your back, rubbing it up and down your spine reassuringly.

“I got you.”

He spits one more time, a generous, wet lubricant for his thrusting fingers. He collects the moisture and presses them deep.

You can feel his lips on the back of your thigh, his tongue and the scrape of his teeth. He moves up, working his mouth gently over the curve of your cheek. His hand smooths over your hip, the other working his fingers deeper in a slow rhythm, the movements careful and fluid. He won’t give you more than you can handle. 

You feel full with just his fingers moving inside you, but when you start to move your own fingers over your clit, you find that the fullness feels good.

He answers your pleased sounds: curling and stroking you from the inside out. His fingers scissor and stretch.

His other hand leaves your body, and you can hear him fisting his cock behind you—pausing to spit into his waiting palm and slick it over himself. You know exactly what that looks like, the storm of desire brewing in his dark eyes and the roll of his muscular shoulder as he pumps himself. A pearl of precum likely glistens along his slit, disappearing as his shaft is swallowed by the circle of his fist.

The image of him, one you’ve seen countless times, never fails to arouse you.

The command, the intention—the intoxicating need. 

In the beginning, you had to look away from it. It was too naked, too vulnerable—it was the only time Joel would drop the front and let himself be more than just leashed rage. The only time he’d cut the tether and let himself want what he wants—let it show on his face, stark as day.

Now, you live for it. You recognize it for the rare, precious gift it is.

You can’t help but peer over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of that furrowed brow and taut neck. That is the Joel who loves with his whole chest. Who loves with teeth.

He looks up from where his hand is moving to meet your gaze. He eases those two fingers out of you, and you whimper at the loss.

He moves closer behind you, his broad frame looming tall over you, and settles. Your legs are spread as wide as they go in this position, his bracketed between them.

“I’ll go slow, yeah?” 

You press your cheek back into the pillow and breathe. 

You can feel the fat head of him notched against you, the heat and the slickness, where you’re drenched and shiny. He drops his hips and rubs the tip up and down, once and again. The anticipation—the knowledge of his size—has you tensing, but he pets your hips and talks you through it.

“Relax and let me in.”

Joel eases his hips forward, and as much as he’s prepared you, as much as he’s coaxed your body open to accommodate his fingers, the stretch of him still burns. He’s been so careful, taken such good care of you, but the size of him aches. You can’t help but squirm, a whine spilling from your lips, as he enters you.

He reacts to your hesitation right away.

“Drop your hips for me,” he says, a heavy hand on your lower back.

He guides you down, and you all but collapse, almost prone on the mattress. He blankets your body with his own, his warm chest and the softness of his belly flush against your back, and reaches around you, snaking a hand into the few inches of space between your hips and the bed, to massage your clit with the pacifying rock of one finger—to where your hand had been a second ago, before it dropped away to fist in the sheets. 

He’s heavy draped over you, his body a grounding weight. If it weren’t him—if you didn’t have that steel-cast trust between you, it might feel smothering. This prostrate position, vulnerable.

Instead, safe. 

He breathes hot and slow down the side of your neck then sets his teeth against your shoulder, a blunt bite—not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to mute all other sensation, just a little. 

He’s giving you something to hold on to. 

He murmurs praise between light, plush kisses and little nips, as the blunt tip of his cock slowly—so slowly—breaches the tight ring of your ass.

You key into the words—honey, baby, sweetheart—and the hot trail of his mouth. And breathe, slow and steady, to let your body welcome him deep.

When his hips are cradling your cheeks, he stills.

You’re full; you’re so fucking full. 

It’s almost unbearable in sensation. The thick, rigid length of him is throbbing inside you. You need—you need something—

Your thoughts are slow, eddying and pinwheeling like curls of smoke that refuse to coalesce into something tangible. 

His finger is still pressed tight to your clit, and as you settle together, you adjust. A realization creeps up the back of your neck, shy. Move, you think, the link between your brain and your mouth suddenly faulty. You need him to move.

You arch and start to shift back into him, to encourage him to fuck you.

Joel growls in your ear, the hand between your legs jumping to your throat. “Stay still for me. Just—stay still, alright? Let me—” 

You tense with the effort of it, all of your muscles tightening, contracting around the thick intrusion of him, and his words are cut short by a low groan and the subtle flex of his hips forward. The movement draws a whimper from your throat—a pleased sound.

It’s taking all his control not to move, not to thrust into the tight, molten clench of your body. 

“Let me—let me just feel you like this for a minute,” he finishes. His voice cracks with the effort of staying still. The hand caught around your throat trembles and tightens. 

He’s savoring it. Savoring you.

And trying not to let the exquisite grip of your body undo him too soon. It’s dizzying, knowing that.

He shifts back a bit, braced on a locked elbow by your side, so he can see where he’s splitting you open, and runs a reverent hand along your curves, up your thigh and over your hip—a rough, calloused palm turned tender in the moment. His breathing is labored.

You peer at him over your shoulder, your neck straining. His mouth is dropped open, his tongue peeking out between his lips, and his eyes are hooded. They flick down to meet yours. 

Understanding passes between you.

He drops himself over you again, and his hand finds a home on your shoulder, holding fast. Then he eases his hips back, gently withdrawing before starting up a slow cadence. Testing.

You moan when he thrusts forward, and his own low sound matches yours. His hips start to move faster, his thighs colliding with the backs of yours.

“You gonna come with my cock in your ass?”

You nod against the fabric of his pillow case, your hand returning to the apex of your thighs. It doesn’t take much—a few moments of gentle fingers passing over your aching clit, and all of your muscles are tightening.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls. “Let me feel it.”

His rhythm kicks up to a rapid slap slap slap of skin against skin, as you spasm and quiver against the bed, your open, panting mouth leaving a wet spot on the cotton. You clench around the crowded feeling of him until your brain is fuzzy with a haze of pleasure. Until your limbs go completely slack.

“You’re taking it so good for me. So fuckin’ tight.”

You feel sated and warm in the aftermath, your body fucked out and sluggish. You can tell Joel is close by the uneven staccato of his thrusts and the tightness in his voice.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he pants. “You’re gonna make me come—make me fill this tight little ass.”

You moan—waiting for it, wanting it. 

But he wants to hear it first.

“Is that what you want? Hmm? Say it,” he demands, his words punctuated by the surge of his hips and the press of his thighs. “Tell me where you want me to come.”

You barely manage to get the words out, twisted in your raw throat—

“Please, Joel—inside.”

—before he does.

The sound he makes is low and feral, a gasp and a growl clawing their way out of his chest. He grinds himself deep into the tight heat of your body, his hips stuttering in sheer relief, and his cock twitches as he spills inside you. A flood of warmth, pulses of pearly cum fucked deep.

Again and again, until he’s spent.

He pulls out, leaving you empty. You know he wants to see it.

Sure enough, he thumbs between your cheeks, admiring the place where he’s marked you—feeling the sticky warmth of himself in your body. Like he’s always wanted to.

After a long moment, he collapses next to you on the bed and pulls you into his side. 

“Come here,” he says, gathering you up in his arms. He presses a kiss to your forehead and swipes soft fingers over your cheek. You’re boneless in his hands.

He doesn’t say it, but you know. 

Mine.

[navsink]

tangerine sweet kisses ft suguru geto/reader

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ boyfriend!Suguru bites your lip too hard

an: this man aaaaaah, hope you enjoy! i certainly did. unpublished draft that i will never finish.

tags: heavy fluff, a little heavy on insecurity (geto things), shy lovesick idiots, female pronouns-- not really gendered, i rarely mention sugurus name you can replace it for your fav character, a little short, and slight nsfw mention (crossed out)

"you've seen the movie three times already. it's not gonna end any happier." he sighed, his forehead resting against her temple. The small groan he lets out against her head sends vibrations down her nape.

"and we'll watch it three more times." she sighs "You just don't get it like I do. Can't you find it gut-wrenching how he built their dream house and all for nothing 'cause poor dude ends with dementia?"

"Yeah the first time I watched it."

She sighs and rolls on her side to face him. A slight stitch sewing her brows together as she gently balls her fists on his shirt's collar.

"you act as if your boring black and white films movies are any different. spare me, by the way, Citizen Kane? please, a movie about a guy whining over a sled? how groundbreaking."

a hearty chuckle erupts from his mouth, the defined adams apple bobbing with each roar. as the corners of his eyes spread in a line, he closed the space between their faces and bumped noses with her. their silence was notably thicker than the couch they were laying on.

"go on, you haven't described the best part yet, ran out of wit to pick apart my noir films yet?"

her words stumbled and her eventful sigh of defeat fished another chuckle out of him.

"ya, it's "innovative," if by that, you mean a bloated ego trip where you pity some rich guy's midlife crisis."

the way their noses touched meant her loud voice could turn to a gush of whisper. his face warmly received the warm breath with a tingling smile.

proximity to a couple of newly-dates was the flint to their steel. his lips shyly settle on hers and their bodies take part to feel eachothers warmth.

"fuck you" she said between hesitant pecks of kisses.

"fuck me" replies the now confident smartass, who in the prescence of this hopeless romantic in front of him melts into a puppy dog.

as their little bickering sparks flames, his intensity only seemed to provoke that string of desire. their exchange--now a tug of war, has him biting down on the satin petals, cautiously asking her pouty mouth for more.

the whole scene of her paradisiacally tangerine flavored and idyllic custard lips interlocked with his was in sum, his wet dream. was either of them awake at this point?

as she takes a deep breath, he feels his body melting and savoring into the custardly sweet lips of his lover. a note of vanilla-tangerine fighting tooth and nail to imprint on his black wifebeater. breath regained-- shes tugging at the messy manbun, impossibly tightening their embrace. phew. good thing she had her nice panties on.

but ohhhhh how her curious little yelp of surprise only grows his fervor, his troubling self-restraint been challenged by this enchanting deity he found himself enveloped for.

his curiosity - or his insecurity - has been climbing the ladder to the back of his mind. a woman like her surely had plenty of options, yet she picked broke-frat-boy-wannabe-suguru.

she picked him.

him who could only offer her entretainment and unwavering devotion.

him who changed any and all habits to impress her.

him who actively read snobby old money bullshit books to have something to talk about with her.

him who turned beet red when he realized she had no idea what he was talking about.

him who fought tooth and nail to show her he was worthy.

him who created toothrotting playlists he would never share, for her.

him who looked for her face in every crowd.

him who's now fervently holding her by the waist in his tiny living room loveseat.

him who's silently growing a tent as this escalates

finally, him who after a year, asked her out.

Poor guy got stuck in a cycle of rememberance and reminiscion. his mind-- like a rainforest, humid with the taste of her lips, every glance they shared and every night he stared into her eyes, every version and stage of her he had met flushing into his active recall. this man absentmindedly scouring his long past, and now presently taking breaking the flow of their melting lips with a reckless bite.

her high pitched sqeak almost sent her rolling down to the living room carpet. if it werent for the aching hands holding her waist and the back of her neck, it'd be a different story. Like a snap of a magician's fingers, his trance was broken and instinctively tightens his grip.

"hey, what... what happened?" he squeezes her waist and lookes at his lover's glossy eyes. His eyes dash to and from her lips to her eyes, frantically searching for a sign of hurt. the scanning done finslly pinpointed its target. the close corner of her lip, swollen and angry, unlike its owner, who's glossy and melting in expression.

the dazed look she wore as she looks up at him could pull any guy into a coma.

"you bit into me." she retreats her hand from his neck to pull at her lip, flipping to a red thumping inner corner lip.

he sighs and puts his hand over hers, an apologetically silent peace offering of his.

"i'm sorry" his hushed voice carries deep regret, as does his wrinkled forehead. this man, now even more silent then ever is internally panicking because what else is he supposed to do?

as she hums to his apology, his thumb traces over the mark on her lips, in such a gentle fashion that it tickles. like a fox towards a hare, cautiously sprinkling kisses around her mouth.

"how can i ever forgive you for an offense like this?" the melodious and saccharine smile he associates with profound serenity erupts again. bingo

in the end, all he wants is for you to grant him the light of day.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ A/N °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

waddup horny, gay, chronically online peopleeeeee

ngl im only piggy backing off the fact that geto is popular, if it were for me id write for yuuta, he fits more the vibe im going for. but yeah idkw im doing this if i know im an inconsistent little shit of a writer. i hope yall enjoy no wc bc im lazy and im typing from my phone. tumblr mobile is shitty for posting.

[strawb4kdior]

Chapter Two: Rivals, Exes, and Secrets

parings: Vi x British Fem!reader

summary: and so the battle commenced, between classes and social life and even a peek into personal life - you become more frustrated while fighting about "rivals, exes and secrets"

a/n: hihihi gorgeous ppl - here's part 2 sorry it's a lil late!!! love you all so much 🩵🩵🩵

< part 1 part 3 >

~

Vi was a nightmare.

Not just because she was loud and insufferable. Not just because she insisted on mocking your accent every time you so much as opened your mouth. No—she was a nightmare because she was smart.

And that was a problem.

Because you were smart. Top of your class, highly disciplined, raised to believe that excellence was the bare minimum. You prided yourself on always being the best, always knowing the answer, always outshining everyone else.

Then Vi showed up.

And suddenly, you had competition.

The first real clash happened in your Political Theory lecture.

It was meant to be a straightforward discussion, but of course, Vi had to turn it into a debate.

“I’m just saying,” she argued, leaning back in her chair, “Locke’s whole theory about social contracts is a little too optimistic. People don’t just ‘agree’ to be governed because they trust each other. They do it because they don’t wanna get stabbed in their sleep.”

You scoffed. “That’s an incredibly cynical take. Hobbes argued for absolute sovereignty based on fear, but Locke’s view was about mutual benefit. The government exists because rational individuals seek stability, not because they’re all terrified of each other.”

Vi smirked. “Right, right. Because everyone’s just so rational all the time.”

“They are when it concerns their own self-interest,” you countered. “Which is the foundation of liberal democracy.”

Vi leaned forward, tapping her pen against the desk. “And yet, we still have corruption, wars, and people acting like complete idiots.”

You gave her a slow, pointed look. “Yes, well. Some people don’t even try to act rational.”

She grinned. “You talkin’ about me, princess?”

“If the shoe fits.”

The class laughed. The professor smiled. “Impressive arguments from both sides,” he said. “You two might want to consider debate club.”

You didn’t miss the way Vi turned her smirk into a full grin. You also didn’t miss the way it made your stomach twist, just a little.

And you definitely didn’t like that.

You didn’t care about sports. Not even a little. But especially not ice hockey.

Vi, however, lived for it.

You only found out because one of your professors had a habit of putting up student achievements on the bulletin board, and there, in bold letters, was "Violet ‘Vi’ K.’s Hat Trick Secures Victory for the Piltover Blades."

You scoffed when you saw it. Of course she was an athlete. She had that unbearable overconfidence of someone who was used to winning, and the reckless energy of someone who probably got into fights for fun.

Still, you hadn’t expected people to care so much.

As you walked down the corridor, a group of students practically swarmed her, gushing over last night’s game.

“That was insane, Vi,” one of them said. “That last goal—unreal.”

Vi slung an arm over their shoulder casually. “What can I say? I’m just built different.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, truly remarkable. Hitting a puck with a stick. Groundbreaking.”

Vi turned to you with a slow grin. “Aw, princess, don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

You scoffed. “Not even remotely. I have no interest in hockey.”

Vi tilted her head, amused. “Then what do you like? Tea parties?”

You lifted your chin. “Formula 1.”

Vi blinked. “Racing?”

“Yes. A real sport.”

Vi let out a laugh. “Ohhh, this is good. You—little Miss Posh—are into racing? Lemme guess, grew up with a Ferrari in the driveway?”

You crossed your arms. “McLaren, actually.”

Vi whistled. “Damn. No wonder you walk around like you own the place.”

Before you could retort, a voice interrupted. “Vi, leave her alone.”

You turned—and for the first time, noticed the girl standing beside Vi.

Tall. Elegant. Sharp blue eyes that immediately caught your attention.

Caitlyn Kiramman.

You recognized her, of course. Everyone did. She was one of the smartest students in the entire university. She was also, unfortunately, stunning.

Vi, however, just smirked. “What, I can’t have a little fun?”

Caitlyn sighed, turning to you instead. “Don’t let her get under your skin. She’s an idiot.”

You blinked. “That much is obvious.”

Vi clutched her chest dramatically. “Wow. You two teaming up against me already? I feel so betrayed.”

Caitlyn ignored her, offering you a small smile. “I’m Caitlyn, by the way.”

You returned the smile. “I know. You’re practically famous.”

Caitlyn chuckled. “Well, I try.”

You didn’t miss the way Vi’s smirk faltered slightly.

Interesting.

It was late. The library was quiet. You had settled into your usual spot—far from distractions, focused entirely on your notes—when, of course, Vi showed up.

She plopped down into the seat across from you, dropping her books onto the table with a thud.

You looked up, unimpressed. “Do you have to be so loud?”

Vi grinned. “What, you don’t like a little excitement?”

“In a library? No. I don’t.”

She leaned back, flipping open a textbook. “Relax, princess. I’m here to study.”

You raised a skeptical brow. “You? Study?”

Vi smirked. “Surprised?”

“Shocked, actually.”

Vi snorted, but then, to your actual surprise, she did start studying. And worse? She was good at it. She worked through equations like they were nothing, scribbled notes with the kind of focus you recognized all too well.

After a while, she caught you staring. “What?”

You hesitated. “Nothing.”

Vi’s smirk returned. “You impressed, princess?”

You huffed. “Not in the slightest.”

She chuckled. “Liar.”

The problem with Vi wasn’t just that she was annoying. Or competitive. Or loud.

The problem was that, sometimes, when she wasn’t being insufferable, when she wasn’t smirking like she ruled the world—she was charming.

And that was dangerous.

Because no one knew your secret.

Not your parents. Not your friends.

Not even yourself, until recently.

And the last thing you needed… was Vi making you feel something you weren’t ready to admit.

The days seemed to blur together, the slow hum of lectures and the constant rivalries filling the air. As much as you tried to ignore it, Vi had a knack for being around at the worst possible moments. It wasn’t just her loud voice or her constant jabs at your accent—it was the way she was always there, always present in everything you did.

But there was something else, something you didn’t want to admit: you were starting to feel that strange pull between you and her. It wasn’t just about the way she mocked you. It was the way she cared, in her own messed-up way.

And then there was Caitlyn.

Caitlyn Kiramman—Vi’s ex. Of course, Vi had been the one to tell you that. You weren’t sure whether it was out of bitterness or some strange sense of protection, but Caitlyn was a constant topic of conversation in the dorm.

It wasn’t like you were trying to replace Caitlyn. Far from it. You had a lot of respect for Caitlyn. Smart, calm, and confident, she had everything you admired. And even though Vi made sure to keep her distance, Caitlyn seemed to make her presence known in more ways than one.

It started with small interactions. Caitlyn would bump into you in the halls, offer a warm smile, and ask if you needed help with anything. She wasn’t just book smart—she was charming, in a way you hadn’t expected.

One afternoon, as you were grabbing coffee from the library, Caitlyn waved you down. You’d been buried in work all day, but there was something comforting about her presence.

“Hey,” Caitlyn greeted you with that same easy smile. “How’s your week been so far?”

You smiled back, trying not to get too caught up in the way her eyes sparkled. “Busy. But manageable. What about you?”

“Same,” Caitlyn replied, slipping into the seat beside you. “Though I was hoping you could help me with something.”

You looked at her curiously. “What do you need?”

She hesitated for a moment, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “I need a second opinion on something... A personal project, actually.”

You leaned in slightly. “I’m all ears.”

Caitlyn lowered her voice, and for the first time, you saw her as more than just a smart student—she was vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected. “Vi and I... we don’t really talk anymore, but she’s been sending me all these mixed signals. I need to figure out where we stand.”

You blinked, completely thrown off guard. “Wait, you and Vi… are you two still—”

Caitlyn shook her head quickly. “No. Not at all. But I’m starting to think I might still have feelings for her.”

You swallowed, suddenly aware of the tension growing between you. “Well, if you want my advice, I’d say to leave it in the past. Vi’s the type of person who doesn’t know how to make things easy.”

Caitlyn chuckled softly, her eyes briefly meeting yours. “I know. But sometimes, I wonder if she’s changed.”

Before you could respond, a loud voice interrupted from behind you.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s making new friends.”

You turned around to find Vi standing there, arms crossed, a sly grin on her face.

“Vi,” Caitlyn said flatly. “You’re not still stalking me, are you?”

Vi shrugged, her eyes flicking toward you. “Nah, just passing by. I heard someone was talking about me.”

You shot her a sharp look. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Sure you weren’t,” Vi shot back, her smirk widening. “Caitlyn and I have a lot of history. I mean, it’s cute you think I’d actually be jealous of you hanging out with her, but trust me, princess, you’re not my type.”

You felt your teeth clench. What was it about this woman that could get under your skin so easily? “Well, I’m not interested in you, either.”

Vi’s expression shifted slightly, as if she was genuinely taken aback by the bluntness. She quickly masked it with another grin. “Good. Wouldn’t want you to get confused, now would we?”

You stood up, cutting the conversation short, and left the coffee shop without looking back.

That night, after finishing your classwork, you were in the kitchen preparing dinner. A simple meal of fish and pasta—it was the one thing you could make without messing up. You focused on the sizzle of the fish as it hit the pan, the smells of garlic and butter filling the apartment.

You didn’t even notice Vi slip into the kitchen until she was leaning against the counter, her arms folded, watching you.

You ignored her, concentrating on the food.

“Making something fancy, huh?” Vi said, her voice teasing. “You do know how to cook, princess?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m making dinner. That’s all.”

She stepped closer, her presence filling the space. “What, no tea with your fish? You’re all British and proper, don’t you want a nice cuppa to go with it?”

You took a deep breath, trying not to snap. “Can you not start with the accent thing again?”

Vi shrugged nonchalantly. “Just saying, it’s cute. You sound like you belong in a Downton Abbey episode or something.”

“Right. Because mocking people’s accents is so charming.” You turned to face her, your voice sharp. “Do you have nothing better to do than bother me all the time?”

Vi narrowed her eyes. “What’s with the attitude all of a sudden? You’ve been hanging out with Caitlyn a lot lately. Funny how that works, huh?”

The words hit harder than you expected. Your chest tightened, the sting of Vi’s jealousy—if it was jealousy—piercing through you. “It’s none of your business who I hang out with,” you snapped. “Not everything I do is about you, Vi.”

Vi’s lips curled up into a smirk. “Maybe not, but you do know Caitlyn and I have history. And I bet you’re trying to figure out how much of that you can actually replace.”

You didn’t know why it got under your skin so much, but it did. Maybe it was because she was right. You had been spending a lot of time with Caitlyn, and you did want to know what was going on in her mind about Vi. But Vi didn’t need to know that.

“I’m not replacing anyone,” you shot back, your voice shaking with anger. “I’m just trying to make friends.”

Vi smirked. “Right. Friends.”

You turned back to the stove, but in the heat of the argument, you lost focus. You reached out to move the pan and your hand brushed against the edge of the hot stove.

A sharp pain shot through your fingers, and you yelped, stumbling backward. “Dammit!”

Vi’s face dropped for a moment. “Shit, you okay?”

But you were too angry to care. The burn was nothing compared to the heat of the argument. You glared at her, the anger boiling inside you.

“I’m fine,” you snapped, holding your hand to your chest. “This is just great, thanks to you.”

As you started to turn to walk toward the bathroom, you heard Vi’s voice call out from behind you.

“We don’t all have loving families we can go run and cry to.”

The words hit you like a slap, and you froze.

You didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to feel the sharpness of what she had said, but you couldn’t help it. Your throat tightened. You didn’t have a loving family—at least not in the way Vi meant.

Without turning back, you pushed through the door and into the bathroom, locking it behind you.

And for the first time, you wondered if there was more to Vi’s words than just her usual insults.

[ecoterrorist-katara]

I’m so tired of wlw background ships in mlm fandoms.

mlm shippers almost never develop wlw ships to the degree that the audience feels invested in them. The conflict and character development and love story rely on tropes rather than actual narratives, yet fandoms act like they’re doing wlws a favour by shoehorning in this shitty “representation” when it’s just golden retriever x black cat over and over and over again in different fonts.

To be clear I don’t blame anyone for not having big wlw ships, because most major media out there do not have two fully fledged female characters you can ship together. If you want to write mlm ships, good for you! If you want a lazy wlw ship in the background, that’s fine! But don’t act as if the fandom actually cares about them, or that anyone did the legwork to make them characters that you can care about. Most of these female characters are never properly developed in the canon source material, and they’re almost never properly developed in the fanon material either. You can always tell by how these women are like, one archetype + gay (sporty gay, feisty gay, slutty gay etc, like some kind of gay Spice Girls). Yet fandoms just love to act like these background wlws mean so much & have the best love stories & everyone just should ship them. It’s all so performative.

wlws are not an aesthetic. wlws are not 2D happy couples to round out your queer utopia, a queer utopia that somehow still manages to foreground men. Women are always treated as 2D characters in narratives, except now there’s a subgenre where these 2D women are gay. Groundbreaking.