#And possibly a weapon switch

[musicat9]

thinking about my octopath ocs and. man. how did amarynn end up going from the extremely loose base concept of 'a thief character who doesn't have as terrible of experiences with the fellow thieves from their past as either of the canon thieves' to this. liar girl who is defined by her bonds with others. who trusts almost no one but would literally die for those she does trust. girl who exists to protect. would do anything to save those she cares about (and/or desperately denies caring about) because she cannot stand to imagine what existing without them would be like. not just a knife in the dark but a shield in broad daylight. a knife in the dark so she still has people to shield in broad daylight. to the point where half her chapters revolve around protecting/saving people and the main plot mcguffin in her story is literally a shield. which she steals from a friend but still goes back to protect that same friend herself anyway. she may have lied her way into it but she's still the one with the tournament arc, signed on as a support fighter to aid and protect her chosen companion. loyal con artist indeed

[aeyumicore]

misty invasion - no restraint

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: xavier x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some/little plot

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 5k words (jesus i even cut 1k out)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, spoilers AND alterations to ‘no restraint’ (xavier’s misty invasion card), switch!xavier, slightly dark!xavier, super possessive!xav, so much pussy eating, nose stroking clit, cumming on pussy then using as lube, mating press, sensory play but not actually, thigh biting, ankle kissing, foot massage, slight finger sucking, slight dub-con somno at the end, use of y/n

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | sylus's version | raf's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: sorry this is late! I’ve been dealing with some harassment but won’t get into that here. You guys have been waiting so patiently for this one and i’m so excited to finally share it with you guys. I love writing and it’s incredible to have people to share my passion with, so please enjoy xavier fuckers!

part three is our dear xavier! idk how this one got so long i cut 1k words and its still 5k LOL somehow longer than sylus’s? i haven’t written for xavier in sooo long so this was both challenging but fun! I miss him <3 I wrote xavier as more dark!xav than the soft xavier, but there’s definitely a good mix of both

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

As a Hunter, you’ve had to thoroughly train your senses to be as adept and and accurate as possible, to keep yourself, your fellow Hunters, and the citizens of Linkon safe.

Sight. The ability to track every micromovement a Wanderer made and react in milliseconds. Being able to quickly spot things that don’t belong, indicating something more sinister.

Hearing. Being able to detect even the mutest of sounds. The muffled shuffling of leaves, a slight creak in the wind that could warn you of incoming danger.

Smell. The almost imperceptible scent of different species of Wanderers, each one specific to each genus, able to provide valuable information on what to expect.

Touch. The distinct textures of your different UNICORN issued tools and weapons, the simplest grooves and ridges helping you quickly discern what is what in moments of life or death.  

What you hadn’t necessarily needed was the sense of taste, but that wouldn’t be a sense you’d need as a Hunter. Right?

In the soft glow coming from the protocore you and him had confiscated from an illegal protocore trade, Xavier sat at the foot of the bed you’d be sharing tonight. The soft orange light emanating from the protocore casts a vaguely romantic atmosphere around the two of you. It was suffocating and addicting all at once.

Perhaps it was your fault, you’d teased him, claiming the protocore in question had dulled your senses, a side effect from its unique Protocurves. A clear and obvious lie. 

But you hadn’t expected him to respond so boldly. 

To test your sense of sight, moving from his spot across the hotel room to approach the foot of the bed, sitting so closely that you could see the droplets of water dripping down his bare chest, gliding along the grooves of his muscled abdomen.

To test your sense of smell, leaning in so teasingly close to you that the soft clean smell of his pheromones, akin to fresh laundry blowing in the spring breeze, invaded your very essence. 

To test your sense of hearing, whispering dangerously sultry but innocent words under his breath to taunt you, seeing if you could hear how much he wanted you. 

To test your sense of touch, reaching out to grasp your face into his fingers, warm from the hot shower he’d taken. So daringly caressing your warm cheek in his palm, with a heated desire that you knew could consume you whole. 

It was truly all enough to drive you utterly insane, at the point of no return, nearly jumping him right then and there.

Perhaps Xavier could see that, deciding to give you a temporary reprieve from all the “sensory tests” to complete a test of his own 

His voice is a faint murmur, “Before the rain stops, is there anything you want to do?” His words sound less like a question and more like a plea. Bordering on a demand. 

At his words, your eyes trail to the body lotion you’d set on the nightstand next to the Protocore. You’d just been about to apply it before Xavier had come out of the shower. You bite your lip at the thought of his strong hands rubbing the expensive cream into your aching muscles. Xavier’s eyes follow yours, and he smiles gently, standing up to grab it from the side table. 

He unscrews it, the soft scent of strawberries wafting in the space between you. Under the soft glow of the Protocore, Xavier’s face is flushed, his breath unusually heavy. His eyes are focussed on the body lotion, but you can just barely see the stormy heat behind them. 

“What, are we testing your senses now?” you tease him, sitting up with your hands hugging your knees. 

Xavier sits back down on the bed, the mattress dipping at your feet. Your toes brush against the soft silk of his bathrobe, the knot even looser now, leaving far too little to imagination. His voice is gentle, but urgent, “The Protocore’s Protocurves can…dull a person's senses.” 

He places his palm gently on the underside of your thighs, pulling your bare calves toward him. His touch is impossibly soft, yet strangely enough it leaves your skin burning. You let your body be guided towards him until his chest is practically pressed against your knee. With your bare calf in his hands, it makes it difficult to think. But you do your best to speak, “So…are you affected by it too?”

As Xavier smears the lotion across your flushed skin, he murmurs, “Maybe.” He takes another scoop of the cream into his fingers.

“It’s possible…I won’t be able to feel you anymore from now on.” His eyes are trained on your leg as he speaks, fingers wandering from your knee to your exposed thigh. Though you both know his senses were, and would be, perfectly fine, the longing in both his low voice and dark eyes felt completely real.

As his hands rub into your skin, his fingers briefly find their way under your nightdress. He leans down, resting his chin on your knee. He practically hugs your legs to his chest, the opened jar of lotion still in hand. WIth his curious fingers on your thigh, under the lace hem of your nightdress, you try and distract him from your flushed face. You take a small dollop of the lotion in his hands, teasingly brushing it to his nose.

“What’s the fragrance? Can you smell it?” Xavier’s face on your bare knee doesn’t move, but his eyes flit up to yours, dark and amused. 

He has a barely perceptible smirk, fingers stroking small shapes into the area where your lace nightie meets the skin of your exposed thighs, “Strawberry.” He sounds uncharacteristically self-assured, his chin moving down so that he can smell your skin. 

You shiver as you feel the cool inhale of his nose against your knee. His lips ghost along your leg as he breathes in the scent, lingering for so long you’re nearly quivering against his hold. His hand grips your thigh possessively as he murmurs, “Or maybe...that scent…is cherry.” The way he buries his face into your legs, inhaling so deeply, is nearly enough to have you passing out.

He comes back to nuzzle his chin into your knee, glancing up at you in an expression that is eerily dark and soft all at once, “Was I right?” His words are gentle but there’s an exhilarating taunt underneath them. It only makes you want to taunt him back.

You reach for his ear, noticing it’s unusually peachy pink, stroking along the soft lobe, “Here’s another test. What do you think my hand is doing right now?” Xavier’s eyes close at your touch, his breath heavy and hot against your thigh. His brows furrow, and if it weren’t for the way he leaned into your touch for more, you’d almost think he was in pain. 

As his eyes flicker open to meet yours, you take his cheek into your hands. There’s a vague haziness in them, almost like he’s having a hard time keeping them open, drunk off even your slightest touches. He sits up, leaning into your hand.

“You need to do it harder,” he urges, desperation making itself known in his sultry voice. Your hand trails down his ear, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw and making its way to Xavier’s bobbing neck. 

Your fingers move intentionally, trailing down to his collar until they rest on his chest, “What about now?” 

Though his chest heaves, his blue eyes smolder with an unbridled confidence, “...Too gentle.” He looks at you with an unspoken plea in his eyes, begging you to touch him more. Harder.

You let your shaking fingers toy torturously with the reddened skin on his sharp collarbone, swirling your fingertips on his pounding chest. You bite your lip, enjoying the way his breath comes out in needy pants, the look of desperation on his parted lips growing stronger by the second, “If you still haven’t felt it…”

Xavier continues your thought, cerulean eyes filled with a desperate longing, “If I haven’t felt it…” You gasp as he grabs your wrist forcefully, bringing it back up to his face.

His grip is commanding, caressing your palm with his soft cheek, his breath fanning the inside of your hand. His movements are almost imperceptible, until you feel his lips closing over your middle finger. You’re unable to stop the shiver as his tongue grazes against your trembling finger, his lips caressing your skin in his mouth.

Xavier desperately hopes you keep your eyes trained on his, and not the embarrassingly prominent tent under his thin robe, throbbing for your attention. His breath is hot as he pants against your finger, “...does this mean I’m a lost cause?”

You pull your hand away, unable to withstand the effect his lips enclosing in your fingers is having on your body, your thighs clenching together under your own robe and nightgown. 

“What should we do?” you murmur before softly clutching his shoulder, pulling him closer until you can whisper into his ear for a little hearing test. You let your lips graze his reddened earlobe, before whispering.

“Xavier.”

It comes out far more sultry and seductive than you’d originally intended, betraying your body’s true desires. Xavier apparently shares those same desires, because as he hears you gasp out his name his body has a visceral reaction. 

His heart pounds so rapidly he’s almost sure you’d be able to hear it, his muscled chest rising and falling in an irregular rhythm. His face looks almost anguished, fighting an internal war against himself. He glances towards you, his eyes dark with unbridled desire. 

“Oops. Looks like something broke,” you grin cheekily, thoroughly amused by his reaction, fueled with confidence. 

Xavier’s eyes are so dark they’re nearly black as they drink in the sight of your beautiful smile, as you sit with your knees up on the mattress. The next thing you know, Xavier’s is pushing you down, your back hitting the plush mattress and your robe fluttering open to reveal your flimsy nightdress. 

Xavier stands above you, before his hand comes down to grip the mattress beside your head, pinning you down. His eyes trail up your body, savoring every exposed centimeter of soft skin, before boring into your beautiful eyes. His body is pressed gently into yours, and you can very much make out just how excited he’s become. The area between your thighs moistens at the feeling of his arousal pressed into your stomach. 

“Your sensory test isn’t over yet,” he grunts, his face tortuously close to yours. His eyes are hooded dangerously, an imminent threat reflected in his ocean blue eyes. He leans forward, so close his torrid breath fans against your parted lips.

“Let’s do a taste test,” he murmurs, eyes shutting as he finally closes the distance between your lips in a toe-curling passionate embrace. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips, which you happily part to give him access. He moans into you as he indulges in how delicious you taste, quickly addicted to your soft and warm tongue against his. 

When he finally pulls away, he’s a complete and utter mess. His breath is uneasy and rapid, his body contorting with the rhythm of his pounding chest. His fingers have found their way into yours, effectively pinning you securely against the bed under his hard body. 

“Xavier…” you gasp, squeezing his fingers, “Even someone like you can lose your composure, huh?”

As your bodies heave together, Xavier takes thick and deep lungfuls of your scent, his face buried into your neck.

“One doesn’t need that much composure,” he groans before diving back into the crook of your neck, lips latching onto your pulse. 

As he holds you, gently suckling at your neck, you prod him, “What are you thinking of?”

Xavier hesitates, his lips hovering centimeters above your skin, before murmuring, “Something…indecent.”

You bite back your grin, thoroughly enjoying how needy he’s becoming. With his body still atop of yours, you bring your lips to his ear letting your wet lips stroke against his earlobe. 

“Xavier…” you purr, “Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

You can see Xavier’s neck throb with a thick gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. It’s then he decides he’s done playing games. 

He sits up eerily calmly, until he’s on his knees at your feet. His fingers trail down your bare thighs, to your calves, and to your feet. You squirm at his fleeting trail of touches, squeaky moans of anticipation slipping from your lips.

As his hands slide down your legs, he lifts your foot into his hands, fingers kneading your aching sole. You moan, your eyes squeezing shut at just how wonderfully Xavier knows your body, knows how to touch you. 

You’re so caught up in the feeling of his hands on your ankles that you don’t notice the way he cups your calf, raising your leg into the air as he caresses it. It’s not until the distinct feeling of his warm lips meet the bottom of your calf do your eyes screw open.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight before you, Xavier placing a feathery trail of kisses down your calf all the way to your foot. As he tenderly kisses your ankle, his eyes open to watch you with a hungry gaze. 

“The Protocore’s effects…I think we need a stronger test,” he mutters, his mouth rubbing against your ankle still. He sets your leg on his shoulder, gently spreading your thighs apart. 

You blush as your legs part, leaving little to imagination as Xavier situates himself between your legs, one propped on his muscled shoulder and one hooked above his forearm, “Xavier?”

He doesn’t respond, eyes trained on the glistening patch of dampness that adorns your panties. It takes all of him not to drool right over your half naked form right then and there. As his head lowers to kiss your thighs, you tremble at his proximity to your throbbing cunt that leaks with desire and arousal.

“I-Is this…strong enough?” you squeak, his tongue lapping slow circles around the areas his teeth graze. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he indulges in the taste of your legs, eyeing the beautiful way your panties are creasing against the lips of your pussy. He can practically feel the heat coming off you and it makes him bite hard. 

You squeal, your back arching up and fingers reaching down to pull at his soft hair. It’s impossible not to enjoy the sharp graze of his canines and the contrastingly adoring caress of his tongue. Too distracted by the pleasure, you don’t feel the embarrassing slick dripping down your thighs.

But Xavier does.

He detaches his lips from your thighs, briefly admiring the handful of flowering red bruises littered against both your plush legs. 

“It’s…stronger. But this…” he trails off, and that’s when you feel his fingers hooking your soaked panties to the side. You yelp as his fingers languidly swipe at your folds, coating himself in your arousal and bringing it up to his mouth. 

You watch in a mixture of embarrassment and desire as he slips his fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around his digits and eyes shut in utter bliss. 

When his blonde lashes finally flutter open, his hazy pupils are dilated amongst the sea of azure, piercing into your own.

“This, I can taste,” he grins gently at you. It’s so effortlessly Xavier, yet something sinister lurks beneath his soft smile. Something that makes you shake to your very core.

You don’t have time to ponder the darkness behind his smile, because Xavier is gripping you by your hips, bringing the apex of your thighs to his waiting mouth, salivating at the beautiful sight of your exposed cunt. His eyes flit from your core to your eyes, your upper body propped up on your elbows as you watch his heated gaze devour you. 

“Please…” Xavier rasps, his voice guttural and desperate. The proximity of his face to your weeping cunt lets you feel his hot breath fan against your quivering pussy, “Please let me.”

You’re speechless, so you nod fervently, gripping his soft hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Xavier wastes no time, burying himself into you. You gasp, spine curling at the force of his demanding lips against your cunt.

You’d think Xavier had been starved for days, the way he latches onto your lips, his tongue eagerly lapping at your slit, savoring every drop of your sweet essence. You thrash at the unrelenting pleasure, as Xavier’s bruising grip holds you in place. 

“Let me enjoy you, please,” he groans, nose rubbing into your clit deliciously, “Who knows if I’ll ever be able to taste you again?”

You whimper at his filthy words, trying to stay still as he ravishes you with his skilled tongue. The lewd slurps and moans that come from him are enough to drive you to the edge of insanity, unable to contain your furious writhing. Xavier only digs his fingers harder into the plush of your thighs, doing his best to keep you in place.

Xavier moans into you, the vibrations of his pleasured sounds thrumming straight into your body. He doesn’t let a single droplet of your nectar go to waste, his tongue lapping diligently. There’s absolutely no shortage of it, as his pointed nose brushes against your clit, his tongue stroking sweetly into your lips. 

“You taste like heaven, Y/N,” Xavier moans into your folds. The vibrations of his filthy words send you reeling and you can barely hear him, only able to respond in the whiniest moans, too wrapped up in the pleasure his mouth so skillfully brings you. 

“Xavier!” you cry, toes digging into the ropes of muscles on his back.

You can vaguely feel one of Xavier’s hands abandon your thigh, moving to free his cock from under his loose robe. You can’t see much, but you can see the way his forearm jerks up and down, the veins in his arms bulging as he pleasures himself, fueled by the taste of you. 

“O-oh f-fuck!” you cry, your back arched, the soles of your feet pressing into Xavier’s back, “Xavier…p-please don’t – nngh – stop!”

Through your widely spread legs, you can see just how aroused Xavier is by your pleas. His fingers can barely wrap around his thick girth. They move up and down effortlessly, coated in his copious pre-cum. It honestly looked like he already came with just how much of his slick was smeared on himself. He’s so impossibly angry and red as he thrusts into his own fist, your tongue unconsciously licking your lips at the sight. 

You’re only snapped out of your mesmerized staring when his lips latch onto your clit, tongue lapping eagerly against the throbbing nub of nerves. His lips suckling at your clit, tongue stroking so sweetly, is just enough to have you coming completely undone all over Xavier’s face. 

You try to pull always as you feel the warm gush coming, but Xavier only holds you down harder with his arm wrapped around your thigh, his hands jerking up and down his leaking erection even more desperation. With nowhere to run, your body thrashes erratically in his forceful arm. Your back arches into the air, your head digging into the plush mattress, as you squirt over Xavier’s insistent tongue. 

You’re well into the depths of overstimulation, feebly pushing his head away, whispering brokenly, “X-Xavier. S’too much, please.”

But he can’t seem to hear you, too wrapped up in your taste, in you. Your body curls in a stinging pleasure as he continues to devour you, positively starved. 

The lewd slurps of his face in your wet thighs, your unabashed moans and cries of ecstasy, the taste of your release against his greedy tongue, and his forceful grip on his cock drive him to his own orgasm. 

He forces himself to pull away, his lips wet with your slick, your body collapsing but still slightly elevated with your calf thrown over his shoulder. With his position kneeling at your feet, your right leg still by his neck, his cock spurts right onto your quivering and overstimulated pussy. 

“H-holy,” Xavier groans breathlessly, hands still jerking himself up and down as rope after rope lands on your glistening cunt. His spend is so deliciously hot against your sensitive skin that you can’t stop the full body tremors that wrack your body. His copious streams of cum start to drip off your quivering cunt, pooling on the mattress beneath you.

Xavier leans forward, clutching your thigh as his body heaves with an overwhelming  satisfaction. His fingers dig into your already bruised thighs, his breath heavy and desperate. 

You want to giggle at his ruined state, stroking his back teasingly with your toes, your calf still resting on his shoulder. Your fingers reach for his ear to caress his cheek and tease him with your words from earlier, “So little composure. Adorable”

Xavier’s gaze, longing and soft, twitches. Before you know it, your back is flat against the bed once more, both your legs pressed against your chest. Your feet hang in the air above your head, Xavier’s heaving body pressed on top of you, something hard and wet pressing into your still trembling core.

Out of sheer surprise, you cry out, “X-Xavier?” Your hands instinctively come up to cup his face.

Xavier doesn’t speak, his eyes trained on your cunt as he runs his tip up and down your folds. When he finally looks up at you, there’s a dark almost feral look in the storm of his cerulean eyes. A look of unbridled animalistic heat. 

He bends down, his beautiful face dangerously close to yours as he smirks, “Isn’t this what you wanted, angel?” 

You shiver at his unusually edged words, eyes widening as you nod gently. Unable to deny the truth of his words. You knew it, and he knew it. You absolutely always wanted him, especially when he was this unhinged. 

Xavier smiles, it’s deceptively gentle as you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes, “I know, Y/N. So, please. Let me give it to you.” Though he begs, you can tell he’s not really asking. Not that you minded. You’d give him absolutely everything. 

So you nod, peering up at him through your eyelashes. Xavier smiles, finger stroking your cheek. With his other hand, he takes his cock, rubbing his cockhead into your sopping folds, smearing his cum messily around. He’d spurt so much milky seed onto your pussy that it quite literally felt like a bottle of lube had been squirted onto you. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. For a brief second, the bright light returns to Xavier’s eyes as he adoringly watches you, with so much affection in his azure eyes. It’s gone just as quickly as it comes, his cock splitting you apart as he thrusts into you. 

You cry out, unable to do anything but take him, your legs caged against both your bodies. The mating press he has you in is so mean, his hard strong body so imposing as he thrusts into you. It’s so easy for him to slide inside you, his cum on your skin even slicker than lube. 

Xavier’s breathy moans wash over you at every single mean thrust, his smoldering eyes never leaving yours as he ruts into you like a madman. A man positively starved. And only one thing could satisfy him. 

His hands press into the mattress beside your head, his entire body boxing you in, with only your thighs separating you. You wish he could hold you closer, press deeper into you, as deep as his cock was currently in your throbbing pussy. 

“X-Xav…” your squeal. The position he has you in gives him easy access to your most sensitive spots. Xavier only moans in response, not typically a man of many words when it comes to being buried in your guts. 

Which is why you’re surprised when he grits out, “Mine.”

You’re so surprised, mind so clouded with his massive girthy cock, that you gasp out, “W-What?”

Xavier’s smirk is faint, almost imperceptible, “You’re mine. I would never leave you.”

His pointed thrusts make you cry out in pleasure, losing your train of thought again. His smile grows more confident at your inability to speak, “Isn’t that what you told James? That your partner left you?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, before realizing he's talking about the man you’d been flirting with for information at the protocore trade, “J-James? You – hnngh – y-you mean Henrik’s idiot – nngh – bodyguard?” 

Xavier drives into you with an even more mind-numbing intensity at the mention of another man. You can see his jaw twitches, his eyes swimming with shadowy emotions.

“What do you think he took you up to the sixth floor for?” he growls, uncharacteristically and darkly gruff, “For this?” 

To punctuate his point he slams his pelvis into your ass, the lewd pap sound of wet skin against wet skin deafeningly loud. 

“It’s too bad for him. You’re mine.” His words are a sweet threat, with no violence and all the passion in the world behind them.

The raw possession in his voice makes you approach your orgasm far too quickly. Your thighs shake uncontrollably at the strain, but even more so at the pleasure Xavier drives into your gummy walls. His cock is so thick that your body burns with pleasure as he stretches you to your limit, your walls sucking him tightly, unwilling to let go. 

Xavier moans at the unbelievably incredible feeling of your walls tightening against him, trying to wring him into you. Xavier’s thrusts become more erratic as he comes closer to his own release, and you’re desperate to cum with him, your orgasm impossibly iminent. 

You know just how to send him over the edge, as you take his jaw into your fingers, his chest pressed into the fat of your thighs as he folds you quite literally in half. Xavier looks surprised but lets his face be guided to yours, his eyes still holding glimmers of shadows held back by a thin shred of restraint. 

“Xavier,” you whisper, trying to keep your orgasm at bay so you can experience simultaneously with the blonde haired man deliciously rearranging your guts, “I’m yours, always.” 

Xavier’s eyes darken, his eyebrows furrowing, as his body responds to your sweet words. His thrusts are harder, rougher, and all the more forceful and demanding. He’s utterly desperate to feel you cum atop his cock, his beautiful girl. Entirely and completely his. 

“Yeah? Then cum for me, please.” His voice is a guttural growl, matching the animalistic intensity of his body pounding into yours. But he stutters just a bit, as you can practically feel the veins in his thick cock throbbing against your pulsing walls.

With Xavier’s intense eyes on yours, your body folded mind numbingly against his hard chiseled body, his filthy possessive words fanning across your lips, it’s impossible to keep your orgasm back any longer. 

You cum with a strangled cry of his name, your elbows bending so your fingers can furiously claw at the sheets by your head. Xavier moans out at how tightly your cunt grips him amidst your climax, absolutely forcing the orgasm out of him. 

You’re a moaning whining mess as Xavier fucks his seed into you. Even after his first orgasm, there’s so much cum, both inside and outside. The area where your bodies are joined is a sticky mess of cum and saliva.

Xavier is no better, the grunts and babbles streaming from his own mouth an absolute symphony to your ears.

“That’s it, love,” he rasps, “So good for me. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

You stroke Xavier’s soft blonde hair as his thrusts slow to an eventual stop. His softening cock is still in you, and you wince as you can vaguely feel it slipping out. Your hips scream in discomfort, your thighs still pressed firmly into your chest as Xavier gasps for air above you. 

You whimper as he shifts, and instantly Xavier is back to his usual soft self, fawning over you, “Are you okay?” It’s honestly insane how quickly he switches, because as his blue eyes search yours, you notice the darkness is gone. All that’s left is that starry glimmering sea of ultramarine, soft, concerned, and loving.

“H-heavy,” you whine, tapping at his thick shoulders. Xavier’s off of you in a flash, his soft cock slipping out as sits on his knees before you. He hovers over you, careful not to put any weight on you, as he brushes your tangled hair off  of your sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your flushed cheek, “Was I…Did I take it too far?”

“No, never,” you mumble happily, draping your arms over his neck. Through his gentle smile that could move the stars, you can see how exhausted Xavier is, but he continues to stroke circles into your skin. His hands reach down to massage your bruised thighs, hickeys littering every inch of you. The serene intimacy of the moment is enough to lull you towards sleep, despite the mess between your legs. 

–

You must’ve nodded off for a few minutes, because when you open your bleary eyes you see Xavier between your legs, carefully wiping the sticky mess away. 

“Xav, s’okay,” you whisper sleepily, stirring in his careful hands and barely able to string together complete sentences, “Clean tomorrow, sleep now.”

“It’s okay, angel,” he murmurs, his voice so warm and dreamy. He holds you gently in place as he continues to wipe you off, “Go back to sleep.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his hands soothing your aching muscles, losing the fight against sleep, “You don’t feel tired?” 

Xavier chuckles, the sound meeting your ears even in your half-conscious state, “I can still feel. But I think I may need another…taste test.”

You can hear the mischief in his voice even if you’re too exhausted to open your eyes.

“Just sleep honey, let me take care of you.”

Something about the playful heat in his voice makes you doubt he’s just going to be cleaning you up with the warm towel he had in his hands. And the thought of that excites you beyond belief, even as you succumb to sleep. 

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites

.ᐟ✦ please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[mayebeobsessed]

When bob turns void it’s cause he LITERATELY DIES (both times, medical study and kill switch)

Bob turns sentry after outside forces coax him into that mindset and those actions- AND last he remembers he was just shot several (probably hundred) times.

Bob will not randomly sentry/void. The team does not walk on eggshells around him. He does not threaten sentry/void, they do not cater to the possibility of sentry/void. He is hella resilient and does not void out at a break up or argument (we literately see him be normal in the vault)

They care about him. They love him. They don’t treat him poorly. But he’s not a time bomb, nor a weapon, or a naive child, and certainly is not intentionally evil one wrong word away

[hugsandchaos]

I’m writing this in the perspective of the citizens of Amity Park, just an fyi

Rules for interacting with Phantom

1. Don’t go looking for him. Phantom knows when someone is looking for him and will avoid you at all costs.

2. It’s suggested to learn a little sign language since Phsntom with randomly switch from English to ghost speak. This change seems uncomfortable in most cases and causes him distress when he can’t communicate what he’s trying to say.

3. If he picks you up or grabs your hand and starts pulling on you, don’t freak out. He’s trying to move you out of harm’s way. Follow him until he lets go.

4. If he approaches you at night and asks if he can stargaze with you, say yes. You won’t be in trouble if you say no, but we’re trying to get him used to humans.

5. If you spot him, don’t go out of your way to approach him. He doesn’t like that. He’ll notice you coming.

6. If you spot him and he’s near something you need, such as the entrance to your workplace or your campfire, simply say hi to him and continue to avoid startling him. He’s been reported to conjure up ice spikes from the ground around him or shoot ectoplasm when he’s startled, so avoid doing so if you can.

7. If you notice the Fentons near where Phantom is, try to redirect them. Phantom is our only real line of defense against other ghosts who want to cause harm.

8. If you hear a loud, haunting wail, don’t worry. That’s possibly Phantom’s most powerful weapon, and it’s highly effective against other ghosts. This is usually taken as a sign that the town is now safe again. Do not approach Phantom after he uses this power unless you want to get punched in the face. This power takes up most of his strength and leaves him vulnerable, which makes him extra cautious and scared of both humans and ghosts. If he’s injured and you want to help, it’s best to go in preparing for retaliation. (Extra warning: Phantom’s saliva contains ectoplasm, which is essentially acid for anything living. Be VERY careful, because he will try to bite as a last resort. Try to make sure he knows you’re there to help before touching him.)

9. If you’re a ghost hunter and you harm Phantom, and you hear a loud groan in the distance that oddly reminds you of a broken grandfather clock, apologize and do what you can to fix your mistake immediately. Phantom isn’t all alone. He has allies, and some of them, you never want to meet.

10. If he approaches you and strikes up conversation, it’s your choice to respond or not.

[cl-0v3r]

Mel is alive, but at what cost

Mel was nearly killed TWICE, her mother began being a struggle, she'd been thrown aside and trying her best to stop her, her boyfriend is not doing well, neither is anyone else (can't blame them) and the fact that she hadn't cried or spoke much about this situation to anyone a single time?? She IS upset about every single thing, yet she stays strong and enduring every bit of torture. The most she did was tell Jayce that Ambessa put her palm on the table, and let him know that she is going to push for hextech. That's it, nothing remotely related to her feelings.

The fact that she was constantly looking at Caitlyn, being able to understand her grief and knew she was in pain?? Mel knows this feeling. She'd went through it.

And in the end SHE has to pay the price of her mothers incompetence.

The intro is very much foreshadowing, we know the hands represent black rose/LeBlanc.

This is what happens in act one, she gets kidnapped by them. The lyrics do correspond to the characters as well (not just Mel, everyone.)

"Tell you you're the greatest" plays as a petal of the black rose floats down the screen, I think it adds significance to the power this organization holds, possibly the Medardas greatest foe.

"But once you turn, they hate us" both Ambessa and Mel were present in this line, I think its foreshadowing for when Ambessa switches up for whatever reason and goes against both Piltover AND Zaun. And Mel WILL go through change as well, a change that could hurt her relationship with others, and receive interest from others too.

"They hate us" could be read individually too, I feel like its a sort of "realization" ?? Perhaps Ambessa WASN'T the one that switched up, maybe Piltover switched up on them, and maybe Mel JUST got out of wherever she's taken to, and saw the mess Ambessa had done to her city??

I think this represents ACT TWO.

The hands pull away and it sort of looks like Mel is fighting back, a "get away from me" type of scream. you know what this reminds me of??

Don't mind me just pushing my Jinx/powder-Mel parallel agenda

Here is when i think Mel truly learns about LeBlanc/BR, she curiously and slowly goes to grab the rose, she learns about the history between her Mother and them, Kinos death, and most of all, learns about HERSELF. The lyrics speak otherwise.

"Pray away, I swear

I'll never be a saint, no way"

This feels like a parallel to caitlyn of sorts if that makes sense. Caitlyn had done everything to try and stop the council from attacking the Undercity, she kept her mouth shut when Jayce asked about Jinxs grenade, she was willing to protect Vi and the undercity, but how many times has she been tossed around? She'd been burned, exploded, kidnapped (god knows what happened during that time) and hit in the face by the same person, her MOTHER died because of the same person. She has every right to go insane. And she is hunting ONE person, which is Jinx. Although she is harming the people around her along the way.

What if Mel goes through a similar situation? Her mother pushed for war in her city, she dragged the enemy along with her even if she didn't mean to, she manipulated everyone around her INCLUDING Jayce, she LITERALLY got Mel hurt from the chembarons attack and killed so many people during a MEMORIAL to get her hextech weapons, Elora is most likely DEAD, not to mention whatever happened in the past between them. And the thing is, this will NEVER end throughout the entire season.

And what if she learns what she is? That she's 'blessed' by Kindred? The fact that the wolf is quite literally in her blood?

I feel like the "ill never be a saint, no way" also sort of indicates Mel will realize she'll never be able to push for peace and mercy like she always hoped for no matter what, and she comes to accept that as much as it hurts. But not like how ambessa accepted the wolf, but she sort of realizes she needs to push a little violence, towards nobody but the one and only, Ambessa "fine, if you want me to be like you, I guess I'll be like you towards YOU." Type of acceptance.

I think its also related to Mels new outfit too, she's dressed like her mother, in red and all of that. I will still stand by the idea that she has plans to decieve, but she will do something she doesn't want to do.

Mel was left with no choice, that lyric sounds like realization, acceptance, but also like a plea at the same time, an "I'll never be who I wanted to be" because in the end, she's still a Medarda, she's still her mothers daughter, she still has violence in her veins, she will never not suffer from the weight her name holds, and she will never escape it either, its like a shadow.

The Characters won't be themselves at their core this season. And those vital parts of their characters that represent them are no longer there in the intro, they all have given up what makes them, THEM design wise. (e.g.) Vi without her tattoo, Viktor hiding his identity with the mask. And the thing is, they did that to themselves because they do self-harm, they're changing themselves because THEY want to, they're forcing themselves to do that, they think they're undeserving and they're erasing their past selves.

But Mel? Mel doesn't have her gold accessories, Jewelry, or her Armor, she'd been stripped bare and hidden away because of the brutality of her name. She pays the price her mother brought to HER city. She's forced to change herself against her will, because nobody is giving her a chance to push for her ideals.

This entire theory never ends, and with all of this? I kinda do see Mel actually committing Matricide, it lifts the "Ambessa will die" theory further.

[baskeigh-ball]

posting some mind swap doodles to prove im still alive, so have a few headcanons :D

- Leo in Mikey's body is pure chaos, he has no boundaries when it comes to modifications to "his" body in order to feel more comfortable in his own skin. For example, he gave himself his old markings to cover up Mikey's spots (only around the eyes tho, the arm and leg markings would take way more time.) He loves using Mikey's mystic powers/weapons at first, but eventually feels too weird about it and switches to his own weapons/gear to cope

- Mikey reins him in whenever he gets a little too confident in using his mystic powers though. Mikey is always hovering nearby to make sure Leo doesn't decide to go overboard, fully aware of Leo's lack of awareness when it comes to his physical limits, let alone when he's in someone else's body

- Raph is on the opposite side of the spectrum as far as modifications go, only willing to give Donnie his tech back and wear arm wraps to feel more like himself.

- The only tech he has to keep is the battle shell, especially after realizing just how fragile Donnie's body really is. He becomes refuses to take it off for days at a time, and when he does finally take it off, he's extremely paranoid and puts himself in the safest spot possible: his own room, bundled up in pillows and blankets.

- He also is woefully ignorant in how the battle shell is operated, so it goes haywire pretty often in the beginning. Donnie has to be nearby and ready to be damage control for a long time before Raph becomes confident enough to operate the battle shell's most basic functions.

[beloveds-embrace]

Nah, I didn't have a kink for men grovelling (/lie) I have a kink for men suffering. I need reader to have her own happiness

Reader suddenly switches and starts acting more energetic again. For a while the boys like it bc not they don't have to face the consequences of their actions and can escape the guilt if there's no constant reminder.

But something's wrong. It takes them a while to notice - or rather, they take a while to notice BC noticing shatters their illusion that everything is well and they aren't bad people

She's still not eating Johnny's prepared meals but she's gaining weight again and it takes a while to notice BC he's not in charge of stock but some ingredients have been disappearing at nights. Some that can be eaten right away, but funnily enough he also finds himself low on ingredients that need to be prepared. It just so happens that he notices when he makes one of his more easy and filling dishes most all of the ingredients he reaches into are much lower than last time he made it.

She still seems unkempt but her hygiene improves. Her hair is brushed and Gaz hears the showers, though he knows that none of her maids have taken up their duties again. She also still doesn't wear any of her dresses, not that the boys see her enough to notice, but Gaz knows how difficult those are to put on on your own. So when he swears he hears the rustling of fabrics or sees a glimpse of her holding a dress through a crack in the door, even though he knows he saw all her maids elsewhere, he tells himself he just miscounted.

She's more energetic sure, but she's hardly more happy, in fact there seems a determination that borders on desperation to her if anyone watches her for long enough. Not that she lets them. She doesn't leave her room during the day still but once Simon was awake and saw her walking the grounds in the middle of the night. If he had looked again the next night he'd have seen the same, but, well, who wants to face their mistakes

The boys notice, because of their guilt, but choose to ignore. Price, on the other hand, doesn't notice at all

Well, he notices his reputation dwindling. And seeing his wife less and less often. But he doesn't notice any of the changes and doesn't even realise she's began to leave her room again as no rumours change

He does, however, pay attention to his boys.

When Gaz seems jittery at meetings, when Johnny lingers at the table, when Simon stalks the halls more frequently, with the attitude of a predator ready to strike fleeing prey.

So when they tell him they haven't seen her in a while, he's confused. He thought they all hadn't seen her in weeks?

At their explanations - which devolve into pleas - he goes to check up on his wife. Only to find her room empty.

See, she knew she wouldn't have to worry about anyone interrupting her or noticing her, and realised how much of a power that was.

Learning how to cook by spying on the cooks and Johnny, finding little recipe books for when he would leave. Stocking up on food.

Beginning to take care of herself, but only just enough. Dresses that were heavy and difficult forgone in favour of stitching old tablecloths and sheets into simple and freeing garments.

Walking the grounds as much as possible at night to build up her strength again. Background training in dancing and standing with heavy garments for long periods of time helping in building her cardio back up.

She'd had to have a little subtlety in hiding her intentions around the boys, but her real weapon was her husband.

Her husband with an extensive library with books about survival, hunting, wilderness guides. Her husband with plenty of money and expensive items scattered across the place. Her husband with maps and notes of the nearest towns and their prospects and differing prices.

Her blind husband who didn't notice as his wife planned her escape right underneath his nose.

And finally, her. Just her. No husbands or titles or maids or society breathing down her neck. Her, free and already behind a mountain in the distance on the back of a working donkey - the Duchy's fine horses would have gathered too much attention. She stopped for supplies and to sell her goods where possible, but left as quickly as she came, knowing the village folk would write her off as a thief but any who knew would be able to trace where she sold the items. Best to ditch them at her journeys start rather than end.

Not that she knows where it will end. Not that she cares. She could die tomorrow and would still take her last breath more free and happy than she's ever lived before.

(idk maybe she joins some bandits or meets a wandering knight or jumps aboard a ship or something and makes it far far away. Maybe she becomes a stable hand to a Grand Duke and his dashing young right hand man Mr Parra (can you tell my bias). I need her to have a happy end tho, so that if/when the 141 find her they have to realize that she really is better off without them.)

Holy fuck. I’m in awe of you??? Of your brain?? This was amazing to read omg thank you so so much!! You’ve already written so much of her with the 141, so i wrote a little bit of her with rudy! I hope you’ll enjoy this as much as I enjoyed reading your ask! 🫶🏻💕 also i feel like i will never learn how to do a decent ending that isn’t abrupt as fuck 💀😭

Dukedom au masterlist

The sun poured golden light through the arched windows of the estate, its brilliance softened by sheer, embroidered curtains. The atmosphere was serene, the kind that made one’s soul settle into quiet contentment. Seated by the window, harp nestled against your shoulder, you plucked the strings with practiced grace and ease. Music spilled into the room, lilting and wistful, speaking of stories not with words, but with melodies.

Grand Duke Alejandro sat nearby, sharp eyes softened by the rare tranquility your melodies provided.

He had been the first to notice your talents, taking you in when you stumbled upon his estate seeking work. What began as small performances to soothe his guests had blossomed into something more. You were now a cherished member of his court- an artist whose music could bring grown men to tears and whose presence brightened even the darkest days, and your past a thing of, well, the past.

You glanced up briefly, right as Rudy entered the room. His eyes immediately sought yours, like a compass pointing north, a warmth in them that never failed to make your breath catch. He wasn’t the Grand Duke, but he carried himself with a quiet power- a man who commanded loyalty and admiration with ease, especially yours. And though his duties often kept him busy, he always found time to sit and listen to you play even if only once a day, as though your music was as essential to him as the air he breathed.

Never before had you felt so cherished.

Today was no exception to his focus. He lingered by the doorway for a moment, his gaze enthralled, before moving closer to you.

You smiled, the motion soft and genuine, your fingers never faltering on the harp strings even as you leaned towards him the way a flower leans towards the sun.

When you finished, Rudy (and Alejandro) applauded, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile that felt like the first rays of dawn. “You outdo yourself every time, mi querida,” he murmured, his voice low and rich. You felt like you would melt into his should he choose to cradle you.

Alejandro chuckled from his seat, always ever so entertained by the two of you. “You’re lucky I tolerate your interruptions, Rudy. I’d have her play all day to myself if I could.”

Rudolfo grinned but never looked away from you. “A day very well spent, I’d say."

Your cheeks flushed, but there was no embarrassment in it. Just a gentle warmth, the kind you hadn’t felt in years. Rudolfo’s attention wasn’t like John’s distracted glances, Simon’s intense, disdained looks, the unseen glares of Johnny and Kyle. It wasn’t tainted by resentment or obligation. He saw you- truly saw you- and cherished what he found.

You fell into an easy conversation, one Alejandro occasionally joined, though he often just watched with an amused glint in his eyes. It was clear to anyone who observed you that something unspoken yet profound was growing between you and Rudolfo- if not already at full bloom. Alejandro wasn't going to intervene, he knew his friend had a lovely little proposal awaiting just the right moment.

Though not everyone was quite as content as you.

They hadn’t expected to find you so far from the duchy, let alone flourishing like this. The rumors of your presence in the Grand Duke’s court had been thin whispers, barely heard, yet they had clung to them in their desperation for answers.

Price led ahead, his jaw tight and his expression grim. Duke Riley followed close behind, his unease well-hidden. They entered the estate under the guise of seeking an audience with Alejandro, but their true purpose to themselves.

It was Simon who first spotted you through an open doorway, seated at your harp. For a moment, he froze, his breath hitching as he took in the sight of you.

You were radiant. Your hair, no longer a tangled mess, shone in the sunlight. Your once sickly complexion was now warm and healthy. And the way you played- it was as though the music flowed from your very soul, unburdened and free. The few times he'd heard you play back at the Price duchy were nothing compared to the melodies you now strung.

“Bloody hell.” John muttered, his voice barely audible and just as shocked as Simon.

John stepped forward, his presence imposing, but before he could even make his way towards you, Rudolfo appeared beside you. He leaned down to speak to you, his expression gentle and fond, and you laughed- a soft, delicate sound that made Price’s chest tighten.

They watched as Rudolfo offered you his hand, which you took without hesitation, without any fears. He guided you to your feet, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that spoke volumes, more than any words would or could.

The two of you looked at each other with such affection it'd make the stars sigh in envy.

Simon and Price could only stand there and stare. No words would come to them.

Much latwr, when they returned to the manor, Johnny and Kyle were waiting, their expressions anxious. “Did you find her?” Johnny asked, voice tight.

Price nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “We found her.”

“And?” Kyle pressed.

Simon shook his head, lips pursed. “…she’s not coming back.”

[fligniuz]

sex for homework

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ you ask your cute tutor to help you study for your math final.

word count: 5.5k • part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw • read on ao3

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; dumbification if U squint; praise; oral (m! receiving); pre calc lol

notes : crossposting my shit to tumblr and starting with arguably one of my greatest uses of free will in history. title frommm:

You have a bit of a dilemma.

Well, it would be more accurate to say that you had a dilemma, have had one for quite a while now—your current grievances are merely extensions of a constant, one raging, blood-thirsty, borderline psychopathic problem of a class. MTH121, Concepts & Applications, is the only remaining mathematics credit required for your degree, and, coincidentally, absolutely no one told you that that’s really just a fancy name for pre-calculus. Because the universe hates you.

Your final is tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. If that wasn’t bad enough, your brain has utterly fucked you; months spent poring over formulas and right triangles amounts to nothing in the moment, every relevant fragment of knowledge completely foreign to your burnt out, sleep deprived, caffeine ridden psyche. So here you sit, “studying”, armed with just your textbook and Khan Academy tutorials.

Is it too late to switch majors? Yes, you decide, massaging your temples as you take another glance at your notes. A mass of numbers, variables, and scribbled matrices clogs the pages, complete with your near ineligible annotations, details added in the heat of a lecture. You never knew there could be so many different types of numbers. Solve for x. 5 + 2x to the 2nd power = 8x. Factor x3 - 3x to the 2nd power - 4x + 12. Find the vertex of the function f(x) = x to the 2nd power + 4x + 3. Determine the value of x if the sum of the following sequence converges to 5. How any of this is relevant to your future non-mathematics degree is beyond you.

What the hell is a vertex again? And what does it matter? You’d rather be sleeping, or drunk. Whatever.

You have one saving grace. Since your freshman year you’ve been employing a little cheat-sheet, your one-way ticket to having math explained to you in a language understood by plebeians like yourself: one Luigi Mangione, a friend of a friend of a friend, possibly the smartest guy you know (and you’re far from the only person to voice that opinion). Your self-appointed tutor—and unfortunately for you, probably the most appetizing of any of the frat guys you’ve met in college, to put it chastely. The actual knowledge is just a bonus, really, because unlike other tutors you’ve worked with Luigi seems to actually care; he wants you to walk away from him with a solid understanding of the material, rather than a temporary knowledge that gets your homework done but is absent from your memory by the time of your exams. And it’s hard to write off the fact that he’s easy on the eyes.

…Pretty damn hard, actually. Because—in all honesty—you’re really into Luigi. Another thing that’s hard to do is get your math homework done when you’re busy fucking yourself with your fingers, like you tend to do after your time with him, thinking about his cock, his hands, the way he would fill you, pin you down underneath him, smirk at you and tell you dirty things like that’s my girl, that’s my good fucking girl, that’s it, give it to me, show me how pretty you look when you come all over me like this…

Great. At this pace, you’ll never get anything done.

Your phone buzzes.

About an hour ago, you sent him a photo of your current predicament: your laptop and notebook open, and you sitting criss-crossed in front of it, an exaggerated pout on your lips. A few moments later, you sent another, this time of your middle finger pointed directly at your professor’s official portrait. Now, he responds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Smh

Who studies the night before their final?? Dummy

You smile, replying:

i do :(

help pls :((

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : You poor thing

And then:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : Come over. In like 15

We’ll work it out together

Score. He adds:

Academic Weapon (Luigi) : And I better not hear any complaining when I make you actually do the math

Your crush feels elementary, like you’ve got the hots for the nerdy jock on the playground that’s miles out of your league and that every girl on planet Earth is fighting tooth and nail for. You respond:

no promises :P

You pray to your lucky stars that you can study as nonchalantly as humanly possible.

You told him you wouldn’t complain, and you’ve tried, you really have. But dividing radicals is fucking stupid and useless and the more you look at your paper the more these numbers and symbols really start to look all the same to you, just scribbles, meaningless scribbles of made-up concepts that have nothing to do with your career prospects whatsoever. Who gives a flying fuck about solving equations with these weird ass numbers that normal people don’t even use?

You must be thinking out loud, because Luigi laughs next to you on the couch. He is laughing at your frustration. What an emotionally supportive tutor. You groan and thread your fingers through your hair, massaging your temples.

Still smiling just slightly, he starts to gather up your things. “Alright, look, how about we take a break?” He glances over at you, still holding your head in your hands. “Yeah, let’s take a break for a minute.”

He gets up from the couch, disappears into the kitchen for just a moment. Comes back with a glass of orange juice. For you. You try not to think about how pathetic it is that the most romantic gesture a man has done for you in the past three years is bring you juice. Instead you watch him, sipping slowly—no pulp, he knows you so well—and peeking through your eyelashes as he scuttles around his dorm, just the two of you alone together, while he throws some laundry into a basket and absentmindedly closes doors of unoccupied rooms. You have never noticed how defined his calves are before, nor how his curls bounce just slightly when he walks fast or how his shorts sag on his hips just right, just enough for you to get a peek of his V-line and the waistband of his boxers when he raises his arms to stretch—

Nonchalant. Demure. Mindful. You are failing so hard at the one thing you’ve forbidden yourself from doing: staring at him until your eyes are practically burning holes in his clothes and he’s melting into the floor. Not entirely your fault. He should’ve known to dress modestly around you. Around anybody, for that matter.

Luigi comes to sit by you now. As you tuck your hair behind your ears you can feel his arm move to rest along the back of the couch, almost around you, but not quite.

“Hi,” you say, propping your head up on your arm.

He smiles at you. You can’t even look him in the eye. “Did you think more about your radicals?”

“Don’t remind me,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “No. I didn’t.”

“Well, what were you thinking about?”

You swallow the conspiratorial intuition that he has to be fucking with you. Maybe he sees it on your face. Can smell it on you. Something.

“I was trying to think of some things I’d rather be doing,” you offer. “Instead of math.”

Your heart feels three beats faster all of a sudden, and when did he get so close to you? Your thighs are touching, his knee brushing against yours. “And what did you come up with?” he asks.

Oh, fuck. He’s definitely fucking with you. Right? He has that goddamn smirk on his face, that one that makes your insides twist with a feeling reserved only for boys who look at you just like this, like you’re busted, like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about every second you’ve spent sitting next to him doing algebra. You want to kiss it right off of him.

“Nothing,” you lie, sitting up straight and trying to pretend like you really are interested in your studies. “Here, will you show me how to do it again?”

He calls your name. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to look at him; the tone of his voice and the tilt of his head makes his intentions entirely clear. When your eyes meet his he inches closer, and all you can manage to do is stare at his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, stern and warm enough to boil.

If he truly knew what he was asking for he wouldn’t be asking at all, you think. Not unless he was prepared for whatever your fervent need has in store for him. Embarrassment feels bright red and prickly on your skin. “I shouldn’t say.”

”But I think you should,” he whispers.

Oh. Oh. All bets are off, now. This has officially progressed from studying to “studying”.

Luigi lets you lead, his hand settling on the small of your back as you come a little closer to kiss him, properly. You hear him giggle before your lips meet; the curve of his smile against you is unmistakable, casting sparks through your body and down your thighs. He tastes like spearmint. You learn quickly that he is a fantastic kisser, and his tongue finds yours with curious excitement when your breathing starts to pick up. Without question, he claims the expanse of you, drinking in your essence, licking, biting. Those irresistible curls demand attention, and so you thread your fingers through his hair, your hand sweeping from behind his ear to the nape of his neck. Luigi shivers under your touch, exhaling softly against you.

When the fingers of his left hand raise to grasp your leg, you stop kissing him only to swing your body over his lap so that you’re straddling him. Luigi breathes in deep then, like his nervous system collectively seizes at the feeling of you so close. To give him room to breathe you stop short of settling all your weight onto him. Lips meeting once more, his hands greet your hips; his touch is warm, and timid, like you’re made of sand, like you might collapse and dissolve into immeasurable particles between his fingers.

He groans into your mouth. Murmurs your name. “This isn’t very productive,” he quips.

“Intellectually, no,” you agree, nails brushing the back of his neck. He has goosebumps. A ghost of a smile dancing on your lips, you slowly lower yourself down onto his lap; there are two layers of clothes between your bare skin but he is impossibly warm against you. “But what about physically?”

Luigi smiles, and fuck, he is too fucking beautiful. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

And so you kiss him again and again and again, your heart doing backflips inside your chest when his big hands glide lower, and lower, thumb toying with the waistband of your skirt, and lower still, until he’s gripping your ass. You can’t help but nuzzle against the growing stiffness underneath you, poking between your thighs—and you definitely can’t help but love the way he grinds back, hips meeting yours with just as much enthusiasm. Fuck. About an hour ago you were working through polynomials and linear equations, and now the dreamiest guy you’ve ever met is hard for you, holding you in his lap. You might as well thank your professor.

When Luigi sucks at your bottom lip for a few euphoric moments, you make the most pathetic sound into his mouth, and he growls, his hands suddenly coming up to grasp your hips and hold them steady. “Was this your plan all along?” he rasps, his lips moving swiftly to the side of your face, your jaw, the junction between your neck and shoulder.

Sharp teeth graze skin and you whimper. “What do you mean?”

“What, now you’re playing coy?” Luigi finds the pulse point in your throat and bites, softly at first, then harder when your fingers curl into the hair at the back of his head. “You didn’t want to study. You called me because you wanted to get fucked, because you knew I’d want to touch you just like this, didn’t you?”

This boy is out of his mind. First he practically eye-fucks you while schooling you about imaginary numbers, and then he “scolds” you like he’s disappointed in your lack of interest in algebra, like he’s mad that you can’t resist him for being so damn gorgeous. That half-hearted meanness in his tone leaves butterflies in your stomach, in no way helped by the feeling of his tongue sliding over your collarbone.

“No,” you mutter. It’s not completely a lie. You really did need his help with the math, which he is really good at…but you can’t deny that you were really hoping you two would end up like this, with him kissing your neck all over until you’re speckled with purple and pink. You don’t even care about the obvious evidence of him on your skin—you want his entire dorm hall to know just how well-acquainted the two of you are by the time he’s done with you. The thought of everyone knowing you’re his makes you weak.

Luigi is kissing you again, slowly and deeply, one hand coming up to cup your breast through your shirt. His touch is too much and not enough simultaneously, your need overwhelming, and your hips are searching desperately for friction, rolling against him eagerly. So much for nonchalance.

He grasps your chin, firm but not at all painful, and flashes you that pretty smile, tutting, “I don’t believe you.”

Your mind is far too preoccupied with thoughts of his touch in other places to try to formulate a witty rebut. You opt instead to kiss him harder and sneak a hand between your bodies, tracing over his chest, down his carefully crafted abdomen, and then over the front of his shorts, groping his hard cock through polyester. Luigi groans into your mouth. He is big, almost intimidating, and imagining him inside of you has your body feeling hot all over.

As you palm the outline of his length through his trousers, his hands make their way underneath your sweater, the sudden warmth of him jolting through your torso. You look up at him through your lashes and he smirks.

“Do you want to sit on it?” he asks you, entirely stoic despite the weight of his words.

You kiss him, still squeezing his cock. “Can I put it in my mouth first?”

Fuck. You have him wrapped around your finger. How could he possibly say no when you ask so sweetly? Luigi is instantly pulling down his shorts for you, the rustle of fabric making your head spin. He’s left in just his boxers and a sweater that you quickly help him shrug off, too. Once you have him undressed, he takes a moment to survey you, your cheeks flushed, eyes lidded, hair tousled from his hands. You feel a surge of confidence now that you have his full attention and so you pull your top up and over your head, smiling when he reaches behind you to help you with your bra. He has it and your skirt off in just a few seconds, leaving your combined clothes to pile up next to the couch.

You shift so that you’re kneeling on the floor in front of him, wearing only your panties, watching him watching you. He is grinning, his cock standing proud, and you know you must be blushing by the way his teeth flash from under the curve of his lips. You feel gooey and hot in the pit of your stomach. Swallowing your shyness, you reach forward to take him in your hand. He’s already sticky at the tip, precum glistening on his slit, and so you begin to stroke him, starting at the head of his dick and spreading slick down his shaft. His cock is probably the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen, at the very least a runner-up for his face: tan and thick, his girth evenly distributed, and big enough to have you feeling your heartbeat between your legs. There is a prominent vein along the underside of him, ending at his frenulum. He pulses with each movement of your hand.

Once he’s as wet as you like, you come closer to tease him with your tongue, licking up the base, tracing his vein, passing over his slit. Luigi groans—“fuuuuuck, baby,”—and threads his fingers into your hair, tugging hard.

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” he rasps. “You asked for this. Show me what that mouth can do.”

Your lips are halfway wrapped around the head of him and when you moan at his words it vibrates through him, his abs flexing deliciously. You move further down, then, mouth closed around his length, applying light pressure on your way back up. He’s too big to take all of him at once and so your left hand grasps the length you can’t reach, pumping gently. You start a subtle, easy rhythm, evenly paced and obviously satisfying enough to have Luigi panting and swearing above you: your mouth starts at his tip, sucking gently, then gliding lower, until you can feel him in the back of your throat and you’re nearly gagging on him—and then you move upward again, cheeks hollowing around him, finally reaching the head of him once more. Rinse and repeat. It is organized. Formulaic. Your process leaves you practically drooling on his cock, spit collecting at the base where you are stroking him. Fuck. You haven’t pleased a guy like this in quite a while, and under any other circumstances you’d probably feel a bit insecure about your work; but it’s difficult to justify any doubts you might have, what with the noises coming from above you:

“Oh, fuck, yes, baby, yes, just like that, fuck yes,” Luigi moans, fingers knotted tightly in your hair. “Oh my god, your mouth…”

You slip your free hand into your panties, middle and ring finger rubbing your clit.

As your ministrations intensify, his reactions do, too. You can feel his thighs and hips tensing in an effort not to fuck into your throat. But you made a promise to yourself; you want to take the entirety of his length in your mouth before all of this is over, and so you move your left hand down to his balls, kneading him and carefully lowering your face until your nose is pressed into the curly hairs of his groin, his cock as deep as it can reach. And Luigi keens, head thrown back against the couch, one hand in your hair and the other gripping the armrest tight. You can feel him twitching in your throat.

There are a few blissful moments of you sucking him just like this, sinking him deep into your throat and pinching your lips around his tip, and you almost wish the two of you were recording because the sounds he makes are top tier jerk material for at least the next few months. He’d be a natural on camera. You want to commit every second of this to your memory.

When he goes quiet for a moment you open your eyes to look at him. You find him staring down at you, mouth agape. “Are you touching yourself?” he asks.

It’s difficult to answer with his dick in your mouth, so you settle for moaning around him again, eyes fluttering shut.

“Holy fuck,” he grunts, his voice sweeter than sugar.

You could sit here sucking him off for the rest of your life—you could die with his dick in your mouth—but you regrettably begin to feel your jaw aching, knowing full well that keeping this up will have you hurting. Not that you really mind. When you begin to sputter and tear up around him, he grabs both sides of your face and pulls your mouth off of his cock. You are crying, just a little, crocodile tears streaming down your cheeks, your throat raw.

Luigi looks down at you sweetly. “Oh, baby,” he coos, wiping your wet face dry with his thumbs. “That’s my perfect girl. So good to me. Come here.”

He welcomes you back onto his lap with open arms and a smile. He is warm, so warm and soft against you, you could fall asleep just like this. But he is kissing you now, so slowly that you feel dizzy, and so you ground yourself, fingers embracing his curls. His hands move to your hips, grasping the waistband of your panties, teasing you, rubbing the fabric against your heat. When he finally has them off his fingers are instantly examining you, collecting your slick, slipping through your folds.

“Let’s see about a little reward for you, hm?” he whispers, capturing your lips with his.

You kiss him eagerly and arch your back so that your thighs spread wide enough for his fingers to enter you with ease—not that it would be difficult without, considering that you’re so wet you can hear him touching you, even over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. Two long digits move inside of you, stretching you, massaging that spot that makes your knees buckle and your eyes cross, plus a few more that you never knew existed. His touch feels so good, just how you imagined, and you have to lean forward into the crook of his neck to keep yourself upright, your teeth sinking into a firm shoulder. Luigi makes a gruff sound, almost a chuckle, and his cock jumps at your whiny, choked noises when he adds a third finger into your pussy.

“So needy, aren’t you?” he teases. “Have you been thinking about this, gorgeous? About sucking my cock and taking my fingers like this?”

You nod, because of course you have. In that exact order. Who wouldn’t?

Luigi smiles at you, soft and adoring. You make a curious sound and his fingers depart from you, lingering at your entrance until you grind down into his lap. Your cunt brushes against him, raw, hungry, slathering his cock with your slick.

“I want you,” you whine, grabbing his face and kissing him again. “I want all of you.”

“Yeah, baby?” His hands are guiding your hips, moving you slowly against him. “Tell me about it.”

Well, you would, if your brain weren’t short-circuiting at the moment. His fault. You mumble into his ear, something about infinity, something about the way you hug your pillow at night and all the times you’ve fucked yourself stupid thinking about this very image of you and him together like this. But there are countless words for your endless feelings, words you would preach to him from high places if your body had the agency to; your attraction to him is primal, but neatly arranged, layered, wrapped up with variables galore and multiplying with each moment you spend in his presence. A mess, no doubt about it, but one you can control, a tangle to unravel, an equation to solve. Nothing less. You aren’t sure of how this ends but you know that you need him, bad, more than you knew was possible before.

You crash into him, mouths colliding, everything that you left unsaid spilling into your embrace. Words are hard. Kissing Luigi and grinding your warm, throbbing cunt against him takes much less brainpower.

He is speaking to you when you pull away: “Baby, just a second, wait right here, let me get something.” Gently you are pushed from his lap and he disappears into his room momentarily, leaving you waiting, alone, aching for him, until he rounds the corner again with a familiar foil packet, finding his way back to the couch and sweeping you on top of him once more.

“Hi. Sorry.” And now he is fully yours.

You whine and wiggle against him the second the condom is on.

“Shh,” Luigi whispers, “I got you, ‘s okay, gorgeous. Gonna take good care of you, yeah? Don’t you worry. Gonna give you just what you need, baby.”

The tip of his cock is pressing into you, then, slowly easing himself inside, and fuck, he fits just right, fills you up perfectly, has you seeing stars already. The sound you make when he bottoms out is a hop, skip, and a jump away from pornographic. Luigi purrs underneath you.

“Oh, I know, baby, I know.” His hand slides down to grip your ass, spreading you, and from this angle you can feel just how much he stretches you out. And then, as he begins to roll his hips: “My sweet girl, working so hard, can’t even think for yourself, can you, beautiful? That’s okay, baby. I can do all the thinking for you, you just sit back and let me work it out for you, yeah? Don’t think. Just let me please this pussy.”

It’s like he’s trying to kill you. Every single word he says into your ear shoots straight to your cunt, the mere sound of his voice so near you electrifying. He’s deep, and with your thighs spread wide like this you just have to take advantage of the perfect angle to rub your clit against him. You can’t help but squeal into the crook of his neck each time his hips ram up into you, thighs clapping against your ass; by the way his muscles tense you assume it must take much of his energy, and yet he pounds you like you weigh nothing in his lap, exerting himself like it’s a cakewalk so long as he can watch your face shrivel up with overwhelming delectation. You can tell that he loves it when you tug his hair or bite him, and so you do it every chance you get, just in case your hushed utterances in his ear fail to make your message clear enough:

“Luigi, fuckfuckfuck, oh my god, oh, fuck…”

As he paces himself Luigi wraps his strong arms around you, one caging your waist and the other pulling tight at your hair. Your neck is arched and exposed, leaving him free to smother his love all over you in sharp, uneven hickeys. You needed this, so, so bad, and you tell him exactly that, chanting thank you, thank you, thank you and holding him tight.

“Whatever you want,” he whispers. “You can have whatever you want with me. Anything.” His lips meet yours, fleeting, and then, with the slightest hint of a grin: “You earned this, baby.”

You groan directly into his ear. It’s straight from your dreams, you think, like you’ve been swept from your bed in the midst of the night and dropped right here, in the lap of the sweetest, smartest, most handsome boy you’ve ever so much as looked at, bouncing on his cock while he kisses you like you’ll float away if he lets go. The two of you work together to heighten each other’s inevitable undoing, like a function of sorts; Luigi pushes and you push back, meeting his hips every time, your clit brushing against him just right, and him breaching unknown depths of you, hands roaming, learning you inside and out.

“My sweet girl,” he grabs your face and rests his forehead against yours, driving into you with precision. “This is all yours, baby.”

Sweat starts to gather at his hairline and you can feel him shuddering in your arms. Kissing him, you press down on his toned chest, pinning him against the couch, and Luigi is practically singing for you, little grunts and babys and murmurs of your name traveling through your ears and echoing in your mind. You want this to last forever. His hips slow to a stop when you begin to move on your own; you raise yourself up, resting all your weight on your knees, with him sliding out of your cunt until just the tip is still inside—and then you drop down, letting him sink back into you quickly, slick and smooth, his cock so deep you can nearly feel it in your stomach.

Fuck. You love this. You love the way his hands grip your ass, your thighs, rubbing your back, moaning your name and kissing behind your ear. You love the way he looks at you. The pupils of those dark eyes are blown wide, watching you move, worshipping how your tits bounce, the gyration of your hips, the blush of arousal all over you, your bottom lip wedged between your teeth. The sounds of sex and the shameless way he takes in every feature of your body have you feeling hot and ready to burst. You moan his name, drawn out and raspy.

“Yes,” Luigi groans. “You’re so pretty on top of me.”

Even through the haze of your pleasure you smile at his praise. He is telling you everything, every single thought that passes by in his mind, as if there will be no proof of how good he fucked you once you leave his dorm, as if every word will dissipate into thin air and leave you waiting, unsatisfied, hanging on the edge: “You take it so well, baby, my sweet girl, so perfect, so perfect just for me.”

His big hands are all over you. One cups your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, with the other splayed over your hip. You start to feel dizzy, anxious for his attention, a little bit crazy. Close. Luigi must notice the way your eyes screw shut and your pussy squeezes him tight, because his hand moves down your chest, over your stomach, and then to your clit, circling his fingers with purpose. He wishes—almost—that you were beneath him, so that he could replace his hand with his mouth, trace down your body with his lips and bring you to your very edge with his tongue, over and over again, until you’re begging him to stop.

He settles instead for kissing you, hard, slowly, lingering. “You have no fucking idea how bad I’ve been wanting this, baby.”

You nod, moaning, “yes, yes, me too,” your noises pained and rough in your throat.

The way his cock slams into you with each movement of your hips is ruthless, bruising; he’s kissing you so sweetly and you can feel your climax churning in your abdomen, rippling through you. It knocks the air from your lungs. Sex with him hurts so good. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

“Gonna come,” you huff. There are fingernail-sized dents in his skin. “Gonna come for you.”

Luigi nods, whispers, “good girl, such a good girl,” and circles his fingers over your clit as fast as he can manage.

You tense around him at that. You can’t even count how many times you’ve come imagining those very words whispered in your ear by the very man that you’re riding right now.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Yeah? You like that? You like being a good girl for me?”

You nod wildly, and everything feels so real all of a sudden, like you’ve been floating mindlessly in space and you are crashing down into reality. His teeth dig into the sensitive skin of your neck and his hips start to pump again and by the time he’s meeting your thrusts you’ve had enough, thighs shaking, and he starts moaning into your ear so that you know he’s right there with you, and fuck, he’s really trying to kill you—

Your orgasm hits you like a truck. A 5’11, dark haired and brown eyed muscle truck that looks at you like you are the only good thing left in the world.

For a moment there is only your deep panting and his equally spent breaths as the both of you rest, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your back, yours combing through his sweat-soaked curls. The dorm is quiet, calm, almost with an air of innocence, completely unswayed by the heady aftermath of what the two of you just did right there on the couch. You lean back and look into his eyes, brooding and trained entirely on you. And he has that stupid grin on his face, the one that gives both of you away for good, the one that screams we’re not the only ones who know what we’ve been up to.

You want to kiss it right off of his beautiful, beautiful face. But right now you just sigh, lean into his shoulder, and let him hold you tight. Tonight you will walk back to your dorm, all the way on the other side of campus, where your roommates will be waiting for you, likely getting ready for bed. You will walk inside and they will watch you without a clue as to whose hands have been on you, whose name has been on your lips, whose cock has been buried to the hilt inside of you for the past hour. Your legs will be aching—you are sure of it.

Your roommates will ask you, “how’d it go?”, completely unaware of what your wobbly smile really means, how you really spent your time with your cute tutor.

And you will respond, “oh, great,” with a barely masked giggle. “I’m gonna ace my test tomorrow.”

^ dividers by cafekitsune

[grotesquevi]

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

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

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

vi dreams of going back to winter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"as you wish, my princess."

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

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

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

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

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

hope is a dangerous thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i'm not laughing, my princess."

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

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

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

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

no need for a second thought. 

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

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

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

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

why is she being dragged as a chaperone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

violet vanderson's a curse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"will she speak?"

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

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

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

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

violet vanderson has already proved her loyalty to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"yeah in a minute."

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

"have you seen sevika?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"leave."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you know what-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"vi..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the next few days are a blur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"are you nervous?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

long live to the queen.

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

long live to the queen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

long live to the queen.

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

fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your wife. violet vanderson's your consort queen.

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

[lovverletters]

👉👈 yandere serial killer...??? Maybe?? Like just this big scary dude with a mask and a big fuck all weapon like a butcher's knife or something and hes so big and scary but he sees his darling as he's just head over heels in love and obssessed and stalks them and makes sure they are safe.

Maybe leaves gifts as a way to try and court his darling even (trial and error style)

So like he leaves maybe a dead animal like a fucking cat cause he's this kinda survival guy and he's trying to provide food but darling is freaked out, so he tries again with something else maybe bones. Doesn't work. Tries to figure out what they like and tries again with their favorite flower or something.

Like he's out of touch with society cause again big serial killer who likely lives out in the woods, kills people who get to close to his home etc so he's really trying to win over his darling who lives closer to the town/city or something.

Just.... I just love big scary man who is so scary and mean but is ONLY nice and soft to his darling and tries to be so gentle, especially if his darling is much smaller than him.

No pressure if you dont wanna do this! Just!!! Giving out some ideas!

♡♡♡

♡Bunny

Yandere! Serial Killer

A/N : thank you for requesting! I changed a few things if you don't mind💖 this is like an intro for him? I'll write more if people like this dude

T/W : Obsessive behaviour, murder, mentions of dead animal.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"─yet another body has been discovered near a park at Heartfelt Avenue this morning. The police were alerted to the scene after a man who was walking his dog stumbled upon the deceased body covered with deep cuts that were shaped into a heart. This marks the twelfth victim of the serial killer, 'Lovelorn' that has left communities in fear──"

The news forecaster were cutted off as [Name] switch the television off. Their stomach churned with uneasiness at the reports of the new killing. With the serial killer still on the loose, god knows who'll be next?

It could be them.

It's a terrifying thought but a probable possibility. All of the bodies were found near their place of living, meaning that the killer is not far from their area. Moving away is not a choice for them, they could barely make enough money to stay afloat.

[Name] will have to put up with the murderous maniac's antics until they were caught and placed behind bars.

"Shit── I forgot I have to cover for Stacey today!" They cursed out, hurriedly changing into their horrendous work uniform.

Working a late shift at a cafe wasn't exactly their choice. [Name] usually worked the day shift── stressful but far better than being all alone at night when there's a lunatic who's going around stabbing people. Their coworker Stacey had an emergency today and had practically begged [Name] to cover for her shift as no one would take up on it.

[Name] don't blame them, no one in their right mind would voluntarily throw themselves in a situation where they would ended up in a news headline.

However, adulting is hard and it drains your sanity slowly and [Name] already lost theirs a long time ago. Plus, they really need more money otherwise they'll have to live off cup noodles.

What ever could go wrong? The killer had just slain a person today, they couldn't possibly attempt to do it again could they?

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Everything went wrong.

It had been mind numbingly boring shift, the cafe were deserted at night with only a few people coming in and getting out as soon as they got their drinks.

[Name] were tempted to just sleep through their shift in the break room. Their boss won't care──probably.

"Can't something interesting happens right now? I'm bored out of my mind──" On cue, the lights suddenly begun flickering before shutting off.

Fuck. They're not bored anymore.

[Name] jolted in their place when the main door slammed to a close and their heart stopping momentarily as they saw a figure running towards the backdoor entrance.

They raced towards the exit──there's no way they're going to investigate it! They value their life more than this store they worked at──and try to pry the door open but discovered to their horror that it has been jammed!

Before they could attempt to break the glass door with a steel chair, they heard a noise from their former place behind the counter. [Name] eyes widened in fear at the sight of the figure they'd seen running earlier.

The man was muscular and had a red horned mask on, in his hand was a large butcher knife that serial killers loves wielding. Had their life not being in danger, [Name] would've laughed at how cliché this situation they're in.

"H─hey buddy, that's a nice looking knife you got there" [Name] says as they held onto the steel chair tighter, ready to wield it as a weapon if needed to.

The killer only stalked further in silence, ignoring [Name]'s remarks. He only stopped once they reached a good distance from each other and [Name] were confused, is he fucking with them?

Their confusion only furthers when the killer drops a fucking dead rabbit in front of them. Horrified beyond belief, [Name] looked at the horned masked man who stared at them as if he's waiting for a praise.

"Wh──wha..?" They could only croaked out timidly.

"It's for you" The killer spoke in his deep voice, elaborating no further.

Their eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as he dropped a human heart next to the dead rabbit. [Name] felt their knees weakened as they fell on the ground, disturbed at the sight before them.

Mustering whatever courage they have left within them, they asked the killer that's towering over them.

"Wha──what are these f──for?" Stumbling over their words from how terrified they were.

The killer, holding a flower in his hand──they looked freshly cut from the stem──lowered to their level of ground and spoke in his gravely voice that's strangely laced with a certain gentleness and love.

"M' courting you cause' I love you"

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[ramen8008]

Tony having a list of habits of the avengers that annoy him yet also altering the entirety of the compound to meet those habits.

Tony: You realize how annoying it is to have you in my vents?? Just let me breathe my 5 million dollar air in peace

Also Tony installing a proper scanner which doesn't ring any alarms if Barton is in the vents but instead just makes in a video compilation of each time he falls.

Tony: Thor I swear to the Gods. If you take one more Pop tart from me I wil-

Also Tony bulge buying Pop tarts for every time Thor visits.

Tony: Cap how do you not kn- No being frozen for 80 years is no excuse. This is vital part of history, No I don't care that it's "just a show" this changed lives

Also Tony installing a "Cap is confused again" Protocol on FRIDAY for each time there's anything Steve doesn't understand which might be basic knowledge to everyone else so FRIDAY can give him a summary of it all.

Tony: Nat you need to stop hiding weapons everywhere. I can't be going around finding machetes in the compound!

Also Tony providing her as much space she needs for her weapons in each room if that's what she needs to feel safe.

Tony: No! No magic. Wanda you go through my head again and I swear you'll regret it. My therapist quit, you think you can handle it? Nuh uh this is a magic free household young lady.

Also Tony installing a whole new simulation based training room so she can practice her magic properly.

Tony: Bucky, I know I'm rich but can you please stop crushing my equipment and cups

Also Tony very gently talking to Bucky about everything he is doing step by step as he checks up Bucky's arm. Giving him his own room with open windows so he doesn't feel trapped with every bit of little hobby he might pick up from knitting to painting to playing the piano. A bookshelf with the entire limited edition of The Hobbit and every 40s music he might like. And some more recent songs in case he decides to "stop being old".

Tony: Strange I need you to stop doing that shit. I understand you're a wizard but don't they have rules for that? Like no magic outside of Hogwarts until you're 17? None of that weird stuff in the tower... ever.

Also Tony creating a special meditating room for Stephen with Pink Floyd playing where he can just calm down for a while in the tower and somehow a room in the mirror dimension when he really wants peace and quiet.

Tony: Vision I know you're an AI who is very interested in human nature and I am flattered but I swear if I hear one more explosion because you tried to learn knitting or the piano I will find an off switch whether or not you have one.

Also Tony making every single hobby Vision wants to pick up possible in the best way. Providing him his own kitchen to getting him a piano teacher because he wanted to experience "learning by being taught"

Tony: Banner I get that you have everything under control which is great but my lab is not big enough for The Hulk

Also Tony making his lab big enough. Getting him his own lab. Making sure he had everything he needed to calm down when he couldn't control the Hulk. Labeling him as the "strongest avenger". Getting him a therapist. Making sure he never feels alone yet always has peace

Tony: Rhodey you need to understand that when I say I'm fine I'm fine. You act like such a party pooper you know that?

Also Tony who trusts Rhodey with his life and everything. Making sure Rhodey never feels lesser than. Who couldn't be more grateful that Rhodey stuck by him throughout everything and always stayed. Tony always turning to him for advice and no matter how much he acts like Rhodey is being a bummer always takes his words to heart.

Tony: Peter.... Don't walk on the ceiling! Oh my God don't die! What the hell kid please don't explode your homework again! Your aunt is going to KILL me! You mess with the suit again and I- No , you can't borrow my suit what do you mean? I told you to stay back, tell me what you interpreted that as? No the adults are talking.

Also Tony doing everything that kid wants no matter what. Making sure his suit is so safe that he might as well be immortal. Buying him everything he even remotely suggests to liking. He has his own room in the tower cause of all the time he spends in the labs.

"You want to test out this new thing with your webs but it requires this extremely expensive and toxic chemical? As long as you wear proper protection!"

"you said you had to write about a famous place you went to but since you haven't travelled much you were gonna write about the Stark exhibition or times square.....So I got you these world tour tickets. I think they hit every landmark , just message me the ones they don't and I'll handle it. And don't worry there are two so your aunt can go with you"

[carvinglies]

Soulmate tropes multifandom part one: Hunter x Hunter

part two || part three || part four ||

notes: I wanted to try my hand at writing soulmate au's so hopefully this is decent requests are open.

tw's:Talks of death in chrollos part, immortality in chrollos part, and angst in his part too.

Red string of fate you can tug: Kurapika

Kurapika’s soulmate frustrates him to no end, pulling their string at the worst moments with such force that he wonders how the hell they’re so strong. He could be sleeping and suddenly feel a tug from his pinky moving him to the other side. Kurapika understands he’s not heavy but there’s no way he’s that light! When he finally comes face to face with his soulmate giving them the equivalent of the stink eye.

Kurapika huffs before blurting out, “Why have you been manhandling me for no reason?” They have to stifle a laugh at his bluntness.

Immortal x mortal who keeps getting reincarnated but falls in love with immortal over and over: Chrollo

Chrollo’s soulmate constantly wallows in their own sadness, being immortal has no perks once you begin to live it. They hate having so many chances at life when they have to constantly wait for Chrollo again, watching him die months or days after a confession over and over makes them despise their never ending life Chrollo always dies after falling in mutual love with them making his soulmate swear to never fall in love with him again but always falling to the curse of the never ending cycle of reincarnation and death.

“I’ll always love you no matter how many life’s I live,” was always ringing in their ears in different voices but it was always him.

Really poor description on how you meet your soulmate is written on you: Feitan

Feitan’s face contorted into confusion when he first got the inky writing engraved into his skin, yeah sure he knew what soulmates were but the method whoever chooses soulmates picked out for him was annoying. I mean what kind of description of their meeting is, “bodies will hit it will be hot and sharp.” It threw him for a loop but eventually he decided to just give up on his soulmate. He didn't need romance, he's a thief for god's sake! But he was destined to meet you so when he bumped into someone holding scorching hot coffee that splattered onto him it hurt but it wasn’t bad for a nen user but just for the inconvenience he pulled out a switch knife holding it up to their wrist as a threat.

“Oh so this is what the text meant, how ironic,” the unknown person standing before him chuckled as he withdrew his weapon, coming to the same conclusion.

Someone can not experience true love until they meet their soulmate: Illumi

Illumi used to ask his mother about how he would meet his soulmate; she explained that methods are genetic and he would most likely be feeling no love until they meet the one. But he was quickly told to discard the idea of love and soulmates and encouraged to just marry the strongest person he would meet. Illumi drilled that fact into his head after some push from his parents he began to scout out potential candidates for marriage running into a florist worker their clay pot holding flowers were expected to smash into the floor but Illumi assumed that they were a nen user by the way they gripped their pot. Illumi walked off before hearing the same floral worker calling out to him holding a smaller bouquet, the plastic making a crunching noise as they moved to hold it out to the male's chest.

They grinned at him before hesitating, ultimately deciding to speak, “Here to apologize about running into you sir!” A weird fluttering feeling enveloped Illumi. He glanced at them studying their facial expressions and body language, thinking about them possibly cursing the flowers before giving them the pass, shrugging his shoulders and gingerly grabbing the flowers from them.

Countdown until you meet your soulmate: Uvogin

Never paid attention to the timer until Nobunaga pointed out that it was getting extremely low, in all honesty Uvogin kinda wanted to be in a romantic setting. He had his flings here and there but it wasn’t real love; he never pursued anything more due to his… job. So when he caught their eye during a stroll I mean who wouldn’t notice a 8 foot giant walking around! But then when he bumped into them literally I mean he actually slammed into them kinda, his soulmate was a little intimidated But Uvogin let out a hearty laugh like he always does.

They were the one profusely apologizing before he said, “Nah don’t worry about it I could never be mad at a cutie like you.” Before walking off did they notice the countdown on your wrist was at 00:00.

Speaking to your soulmate during dreams: Shizuku

Shizuku was indifferent towards the whole idea, but she also didn't get the hype people would get with soulmates watching people raving about meeting their soulmate while boasting was confusing. Well that was before she got her soulmate method, falling asleep after shifting in her bed for forever Shizuku dreamt of beautiful scenery with a person whose face was blurred out. Finally the two came to the realization, after a long while, that they can talk to each other and share intriguing conversations but whenever they try to say anything about their personal lives other than nicknames the pair would wake up suddenly like they experienced a nightmare. Shizuku, to her surprise, remembered every little detail about the person who appeared in her dreams, the blurry marks on their body and the way everything but their face looked, finding them interesting but not having enough time to deliberately look for her destined partner she became content with the small moments they shared. While out after a mission she craved a strawberry cake slice she opened the door to her favorite cafe strutting comfortably to the desk worker who greeted her with a smile and voice she was all too familiar with.

“Hello, what can I get you today?” Flashing their signature customer service smile they continued, “Take your time there's a whole lot of options.”

[torglives]

green faction inventory analysis

from the 13/04/2025 event

*not all of green faction. owen, pangi, bad and lukey; with a focus on the three most active members.

something really cool about minecraft storytelling, especially those that are improvisational/livestreamed, is you can get a physical look into the characters' priorities and mindsets. not just what they think is important to have on them, but also what they think is important to keep in their hotbars—and the organization of their hotbars from slots 1-9.

this is a very long post. analysis under cut.

PANGI

inventory

hotbar (1)

we're going to start with pangi, because his inventory provides a really good reference point to start with and his hotbar is also the most unique. a general note: pangi's inventory is always organized, whereas bad and lukey tend to frequently switch items around, from the vods i scanned.* he keeps weaponry on the left side (which is quite literally everything and anything he could possibly use in a fight), potions and rockets in the middle, and additional pvp items on the far right. the crystals and obsidian stay in the upper right unless they're being used. he keeps an empty slot in his hotbar which he replaces with whatever he needs at any given time—rockets, pots, cobwebs or charges. he remains in-control of his inventory in every situation.

he keeps his trident in his off-hand, great-axe in 1st, crossbow in 2nd and pickaxe in 3rd—but he switches the pick for a spear during combat.

hotbar (2)

pangi prioritizes weapons over tools, and keeps a pvp kit on him at all times. exclusively splash pots for efficiency, and they're a variety useful not only for fighting but also for surviving traps (slow-falling), even when fall traps haven't been common in months. some habits are hard to shake.

he has the inventory of a fighter, but one that (semi) knows when to pick his battles or keep fighting, and when it's safer to flee—evidenced by the pearls, rockets and chorus fruit—but he has the resources to put up a fight, and is willing to not only start them but also see them through. he is definitely paranoid but not afraid. he does not play the defensive, keeping his shield in his inventory, but instead the offensive. he has what he needs to get him through a fight. his kills are not strategic, but fuelled by his own emotion and moral compass. he never exactly plans on killing, and is not always looking to kill, but instead is prepared for if he feels he has to, no matter how finicky that "has to" is. he is confident in his ability to survive, his ability to kill, and his ability to hold his own. he knows when he's bitten off more than he can chew, he's always aware of the consequences, and still does the best he can to fight the battles he's started—but never at the expense of his own life.

BAD

inventory

hotbar

bad keeps an entire extra set of armour on him. i literally did not know that until i started this. thats insane

bad's inventory is not un-organized, but he is much more willing to move things around to do what he has to do. the potions he keeps on him are not splash, but drinkable ones, because he doesn't prioritize speed the same way that pangi does, and is less frantic. this is not to say that bad is less paranoid, but they approach pvp with different mindsets bred from different places. bad organizes his inventory horizontally, compared to pangi's vertical organization. in his inventory, also, are the materials to make stasis chambers, not only for himself but also for his teammates—more on that in a moment.

bad keeps his shield in his off-hand, great-axe first like pangi, but pickaxe second. the shulker box in his hotbar has additional resources to keep him alive (gaps, totems, etc.) he has the inventory of an assassin, and focuses more on his own resilience than his honour, opposed to pangi, and is not concerned with dealing with the aftermath. bad is an opportunistic killer to his core, and is confident in his ability to get away from the messes he causes—evidenced by the stasis chambers, the extra set of armour, the pick and shovel in the hotbar to get away. he is one of the few realmers who use drinkable pots instead of splash pots, which is interesting because they can't easily be used to help friends/teammates, BUT he looks out for them using foresight with the stasis chambers, instead of in-conflict aid. he always plans to bite off more than he can chew, and always has twelve ways out when the walls start closing in on him.

LUKEY

inventory

hotbar

lukey, first and foremost, is distinctly un-organized compared to his teammates. and just in general. this not only highlights the difference in their playstyles, but also the difference in how long they've been on the realm. as time has gone on, lukey's inventory has changed, and so have his hot-bar priorities. his inventory has taken more influence from pangi with the splash pots, chorus fruit and windcharges—but some aspects from bad, such as the gapples in the final slot and tools in his hotbar. the splash pots are also indicative of lukey's need to be quick. not because he's a fighter, and certainly not because he's resilient, but because he knows he will be first blood.

lukey has an inventory that indicates pacifism. unlike pangi and bad, his most powerful weapon is not in the first slot, but instead the 3rd, following his pick*—he prioritizes comfortability over his ability to intimidate, as he prefers the sword. the lack of organization also indicates a lack of anticipation, as lukey does not see himself fighting. he keeps a few items he deems useful, and most importantly, a variety of splash potions—turtle master, fire res and three invis. this is probably the most interesting thing about his inventory. lukey is un-confident in his ability to fight and survive, so he prioritizes the potions he knows will work best to his advantage—disappear, get out without raising a weapon.

his hotbar shows a similar pattern, elyta water and trident before the great-axe, and shield in off-hand. unlike pangi, lukey doesn't use his trident for pvp, but as a method of travel. so, his slots 2-4 are all escape routes. he has the inventory of a negotiator, one that can get him away from a fight and not one that can start a fight.

OWEN

inventory

hotbar

if you thought lukey's inventory organization was bad, owen's is the undiscovered layer of hell. where do i even start with this, owen.

to put it very simply, owen has the inventory of a storyteller. he is not very concerned at all with his own survival, or escape, or ability to kill—he knows they can't kill him in any way that really matters, because they've tried, and he just comes back. this is not only evidenced by his inventory but also his obvious playstyle—he runs around without armour on. in his inventory, he keeps more blocks than weapons, and more potions he can use for gags and bits rather than ones he can use to ensure his own survival. owen is an individualist, and is more concerned with his goal and narrative than any of the things his factionmates are concerned with.

[microclown]

I was rewatching s1e3 and something finally clicked for me..

Please forgive me if this seems obvious to you. It helps me to type out my thoughts, but I'm sure I'm just an idiot and no one else needs this explained to them, lol. That said - I was always slightly confused by the emotional weight of the holy water arc during the flashback sequence. Particularly I was confused by how angry Crowley got when Aziraphale referred to their relationship as fraternizing in the 1862 fight. I mean, "to associate or form a friendship with someone, especially when one is not supposed to" is exactly what they are doing, right? So why the 80 year breakup?

Crowley says he wants the holy water for if "it" all goes pear shaped. The phrasing is necessarily vague, and could mean lots of things. Since I know what he eventually uses it for, I was thinking about it in the context of Armageddon, or maybe more generally and vaguely about Crowley not always choosing to go along with Hell, and associating with Aziraphale. But there was not much reason for Crowley to already be thinking about Armageddon back then.

As we know from the full diary entry Neil posted, the timeline of the Edinburgh entry, and the cut bookshop opening scene, it seems like Crowley and Aziraphale were spending A LOT of time together by the 1800's. When Crowley is pulled back down to Hell in 1827, he learns that Hell is paying more attention to him than he'd previously thought. Crowley realizes at this point that spending so much time with Aziraphale is actively putting him in real danger. He recognizes that, and instead of breaking things off, or seeing Aziraphale less, he doubles down. If this relationship is dangerous, then he wants the tools to fight for it.

That's what I think I didn't get about the holy water request. It's not just general insurance, it's specifically insurance for if Hell finds out about him and Aziraphale. It's also a super vulnerable request because in making it, Crowley is openly acknowledging how important their relationship is to him. Aziraphale casually brings up the arrangement at the beginning of the conversation, and that's part of it, right? Because the whole basis of their relationship is the arrangement. It continues to be the pretense under which they meet, despite the relationship clearly having developed beyond that. And the arrangement, as Crowley proposed it in 537, is born out of convenience, and the assumption that Heaven and Hell would never notice anyway.

Crowley's request for insurance breaks that facade. He's acknowledging that it's not convenient, or safe, but he wants to do it anyway, despite the risk.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, is not ready for the screen to be taken away so abruptly. To make it worse, he assumes Crowley wants the holy water as an escape, rather than a weapon. Suddenly he is confronted with both the danger their association poses, and the idea that Crowley might choose to take his own life. He can't imagine the guilt of being directly responsible for the latter.

I also think the strength of his own emotional response to the thought of losing Crowley catches Aziraphale off guard. He hasn't admitted to himself how much he actually cares, and it scares him. Worrying about Heaven is more comfortable and familiar, so he falls back on that and switches to "If they knew I'd been... fraternizing!"

But bringing up the threat of Heaven reads to Crowley as Aziraphale saying "You may be willing to put yourself at risk for the sake of our relationship, but I am not." The word choice of "fraternizing" comes off as a dismissive and demeaning way to describe a relationship that Crowley just admitted he would risk his life for.

It's an unintentionally deep cut when Crowley is already at his most vulnerable, and so he lashes out. As far as we've seen, this is possibly the first time Crowley has truly lashed out at Aziraphale. So yeah, 80 year breakup makes sense!

And what makes this so much worse is what happens next. Crowley reaches out again in 1941 with a dramatic gesture (rescuing Aziraphale from the Nazis, saving his books). It's clear they've missed each other. They don't discuss the fight, but it's there subtextually. Aziraphale, tentatively and thrillingly, refers to them as friends, for the first time ever. He tells Crowley that he trusts him.

And then, that very same night their worst fears are confirmed. Just when they've finally reconciled a fight over the dangers of their relationship, and just when Aziraphale has finally admitted that it is not a relationship of convenience, but genuine friendship, they are exposed. Crowley is going to face punishment from Hell, explicitly for being Aziraphale's "trusted confident", and he doesn't have insurance. If Aziraphale's trick hadn't succeeded, Crowley would have had no way to protect himself.

idk it just makes me feel things ok

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Dan and Ellie or otherwise known as Crack pt 6

Pt1. Pt2. Pt3. Pt4. Pt5.

Kon could immediately tell something was wrong with the kryptonite weapons firing at them. Another green blur shot at himnand he spun in the air over it. A move to evade the blast and check on his family.

The kryptonite guns had just enough kryptonite for it to be dangerous only if the blast hit them. They'd immediately go down. Another blast entered his field of vision, and he swerved to the side. He tried to use his supervision but was only met with lead. They couldn't get closer because of the guns, and he could see Jon get angrier his eyes glowed red in warning of his laser, and Kon flew up to evade him.

"Superboy! Don't use them it could deflect -" his father spoke from his higher position quite a few paces away from them, but Jon ignored him.

The vision hit the gun, and the metal melted into orange, red, and green mess. Like an ugly Christmas tree. Weird. Usually, Luthor would have more security than this. Something is officially wrong.

The batjet he'd been keeping an ear out for since he left finally arrived just as Jon melted another one. The jet swerved the blasts even though he doubted it could even hurt them at this point. The jet shot st a few of the blaster and destroyed them an even more explosive mess. Kon used his own vision, his glasses held in place below the lasers on his face with his hand. Another gun exploded, and his father finally got the hint and exploded several of his own.

The jet careened around them and expertly angled between the already destroyed guns and landed onto the beach. He continued exploding the guns but kept an ear out for the bats on the beach. The ones closest to him were mostly destroyed, so he joined his father in his sector while Jon landed on the beach.

Good luck.

--------------

Jason was not having a good time at all. Not to say he expected to have a great time rescuing his little brother, but he was hoping to try to get some of the bubbling green rage under control by demolishing some robots. He may possibly not have the best guns for demolishing these robots, he was handling it of course, he was a bat after all, he'd be an even worse disappointment if he couldn't handle some glowing green robots that remind him heavily of thing he'd prefer to leave in the past. He risked a glance toward Dick and could see him take down several robots in an expert acrobatic movement that sent him soaring off each of their head and switching between crushing or electrocuting them with his escrima sticks. Show off.

One of the robots he was fighting suddenly crackled and burned a smoking trail into the sky before exploding and sent himself and several other robots crashing into the walls and each other. It must have been faulty wiring. He knew he didn't touch that one, Babs was still mostly blocked out, and none of his siblings were running to patronize him for getting hurt. If he didn't know better, he'd say the robots were cheaply made, but that's never been Lex Luthors style.

"Red Hood. Help Red Robin turn the robots off in the central monitor room. We need to manually plug Oracles systems into the computers here." Right. Thank you, Bruce, for always being there at the worst possible times. He groaned and attempted to shake the tweeting birds away from his head.

"On it, Batman." He couldn't bring himself to use any stupid nicknames right now. He cataloged all the other bats just in case. Goldie was still the same show off. Red Robin had knocked out his robots and joined him for destroying his wave. Spoiler and Signal were in the rafters doing... something with his powers and reflective baterangs. He wasn't touching that with a fifty foot pole no way. They had a tendency to make things explode with those things. Orphan and Batman were still outside the burning hole in the wall they blasted to get through, so he couldn't find them, but they were probably kicking ads anyway. Suddenly, Tim launched himself backward through the air using his staff and landed behind him, hunkering down and messing with his wristcomputer. That assshole definitely planted explosives. He quickly got one last hit on the current robot and used it to launch himself past his head. Just as he landed, several small bombs exploded on the robots and collided with each other, creating more explosions.

"Time to go Hood."

"Lead on, Replacement."

----------

Why does Superman always disrupt my plans? Not just Superman, he reminds himself, he'd brought their son and his brother. As well as Daniel's family or Damian, whatever. The bats were the worst destroying his robots and his walls. Okay, maybe he didn't have the best robots here because they might be missing quite a few parts and kryptonite. But he needed for the portal, and both Vlad Masters and Lex Luthor were anything but resourceful.

The monitor beeped erratically. Gods above if Damian was going to flatline again. He technically wasn't flatlining but pumping ectoplasm through his heart instead of blood at that moment, and that messed with moniters, and when that happens, nurses get all hysterical and almost actually flatline him.

It wouldn't be such a problem if Damian wasn't severely lacking ectoplasm. Typically, his blood was made of both of it. All that rest from the medicine induced coma that he put him in certainly helped him fight the corruption and was now creating his own. See, if only Damian listened to him more often. It'd be better for everyone.

The moniter died down again, and he sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Whatever am I going to with you?" He muttered with his head leaning back.

"Maybe stop beating me up." He shot up toward the voice. He wasn't supposed to be awake yet, but this was better anyway. He had to get him into the portal before the bats destroyed all the robots. Another litte voice in his brain betrayed him and reminded him the portal was still not done, and they were closing in.

"Little Badger, you know I don't start fights. I end them." He reprimanded.

"And you know I hate that nickname, and we both know you start fights all the damn time."

"Language." Damian stared unimpressed at him. How was he meant to explain this? The supers and bats somehow discovered where we are and are fighting their way in and are currently tearing the main control room apart? Actually, that isn't that bad.

He told Damian just that, and somehow, he didn't seem to like his paraphrasing. Can't please anyone anymore.

"What do you mean my family is here? How could they track us? This isle is supposed to be superproof."

"I don't know, but I don't have some ideas. I believe Susan has betrayed our trust and ratted us out. I will unfortunately have to fire her, and I was just beginning to like her." He sighed. All the best employees turn out to be useless and disloyal. That's why he prefers A.I. Until it started to betray him, too. Ugh. Never get good help anywhere nowadays.

"Vlad! Focus! I need to get to the portal right now!" He winced.

"Well, about that -" Damian shot up and stumbled on his legs from not moving for two weeks, probably. He reached to steady him.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone." His godson growled and scampered past him. He left the medical area and quickly started studying his current readings and calculations.

" I've already checked hundreds of times. I can't find out what's wrong with it." He tried to explain but was forced to watch, and Damian grabbed a random red pen and started scribbling all over his things. He sighed again. Teenagers.

"I've got it!" Oh you've got to be kidding me!

"You're trying to create your fancy portal. We don't have the time or materials for that, but we can recreate The Fenton Portal. Most of the ectoplasm is soda anyway. I stashed some in the fridge around here since you banned me from drinking it while we were working." He explained already halfway across the lab and opening a fridge labeled 'chemicals only'. Why does he even try anymore?

More alerts were popping up. Most of his robots were down now and the last remaining ones were the brainless ones not connected to the central computer that luckily he didn't have connected to some of his tech just in case, including this lab. Which now meant he would need to take control of the robots himself. Unless he wanted them to be defeated in less than a minute. Luckily again, most of the kryptonite he had that he hadn't rerouted into the portal was inside those portals.

"I'm going to attack your family now." He announced, cracking his knuckles and hacking into his own robots easily.

"Don't kill them, or I'd have to kill you." He replied, ripping and welding parts together. He's pretty sure he just watched him weld something together with 7up. Nope. Not today.

-----------

Jon was feeling...off. He, for some strange reason, felt an urge to let himself be hit by the kryptonite. Not in a suicidal way, but in a way, he instinctively wanted to be...with the kryptonite. Something that is incredibly dangerous to kryptonians like him even if he's only half.

For a while, he dodged guns, destroyed guns, destroyed robots, and then the Reds destroyed the main computer, and most of the robots deactivated until... the robots suddenly started to get stronger and smarter.

TV moniters suddenly flickered on and Lex Luthor was displayed.

"Luthor! Return Damian Wayne now to uss and we will consider lessening your sentence." His father spoke loudly, assuming mics were around somewhere.

"Oh really? You've never been able to get those charges to stick before. What make you think they'll suddenly stick now?" He mocked cruelly.

"You won't get away with this, this time, Luthor." Batman threatened.

"Coming from the man who can even get a failed circus clown to stay in prison? I think I'll be fine."

"Luthor, I know that something is going on. If you tell us we can help you." Nightwing spoke masterfully, emphasizing the man who stole his little brother. He didn't trust he wouldn't stare screaming and yelling at the crazy fruitloop if he tried to say anything. Wait-fruitloop? Where did that come from? He shook his head to clear the thought, but he somehow made eye contact with the shadow he suspected to be Orphan. Who is somehow emitting a very concerned aura. He ignored that and focused on the conversation just in time to hear large explosions from the TV.

"Damian!" Nightwing yelled out. Superman glanced around wildly as if trying ti will himself into seeing or hearing through lead.

He was concerned... but he didn't feel as worried as he should be for his best friend. Like he was definitely worried but he had a gut feeling he would be fine. And a little exasperated for some reason.

"What the hell are you doing? Get back to work! If we don't get that portal open before they find us, I'm going to rearrange your organs upside down!" Luthor yelled behind him. He could feel his face heat up, and he covered his eyes just in case.

"Don't you dare threaten him!" Nightwing yelled at the screen. Batman was starting at his wrist screen as if it would disappear if he looked away. The shadow had slunked away sometime. Spoiler and Signal nowhere to be seen.

"What are you gong to do? Reach through the screen and throttle me?" He taunted.

The screen suddenly started to glitch out in green bursts. It reminded him of kryptonite but...

"I've found them. Follow these directions. I'm almost there myself." He overheard Signal from Batmans comms. He repeated them twice, but he had already grabbed Nightwing and saw his dad grab his own bat. They couldn't go as fast as he wanted to because of the tight spaces, making superspeed dangerous to the supports. If they went too fast, the building could go down on them. They went faster than they should have anyway.

They reached the door where Signal, Spoiler, and Orphan were trying to wrench the doors off the hinges using several blowtorches and a misshapen crowbar.

"I've got it." He set Nightwing on the ground and cleared the door off the hinges just to see a large explosion of green. And Lex Luthor shooting powered up kryptonite(?) from his hands.

He dodged the blasts but his father wasn't able to and was sent flying to the wall smoking.

"Dad!" He screamed his anger at him forgotten. He flew over him and he vaguely remembers a yellow blur following him.

There was a smoking crater on his chest. Burns of all degrees decorating his suit.

"Dad?" He collapsed to the floor infront of him.

"It's okay, Jon. It's not that... bad... it looks worse than is. I promise. Go...bakc to the...fight." his dad spoke, his voice cracking, and he knew his dad was completely powered down. He had to get him to the sun.

"I'm getting you out of here." He promised and gathered him into his arms carefully. He was about to laser several random walls down when Signal handed him the closest trajectory to the outside.

"Hurry. We can handle this." He lied. They couldn't handle a powered Luthor, and he's couldn't let his dad die. He nodded and turned his head away, and his eyes lit up in burning pools of red.

----------

The green was mesmerizing. The only word Cass could describe it. Like it was the only thing that could understand her. It reminded her of the Lazarus Pits.

She ran inside with Spoiler, Nightwing, and Batman close behind. Luthor tried to shoot at them, but they dodged skillfully. She looked past him and could see Damian typing madly on a computer. His movements were deliberate, and he knew what he was doing, but his body betrayed hum to her. His fingers were still, but his wrist twisted slightly too much. His ankles shifted weight between one another. His head tilted backward like he was physically stopping himself from looking at them.

"Damian!" Nightwing vaulted over a blast.

Damian froze for a second but willed himself to continue with new determination, painting his body. Something wasn't right. He should be running to them. Telling them he had a plan they ruined but would pause for enough time they knew he was struggling if they asked for it.

"Damian? We're here to save you!" Nightwing dodged another blast. She could see his plan. Distract both Damian and luthor. It was working, too. Luthor was occssionly shooting her, but he'd all but forgotten about Batman and Spoiler in the rafters.

Damian wasn't at all easily distracted she could tell from his headtilt he was watching them. He sped up the computer. The large portal machine expanded, and greens swirled around.

"Shut it down, Damian!" Nightwing shouted, attempting to rush luthor but failing. She launched herself using the distraction to take luthor out. He is somehow stronger than she can remember flung her off rough enough she hit the wall. She saw stars and failed to rise. Her vision was blurring, but she could see Batman's blurry figure attempting to subdue luthor and succeeding. Where's spoiler?

There she is! Spoiler kumped down on top of Luthor and put meta cuffs on him using the elemnt of suprise. Nightwing reached Damian just as the portal exploded, adding unfamiliar purples mixed in. Nightwing was thrown back, but he recovered and ran back. Batman and Luthor struggled in vain for control. She blinked, and Spoiler was a purple blur at her side.

Her body riddled with worry. She reached out and gently prodded her for injuries.

"Fine. Help little... brother." she tried to say, but it was mostly slurred from the blood loss. Spoiler glanced at her nervously and took out her field aid.

"No. Fine." She attempted to convey, but she just shushed her quietly. She turned back to the fight just in time to catch Damian slip through the portal. Nightwing didn't hesitate to run after him.

"No!" Her father's voice and anguished growled after watching two sons slip through. He tried to follow them, but Luthor got free and broke the computer powering. Just as Batman reached the edge, he hesitated, and the portal fizzled out.

She tried to stay awake but the gentle shushing from Spoiler lulled her into the embrace of darkness.

---------

Dick Grayson hit the strange glowing bluish snow and rolled to a soft stop. He looked around frantically and spotted Damian kneeling on the ground. He had his arms wrapped around himself, and his face was screwed up in pain.

"Damian!" He ran to him and kneeled by his side, hesitating to grab his son if he was injured but wanting to scoop him up after being missing for two months now.

"You shouldn't be here." He murmured but he leaned against him heavily.

"I've been looking for you everywhere. We almost thought you were dead." He gave up looking for physical injuries apart from the maybe a mix between 1st and 2nd degree burns and clutched his son to his chest.

"It's not...safe for you...here."

"And it is for you?" He gathered him in his arms best he could, minding the burns on him. Neither of them were wearing clothes meant for the storm.

The strange snow was colder than any snow he's ever seen before, and it had an otherworldly component to it. Another point for the interdimensinal portal. Behind then sharp hissing screeched behind them and the greens snd purples disappeared. Shit. That was their way out.

"Who goes there?" A large voice echoed from the trees and he cursed himself for not studying his surrounding more. A large...yeti? Emerged from the pine trees he wore armor and had a ice prosthetic hand. He looked mean and rugged.

"Frostbite!" Damian yelled from his arms and started struggling. He gripped him tighter. Like hell, he was letting him loose after everything. Even if he somehow knew this kinda of cool looking yeti. The yetis eyes lit up in what he thinks his recognition.

"Great one? Have you returned to us? Who is this?" The yetis voice was softer but still dangerous he kept his mouth shut and hoped Damian knew what to say.

"My-baba? We need to get your village. I need some help." Wow. Damian had never acknowledged he was anything other than his older brother before. If he wasn't a bat and damn good at compartmentalizeing, he'd probably start crying. Or pass out. Probably both.

"All right then, Great One. Any family or friends of his is friends of ours. Follow me."

Which is how he came to be standing in the middle of an entire town of yetis getting scrutinized by Frostbite(?).

"So how did you meet our King? I've never seen you before." He questioned curiously. What the actual fuck did he get into now.

[lordprettyflackotara]

decode || ticci toby || part two

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: overstimulation, brief descriptions of blood? moral delima , choking, toby’s a lil rough but it’s okay

Toby did not come back to see you.

It wasn’t anything personal. If anything it was for your own good.

Toby thought he did a good job at attempting to forget you. It had been a few months, the sound of your voice beginning to disappear in his memories. He had protected you by not mentioning you to anyone around him. His continuous obedience made The Operator completely forget about you. This didn’t stop Toby from wondering though. How you were, what did your dreams actually mean, what kind of attachment did the two of you have? He steered clear of the missions revolving around the forest. He opted to take on more complex tasks in the city. These tasks were much more hard for him considering his gruff appearance was far from traditional. He couldn’t explain why he wanted to switch either, Masky and Hoodie figuring he must be sick and unable to feel it.

Toby never really had an opinion on anything, nevertheless a preference when it came to missions. He did what he did when instructed and went on about his day. The Operator didn’t think much about it at all, while Masky and Hoodie came up with their own conspiracy theories. The longer Toby stayed away from the woods, away from you, the better things would be. That was of course, until he was forced to run into the forest for cover.

He zipped through the trees, grunting as he held onto his leg. The bastard that was supposed to be his target had more backup than he had anticipated. Physically Toby couldn’t feel the pain, but the blood gushing out of his leg indicated he wouldn’t be able to escape much more if he kept applying pressure to his right leg by walking. Toby scanned the area, his vision beginning to see multi colored specs from the blood loss. The mansion was no where near here. He dug in his pocket, scrambling to grab the cell phone Ben had custom made for him. The glass was shattered from irresponsible care, his thumb shaking as he tried to power it on. The screen failed to flash to life, causing Toby to panic. He was careless as always, not charging the stupid magical block.

He gripped it in his hand, continuing to limp deeper into the woods. In the distance he could hear yelling, the men seemingly too scared to chase after him in the eerie forest. Toby was becoming light headed, his tattered jeans soaked with crimson as he struggled to carry himself. Without any other option, Toby had one simple thought: he was fucked. He had lost one of his axes in battle, having thrown it at an opponents skull. He was down a weapon and possibly bleeding out. If he was smart he would’ve stopped running, allowing his leg to stay still. At least then he could’ve tied something around it to try to prevent the blood loss. But his well being never came first. As a proxy, your responsibility was to never be found. Dead or not.

Toby had no doubt he had out ran his pursuers, but the risk of being found in the forest by an explorer was too risky. He leaned against a tree, his vision becoming more dazed by the moment. He was tragically dizzy, his hand scraping against the bark of the oak tree before hitting the ground as he sank into unconsciousness.

\/

Slowly blinking his eyes the sun was bright and merciless, causing him to screw his eyes shut before blinking rapidly. He forced himself to sit up, surprised to see himself in a living room. He pushed himself up all of the way, his jeans discarded and leg bandaged. "You look like shit,” You commented. His gaze landed on you, your legs crossed and a cup of tea in your hand. “Cup of tea on the table for you. Chamomile,” You offered. Toby couldn’t believe his eyes, seeing you right in front of him. He felt rather stiff, awkwardly popping his shoulders as he rolled them down his back. He reached over, grabbing the cup of tea with a shaky hand. “How’d you find m-me?” Toby asked. You shrugged, sipping your tea. “You ended up in my neck of the woods,” You replied. If it weren’t for Toby’s shock he would’ve chuckled, all of the forest belonged to The Operator.

“My turn, how’d you get shot in the leg?” You asked, looking at Toby over the rim of your teacup. Toby blinked, realizing his goggles were no longer over his eyes. “Assignment g-g-gone wrong. How do y-you know medical s-shit?” Toby questioned. You tilted your head to the side, setting your cup of tea aside. “What are you? An assassin?” You countered. Toby rolled his eyes, frowning. “W-what are you? A d-doctor?” He quipped. You leaned back in your chair, smoothing down your pajama pants decorated with little dogs. “Well played. How about I ask you something much more important?” You suggested. Toby set down his teacup on your coffee table, noting it was made of glass.

“What happened to your face?”

Your question made Toby’s blood run cold, his eyes widening. He brought his fingertips to his gashed cheek, feeling the breeze of the AC. While knocked out you had taken off his mask. Toby went to spring at you, unable to feel his wounded leg and falling over. He fell onto the floor, grunting in frustration as he glanced down at his leg. You quickly crouched down next to him, cupping his wounded face with your small hand. “Hey, calm down, I just want to help you,” You say softly. Toby pushed himself up, shoving away your helping hand as he forced himself to stand. “Y-you can’t help me. I’m a m-motherfucking p-proxy,” He spat. You stood up as well, your eyebrows furrowed as Toby struggled to stay standing upright. “Is that what this means?” You asked. You grabbed his hand, flipping it over so that his palm was exposed. You had taken off his soiled bandages, revealing the chewed away flesh from him gnawing at his hands. However it also revealed something you found much more concerning, the proxy symbol carved into the palm of his hand. “Y-Yes. It’s also w-why I must leave,” Toby said, pulling his hand away from yours. He tried to reason with himself. Your intentions seemed pure, you saved him when you didn’t have to.

You didn’t understand and truthfully you couldn’t, Toby could never tell you about his life. You could never be apart of anything that involved him. If you did it promised you death, something Toby didn’t want for you. You grabbed his arm as he hobbled over to the dining room, noticing his clothes were cleaned and folded, sitting on the table. Your grasp made him willingly stop, his chocolate eyes meeting yours. “How do you not feel that? Your leg? The bullet broke into eight pieces. I had to extract it myself,” You asked. Toby stopped in his place. He sighed, realizing he might as well answer truthfully since you’d seen all of his secrets. “I-I don’t feel p-pain. Some sort of n-neurological disorder,” He answered honestly. You released his arm, watching him unfold his clothes. Toby felt bad for a brief moment, having you go through all of this effort for nothing in return. “There’s something that keeps drawing us to one another. I know you feel it,” You said. Toby paused for a moment, knowing the tug at his heart strings made your statement true. But he couldn’t risk it. Not only was everyone in his life dangerous, but he himself was a hazard.

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” Toby argued. You grabbed his shoulder, turning him around to face you. “Yes you do! You’re telling me you get shot and somehow conveniently i’m there? I haven’t seen you in months and you don’t even thank me-” You began rambling, your rant being cut off by Toby’s lips pressing against yours. Teeth clashed with teeth, the kiss hot and heavy as he brought you closer to him. Toby couldn’t think, he refused to think. If he allowed himself to have anymore thoughts revolving you, it would become an infatuation. He’d become obsessed with the fantasies, obsessed with making them a reality. But there was no reality where the two of you could be together. The closest that he could get, was allowing himself to have you just this once. He guided you towards the dining room table, watching you jump up as his lips trailed down your neck. He began sucking harshly at the skin, nipping at it with his teeth. He liked the way you shuddered under the sensation. “I’m g-gonna thank you. T-then we’re d-done,” Toby huffed, feeling his cock growing hard in his boxers.

He grabbed the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. He quickly unclipped your bra, knowing time was running short. The proxies and/or The Operator were definitely looking for him by now. He leaned down, peppering your chest with kisses before tossing the bra aside. He brought himself to your left nipple, taking it in his mouth eagerly. You groaned, his spare hand slithering down to your clothed cunt. “F-fuck-” You whimpered, bucking your hips against his hand. Toby could feel his cock aching, dying to allow himself to fully have you. But he couldn’t and he wouldn’t. “I c-can’t fuck you. B-but you’re gonna cum on my face,” He panted, releasing your nipple with a pop. He pushed you to lay back on the table, his hands fiddling with undressing you. Toby lowered himself onto his knees, ignoring the pressure he may have been applying to his wound.

He could feel the bandage soaking with fresh blood, something Toby willingly ignored. It would give him an excuse to stay longer and it wasn’t like he could feel it anyways. Toby grabbed your legs, throwing them over his shoulders. The brunette was nothing if not a determined, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. “S-such a pretty p-p-pussy,” He purred. You could feel your face flush pink, your hand finding his shaggy hair. Toby buried himself into your folds, mimicking what he had seen during porn. He listened to your body cues intently, noting which licks and sucks made you squirm the most. Toby couldn’t imagine anything hotter than making you cum in his face. It was not only a thank you, but also a memory he could look back on for the rest of his existence. His large hands kept your thighs pried open, his slender fingers digging into your plush skin. Toby didn’t really have any grasp of what being too rough was like, considering bruises were beginning to form from his harsh grip.

He lapped and sucked at your clit, making mental notes of what made you moan louder for him. His name sounded like heaven falling off of your tongue. Your unholy noises were shameless, echoing off of the walls. “T-Toby, please use your fingers, or something, please,” You whined, your soft eyes fluttered shut. Toby unsurely brought two of his fingers to your sopping wet entrance, briefly pulling away from your slick. He tried to listen to your body’s cues, your walls immediately clinging to his fingers and pulling them in further. You groaned at the stretch, your body trembling. Toby noted how tight your cunt was, compared to anything he had encountered in previous experiences. He spread his fingers out with a scissoring motion, before experimenting with how to make you feel the best way possible. To Toby it felt awkward, him trying to navigate the best way to ruin you. But you thought he was teasing, purposefully drawing out the experience. It was when he curled his fingers your back arched off of the table.

Bingo.

Toby curled his fingers again, grinning as your body reacted just the way he wanted it to. “You like that huh?” Toby asked mockingly, before reattaching his lips to your clit. He sucked harshly at the bud, finger fucking you as fast as he could. Your moans were incoherent babbles, your heart racing as the knot in your stomach tightened. “Oh my f- shit,” You moaned, your thighs tightening around Toby’s head. You bit your bottom lip, attempting to maintain some kind of composure as Toby devoured your cunt. Your attempt was cut short, your orgasm suddenly crashing over you as you came on Toby’s face. This didn’t stop the brunette, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm. It was only when he was running out of breath he pulled away from your clit. “Cmere,” He grumbled lowly, rising to his feet. His fingers continued to abuse your g spot, your sights dazed as you sat up. With his spare hand he grabbed your throat, squeezing the sides of it tenderly. You whined, the restriction of your airway only making you feel more euphoric. “Y-you like that? You l-like when I treat you like my p-p-personal whore?” Toby asked. He liked seeing how blown your pupils were with lust, your thighs trembling as he overstimulated you.

“It’s too much,” You whimpered, gasping as his grip on your throat tightened. He could feel your walls flutter around his fingers, Toby grinning sadistically as he shoved in a third digit. “T-too much? Cmon w-whore. Give me one m-more,” Toby commanded. You tilted your head back as brought you closer and closer to the edge. You tried to squeeze your thighs shut, Toby’s hand temporarily abandoning your cunt and slapping your thigh. “O-open em bitch,” He growled. You did as instructed with trembling legs, Tory abruptly shoving three fingers back inside of you. You finally met his dark gaze, his eyes filled with something far more sinister than you could understand as he glared down at you. You grabbed onto his wrist as you came again, your body shaking as you released again. Toby was going to continue, his own desires overriding your own, until a ringing from your doorbell made him stop dead in his tracks. He tried to not look as horrified as he felt, the brunette immediately pulling away. You swallowed, trying to get yourself pulled together as Toby scrambled to grab his clothes.

The doorbell rang again, this time causing him to hobble around hopelessly. You grabbed the remainder of his clothes, handing it to him. “Shh, go in the bathroom. It’s probably just a salesman or something,” You whispered. You guided him to your bathroom, shoving him inside. Toby grumbled to himself unhappily as he shoved on his clothes, realizing he left his axe on your dining room table. In the faint distance Toby could hear static, his heart dropping as he realized the fun was over. Without another thought he slipped on his boots and goggles, climbing out of the bathroom window and darting towards the woods.