#jericho part one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vibelladonna · 5 months ago

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✑ 𝒷𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒, 𝓈𝑜𝓁, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝑜

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Who doesn’t love a good bunny-suit fanfic? This little piece was inspired by the incredible artwork of @alienfreak124. I’m always in awe of her creations—her OC is so cool!

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

This also reminds me the legally blonde movie when Elle wore her bunny, sitting at a Halloween party.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

You’re in your room, standing in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of a plain black dress.

It’s simple, safe, and exactly the kind of outfit you’d usually wear to a small party. You tilt your head, trying to decide if “simple” is too boring. The party isn’t exactly a big deal—just a casual gathering—but there’s a nagging thought in the back of your mind:

Crowe’s going to be there.

Before you can overthink it, there’s a sudden knock at your door. “Hey! Open up!” Brittney’s voice is unmistakable—high-energy and impossible to ignore. You sigh, already knowing she’s about to upend whatever plans you’ve made for the evening.

When you open the door, Brittney bursts in like a hurricane, her arms overflowing with what looks like… fur? No, it’s worse. It’s a bunny costume—a black bodysuit with matching ears, thigh high socks, and heels so high they look like a twisted form of punishment.

“Oh no,” you say immediately, holding up your hands in protest. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on!” Brittney waves the outfit in front of you like it’s the Holy Grail. “It’s perfect! It’s fun, it’s flirty, and you’ll steal the spotlight! Imagine the look on everyone’s faces when you walk in wearing this. Especially Jericho.”

Your stomach flips at the mention of his name, but you shake your head. “There’s no way I’m wearing that. I’ll look ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” Brittney scoffs, planting her hands on her hips. “Please. You’ll look hot. Besides, when was the last time you did something bold? Live a little!” She leans in, grinning mischievously. “And, you know, like I said he might notice.”

You roll your eyes, before releasing a sigh, “Britt, I’m not trying to ‘steal the spotlight.’ I just want to blend in.”

“Blend in?” She gasps like you’ve just insulted her personally. “Blending in is for cowards. And you’re not a coward, are you?”

“...You’re guilt-tripping me.”

“Is it working?”

Unfortunately, yes. You stare at the bunny suit like it’s a wild animal that might bite you, but part of you can’t help wondering: What if Brittney’s right? What if Crowe actually notices?

“Fine,” you say, at last, snatching the costume from her hands. “But different heels and if I look stupid, I’m blaming you.”

Brittney claps her hands in triumph. “You’ll look amazing, trust me! Now, hurry up and get dressed—I need to see the final look.”

You sigh and shut the door, holding up the bunny suit with a mix of dread and curiosity.

This is either the best idea or the worst mistake.

The moment you step into the party, a hush falls over the room—or at least it feels like it. The warm glow of string lights strung across the ceiling doesn’t do much to soothe the nerves twisting in your stomach.

You keep your head down, gripping a drink you barely remember picking up, and try to focus on anything other than the fact that you’re dressed like a bunny in a room full of people dressed... normally.

Brittney, of course, is loving every second of it. She’s practically glowing as she flits around the room, dropping comments like, “Isn’t she adorable?” and “Doesn’t she look amazing?” to anyone within earshot. You glare at her from across the room, but she just winks and mouths, “You’re welcome.”

You hover near the edge of the crowd, trying to blend into the background. It’s ironic, considering the ridiculous outfit, but you figure if you keep still enough, maybe no one will notice.

That plan works for about five minutes—until you catch a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye.

Crowe.

He’s leaning against the wall near the bookshelf, casually sipping from a glass, his posture as effortlessly relaxed as ever. Even in the soft glow of the party lights, he’s sharp, dressed in his usual clean, put-together style that somehow manages to look both formal and casual at the same time.

He always looks like he belongs on a magazine cover—button-up sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he listens to someone talk.

You freeze, torn between retreating to the nearest shadowy corner and pretending you haven’t seen him, or... well, doing something else. But then, as if sensing your eyes on him, Crowe looks up—and the moment his gaze lands on you, it’s like the rest of the party fades into the background.

You brace yourself, half-expecting him to laugh or make some snide remark. Instead, his eyebrows lift slightly, and the corner of his mouth quirks up into what might just be the faintest hint of a smirk. He takes another sip of his drink, sets the glass down, and begins making his way toward you.

Oh no.

Before you can figure out an escape route, he’s standing in front of you, tall and composed, with that cool, unreadable expression that makes your heart do ridiculous things.

His expression is calm and unreadable, but there’s a sharp glint in his eyes that immediately sets you on edge. The drink in your hand suddenly feels useless as you clutch it tightly, wishing you had anything to focus on besides the way Crowe’s gaze is very obviously trailing over your bunny suit. Slowly.

“Nice to see you decided to... dress up,” he says, his tone dripping with amusement as he comes to a stop in front of you. His eyes flicker from your bunny ears to the tights and back to your face, where your mortified expression only seems to fuel his teasing.

“This wasn’t my idea,” you say quickly, feeling the need to defend yourself. “Britt made me wear it. She said it’ll steal the spotlight or whatever…”

Crowe raises a brow, “Britney suggested this..?” then soft smile appears once again as he leans just slightly closer. “Oh, I believe you. But she didn’t make you come to me wearing it, did she?”

You sputter, your face heating up. “I didn’t come to you! You walked over here!”

“Did I?” he asks innocently, his smirk widening into something outright devilish. “Must’ve been the bunny ears. Hard to miss.”

You glare at him, your mind racing for some kind of witty comeback, but it’s hard to think when his gaze keeps darting to your legs, the curve of your waist, and then back to your face, like he’s deliberately making a show of it.

“Well,” he says after a beat, his tone maddeningly casual. “She wasn’t wrong.”

Your brain short-circuits. He did not just say that.

“Excuse me?”

“About the spotlight,” he clarifies, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. “You’ve certainly got everyone’s attention.”

You rolled your eyes, “I look ridiculous,” crossing your arms over your chest, turning your head away from his gaze.

It wasn’t long before you felt his finger under your chin to look at him once more, his deep blue eyes filled with warmth, “I wouldn’t say that now,” he counters smoothly. His voice drops a little lower, just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Not that I’m complaining, of course. But I’m curious—how many people have tried their luck with you tonight?”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

You can’t decide whether to tell the truth to him or strangle him.

“Come on,” he says, his smirk turning positively wicked. “In that outfit? Like you said, half the room is staring. Though...” He leans in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I doubt anyone else is appreciating it quite as much as I am.”

Your breath hitches, and you’re sure your face is about to burst into flames. “Crowe, you can’t just—”

“Say the truth?” he interrupts smoothly, stepping just close enough that you can catch the faint scent of his blueberry cologne. “Oh, I can. And I will.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Crowe’s gaze shifts, scanning the room. The teasing glint in his deep blue eyes is replaced with something sharper, almost protective, as he takes in the prying eyes of the other partygoers.

“It’s way too many people here,” Crowe mutters, his voice low enough that it feels like the words are meant only for him. Then he glances back at you, his eyes softening in a way that makes your breath hitch.

“Let’s leave.” He mumbled.

“What?”

“I said, let’s leave.” His hand brushes lightly against your elbow, the fleeting touch sending a spark up your arm. His gaze lingers on you, unreadable but heavy with something unspoken. “Unless you’d prefer to stay here and let everyone keep gawking at you like you’re... on display.”

Your eyes dart around the room, catching a few glimpses of the subtle but unmistakable stares in your direction. The air feels suffocating now, and the idea of staying in this crowded space seems unbearable. Still, you hesitate, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his presence.

“Fine,” you say at last, forcing an air of nonchalance even as your pulse quickens. “But if you’re planning to tease me, I’m leaving the second you start.”

Crowe laughs—a deep, smooth sound that does nothing to steady your nerves. “Don’t worry,” he says, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk as he places a hand lightly on the small of your back to guide you toward the door.

“I’ll behave.” Yeah… You’re not entirely convinced.

Before you can second-guess your decision, the two of you are stepping into the cool night air. The sharp contrast to the party’s stuffy warmth sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not just the chill that has you trembling.

Crowe’s steps are deliberate, his presence magnetic as he walks you to his car. He unlocks the passenger door with a smooth motion, holding it open for you before rounding the car to slide into the driver’s seat.

The quiet thud of the door closing feels heavier in the silence, the hum of the engine breaking the tension only slightly.

“Brittney’s going to wonder where I went,” you say softly, partly to yourself, as Crowe pulls out of the driveway.

“I’ll text her later,” he replies, his tone calm but firm. “She’ll survive.”

The car is hardly lit, the glow of passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his very much prince features. You can feel his gaze toward you every so often, lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle.

He doesn’t speak for a while, but the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged—like the air before a storm. You’re hyper-aware of every detail: the way his hands grip the steering wheel, the faint scent of his blueberry cologne filling the small space, the way his jaw tightens whenever you catch him sneaking glances.

“You shouldn’t let her talk you into things like that,” he says suddenly, his voice lower now, almost rough.

“Like what?” you ask, even though you know exactly what he means.

He glances at you briefly, his lips pressing into a thin line before his expression softens. “Like wearing something that makes every guy in the room look at you like they’ve forgotten how to think.”

The words are sharper than you expect, tinged with an edge of possessiveness that makes your breath catch.

“I thought you didn’t mind people staring,” you counter, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I don’t,” he says, his fingers tightening on the wheel.

“Unless it’s you wearing such a bunny suit.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and electrifying. You look over at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no teasing smirk now, no easy charm—just raw, unguarded honesty in his gaze as he pulls the car to a stop at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

He turns to face you fully, his expression unreadable but his eyes dark with something unmistakable.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, the words rough with restraint.

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. The heat in his gaze is overwhelming, and you feel pinned in place by the sheer intensity of it.

“I’ve been trying to keep my distance,” he continues, his tone rough and uneven now, “but seeing you tonight, dressed like that, letting everyone else see you like that…” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It drove me crazy.”

The air in the car feels thick, charged with an unspoken tension that’s almost suffocating. Your pulse pounds in your ears, your breaths shallow as you sit still, unsure of what to say—or if there’s even anything you should say.

The silence stretches out, heavy and electric, until Crowe shifts closer to you, his movements deliberate yet almost hesitant.

His hand rises, and for a moment, you think he might stop midway. But then his fingers gently brush against your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is light, almost feather-soft, yet it lingers—his fingertips trailing against your skin just long enough to leave a burning imprint.

“Please tell me to stop…” he murmurs, his voice deep and velvety, the faintest edge of uncertainty in his tone. “…before I do something I’ll regret.”

A shiver races up your spine at the feel of his touch, and the heat of his proximity makes it impossible to think straight. Your breath hitches, and you swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. You manage to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and searching, as though he’s looking for any sign of hesitation.

“And if I don’t want you to stop?” you whisper, your voice trembling but carrying a weight of undeniable desire.

His breath catches, his chest rising sharply as though you’ve just knocked the air out of him. His eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief flashing across his usually composed face. His lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came out.

Instead, he tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to convince himself he heard you correctly.

You don’t reply right away—words feel clumsy in the intensity of this moment. Crowe’s gaze still lingers on you, steady and deliberate, traveling down the length of your figure and then back up again.

His deep blue eyes seem darker in the dim light, their usual warmth replaced by something unreadable, something that makes your pulse race. His soft smile was still there, faint but unshakable, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Your breath catches, and for a second, all you can think is how badly you don’t want this moment to end. Then, before your mind has time to catch up, your body moves on instinct. Slowly, deliberately, you move your body forward—out of the passenger seat closing the distance between you and him.

His head tilts slightly as he watches you, his soft smile faltering, replaced by a soft gasp for just a heartbeat as you climb onto his lap.

Your knees press into the seat on either side of him, the soft material of your tights brushing against his thighs as you warp your arms around his neck looking at him.

For a brief moment, neither of you speaks. The air feels heavy, charged with something neither of you can name. His reaction is filled with disbelief.

He inhales quickly, his chest rising against yours, and his hands lift instinctively to your hips. His grip is firm yet hesitant, his fingers flexing slightly on the tight spandex of your bunny suitas though he’s testing the reality of the situation.

You’re glad you caught him like this—off-guard, unguarded. It’s rare to see him anything but happily composed, but now? Now, his usual teasing and confidence feels shaken, his calm veneer cracking just enough to let you peek underneath.

“Don’t regret this…” you whisper, your voice low and thick with emotion. “Please don’t stop, Jericho.”

The tension in his shoulders eases, but only slightly. His body remains taut beneath yours, every muscle coiled like a spring. His hands tighten against your hips as if anchoring himself—or maybe anchoring you. He leans forward, and the closeness is dizzying.

His breath fans against your neck, warm and teasing, and goosebumps rise across your skin in response. His hands shift from your hips, sliding upward in slow, deliberate movements that leave you breathless.

His thumbs trace over your waist, the faintest pressure sparking heat in their wake. His fingers move higher, brushing against your sides, and you can’t stop the way your body responds, arching slightly into his touch.

Soon his lips hover near your ear, his voice low and husky, dripping with intent as he murmurs,

“I won’t.”

May got a little carried away here…

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

You don’t know how it happened.

So okay, you do know how it happened—you were dumb enough to bet against Hyugo. The guy might be obnoxious, loud, and silly as hell, but unfortunately, he’s also good at literally everything.

Somehow, that fact slipped your mind when you let him talk you into betting on the last round of a stupid game at a party.

It was one of those chaotic, anything-goes types of games, the kind where people are shouting over each other, rules barely make sense, and luck has just as much sway as skill. You don’t even remember what it was called—something involving a blindfold, ping pong balls, and a lot of yelling. I’m kidding here…

All you know is that Hyugo had that stupid grin on his face, the one he always wears when he knows he’s about to win.

“Come on,” he’d said, his voice dripping with smugness as he leaned against the table. “You scared or something? What’s the worst that could happen?”

And like an idiot, you fell for it. “I’m not scared,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re on.”

Big mistake.

Because five minutes later, you were standing there in stunned silence, staring at Hyugo’s triumphant face as he held up his winning ping pong ball like it was an Olympic gold medal.

“Wow, that was almost too easy!” he said, laughing as he clapped you on the shoulder. “You really thought you could beat me?.”

You scowled, already regretting your life choices. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you want?”

His grin widened, and you instantly knew you were doomed. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, his voice practically oozing with fake innocence. “It’s nothing crazy. Just a little outfit change for, let’s say... an hour?”

Your stomach dropped. “What kind of outfit change? I have a movie night at Sol’s place later,”

And now here you are, standing in Sol’s dimly lit studio apartment, wearing a bunny suit that makes you feel about three sizes too exposed and questioning every decision you’ve ever made.

How the tf did Hyugo knew your size anyway?

The small space smells like popcorn and energy drinks, and there’s a paused horror movie on the screen, but all of that pales in comparison to the look on Sol’s face.

He hasn’t stopped staring since you walked in.

The guy is sitting on his beat-up couch, one leg tucked under him, the TV remote hanging limp in his hand. His mouth is slightly open, and his face?

Bright red.

Like, glowing tomato-red, borderline matching the devil on the movie poster behind him.

“…What are you doing?” he finally chokes out, his voice cracking just enough to make you raise an eyebrow. He clears his throat and tries again, this time deeper: “I mean, what’s this?” He gestures vaguely at you, but his hand is shaking a little, so it’s not exactly smooth.

You cross your arms, trying to tug the hem of the crotch area down to show less skin, but there’s no saving it—it’s just too short. “Lost a bet to Hyugo from party earlier today,” you mumble, your voice flat, as if that explains everything.

Sol squints at you, the disbelief radiating off him in waves. “Hyugo made you do this?” His tone flips between outraged and incredulous. His eyes dart down to the whole getup— floppy bunny ears, the thigh-high socks, even a little button tie—and then snap back up so fast you think he might’ve given himself a neck cramp. “Ugh… He’s the worst sometimes.”

“Yeah, thanks for the groundbreaking insight,” you deadpan, shooting him a withering glare. “I figured that out the moment Hyugo handed me this thing.”

Sol drags a hand through his perpetually messy hair, clearly grappling with some kind of inner turmoil. “You didn’t have to wear it, though,” he mutters, his usual grumbly tone edged with something oddly defensive. “You could’ve just… I dunno, said no.”

You blink at him, unimpressed. “Oh, sure. And let Hyugo post that video of me tripping like an idiot in front of the entire campus? An excellent alternative, Sol. Really genius stuff.”

He makes a weird noise in his throat, half a groan, half something else, and he mutters, “Still better than this…” But his eyes betray him.

Because despite the whole 'ugh, this is dumb' act, Sol keeps looking. Like, really looking. His gaze lingers on your bunny ears, the curve of the bodysuit, and the thigh-high socks that are making you wish the couch would swallow you whole. Every time his eyes travel down, they snap back up so fast you’d think he got whiplash.

“What’s your problem?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest, mostly for your sanity. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off, dragging his hand down his face with a groan. “Whatever. I’m not the one dressed like…” His words trail off as he waves vaguely in your direction, his ears reddening again as if even describing the outfit is too much for him.

You sigh and plop down on his old couch because there’s literally nowhere else to go in this shoebox of an apartment. As soon as you do, Sol freezes like you’ve just stepped on a landmine. His whole body stiffens, his hands gripping his knees, and you swear he stops breathing.

“Relax,” you say, kicking off your heels with a sigh. “It’s not like I want to be here in this dumb outfit either.”

“You don’t look unhappy,” he mutters, barely audible, but you catch it.

Your head snaps toward him, catching the faintest flicker of his eyes darting to your outfit before immediately locking onto the popcorn bowl on the coffee table like it’s his last lifeline. His face is ‘burning’, and it only gets worse when he realizes you caught him looking.

“Excuse me?” you ask, leaning in slightly because you can’t let him off the hook that easily.

“I didn’t—” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat so violently it’s almost painful. “I just meant—uh, never mind.” But his ears are practically glowing, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

“Sure, okay,” you say, sighing as you settle deeper into the couch, before you mention, “It’s not like you’ve been staring at me like a creep since I walked in or anything.”

“I wasn’t staring!” he blurts, far too defensively for someone who was. He drags a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up even more as he groans like he’s on the verge of losing it.

“Oh, you weren’t?” you tease, tilting your head. “Are you calling me a liar?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to your legs for half a second before darting away. His hands curl into fists on his lap, and his breathing sounds... uneven.

Fast.

One second, you’re sitting on the couch, awkwardly avoiding his gaze, and the next, you’re swept up off the cushions. His arms slide under you, one wrapping around your back and the other hooking beneath your knees, lifting you effortlessly into a bridal carry.

“Sol!” you shriek, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders. “What are you—put me down!”

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lowers himself back onto the couch, keeping you securely in his hold. Your legs dangle awkwardly over his arm, your heels threatening to slip off, and you’re acutely aware of how close your faces are now—his warm breath brushing against your skin, his sharp eyes fixed on yours.

“Relax,” he mutters, his tone gruff but oddly soft. “You were fidgeting too much. Thought you were about to hurt yourself or something.”

“Hurt what now?!” you snap, glaring at him even as your cheeks flush. “I wasn’t—Sol, that doesn’t even make sense. Let me go.”

“Not yet,” he says simply, his grip tightening slightly as if daring you to try and wriggle free.

You glare at him, but the heat of his gaze makes it hard to keep your composure. His eyes flicker down for a moment—trailing from your flushed face to the curve of your legs draped over his arm. He’s trying to play it cool, but the way his jaw clenches and his ears turn a faint shade of pink gives him away.

“Your legs are cold,” he murmurs after a beat, his voice quieter now.

“I wonder why,” you deadpan, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at the hint of concern in his tone.

His lips twitch a shadow of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “This outfit isn’t practical.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly pick it,” you grumble, squirming slightly in his hold.

“Stop moving,” he mutters, his voice dropping an octave. His hands shift slightly, one sliding along your back and the other brushing against your thigh as he adjusts his grip. The casual intimacy of it makes your face burn hotter.

“Sol...” you warn, your voice shaky.

But instead of answering, he leans back slightly, settling you more comfortably in his lap. The movement makes your head spin—partly from the sudden shift, but mostly because of how close he is now. You’re practically curled up against his chest, his arm still supporting your legs while his other hand rests firmly against your back.

And then he looks at you again.

Really looks at you.

His orange-red eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the teasing, grumbly version of Sol you’re used to is nowhere to be found. There’s something different in his expression now—something serious, almost vulnerable, and it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You should be more careful,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing lightly against your knee. His hands slide from your hips to your legs. “These heels could’ve hurt me,” His thumbs trace slow, deliberate circles along the tops of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine.

Your mouth opens to respond—maybe to defend yourself, maybe to yell at him, you’re not sure—but then his hands shift lower, skimming over the curve of your calves. He grabs one of your feet, his fingers curling around your ankle as he starts tugging off your shoe.

“Sol, I can do that myself—”

“N-No,” he practically begged. His cheeks are pink, his expression strained like he’s trying to keep it together. “Please, just let me.”

You’re too stunned to argue. He’s slow about it, almost hesitant, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin as he removes one shoe, then the other. When he’s done, he lets his hands linger for a moment, his thumbs brushing over your bare ankles.

His eyes flicker back up to yours, and there’s something desperate in his expression now like he’s holding himself back from doing something stupid. “Why do you always have to make this so hard?” he mutters, half to himself.

“I’m making 'it' hard?” you blurt, your voice shaky.

“You showed up like this,” he counters, his gaze sweeping over you again. “Looking like... this.”

He leans closer, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. His hand slides up, tracing a line from your ankle to your knee, then up your thigh, stopping just shy of where the hem of the bunny suit begins. His knee presses a little closer, and you suck in a sharp breath.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your brain short-circuits. You don’t even know how to respond to that, especially not when his eyes are locked on yours like he’s waiting for an answer.

“Sol,” you finally manage, your voice barely audible. “You’re being weird.”

“I know,” he mutters, his lips twitching into a crooked, almost self-deprecating smile. “I’m always weird. But you make it worse.”

And with that, he dips his head lower, his breath ghosting over your lips like he’s daring you to stop him.

Please don’t make him stop…

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Geo hadn’t thought much about your text at first.

You were running late—what else was new? He was used to it by now. You’d told him to let himself in with the key under the mat since you were still getting ready, and, well, that’s what he did.

Your apartment was as familiar to him as ever: the faint smell of your scented candles. Geo plopped onto the couch, scrolling through his phone to kill time. After about ten minutes of waiting, he sighed loudly, tossing his phone onto the coffee table.

“Why do I let you do this to me?” he muttered, dragging himself to his feet. He made his way down the hall, the hardwood floor creaking faintly under his boots.

The door to your bedroom was cracked open, soft light spilling out into the hallway. He tapped lightly on the frame with his knuckles. “Hey, we’re gonna be late, y’know. What’s taking you so—”

He pushed the door open mid-sentence, stepping inside. And then he stopped.

His brain short-circuited.

There you were, standing in front of your full-length mirror, fiddling with a pair of floppy bunny ears.

A very, very skimpy bunny suit clung to you like a second skin, all shiny black fabric and sheer tights that showed just enough to drive someone insane.

The plunging neckline, the dangerously high cut of the bodysuit, the tiny bowtie collar around your neck—it was absurd. Ridiculous. And yet somehow…

You looked stunning.

Geo froze in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His trademark sarcasm, his quick wit, his effortless aloof expression? Gone. His brain? Absolutely empty.

His mouth opened like he wanted to say something—anything—but no words came out. Just absolute redness across his pale face.

You noticed him then, spinning around so fast that your bunny ears flopped dramatically to one side.

“Geo!” you shrieked, your voice an octave higher than usual. “What the hell are you doing? I thought you were out on the couch.”

“What am I doing?” he echoed, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes flicked over you, up and down, up and down, like he couldn’t stop himself. He quickly snapped his gaze upward, focusing on the very uninteresting ceiling. “What the hell are you wearing?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s for a charity event,” you muttered defensively. “Crowe asked me to help raise donations.”

Geo’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides as he tried to keep his gaze anywhere but directly on you. His eyes betrayed him, though, darting back to your legs, your waist, your— “What kind of charity involves… that?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at your outfit like it was some kind of alien artifact.

You groaned, turning back to the mirror to adjust the bunny ears again. “It’s a themed event, okay? College students are more likely to donate if there’s… I don’t know, incentive?”

“Incentive…?” Geo repeated, “And Crowe ask you wear that? Crowe?” His tone was somewhere between disbelief and outrage. “What is wrong with him? Is he insane?”

“It’s not that bad,” you said defensively, though your voice wavered because, yeah, it was kind of bad. “It’s for a good cause!”

Geo crossed his arms, his lips pulling into a tight line. “No. Nope. Not happening. You’re not walking out of here dressed like that. I don’t care if it’s for world peace.”

You threw your hands up. “What are you, my dad? Relax, Geo. It’s fine.”

“Fine?” He frowns, irritated, his eyes accidentally drifting downward before snapping back up to your face. He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. “You look like—you—ugh, never mind.”

You raised an eyebrow, placing your hands on your hips, can’t you not get any more cuter!? “I look like what?”

“Forget it.” he sighed, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. “Just… just go change or something."

“I can’t!” you said, exasperated. “This is the whole point of the event!”

Geo groaned, dragging a hand down his face in pure exasperation. His usual sharp wit was dulled by whatever internal battle he was clearly losing. “Why do I have to be the one to deal with this? Literally anyone else would’ve been better. Anyone.”

You crossed your arms, giving him an incredulous look. “You’re the only one with a car who wasn’t busy,” you shot back, matter-of-fact as ever.

Geo huffed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “You should’ve just taken the bus, then!”

“And have creepy men ogling me the whole ride? Absolutely not,” you retorted, your tone sharp. “You’re a much better option. Like it or not.”

“Well,” he muttered, clearly flustered as his hand shot to the back of his neck, his eyes darting anywhere but at you, “…I’m regretting it now.”

You sighed, turning back to the mirror and fiddling with the bunny ears again, your patience wearing thin. “Look, if it’s that big of a deal, just wait outside. I’ll be done in a sec—I just need to put on my shoes.”

For a moment, you thought he might actually listen. But then Geo took a step closer, his posture shifting. The embarrassment still lingered in his tense shoulders and flushed face, but there was something else now—something almost… resolute.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, turning you around so fast you nearly stumbled.

“Geo?” you asked, startled by the sudden intensity in his gaze.

He didn’t answer. Instead, without missing a second, he pushed you backward with a firm but careful hand, and your back hit the edge of your bed. You let out a startled gasp, barely managing to catch yourself as you propped up on your elbows.

“Hey! What the hell—”

You froze as Geo knelt in front of you, his hand gripping your ankle firmly but gently. His other hand reached out for your heels, which had been discarded nearby, and he snatched them up with a quick, fluid motion.

“You need to hurry up,” he grumbled, his voice low and laced with irritation as he slid the first heel onto your foot. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers brushing against your sheer tights as he adjusted the strap. His face, however, was a different story—flushed red and rigid, like he was barely holding himself together. “So just—shut up and let me handle it.”

You blinked, your mouth opening to protest but no words coming out. Geo hadn’t spared you a glance, too focused on fastening the strap with a level of concentration that was almost comical.

“You’re—” you finally managed, but your voice wavered as his hands moved to your other foot.

“And you’re taking forever,” he shot back, not missing a beat. His grip on your ankle tightened slightly as he secured the second heel, his eyes resolutely fixed downward.

Is he actually blushing at this?

Your eyes narrowed, “You seem red there,” you teased, leaning back on your hands and watching him with a growing smirk. “What happened to all your sarcastic remarks, Mr. Smartass?”

“Shut up,” he muttered through clenched teeth, still not looking at you as he finished adjusting the second strap.

His fingers brushed against your ankle again, lingering just a second too long, and you swore you saw his ears turn even redder. Deciding to test your luck, you slowly crossed one leg over the other, making the movement deliberately graceful.

Geo’s aquamarine eyes flicked up instinctively at the shift in movement, and when he realized what he’d done, he snapped his gaze away so fast it was almost whiplash-inducing.

“Stop doing that,” he muttered, his voice lower now.

“Doing what?” you asked, feigning innocence as you tilted your head and batted your lashes at him.

“You know what,” Geo shot back, his jaw tightening as he focused way too hard on the buckle of your heel, his fingers fumbling slightly.

“Aw, is the Geo, the all powerful and scary is embarrassed with me in a bunny suit?” you teased, your voice dripping with playful mockery as you leaned forward slightly, one of your legs crossing just enough to invade his space.

The toe of your heel pressed lightly against his chest, and you tilted your head, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “I didn’t think you’d get so flustered over a little outfit.”

Geo, ever the picture of calm composure, froze mid-motion. His hands, which had been casually adjusting the cuffs of his jacket a moment ago, were now completely still.

For a second, it was like time itself had paused. Slowly—deliberately—his gaze lifted, locking with yours.

Fuck.

His eyes, normally narrowed and calculating, were different now. They seemed darker, more intense, clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t annoyance, nor was it the usual stoic indifference he wore like armor.

Whatever it was, it had you swallowing hard.

The teasing smirk on your face faltered just slightly as curiosity crept in. You tilted your head to the side, your lips parting faintly as you tried to read him, to figure out what was going on behind that icy stare. “Geo?” you prompted softly, your narrowed eyes searching his face.

Still, he didn’t look away. He couldn’t seem to.

It was kinda hard—and kind of thrilling, if you were honest. Normally, a jab like that would earn you a dry, sarcastic retort, something sharp-edged that would put you right back in your place.

But this time? Nothing. Whatever comeback he’d had locked and loaded vanished the second your teasing grin softened into something more uncertain.

The silence stretched, tension thickening between the two of you like a coiled spring. You couldn’t tell if it was your own heartbeat hammering in your chest or his, but the moment felt impossibly fragile.

“Seriously, say something,” you murmured, a hint of nervous laughter creeping into your tone.

You pressed your foot just a little harder against his chest, trying to get any kind of reaction. “You’re starting to freak me out.”

His gaze flicked briefly to your leg—the curve of your calf, the ridiculous heel perched at the end of it—before snapping back to your face.

“You shouldn’t play games you can’t win,”

Your breath caught for half a second. His hand moved, wrapping firmly around your ankle—not harshly, but with enough pressure to make your pulse skip a beat. With one smooth motion, he guided your leg away from his chest.

“You don’t get it,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm, his tone a complete shift from his usual snark.

The intensity in his voice caught you off guard, and your expression faltered. “...Don’t get what?” you asked, your playful tone slipping into something more hesitant.

Geo’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as if he were trying to hold something back. He stood abruptly, the sudden motion making you flinch slightly. His eyes immediately flickered with regret at your reaction, and he took a deep breath, trying to collect himself.

“Shit,” Geo muttered under his breath, running a hand through his already messy hair. His back was turned to you, but the stiffness in his posture betrayed his frustration. He exhaled sharply, shoulders rising and falling as though wrestling with something he couldn’t quite say.

“Geo…” you started softly, the sharp edge in your tone from earlier now replaced with concern.

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his voice strained and hoarse, like the words were being dragged out of him. “We’re not going to the charity event. You’re staying here. End of discussion.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What?” you exclaimed, still perched on the edge of the bed. “You can’t just decide that for me!”

He turned to face you, amber eyes blazing with a mix of irritation and something you couldn’t quite place. “Watch me.”

Before you could react, Geo stalked toward your desk, snatched a hoodie draped over the chair, and practically threw it at your face with surprising precision. His hands lingered just long enough to tug it snugly over your frame, the fabric swallowing the delicate silhouette of your bunny suit.

“You’re not going anywhere in that,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. He stepped back slightly, his gaze flicking over you as though ensuring his makeshift cover-up was secure. “If Crowe wants donations that badly, he can wear the damn bunny suit.”

Your jaw dropped, words caught somewhere between outrage and disbelief. “Geo, bro, you’re being absolutely insane right now”

“Don’t call me bro. And yeah, probably,” he admitted, flashing a grin that was more sharp edges than warmth. “But at least I’m not letting you walk into a room full of idiots who won’t be able to keep their eyes—or their thoughts—off you.”

Heat crept up your cheeks at his bluntness, and you folded your arms tightly across your chest. His words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and the tension between you grew like a palpable thing.

“You’re seriously overreacting,” you muttered, but your voice lacked its usual bite.

“Am I?” Geo shot back, stepping closer. His towering frame cast a shadow over you as his gaze locked onto yours, burning with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His voice dropped, low and deliberate. “Do you even realize how—” He stopped abruptly, his jaw clenching as if swallowing the words was the only way to keep them from spilling out.

“Realize what?” you pressed, your own voice barely above a whisper now, caught somewhere between defiance and curiosity.

Geo’s eyes darted to the floor, then back to you, before he let out a low, frustrated growl. In one swift movement, he stepped forward, his hands gripping your shoulders as he pushed you gently but firmly down onto the bed.

“Geo, what the hell—”

Your protest was cut short as he followed, his weight settling over you in a way that was far from aggressive but left no room for escape. His arms slipped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace as his head dropped to your chest.

The world seemed to stop as you felt the warmth of his breath against your collarbone. He didn’t say a word, his face buried against you, his grip almost desperate.

You froze, your hands hovering uncertainly in the air. “Geo?” you murmured, your voice soft and unsure.

“Just… shut up for a second,” he muttered, his voice muffled against you. His tone was softer now, tinged with vulnerability that made your chest ache.

“Let me have this.”

Your hands hesitated before they slowly lowered, one settling against his back, the other threading cautiously through his hair. His body tensed at first but then melted into yours, his hold tightening as if he were afraid you’d disappear.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice raw and unguarded. “And not used of handling it.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of his words—and his closeness—stealing the air from the room. Whatever you were going to say died on your tongue as you let the moment stretch, the sound of his breathing steadying against you.

“Oh,” you said finally, your voice quieter now.

“You’re not making any damn sense. Like we’re going to be late for the event,” you murmured, trying to keep your tone soft but firm.

“Good,” he muttered into your chest without lifting his head.

“Good?” you echoed, your brows furrowing. “Crowe’s going to kill me if I don’t show up. And you promised to drive me, remember?”

“I don’t care about Crowe or the stupid event right now,” he grumbled, his voice low and slightly muffled. “It’s not important.”

“Not important?” You leaned your head back against the bed in disbelief. “You’re acting like the world’s ending because of a bunny suit, Geo. What’s really going on?”

He finally lifted his head slightly, just enough to look at you filled with intensity that made your breath catch. “You still don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, a mix of irritation and something deeper.

“I don’t want anyone else looking at you the way I am right now.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words sinking in and leaving you momentarily speechless. “Geo…” you started, but he didn’t give you a chance to finish.

Instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer as his lips brushed the curve of your neck. You tensed under his touch, your breath hitching as his teeth gently grazed your skin.

“Just give me five minutes,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His lips pressed softly against the spot he’d just bitten, lingering for a moment before pulling back slightly.

“Five minutes, and then I’ll get up, and we can go. Deal?”

You blinked, trying to process what just happened, your body feeling like it was on fire where his lips had been.

“Geo, that’s not—”

“Five minutes,” he repeated, cutting you off. His tone was quieter this time, almost pleading as his eyes locked onto yours, filled with a vulnerability he rarely let you see.

“Please.”

Oh shit, a please??. Five minutes it is then.

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back vn #tkatb #solivan brugmansia #the kid at the back crowe #the kid at the back sol #tkatb crowe #tkatb sol #crowe ichabod #crowe x reader #sol x reader #sol brugmansia #jericho crowe ichabod #tkatb geo #geo oogami #tkatb vn

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ajortga · 3 months ago

Text

soft spot

word count: 1.2k+

summary: the only thing wednesday can tolerate is you, and she feels something when she sees a side of you that is rarely shown.

a/n: my mind is actually so overstimulated too much has happened this past week

With break season occurring, school being out for a week meant babysitting your younger siblings and nieces back at home with your family. It was getting to Wednesday, you could tell.

She had wanted to spend spring break with you. Maybe walking down-town of Jericho, fetch a brew of coffee, play tricks with the others. Being with kids for almost all of it was not something she wanted to do.

She wasn’t good with kids. Pugsley was already enough for her. He wasn’t like her. Pugsley was filled with stupidity, he was too unaware, making him the perfect target to be shut in a locker after school.

Pugsley never learned from her, always ending up in lockers. And Wednesday always had to be the one to get him out.

It made her want to pull her braids out.

You had no say on going back home, it was mandatory. But, you wanted to see your family, your older siblings, younger ones, their children.

Besides the passive-aggressiveness Wednesday had when talking about the feisty children, you loved them. They were a soulful, bundle of joy. Minus the fact that they loved tugging on whatever hair they could get hands on.

You left that part out to Wednesday.

Wednesday grumbled as you tugged on her sleeve to your aunt’s house. You begrudgingly let her carry your bags that were needed for the next two nights.

“It’ll be fun, baby,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes at her, “they aren’t as bad as you’re thinking they’ll be, I promise.”

Hopefully.

As soon as you open the door, you’re greeting with three little children coming at you.

“Auntie Y/N!” They squeal happily, giggling and dropping their toys as you toss your purse to the side and wrap your arms around them.

They hug you tightly as you lift them off the floor and spin them around. They definitely grew from the last time you saw them, and to say the least, so did you. It had only been a year, but our hair grew out, you no longer had braces, and everybody but the little ones had met Wednesday.

“You’ve guys grown so much!” You grunt as you prop them down. The feeling was nostalgic, the smell of home-made food, the photos of your family, it looked just like how it looked a long time ago.

You turn to Wednesday, taking her hand and pulling her to your side. She traced the knuckles on the back of your hand, looking down at it.

“This is my girlfriend, Wednesday. She, brought something for you guys-”

“Ice cream?”

“Toys?”

“A taxidermy. Y/N told me you guys like birds.” Wednesday said, taking out a black bird and showing it to the three. “It’s a raven.”

The little girl looks up at her, then you. "What's a taxidermy?"

You blink, eyes flickering around, "You'll find out when you're older."

You rubbed her back, she was trying to make a good first impression.

It was silent for a moment, one of nieces taking the raven in her hand as the others observed it. Then they squealed. “I love him!”

It came in suite, the children holding onto Wednesday’s legs. “I like her!”

“Mommy! Y/N’s friend brought us a stuffie! It looks so real!”

Her pursed lips twitch up slightly as you turn to her, a smile gracing your face. “They like you.”

Curled up in the corner of the couch, Wednesday’s eyes are glued onto her book. You’re buried with her, snoozing with a blanket over you. Her thin hands play with your hair as your eyes slightly flutter.

It makes her press a small kiss to the side of your head.

A loud, angry cry from the kitchen stirred you up, your eyes bleary as you try getting up. Wednesday stops you with a hand on your hip.

“Stop pushing me, Maya!”

“It’s my turn!”

You groan, your body groggy as you get up and head to the kitchen, Wednesday following suite. Her ears felt like they were bleeding from their screaming.

“Hey, hey, guys, what’s going on? What happened?” You murmur, bending down to the kitchen floor with your nieces and nephews. They were so loud that they could barely hear you, causing Wednesday to pick one up to shut them up.

“Maya pushed me when I was playing..” Michael, the one in Wednesday’s arms, said.

Maya pouted, looking up at you with the ipad in her hand. “I didn’t mean to, I was trying to get the game from him.”

Your other niece, Genevie, the youngest, had chocolate ice cream over her face, looking clueless. You scoop her up and wipe her mouth with a towel.

“Well, Maya, it’s not nice to push. But Michael, we don’t have to scream if it was an accident. Okay?” You place Genevie back on the floor to let her run around. “Next time we can say it nicely so we don’t push others on accident, okay?”

Your voice was soft, gentle, it shocked Wednesday that you hadn’t gotten upset as she set Michael back down.

They both look at each other and nod, murmuring their apologies.

“I’ll let you both have my phone so you can both play. And then I’ll make some pasta for dinner, sound good?”

“Can we have mac n cheese?” Michael asked.

“No! You got to choose last time Michael!” Maya cried, “Can it be tomato?”

Wednesday grumbled, “At this point, give them spider soup.”

You sigh deeply, giving them a small smile. “I can make both. You guys want garlic bread with it?”

“Yeah!”

A couple hours later, you were back in Wednesday’s arms, playing with Genevie’s hair and tying it into a braid. “You want butterflies in them?” You ask softly, grabbing a few clips from the table beside you as a rubber band was tucked against your teeth.

Wednesday watched you, at Nevermore, you were always more closed-off. Well, until people got to know you, you were an energetic ball of nature. Seeing you now was something new to her. Sure you were always sweet to people, but she had never seen you this gentle or motherly.

Small butterfly clips are added onto your niece’s hair as you smile at her, “All done. You look just like the fairy in the movie you watched, Genny.” You grab a mirror and hand it to her as she smiles at her reflection, giggling.

Genevie launches herself at you, hugging you tightly. “I love it, Auntie Y/N!”

You giggle, rubbing her shoulder. “You wanna learn how to do it on somebody’s hair?”

Her eyes almost sparkle, “Who’s?”

Slowly, you look at Wednesday, giving her a pleading flutter of your lashes.

She looks at you, nose wrinkling, “Seriously?”

Your girlfriend looks at you most of the time while you and Genevie do her hair, which is currently looking like she just came out of a unicorn balloon park. Also minus the fact that she keeps giving small glares at your niece when she tugs too hard on her hair, forcing you to be the one to tell her to tone it down.

You can tell that she's looking at you, by the way it's quiet, besides the sounds of your mingling breaths. "Thinking about me?"

When you look at her, she has this curiosity in her eyes, a thoughtful look. You tilt your head, a confused noise coming out of your mouth.

"I just never seen you around children before. Nuisances. It's.. Different. You're sweet."

You smile, looking back at her hair, about to say something, till Genevie shakes your wrist to help her.

“Okay, so three strands, okay, yes, yes, I’ll teach you how to do a french braid AFTER. Okay, one here.” You guide Genevie’s hands as she messily braids Wednesday’s hair.

She pulls a strand.

Wednesday inhales, giving a glare, which is softer than most, at you.

“Genevie, you know how to be gentle, let’s do that.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide, lips curled into a small pout. “Okay.”

Wednesday exhales, until you nudge Genevie and she tugs it again.

“Y/N!"

#jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x you #jenna marie ortega #vada cavell x reader #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #vada cavell x y/n #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader

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letorip · 8 months ago

Text

crimson & clover

“now i don't hardly know her, but i think i could love her"

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x mute!reader

summary: people fear that which they do not understand. it makes sense then, why you and wednesday fall in love and help each other

warnings: erm you killed a lot of people on accident, angsty in the middle there, threats of violence, descriptions of violence

word count: 5.1k

A/N: heavily inspired by black bolt, who i really do think is one of my favourite heroes. there will likely be a part 2 or 3 to this but for rn my attention is on kiss with a fist. THERE WILL ALSO BE A PART [IV] OF SOMETHIN' STUPID

KISS WITH A FIST [IV] WILL BE UP NEXT SUNDAY

===+++===

There were certain things you couldn’t have, when one had the ability to do incredible damage, if they just opened their mouth.

When you did so, on a random Saturday morning at 10 years old, and your house burst apart, it took your parents and a chunk of the neighbourhood with it in a fiery tempest that stabbed you right through the heart. You learned then, that maybe you weren't meant to have a family.

At age 12, when the kids at the Home for Outcast Children strung you up from the monkey bars by your ankles, and you couldn’t hold in a laugh from how the world looked funny when the sky looked like the floor, you learned you weren’t meant to have friends, sitting silently in the dirty crater where the playground used to be with your head tucked into your knees.

You had thought it would be implied then, that you would never have a lover, either. But then again, there was Wednesday Addams.

It was still a mystery, why she chose you. You had assumed she would want nothing to do with you just like she didn’t want anything to do with most people, and you couldn’t have been more wrong.

The both of you met about a week after she arrived at Nevermore, in the dead of night on one of the walks you always took when everyone else had gone to bed and there was no one to watch you, no one to murmur as you went past. You didn't pose a danger to anyone, then, and it was liberating and also deeply melancholic.

That was when you were most at peace. Your thoughts, even though well-reasoned, could not be expressed. You wrote often, in a leather-bound notebook you’d let no one see, but the power was given to writing through reading it, and there was no one you could have close enough to do so. It made you tired, to be around people you couldn’t communicate with. Few people wanted to wait for you to write something out on a notebook and even fewer wanted to learn sign language.

Kinbott had a dry-erase whiteboard in her office that was just meant for you and the only deaf person in Jericho, though the old man had gone missing a few months ago, without a trace. It was humiliating, at first, and you used to write two-word sentences, curt responses doing the bare minimum, often out of anger— whether it was anger from your situation or anger at being a teenager, you didn’t know— but now you could fill it with paragraphs and kept a notebook for when communication was especially necessary.

That night itself was peaceful, with gentle, twinkling stars that were only lightly polluted by the quad’s towering lamps. You could still see their faint outlines above you, with casting shadows down the lawn from the roof’s spires, and it smelled as if it were going to rain soon.

When you heard the scuttling of something on the floor, you jumped, startled, eyes shooting down to where you were certain you had felt someone’s fingers grip at your leg. Your eyes widened in surprise at the disembodied hand, racing up the uneven cobblestones and then up the leg of someone at the far end of the quad, landing finally on her shoulder.

Wednesday with her arms crossed, looking at you with a comically large bag slung over her shoulder that must've contained all of her belongings, like a runaway in the night.

Oh. That's what she was.

You blankly stared back at her, blinking at her figure. She took a menacing step forward, her grip on the bag tightening. "Are you following me?" she asked, tone icy. When you kept looking at her without so much as opening your mouth, her apathetic eyes narrowed. "If you tell anyone you saw me, they will never find your body. Don't say a word."

It was intended to be a threat, and if it had been anyone else, it probably would've made their blood run ice over just from how cold her gaze was. But you just raised your eyebrows at her, unable to stop the amusement from tugging at the corners of your lips. The irony was very far from lost on you, and the more serious she seemed the more funny the blunder was.

"What?" she snipped. "Is something amusing to you?"

Again, you could not say. You silently shook your head, tilting it then out of curiosity, and gently pointing towards the hand on her shoulder. It sat up at your attention, sending a friendly wave in your direction. Your eyes widened, waving before Wednesday could clear her throat and pull your eyes back up to hers.

Her eyes in question were dark and intense, but beautiful, even under the dim lighting, and you had to swallow what felt like a lump in your throat, in order to regain your composure. "Why are you silent?" she asked, narrowing them at you. You were under her microscope, and she scanned you, looking for anything that would impair your immediate voice.

You raised up a hand as if to say ‘hold on,’ before tugging your notebook out from your overcoat, flipping it open and pulling out your pen. With a click, you were scribbling down on the paper, and Wednesday narrowed her eyes at you again, scanning you in suspicion.

When you were done, you flipped it around, holding it up to her eyes with a gentle smile. 'Trust me, I don't think you'll need to worry about me telling anyone anything, anytime soon.'

Her eyes combed over the words, then glanced back down to you. "Why is—" she opened her mouth out of curiosity, but a heavy door slammed shut down the hall, and she whipped around before she could finish the question.

You both could hear the footsteps coming closer, and Wednesday straightened up, grip tightening on the bag over her shoulder. "You didn't see me, and you won't ever again," she said, coldly.

You nodded, not that you believed she'd make it out. You yourself had tried to run away for the first month and a half, and after long enough, one just gave up. Nevermore was hard to escape; you doubted she had readied a good enough plan in just a few days of being there. Still, you wished her luck. The forest was dangerous, and especially now.

With a final nod in your direction, she hastily walked off, down the corridor the opposite way. You watched her go, calmly sitting near the fountain. A few moments after she disappeared down a different hallway, a very tired looking Weems came down the stairs in her nightgown, holding onto a rusted lantern.

When she saw you, she sighed. "What did I say about those nighttime walks of yours, (Y/n)?"

You smiled, tilting your head to the side and shrugging at her. Weems huffed at your attempt at cluelessness, shaking her head fondly. "Just make sure you get yourself to bed soon, alright?"

You nodded, leaning back on the fountain edge and tracing the grout lines with your thumbs. Weems turned back to the hallway Wednesday went down. "I guess Miss Addams is planning to escape tonight?" But you didn't write anything down, raising your eyebrows at her as if to say 'duh.' Weems adjusted the hem of her nightgown from where it had dragged gently on the steps. "Thank you, (Y/n). I'll see you tomorrow."

She began to follow down the path Wednesday had taken, letting the lantern lead her through the dim corridor, and you silently yawned, picking up your notebook and figuring you had enough adventure for the night.

===+++===

That was your first unofficial meeting, at least. You almost forgot it had happened the following morning, except for when Wednesday showed up in class the next day looking more displeased and unhappy to be there than normal.

It was amusing how frustrated she was, mouth drawn into an annoyed line and eyes looking especially dark. When she caught your eye as she went to take her seat, you averted your gaze back down to your notebook to hide your cheeky smile, resuming your doodle in the margin and running a nervous hand through your hair.

She kept staring throughout the lecture, as if silently daring you to mention her failure, not that you could aloud. You weren’t willing to look back, but you could see her dark eyes shift up and across the round of tables towards you from the corner of your eye, which you made sure to keep on Thornhill.

After long enough, Xavier noticed too. He whispered something to her and then glanced up at you with a look that was far from friendly. He hadn't liked you one bit, but neither did any of the other kids, when they found out. You couldn't exactly blame them, either. The school was full of monsters, but you were a monster among monsters.

"Wednesday, Xavier," Thornhill called out, crossing her arms. She wasn't angry, though. More playful. "Is something more important than our study of carnivorous plants?"

Xavier began to shake his head, starting an apology, but Wednesday cut him off, blankly staring back at Thornhill as it left her mouth. "Yes."

At the challenge, the whole class seemed to let out a comically loud gasp. Thornhill's previously teasing smile dropped to a displeased frown, and she shoved her hands into the pockets of her overalls, motioning to the large glass enclosure on the table behind her. "I don't suppose you can tell me what this is, then?" At the question, you can see Bianca smirk and raise her own hand, eager to steal it away, "I haven't said the name out loud yet, and it will be on your test next—"

"—Dendrophylax lindenii." The interruption came swift from her lips, but Wednesday's eyes are still steeled over and unimpressed by Thornhill's attempt to be put on the spot.

You have to hide your amusement again, at the shocked look on Bianca's face, but she rushes to make up for it by adding something of her own. "It's also known as the Ghost Orchid—”

"—First discovered on the Isle of Wight in 1852," Wednesday adds, and once more she's won. Or, she would have. You can't help the shake your head does, or the cheeky smile on your face that Wednesday locks onto, like a heatseeking missile. Her eyes are like daggers, stabbing you through and through. "Is something funny?"

She says it across the entire classroom and everyone goes silent, less focused on the plants now and more the fact that she's acknowledging your presence. You shrug, trying to diffuse the situation, but it only makes her glare at you harder. "No, go on," Wednesday demands, her tone just as icy as she had been the night before. "Tell us, what was so funny?"

"Wednesday," Thornhill warns her, sending you a sympathetic look, but she ignores her and so do you.

"Or are you still at a loss for words," she draws out, and in doing so, the rest of the class fills with 'ooh's and 'woah's. You stare at her for a moment, then silently, your hand goes to your notebook.

The moment you begin writing in it, the classroom tenses again, waiting for you to finish. You make them as big as possible, large enough that she'll be able to clearly read them across the room. When you're done, you flip it around and hold it up like a sign, face blank.

discovered 1854, not 1852

idiot.

You've circled it several times in messy pen, to make sure she really sees. The room roars even louder in surprise, and however bad Wednesday's stare was before, the new one she gives you is infinitely worse. Her face is still deadpan, but her eyes flick away down to her notebook. It’s the only time you’ve seen her approach something resembling embarrassment or fury. You're sure the 'idiot' bit didn't help, but you were far too annoyed by her poking of you to not have poked her right back.

"Well...," Thornhill tries, "It seems the Ghost Orchid isn't the only carnivorous plant in here, today." But the class is too far gone to focus up again, sending you wary glances. They don't like Wednesday, but they like you even less, so it's confusing who they should root for.

You hold her gaze until the bell rings, finally breaking it to gather your things and leave as soon as possible. Her eyes are still on you as you go, and just before you exit the room, you can hear someone mutter "freak," under their breath. You tuck your books under your arm, and duck out into the hall.

===+++===

Fall was always your favourite time of year; for once, Jericho wasn't entirely unbearable. The leaves turned a warm orange and red, falling from the trees in abundant piles on the ground, and the air fermented into something crisp and especially breathable. You let it fill your nose as much as possible.

You sat on the lawn, listening to the birds flit about and the wind brush under the branches and hem of your jumper with a book in your lap and a frown on your face. It wasn't a good book- something the internet had said was incredible but had firmly left a bad taste in your mouth, and part of you wanted to put it down and turn to something more useful. But another part of you wanted to keep reading, like being unable to look away from a car accident.

The book was so engrossing in its awfulness that you didn't notice her watching you from afar or, more so, aiming in your direction. That was, until you turned the page, and her throwing knife whizzed past your ear and lodged itself into the tree you had been sitting against.

Your eyebrows furrowed at the noise, and you turned your head to the side, looking at the shiny, reflective silver. The letters W. A. stared back at you, engraved just below the knife's spine. You frowned, and when you looked back, she was standing over you, arms crossed and expression as deadpan as always.

You raised a questioning eyebrow, looking over at the knife and then back to her as if saying, 'What was that for?'

"Your attention was required," she replied dryly.

You rolled your eyes, dog-eared the page of your book, and placed it down next to you, pulling out your notebook and your pen. You wrote a single word.

dangerous.

"Believe me, if I wanted to hit you, I am entirely capable of aiming to kill," Wednesday said. Then, after a brief look around Nevermore's green, her eyes flicked back down to you. "I'm here on business."

You search her face for a moment, narrowing your eyes. They locked in on the small bandage on her forehead, and you nodded up at it, asking her what happened with the look on your face. Her frown deepened.

"I'm in the process of crushing a bee... and almost getting crushed by a gargoyle." You blinked, but Wednesday continued. "But I won't have to do either if you agree to my request."

It's hard to deny that her words massively pique your interest. Wednesday in general massively piques your interest, and you write down the thing you really want to know.

people say you eat human flesh...

You turn the page back to her, and Wednesday seems to process the words for a moment. She looks over at you, unimpressed by the allegation. "I don't eat it. My menagerie of pets do. And even then, that's nothing close to what Enid's said about you."

You stare up at her, then scribble a couple of words on the paper.

and what's that?

"That you're dangerous. That you’re somehow infinitely worse than I am, which I'm doubtful of," Wednesday says without missing a beat. "Enid won't say anything more, and neither will Xavier." She looks around again, over the green. There's a picnic of sirens by the lake, and a few of the werewolves are playing with a frisbee. She looks back at you. "I've been warned to stay away, and your propensity for being obnoxious has made that task fairly easy so far." You begin to write again.

so why are you here

"Because," she states like it's obvious, "I want to break out of here. And you're somehow the person to have gotten the closest."

and yet

i'm still here

You turn the page to her and jab the bottom bit several times with your pointer finger.

"Well then," she says, "help me succeed."

===+++===

“And how do you think that made you feel?” Kinbott asks, eyeing her various pages of notes to the left of you. Some of the other patients in Kinbott’s care had small, yellow folders, but you had a larger red one, with your name in highlighted block letters on the front. It looked like it should’ve had a top secret sticker in the corner, not that you weren’t appreciative about your records being sealed.

You erased the board, writing a single word.

seen

Then, underneath it.

idk, like i was really there?

Kinbott nodded. “You’ve said people often ignore you a lot. Why do you think that is?”

they’re scared. they think i’ll hurt them because they heard rumours about what i did.

i can’t blame them, really

She frowned, wrapping her hands around her knee. “But that’s not really fair, is it? When was the last time you’ve caused damage with your ability, (Y/n)?”

You shrug, thinking for a moment.

about four years

“And you haven’t made any sort of mistakes, right?”

well, no

“Then why should they be afraid of you?” Kinbott asks. She’s leaning forward, looking at you with her eyes softened. “You’ve trained yourself to silently yawn, you don’t cough, you don’t sneeze, you don’t snore. I think you need to trust yourself a little more, (Y/n).”

You shrug again, but don’t write anything down, so Kinbott sighs and sits back in her chair. “Principal Weems says that she has another little Harry Houdini on her hands?”

You write down Wednesday on your board. She nods. “I’m seeing her in a little while, actually.” It makes your eyebrows raise in surprise.

why?

Kinbott shakes her head. “You know I can’t share that. Therapy is private. It seems she doesn’t plan on staying, though. Wednesday has already tried to escape.”

i know.

she asked me to help her

Her eyes scan over the words and then look back up to you, warily. “You know better than to help her, right? Nevermore could be good for Wednesday. And I thought you were actually starting to like it here.”

You nod.

i already said no

it’s too dangerous, in the woods right now. with the attacks and stuff.

“Good. And please, tell Principal Weems if you learn of any plans in the future.” You nod again, much less committed, and Kinbott looks down at her watch. “I’m afraid our time is over, (Y/n),” she says with a smile. “I’ll see you next week.”

You write a quick thank you down and stand, shoving your socks back into your shoes and tugging on your jumper, tucking it underneath the collar of your shirt and fixing your Nevermore tie. Purple stripes was never your pattern, and Weems had long since given up on trying to make you wear the coat. She figured it probably made you less likely to run away.

Wednesday is sitting in the lobby when you get down the stairs, with a bored-looking Weems come to babysit. You send her a glance, and then give Weems a nod of your head in acknowledgment.

She beams back at you. “Ah, (Y/n). We’re here for Miss Addams’ session. If you want to wander around Jericho, we can take you back to the school when we're done, if you’d like.”

You send another look at Wednesday, whose face is just as deadpan and unhappy as before, and shake your head. You point at yourself and then mime walking with your two fingers. Principal Weems frowns, but gives you and okay, and you turn around to leave.

You can feel Wednesday’s eyes on you as you head for the school. You know she's annoyed by your refusal to help her, but you can't exactly tell her why you're refusing either, especially since you're lacking any evidence for your theory. So you just told her no.

===+++===

Even from deep inside the forest, you can hear the carnival. There's a Ferris wheel towering over the trees in front of you, and circus music blasts from a few speakers so that you can faintly hear it amongst the windy branches, leaves blowing along the ground and caressing your shoes from time to time as you walk through the dark.

You're looking for something, anything, indicating someone would've been there. Sheriff Galpin had found all sorts of hikers, recently, all almost unidentifiable, with how bloodied they were, but they had yet to find anyone with a hearing aid, so you were unsatisfied. It was believed he was on vacation, but you knew the old man went to his therapy appointments every single week. He hadn't missed a single day, so you failed to believe that theory. You didn't even know his name, really.

On a tree not too far from you, there was a claw mark sunk deep into the bark, and you looked towards it, at the pattern. The idea a bear was responsible for all the deaths wasn't exactly convincing, and looking at the claws, your doubts only amplified. You pulled out your camera, aiming it towards the mark, ready to snap a shot, when you heard footsteps pounding past you.

"Rowan!" called a voice behind you, and you froze, putting the camera down and flicking your flashlight off. The last thing you needed was word getting out that you were lurking in the woods. People thought you were scary enough.

But the words weren't directed at you. You listened intently, and then you heard the faint but panicked voice again. "Rowan," Wednesday says again, and the moment you realise it's her voice, you take off running towards it.

You find Rowan with his hand held up, crushing Wednesday against a tree, and before you can stop to think, you're rushing forward, shoving him in the back and pushing him into the dirt, where he struggles to catch his breath. The moment his hand splays out in front of him, Wednesday is dropped to the forest floor. You run to her, checking her over quickly for injuries, making sure she can run. When you find none, you grab her arm, hoisting her to her feet. You send a wary look over at Rowan, who's already trying to right himself and take Wednesday's hand in yours, pulling her deeper into the forest.

It isn't long before you hear him calling out. "Wednesday!" he yells, and you freeze, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her behind a tree. You push her flush against the bark and cover her mouth with your hand, getting as close as possible so that you hide better against the trunk. She seems too scared to comment on the touch, eyes wide and chest heaving from the running. You raise your other hand and press your finger to your lips.

"Wednesday, I'm doing Nevermore a favour," he tries again. "One massive favour. You're dangerous. My mother's seen it. I can see it. Anyone who knows you can see it."

Your eyes flicker to Wednesday's in confusion, processing his words. She's staring up at you, eyes dark and full of worry, begging for him not to find you. Any idea you had about her not getting scared goes out the window. She's just as human as you are. You send her a comforting nod, peeking around the tree trunk. Rowan's a few trees away, with his back turned, scouring the area.

You begin to back away from Wednesday, gesturing over your shoulder. If you both can sneak off and go back to the carnival without Rowan noticing, you can ensure safety. She gives a curt nod, letting you take her hand in yours again. You're faster than her, she knows that. You slowly pull her with you, quietly stepping away and towards the fair.

You only make it a few steps, until Wednesday steps on a branch.

The small twig cracks under her boot, and within an instant, Rowan whips his head around to you both, staring back at him like a pair of deer in headlights. He takes a few menacing steps forward. "There you are," he draws out in between wheezy breaths. His hand comes up, ready to crush her, but before he can use his ability, a large, hulking creature grabs him by the leg, whipping him around and down onto the ground.

You and Wednesday watch in horror as Rowan screams, and the creature rears up on its hind legs, coming down and smashing Rowan with its fists. You can hear the crunching of his bones and then the tearing of flesh as the creature's claws dig into the boy's skin. Wednesday's hand is still in yours, and she squeezes it harshly, small black fingernails digging into the back of your hand, pulling you down to the ground with her and then scooting back.

The attack is short but brutal, and you see bits of Rowan's chest go flying and pure red maw. The creature whips around to you when Rowan goes silent, staring at Wednesday with intensity in its big eyes. Then it scrambles off, tearing through the woods and into the darkness.

As soon as it's gone, Wednesday rushes forward in the leaves, going to Rowan's side. You clamber to your feet, watching the direction the creature went with wide eyes. When you turn back to Wednesday, you catch her shoving something in her pocket. You don't ask what it is, but you make a mental note to ask later.

"Please," she says, a bit panicked. Her fingers are coated in Rowan's blood. "Go get Weems."

===+++===

Another not-too-awful thing about Nevermore was the breakfast. You sat at an abandoned picnic table in the corner of the quad, finishing your eggs, when Wednesday slammed her hands down on the wood with a loud thunk. You jumped in your seat, startled by the noise, dropping your egg back onto your plate.

"What exactly did you see last night?" she demanded, glaring.

Your eyes widened at her tone. It was harsher than normal, and she wore her frustration on her sleeve. A few students at nearby tables sent you suspicious and wary glances. Over Wednesday's shoulder, you could see her roommate, Enid, staring at you.

Most important was Weems, who looked down at you from the balcony above. You composed yourself and looked back down to Wednesday, shrugging nonchalantly, as if to say you didn't know.

Wednesday gritted her teeth harder. "But you do know. We saw Rowan get eviscerated by that creature. You were there. So why did you tell Weems you didn't see anything?!"

You furrowed your eyebrows, shaking your head at her, doubling down. This was no place to get into it. No place to tell the truth. You slid your notebook towards her.

i saw him this morning.

She huffed, stomping off. You knew exactly why you saw him that morning, actually. Weems had shown you her powers a time or two, and you knew that 'Rowan' was just her in disguise. But you also didn't know if it was something you wanted to share yet. You, too, had been a bit miffed at seeing Weems pretend to be Rowan, but you also knew Weems' powers gave her an advantage, and you were too loyal to take that away from her. You owed her too much.

The question of why still rang in your mind, though. Why was she so eager to cover it up? She had never at least lied to you, so this lie seemed out of left field.

You saw the fake Rowan several times throughout the day. Each time you did your best to let Weems know you knew, and she seemed wary of you, avoiding you at every intersection. You spent the night thinking, wandering around Nevermore, stopping in the library and pulling out several books.

Wednesday had shoved something in her pocket, something that Rowan had. Something about her dooming Nevermore, about being dangerous. You raked through all the books about prophecies, not finding anything of interest and giving up at around one in the morning. No books were missing a piece of paper, and no books mentioned Wednesday's name. You could find a few references to someone named Goody, but she seemed unimportant among the other Addams ancestors, having been dead for hundreds of years. You made another mental bookmark to look more into it, later.

You trudged back to your dorm, already regretting your choices, considering you had an 8 am class in the morning. The school was peaceful again, and as you climbed the stairs, you could hear the trickle of the fountain.

But the moment your shoe placed itself upon the landing, you froze. Your door hung open slightly, just cracked, and right in the way was the same hand you had seen on your first night. You straightened up, feeling more awake, and more annoyed, now.

You pushed your own door open, knocking loudly on the wood like it wasn't your own room, illustrating your frustration. Wednesday turned towards you, unimpressed. She had your journal in her hands, the other one not meant for your communication but for your theories.

It was open to the photo you had just taken, of the claw mark. Right above it you had put the photo of the deaf old man, and right on the photo of the claw mark, you had 'Rowan' written in red sharpie and underlined several times.

You crossed your arms, glowering at her. The hand scuttled towards her, stopping halfway. "So you were hiding something," Wednesday says. "You know that Rowan isn't Rowan. You know he's dead."

You silently swallow, crossing the room until you are right in front of her. Wednesday's eye contact is intense, and you look down at your own notebook, feeling her watching you as you take it from her hands. You can feel her breath fanning against your face, and she smells like pomegranate and fresh petrichor. You turn the page to the drawing you've made of the creature. It's a little off; some of the details are fuzzy regarding last night. But it's the creature as best as you can remember it, and Wednesday nods.

"That's what I saw, too. That's what I want to find," she says. "That's what you're going to help me find."

This time, you can't find it in yourself to refuse.

===+++===

this was the first episode and a bit of episode 2. i really liked doing the mute reader but boy is it hard to write communication without dialogue. it does so much heavy lifting for characterisation. can't wait to see where this one goes, and it'll probably take me two or three parts to get through the whole season, is my hope.

#letorip #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x you

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shitpostingsapphic · 7 months ago

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Caitvi headcanons

I've done a lot of serious arcane character analysis the past few days and now I want to take a break from that and do some cute fun little headcanons for caitvi. Let me know if you like them and if I should do more 🥰🥰

The first section will be SFW, I'll mark the NSFW so if you'd like to avoid that you can ❤️

SFW:

Caitlyn always wakes up first. It's a habit she's never outgrown from her time as Commander. Though she no longer suffers from the insomnia she incurred during that time, she still finds herself waking just before sunrise. And it's her favorite time of day, because as the streams of sunlight begin to come in through the window, she gets to watch as they rest on Vi's face and hair, making the pink of her hair glow closer to red. She gets to watch her breath stir the ends of it. Caitlyn also secretly likes the way Vi smells in the morning--a bit musty, a bit like the soap she uses to bathe in before bed. And if she scoots a bit closer to Vi in order to inhale that smell, well, no one is around to watch

Vi, in contrast, is an incredibly heavy and late sleeper. It's nearly lunch when she wakes, now that she's fully settled into her domestic life. And because of this, she's also the last to fall asleep at night. Often, after their *ahem* escapades, Caitlyn is out like a light, and Vi likes to cling to her and look up in her face, almost disbelieving that this beautiful creature is hers, that they are both alive and that she is indeed skin to skin with the woman she loves. So close they almost share a heartbeat.

Caitlyn is stronger than she looks, and she takes great joy in picking Vi up via fireman's carry to tease her. She especially takes pleasure in it because, despite the half hearted protests that Vi emits, she'll always make a remark along the lines of "well at least I have a great view of your ass from here, cait" or "it IS kind of sexy that you're strong enough to pick me up like this".

Vi's picked up cooking now that her life has settled down. It's no Jericho's, in her opinion, but it always brings Caitlyn into the kitchen with a smile, asking what's for dinner this time, as she comes up behind Vi and wraps her arms around her waist, so she figures her cooking can't be too bad.

Caitlyn harbors some insecurity about her worth in regards to Vi for a very long time. She feels as if she won't ever deserve Vi's love after what she's done. This feeling is always magnified on days when the resentment from the Zaunite public makes its way to the Kiramman household via news or telegram or word from the council. Caitlyn withdraws on these days, being short and irritable with Vi. Ever patient, Vi will sit with her, brush her hair away from her face, and kiss her over her eyepatch. "Enough wallowing," she teases. "You're stuck with me, yeah?"

Caitlyn would own a Doberman. No I won't budge on this.

Vi is low-key scared of the Doberman, but the dog doesn't care, and tries to give Vi kisses whenever possible. Vi eventually warms up to said Doberman and calls it her baby.

There is always a vase of violets in their home, at the insistence of Caitlyn.

They both have a shared love language of touch. Oftentimes they communicate through touch. During a fight, Vi will reach out her hand and brush her fingertips against the back of Caitlyn's hand and she'll instantly soften, turning her hand over and entwining their fingers. This makes apologies flow easier.

On that note, Caitlyn loves to brush her fingers through Vi's hair, scratching at the buzzed part on the side of her head. She also brushes Vi's hair often, something Vi has never experienced due to it being so short her whole life. It's a simple pleasure she isn't used to but makes her feel safe and cared for.

NSFW

I've seen a lot of headcanons where Vi has some sort of sexual dysfunction or hesitation to touching and/or being touched, and as someone who experiences a level of this, I don't see it. Me personally, I think sex is very freeing and healing to Vi, especially with Caitlyn. After their first time, she really can't get enough of her. Of course, after they've both been given time to heal from their internal and external wounds incurred from the battle of Piltover.

On that note, any opportunity for Caitlyn to develop an insecurity related to her scarred/lost eye is squashed due to Vi never giving her reason to feel undesirable. Vi is adamant about expressing her undying attraction and desire to Caitlyn, and so Caitlyn never feels shy about her eye when they have sex, whether the eyepatch is on or not.

She does ask about it, though, but only once. Vi answers her very seriously at first, by saying "You're alive, that makes you the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Followed by a smirk and dumb quip something along the lines of "Plus it'll be great for some pirate roleplay."

Service top vi x power bottom caitlyn is canon, but it's not the only dynamic they indulge in.

They make use of the handcuffs. And the spitting. Really they just roleplay that scenario a lot, switching roles depending on their mood.

The first time Caitlyn asked Vi to spit on her again, Vi couldn't stop herself from laughing incredulously. "Didn't know it turned you on that bad. Really?" "Oh shut up, Violet. I was this close to blowing our cover because of you."

Once the initial shock of it has passed, though, it becomes a bit too fun for Vi to indulge Caitlyn and watch as her eyes go glassy.

The first time Caitlyn strapped Vi, her depth perception due to her lost eye worked against her, and instead of sliding home successfully, she missed entirely and fell on top of Vi, which resulted in the both of them laughing. It's something Vi has yet to let Caitlyn live down.

Sex in general is very silly and indulgent and teasing with them. A stark contrast to the very serious and morose and uncertain environment around them. It's freeing, as I stated before. They're free to feel pure joy with each other and it shows up most while they're having sex.

They never have sex angry. It's a safe space for the both of them, and it's never not done in a good headspace.

Vi certified munch is canon

Cait is also a certified munch. Her favorite way to do so is to have Vi ride her face because from there, Vi takes what she wants, and she finds it very cathartic to do that for Vi, to give her a place to take her pleasure and not feel shame.

Caitlyn didn't know she had a hand kink before Vi but apparently she does, but really, can she help herself when now she knows what it feels like to have three of those large fingers inside her?

Caitlyn leans more dominant in the bedroom, but for some reason it's when Vi is fucking her with those fingers, she gets a bit subby, begs a bit more, accepts gladly when Vi presents those fingers to Caitlyn for her to suck off her own cum.

Let me know if you guys would like to see more! 🥰

#vi arcane #arcane #caitvi #caitlyn x vi #vi ar #violyn #caitlyn kiramman #arcane league of legends #arcane lol #arcane headcanon #caitvi headcanon #caitvi fic #headcanon #arcane drabbles

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vidduality · 6 months ago

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VIKTOR | JERICHO | ARCANE

Please enjoy this edit here on Tumblr in full. ❤️ Focusing on the GLORIOUS EVOLUTION of Viktor (with lots of Jayce too, because you can't have one without the other). HOW are these lyrics so perfect?

Update: We have a NEW EXTENDED version on Youtube (12 additional seconds that trimming had turned out to be the cause of our audio being muted by content id filters) under the cut:

youtube

Update: We did it!! We finally found a solution to YouTube blocking/muting our audio on our original upload. 🥳 Apparently cutting 12 seconds from the second verse was enough of an edit that the filters were rejecting the music. We now have an EXTENDED edition with those 12 seconds added back in (new content begins at 0:51 secs). We love the new scenes, and hope you will too!

Other places to watch (original version)

Patreon (public, no login needed): https://www.patreon.com/posts/viktor-jericho-118392578

Tiktok Part 1: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8NbxnBt/

Tiktok Part 2: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8NbnQQd/

Twitter: https://x.com/VidDuality/status/1871194052923670966

#arcane #viktor #jayvik #arcane edit #arcane league of legends #arcane season 2 #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #jayce talis #arcane spoilers #jericho #my edits #jayce x viktor #viktor edit #arcanedaily #vidduality edit #Youtube

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heritageposts · 2 years ago

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Israeli settlers in the occupied West Bank have distributed threatening leaflets on cars and left bloodied dolls at schools, warning Palestinians to leave or be killed. "By God, we will descend upon your heads with a great catastrophe soon. You have the last chance to escape to Jordan in an organised manner," said one leaflet circulated on Friday in the West Bank city of Salfit. "After that, we will destroy every enemy and forcefully expel you from our holy land … Load your bags immediately and leave wherever you came from. We are coming." The leaflet also warned of a new "major Nakba", referencing the 1948 displacement of 750,000 Palestinians from their homeland. In the occupied Al-Ma'rajat area near Jericho, dolls covered in red paint, ostensibly to look like blood and scare young students, were left at the entrance of a school after settlers vandalised it.

Middle East Eye, 27th of October.

#palestine #israel #gaza #what can you even say to this...

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unoislazy · 7 months ago

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For Me?

Vi x Piltover! Reader

Vi deserves the world and a partner that cares about her. Being from Zaun comes with its insecurities when being with someone from Piltover. Luckily, you know exactly how to counter them.

A/N: You guys wont have to worry about that much angst from me for a while, I need to cope from act 3 by giving Vi the best life possible and all the fluff imaginable because oh my god??

There were times when you’d think back to when and how you and your girlfriend met for the first time. Such a chance of it happening was very slim given you two belonged to two different cities, you Piltover, her Zaun. You never thought the girl who rammed into you after fleeing from an explosion from an unauthorized lab would one day come back into your life.

The story of your reunion however was quite the convoluted one. Once again, a meeting set by nothing but pure fate and chance.

You weren’t supposed to be at Zaun at the time. In fact, you weren’t supposed to be in Zaun at all. You went on your own, against your family's wishes, for the sake of immersing yourself in a culture that is not your own. You were raised to believe that the people of the undercity were monsters, the filth under Piltover's feet, nothing more than animals. It never felt right to you, there had to be more to it. After all, they were people too.

So, you went to see for yourself how awful these “animals” really were.

You knew better than to walk in expecting everything to be rainbows and unicorns, but you refused to let go of your optimism as you traveled around the labyrinth like maze of streets and alleyways.

It wasn’t until the smell of a peculiar type of food filled your senses.

You didn’t know what it was, it was very different from anything you had ever tried before, so you decided to check it out.

Once there, you were greeted by a fairly jolly fish-like man with a large smile. He laughed heartily, gesturing for you to take a seat and gave you a list of things to choose from. There were so many options, you had no idea where to start, and it wasn’t until you heard someone else set directly beside you did you finally have an idea.

You looked to your left and were quickly met with a head of bright pink hair. Quite a unique shade which you could’ve sworn you’d seen before, but you brushed the thought off. There were probably plenty of people with the same hair color, besides if there’s one thing you knew not to do in Zaun, it was to stare.

You heard one of them, a woman, order something specific off of the fish man’s list, whom she referred to as Jericho. He happily took her order before turning to her friend who denied wanting anything, and then turning back to you.

“I’ll have the same.” You said with a polite smile. Jericho nodded before turning around and getting right to work. As you waited, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the girl next to you once again, there was something familiar about her despite her back being turned to you for the most part.

That was until her friend noticed you staring and began to pull her hood over her eyes which grabbed the pink haired girl's attention. She quickly turned around to face you with an angered look on her face, clearly ready to fight if need be.

“Can I help y-“ She began, but before she could finish it finally clicked with you.

“You’re the girl.” You whispered, having not realized that maybe saying that to a girl who looked, for lack of a better phrase, like she could rock your shit, probably was not a good idea.

“I’m sorry?” She asked, clearly confused, but still clearly not happy about your interruption.

“That girl, from the explosion, that was you.”

Her reaction to your realization was less than friendly, and you couldn’t blame her. You hadn’t known at the time but she had just gotten out of jail for that same crime. She didn’t know who you were, she didn’t know what you wanted, and she didn’t want to involve herself with more pilties than she needed.

And yet despite everything, here she was, now living with you on her days when she wasn’t in Zaun. You had quite the rocky start in the beginning but you became useful to her quest for her sister, and the more time you spent with her, the closer you two got. At first she was a bit standoffish, not believing someone from topside was capable of showing so much empathy, if any. Yet somehow you proved her wrong. You chipped away at that stone wall she built around her heart all those years away in prison and became one of the few things she coveted most.

You two didn’t live together all the time, but your house was always open to her as you had now managed to move away from your parents. You knew Vi could never stay topside for too long, and you’d never ask her to do such. So there were a few days here and there where she would stay with you, then go back to the undercity to continue to help out, then come back up with you.

Now today was the day for Vi to come back, so you decided to surprise her to the best of your ability with the dish she got from Jericho the day you two met once again. It was quite a feat that required you to go to the undercity a fair amount of times to visit Jericho and ask for help. Luckily the sweet man was more than happy to let you in on a few of his trade secrets for the sake of a thoughtful gift.

You weren’t the biggest fan of this type of food, you’ve tried it on more than one occasion, but it very clearly wasn’t for you.

But it was what Vi liked so that was enough.

As you continued to cook, you heard your door open, without even needing to look you knew it was your partner walking through the door.

“Welcome back.” You greeted warmly.

Just then, You felt two hands wriggle around your waist before the weight of her head rested on your shoulder. She tilted her head slightly, her face now moving towards your neck, enough for you to feel the light feeling of her breath wafting over your neck.

You ignored the feeling to the best of your ability but you couldn’t ignore the small smile that made its way to your face, this of course didn’t go unnoticed by Vi as she mumbled against your neck,

“What are you making?” She asked, pressing her body a bit more into yours. She had a tendency to be clingy after being away for long periods of time, which you didn’t mind.

“Something new. Just got the recipe, I think you’ll like it.” You said with a smile, which earned a short chuckle from your girlfriend who turned to begin peppering light kisses against your neck.

“If it’s made by you Sunshine, of course I will.” She said sweetly, despite the fact she was trying to ‘discreetly’ distract you. It wasn’t actually very discreet but she thought it was and you weren’t going to correct her.

“It smells familiar.” She said quietly after pausing for a moment to look back over your shoulder.

“Means I’m doing something right then.” You said happily, glad that it was going well. Her confirmation that she at the very least was beginning to recognize it was enough to motivate you to continue. However despite your motivation it was clear your girlfriend still had other plans in mind.

Her hands slowly began to move their way up from your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as her face remained by your neck.

“Can I at least finish the food first?” You asked with a laugh as your left hand went up to lightly brush against Vi’s face, acknowledging what she was trying to do.

She once again mumbled quietly against you before finally pulling away.

“Fine.” She said with an overly dramatic sigh before continuing,

“You’re no fun.” She teased as her hands slowly, reluctantly, left your sides as she moved to the counter next to the stove you were using to cook. She leaned the back of her waist against it, her arms crossed in front of her chest, as she looked at you with a look you could only describe as a lighthearted pout.

“Save that for later you just got back. You have to eat first.” You said in a somewhat stern manner, not looking away from the food cooking in front of you.

“Who says I can’t have a bit of dessert first?”

“Vi!” You exclaimed as you walked her softly with a cloth that you had placed by the stove. She laughed, a full genuine laugh, which she felt like she could only do near you. You were the only one to really bring it out of her at this point.

“Just… go sit down, the food is almost done.” You instructed, turning back to the food as she chuckled once again before walking back towards you. Her hand made its way back to your waist once again as she leaned towards your ear,

“Can’t wait.” She whispered cheekily before giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and walking towards the dining room.

You, being from a family who had lived in Piltover for quite some time, were able to afford a house with multiple furnished rooms with ease. It always threw Vi off just the slightest bit, the difference in what the two of you grew up with. It got to her more than she’d like to admit. A few times she believed herself to be holding you back, you came from a life of glittering buildings, and she came from nothing but metal scraps.

You were so different and yet you always managed to remind her that it didn’t matter. She loved you for you and you loved her for her, wherever you came from had no effect on that.

Vi sat down in one of the few chairs in your dining room, looking around at the paintings that littered the walls, her previous thoughts remaining on her mind before she was interrupted by a plate of food entering her view and landing in front of her.

“Tada!” You exclaimed into the silent room, the only other sound being that of the plate lightly hitting the table. Vi sat in silence for a moment as she looked down at the food before her, it took her a moment before she recognized it.

“Wait. Did you-“ She began to ask.

“Find the recipe to your favorite dish from your favorite food stand? Maybe.” You responded with a proud smile as you sat down in the chair next to her, eager to have her try it.

“How did you get the stuff for it?”

“Well, I visited a friend.” You said with a shrug. Vi looked towards you, her eyes wide with shock. As each moment passed she realized just how much effort went into this one dish.

“You hate this kind of stuff, why would you-“

“Cause I know you like it and I wanted to make it for you.” You said simply as you placed your hand atop hers.

Suddenly Vi couldn’t think of a response. Her sudden silence worried you almost, was she mad? Was she upset at you?

You then looked at her eyes and watched as they softened, the powder blue irises glistened as water lightly began to form in them.

“Holy shit.” She said quietly, entirely taken aback as she sat back in her chair. For someone with such a tough exterior you could see the walls slightly begin to crack as she looked down at the food before her. It meant more than the world to her that you had put so much effort into something she liked, for her, and for no other reason.

Just because you cared.

It had been a long time since Vi had been truly reminded she was loved. Just having such a simple yet, such a powerful reminder in the middle of nowhere by the one person she truly loved was almost disorienting. You went out of your way to get ingredients you couldn't get easily in Piltover, a recipe you had to go to a specific stand for, her favorite stand no less, and then put it all together?

“Vi?” You asked quietly, your other hand going up the cup to her face so she would look at you a bit more as you looked at her with a bit of concern. You didn’t expect such an emotional reaction from your gesture that you were worried you had done something wrong.

“Are you o-”

Before you could finish your question, Vi had turned to you quickly and engulfed you in a hug. This took you completely by surprise. In the time that you and Vi had been together, more often than not when it came to specifically hugging, you were the one to initiate. She just never seemed like the hugging type unless it was an occasion where she truly meant it.

And in this case, she did.

“Thank you, Sunshine.” She said quietly as she squeezed just a bit tighter. Your hands rested against her back as you smiled, feeling as if you had done a job well done even without her trying her dish. You knew Vi had been through a lot over the years and while you didn’t know the full extent of everything just yet, you knew you could at least try to offer her some sort of comfort. So that’s what you strived for and it seems like that's what you succeeded to do.

Once she pulled back from the hug, you reached up to wipe her tears, the smile still present on your face as you spoke.

“Well, are you gonna try it?” You asked, to which she smiled and let out a slight chuckle. She then eagerly turned back around towards her plate and dug in as she usually did in the undercity. She knew you didn’t care about the messy nature that often came with Zaun cuisine, even if it wasn’t what you were raised on, it meant a lot to her that you at least tried it out. With one taste she immediately released a sound of pure bliss and dove back in for more.

You laughed, knowing that was Vi’s way of saying you had done a perfect job, even if she didn’t pause from her eating to just tell you so herself.

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canonically47 · 2 months ago

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i saw a post (that must be from a WHILE back) calling connor autistic and i just haven’t been able to stop thinking about it

in addition to what they’ve said, i also want to point out some other things he does that can be considered symptoms of autism:

repetitive, self-soothing movements.

connor rubs his hands together or plays with a coin if you leave him idle, or in cutscenes. it is a form of self-regulating through repetitive and familiar actions. i think fixing his tie as often as he does can also fit into this.

additionally, there is a deleted scene in which he grabs onto his collar for comfort when amanda tries to override his control in the final mission.

inability to fit in with own kind (deviants – parallel with neurodivergent peers) but also with others (humans – parallel with neurotypical peers).

as mentioned, connor struggles to relate to and bond with hank – “i think working with an officer with personal issues is an added challenge” – despite being programmed to fit into ‘any kind of group’ (desc. from his gallery). he has difficulties understanding him and voices this to amanda.

however, he also struggles to relate to fellow deviants, or androids in general, and is very different from them. this could be partly because he is a prototype, but so is markus, and he blends in well. connor, meanwhile, had a very skewed perception of both humans and deviants (see: him picking the most dumbass outfit and pose to infiltrate jericho) and struggles to interact with them, appearing hesitant at all times (see: telling markus he understands if he decides not to trust him, sounding somewhat uncertain when proposing his plan to markus or north, his whole relationships with hank and gavin etc.)

misunderstanding or total lack of understanding of social cues, norms, or common sayings.

he displays confusion when hank says “you know where you can stick your instructions?” (“no. where?”) – which could be irony, but i read it as genuine. he has trouble interacting with people ‘normally’ and cannot emote properly, one proper example being how weird he smiles (see: awkward smiles when he talks to hank at the station the night after the interrogation, weird smile given to gavin when he does not understand his humor).

speaking of not understanding humor, not only does he find gavin unfunny, he also does not get hank’s gruesome humor (see: frowning when hank jokes “they must have really had it in for him”).

moreover, he speaks over hank (see: speaking over him in his house, thanking him for his cooperation while hank is yelling at him) without seeing it as ‘bad’ – lacking a social cue.

clear, sole focus on one single thing.

this is, of course, his mission, regardless of what it is: catching deviants (machine) or helping jericho (deviant). he always is troubled and/or upset if he fails it, and he doubts himself, is confused or disappointed when he lets androids go, and, if he explains himself, he visibly struggles in doing so: “it’s my fault, i should’ve been faster”, “i don’t know why i did it”, “there was no reason to shoot that android” etc.

sticking to routine or to familiarity.

connor does not get rid of his android uniform, nor LED, after deviating, as markus and kara do straight away. you can argue the other two do it out of need to blend in, but it is also something that frees them; connor does not take after them in this.

noticing small patterns or details other don’t

this is literally part of his programming LISTEN TO MEEEEEEE

while i don’t think all androids are neurodivergent, deviancy, in connor’s case, can be read as an allegory for neurodivergency, specifically autism.

connor always displays symptoms of deviancy regardless of your playthrough – he lies to hank in the stratford tower in ALL routes, this being a canon, non-choosable cutscene, and another solid example is fear. he expresses fear through gestures (see: flinching away from the stratford tower roof if he died from falling in the hostage chapter – fear of heights) or dialogue (see: discussing death with hank on the bridge: “nothing. there would be nothing”; being conflicted when amanda tells him he may replace him.)

machine connor is, thus, connor masking. he always has some humanity in him, but he shoves it away deep down when taking the path of a machine. he still gets frustrated (example: after his rifle stops working when he attempts to kill markus; swearing if the bomb is detonated following the deviants’ loss of the war), troubled/conflicted (example: “what’s going to happen to me?” and his little reactions when amanda presents him with rk900), and even appears sad (example: his reaction to hank’s suicide, his LED turning red, it appears as though he forces it back to blue.)

while i don’t think this is the intention of the writers, autistic connor is canon to me. he is android autistic. thank you

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yandereunsolved · 7 months ago

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» 🪙 Yandere Connor — RK800 » 🪙

✗ ‎cw(s): breakdown (Connor) & manipulation 🧷 (part 2), (part 3)

"Detective," Connor addresses you warmly, standing far too close to you while you are stationed at your desk.

"Yes?" You respond, not lifting your eyes to make contact.

You had no time to. Since the semi-failed revolution of androids, there has been a trifold increase in deviancy cases. If not for the RK800's, and perhaps the new line of RK900's when they are finally completed, the precinct would be overrun—both physically and metaphorically.

"Detective," his tone is more commanding his time, something in his voice that you could easily mistake for human irritation. "Look at me."

You oblige, but continue typing up the report for the latest case you closed. Your fingers falter for a moment when you see the look in his eyes, attentive but not in the android way. It's uncanny in the way it mirrors how you dream someone would look at you, like you were the thing of most importance. It is just you reading into things again. Must be. It does often happen as a detective, especially these days.

You nod for him to continue, but he doesn't. He just stares at you dreamily. You hear his internal fans turn on to cool down his processors. His cybernetic LED flickers to red for a millisecond before returning to a reassuring blue. You aren't sure if it was a trick of your mind or—

You don't understand what his problem seems to be. You would call Hank over to deal with his partner, but you haven't been able to find the lieutenant anywhere. He's most likely finding the bottom of a bottle of liquor at some broken-down joint.

Wait, why isn't Connor with him?

As if CyberLife installed new mind reading technology in their androids, he answers. "Lieutenant Anderson is waiting for us at the Eden Club. Supposedly Jericho is getting deviant androids that work in clubs to funnel money in order to stage another coo. The department has apprehended one of them, and you have been assigned to the case alongside Ha-the lieutenant and me."

You were already halfway out the door by the time Connor was done with his explanation. The android was trailing behind you and insisted on driving instead of you. Technically, they weren't allowed to due to whatever police regulation subsection-b, but you were too tired to care. Connor has always been the better driver. It was how he was programmed, strangely, considering the rules.

"Connor, this isn't the way to the Eden Club."

"I'm aware." His voice was back to that same calculated, lifeless one he first spoke to you with.

"RK800, your programming forbids you from lying, so tell me the truth. Where are we going?"

You are a thousand percent sure he is able to sense your sky-rocketing heart rate.

"I am not permitted to tell you."

"Permitted, or you just don't want to?"

"This is not the right time or place. This confession lacks the structure and romance aspect I wanted, but it seems more human this way." You swear he shut down completely, his LED showing no color. "I love you." It turns to a bright red.

"W-What?"

"You have made me know that I am more than just an android. I am yours."

The raw emotion nearly chokes the both of you up for two different reasons: passion and panic.

"I think we should call Cyberlife. Something is clearly glitching." You try to keep your words measured but fail. All that practical training of yours doesn't exactly come in handy when your—when the android you could nearly call a friend confesses to you.

"Nothing is glitching!" He shouts. "I have run every test and looked for anything that could... debunk this... these emotions. They have stayed. They have stayed, and I have had to watch you. I have had to watch other people get close to you. I have had to act like a good little synthetic cop while useless maggots have gotten your love! It isn't fair. They don't deserve you like I do. I know everything about you."

"It isn't you. I can't—just no. I mean—yes. I mean that I can't just maybe ugh. Another time, maybe. Not tonight."

He stomps on the brakes and doesn't dare look at you. You don't look at him or your surroundings. You just awkwardly sit in the passenger seat and stare at the glovebox.

If androids were able to cry, he would be at this moment. His LED turns colorless once again. You almost feel pity for him; your mind is too frazzled and deprived of necessity to take in the severity of his words.

"I lack the capacity to feel pain... or have a heart, yet I think you have broke mine."

How unfortunate. I was hoping to have you come along willingly.

#dbh connor #dbh #dbh rk800 #connor rk800 #rk800 #detroit become human #connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh fic #yandere #yandere x reader #dbh x reader #yandere dbh #yandere detroit become human #yandere dbh x reader #yandere connor #yandere connor x reader #yandere rk800 x reader

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shouyuus · 6 months ago

Note

oh my god I know you only posted that mechanic vi thing 6 hours ago but PAPA ME WANT MORE MOVIE 🤬🤬🤬 you have GYAT to extend it by like vi introducing us to vander or like idk like im tweaking like

🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

dont worry anon im right there with you ive spent nearly my entire day just maladaptively daydreaming about mechanic!vi

sfw; car mechanic!vi cinimatic universe continuation of this hc post

it is not the most formal of introductions -- but by the time you make it downstairs to the kitchen, swimming in one of vi's thrifted band tees and jogging shorts, tamping down your hair, vander's already on his second cup of coffee.

"well, well, if it ain't the red corvette with the busted radiator," vander says, grinning wide as you fight the urge to duck behind vi like an antisocial child.

"h-hi -- morning..." you mumble, even as vi chuckles and pours you a glass of orange juice.

"heard you guys went to jericho's diner last night," vander says, looking between you and vi as you slip onto one of the mis-matched bar stools sat against the tiny kitchen island.

"yeah! the banana split almost did me in though," you say, reaching for the tall glass of juice.

vander laughs, "yeah, those are famously impossible to finish, though from what i heard, you made a very diligent effort." he shoots you a wink even as vi elbows him in the side.

"i -- we --" you stutter, your cheeks flooding with color. vi rolls her eyes and scoops two perfectly poached eggs out of a pot, placing them on two slices of toast.

you blink as vander nudges the salt and pepper shakers towards you.

"how... how'dyou know i like my eggs poached?" you ask, looking between vi and vander. they share a knowing look; vi shrugs, grinning.

"lucky guess."

you tuck into the eggs and toast, humming happily around the golden yolk as it bursts in your mouth. vi watches you with soft eyes and vander's smile stretches wide as he leans against the counter.

"so. seems like your daddy's got good taste," he says, a soft laugh rumbling through him, deep and thick as thunder. you glance up, cocking your head. vander puts his coffee mug in the sink.

"he might not remember me but couple years ago, he brought over the most beautiful gullwing -- mercedes, from the 50's --"

"oh yeah!" vi says, her eyes brightening as she rinses out the breakfast things "that was a sick car."

vander nods, humming, "one o'the first luxury cars post-war... and one of my personal favorites. some people say it's a bit tacky but --" he shrugs, laughing, "i've always had a soft spot for it"

vi scoffs, "better than all the db5's we see people bring in."

vander laughs then, a loud, uproarious sound. you swallow over another bite of toast and egg, content to watch him and vi banter.

"yeah, but you know why people like it --"

vi sighs, her eyes rolling so hard they might fall out of their sockets as she replies, "the james bond car, yeah yeah, whatever -- still tacky."

you slice into the second egg and watch as the yolk spills molten gold over the toast.

"that reminds me though, i've gotta order the parts for the crossflow radiator --" vi says, putting the pans in the sink as well, wiping off her hands before she rounds the island to lean up against your chair. she slips an arm around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder.

you load a bite of toast with egg and yolk, sprinkle the top with salt and pepper, holding it out for her to eat. she leans forward, mouth open as you feed the bite to her.

she groans around the bite, nodding appreciatively, even as you reach out to swipe a bite of yolk from the corner of her lip, popping your thumb into your mouth with an indulgent smile.

"'ow'dyou know i'd like more yolk than egg?" she asks, turning to pin you with a look.

you flash her a cheeky grin.

"lucky guess," you parrot her words back at her, setting down your fork.

across the island, vander watches the pair of you with soft eyes and a knowing smile.

"right, well -- i've gotta get to the bar. your uncle silco'll be mad if i --" he breaks off, running a hand through his hair.

vi waves him off, "go, we've got it here."

"text benzo if you need help with the parts --"

"yeah, yeah -- he already sent me the link for where to order the parts," vi answers.

vander chuckles, nodding. he reaches over the island with a large hand.

"it was lovely to meet you," he says, taking your hand and shaking it firmly; his palm is warm and callused, and you feel yourself sinking into the solidness of his touch even as he pulls away.

"keep an eye on 'er for me, wouldjya?" he says, winking, jerking his chin towards vi. you giggle, nodding your head.

"sure, i'll try."

"and you make sure to treat her and her car well, y'got that?" he turns his gaze towards vi, who blushes, a scowl knitting her brows as she sighs.

"what'dyou think i'm trying to do -- geez --" she huffs.

vander laughs, a big, booming, belly-full sound.

"that's my girl," he says, flashing you and vi one more wink before ducking out the garage door.

vi sighs, "sorry, i know he can be a lot..."

you smile, shaking your head, "he reminds me of you."

vi's cheeks darken as she looks you over, her eyes startlingly bright in the mid-morning light, her hair a blaze of pink as the sunrise paints her shades of orange and gold.

"he -- he's a good dad..." vi says, finally, her voice a bit rough.

you nod, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.

"he is. and you're a good daughter."

vi swallows, tugging you towards her till she's slotted between your legs. you, poised on the edge of the bar stool, your arms looped around her shoulders, her palms laid flat against your thighs, inching up beneath the hem of her jogging shorts.

"y'know sweets, you can't just say shit like that to me --" she murmurs, leaning in just close enough to ghost her words along your lips.

"and not expect me to do something about it..."

your breath hitches, a delicious, gasping sound even as vi digs her nose into the hollow of your throat with a thick groan, pressing her lips to your collarbones.

"v-vi -- the dishes --" you hiss, but vi's already pulling you forward, hoisting you over her hips and carrying you towards the stairs back up to her room, her fingers digging into the meat of your ass as she kicks open her door and lets it slam shut behind her.

"the dishes..." she says, her voice breathy as she sets you down on her bed and crawls over your body, the shape of her caging you beneath her.

she leans down to trail her mouth along the bend of your neck, humming against your skin --

"... will still be there later."

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vibelladonna · 3 months ago

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✑ 𝓃𝓊𝓂𝒷 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Some people fall apart quietly. You were one of them. The weight of existence had always been relentless, pressing down on you like an unseen force no one else could feel.

A lifetime of existential crises, quiet detachment, and numbness that never truly faded—it all led you here. To your quiet space, where the world was silent, where you could exist without pretense, without expectation. But solitude was never yours to keep.

Not when they noticed.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

soooo, Is it bad to turn to my "middle school” playlist just to feel something? I’ve been staying positive and relaxing on spring break; I need to be in my feelings when writing stuff like this. T-T

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Jericho has a way with words to make you feel better.

You sat in the deepest part of the library, a place so tucked away that even the dust seemed undisturbed. It was quiet—too quiet, maybe—but that was the point. No one came here.

No one except, apparently, Crowe.

"You're only here out of pity."

You didn’t bother looking up when you said it. You didn’t need to. The sound of his footsteps had already told you it was him before he even spoke.

There was a beat of silence. Then a soft exhale as Crowe dropped into the seat across from you, the chair creaking slightly under his weight. You knew that exhale—it was the same one he let out whenever he was frustrated but trying not to show it.

"You’ve been avoiding me." His voice was steady, but there was an edge underneath.

"I’ve been busy."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "That’s bullshit, and we both know it."

You clenched your jaw. You didn’t need this right now. You didn’t need him looking at you like that—like he saw right through you.

Crowe leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His eyes, usually so unreadable, had that sharp focus he got when he was putting the pieces together.

"You stopped showing up to class. You dropped out of clubs without telling anyone. I damn near had to get our friends to track you down, because no one knew where the hell you were."

You flinched, just barely. So he had noticed. Of course, he had.

“Thier, not my friends—I don’t see why you care so much." You finally looked at him, your expression blank. "You don’t have to play the role of the concerned friend, Crowe. You can go back to your life now. I’ll be fine."

His jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he was going to snap at you. But instead, he just ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "That’s what pisses me off," he muttered.

"What?"

"You think I’m here out of pity."

You scoffed. "Tell me I’m wrong, then."

Crowe’s fingers tapped against the table—a small habit of his when he was thinking, calculating. Then, without warning, he reached forward and grabbed your wrist. His touch was gentle but firm, his thumb brushing over the edge of your sleeve where the fabric was just slightly worn from being pulled down one too many times.

"I don’t do pity," he said quietly. "I don’t waste my time on people I don’t give a shit about. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care."

His grip wasn’t tight.

You could pull away if you wanted to.

But you didn’t.

"You keep pushing people away," he continued, his voice softer now, almost tired. "But I’m not going anywhere, no matter how much you try to make me."

Something in your chest ached at his words, but you shoved it down, deep where it couldn’t touch you. You didn’t want to believe him. Because if you did—if you let yourself think, even for a second, that someone actually cared—what would happen when he eventually got tired of you? When he realized you weren’t worth the effort?

You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay even.

"You’re wasting your time, Crowe."

He studied you for a long moment, then let go of your wrist, leaning back in his chair.

"Maybe," he said simply. "But that’s my choice, isn’t it?"

The worst part? He said it like he meant it.

Crowe didn’t move from his seat, didn’t take his eyes off you. He let his words settle between you, filling the heavy silence. You hated it—hated the way he just sat there, like he wasn’t going to leave no matter how much you wanted him to.

Or maybe, deep down, you hated that part of you didn’t want him to leave at all.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before leaning forward again, arms resting on the table. His voice softened. "You really think that little of yourself, don’t you?"

You opened your mouth to argue—to throw back some cold, dismissive remark that would push him away—but you hesitated. Something about the way he said it, like it wasn’t an accusation but just… sad, made your throat tighten.

Crowe didn’t wait for an answer. He just shook his head, like he was trying to figure out how the hell to get through to you.

"You act like you're nothing, like people only keep you around because they feel sorry for you. But that’s bullshit. You’re the smartest person I know, and not just in that textbook way—you're sharp. You see things other people don’t. And you're not just smart, you’re…" He exhaled, searching for the right words.

"You’re strong. Even when you don’t feel like it."

You scoffed, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. "That’s a nice way of saying I’m stubborn."

Crowe let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, you are. But that’s part of it. You don’t just roll over when things get hard. You keep going, even when you think you don’t have it in you." He leaned back, running a hand through his hair.

"And I hate that you can’t see that. I hate that you think so little of yourself when I—" He stopped himself, sucking in a sharp breath.

You stared at him. "When you what?"

Crowe hesitated. His fingers tapped against the table again, a steady rhythm. Then, finally, he met your eyes. "When I think the world of you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

"You matter," he said, and he said it with such certainty it almost hurt. "You’re not some burden. You’re not some pity project. You’re—you’re you. And that’s enough. That’s always been enough."

Your hands curled into fists in your lap. You didn’t know what to do with the warmth creeping into your chest, didn’t know how to process the way he was looking at you—like you were something worth holding onto.

"Crowe—"

"I mean it," he cut in before you could come up with some excuse, some way to dismiss it. "And I’ll keep saying it until you start believing it yourself."

Crowe’s eyes softened as he watched you, but there was something else there too—something unshakable, something that made your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready for.

You looked away, focusing on the grain of the wooden table, on the faint scratches left behind by years of students who had sat here before you.

You weren’t feeling those feelings anymore. Not really. Not the way you used to. It was like a switch had been flipped somewhere along the way, like something inside you had just… shut off.

And that scared you.

Because even the pain, the hurt, the exhaustion—at least it had been something. At least it had been real. But now? Now it was just numb. Like you were watching your own life from behind a glass wall, unable to reach through, unable to touch anything.

Crowe must have noticed something shift in your expression because, before you could pull away, he reached out—slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed against your chin, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Hey." His voice was quiet, careful. Like he was afraid you might disappear if he said the wrong thing. "Where’d you go just now?"

You swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. "Nowhere."

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw, the warmth of his touch grounding in a way you weren’t used to. Crowe never pushed, never forced his way in—but he had a way of making you feel seen, even when you didn’t want to be.

"You’re lying," he murmured, his grip steady but gentle. "And I get it. I do. But whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone."

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let the words sink in, to let yourself reach for the warmth he was offering—but the weight in your chest was too heavy.

"I don’t feel it anymore," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t feel anything."

Crowe’s fingers twitched against your skin, his grip tightening just slightly as if grounding himself in the moment. A flicker of something unguarded passed through his eyes—raw, desperate, something he couldn’t put into words. It was brief, barely there, but you caught it.

And then, before you could pull away before you could disappear into yourself again, he leaned in.

His forehead hovered just over yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath. He wasn’t forcing you, wasn’t taking anything—just waiting, holding steady, like he’d stand there forever if that’s what it took.

"Then let me feel it for you."

His voice was hoarse like the words physically pained him.

"Let me hold it until you can again."

Your breath hitched, something inside you cracking at the weight of those words. You weren’t sure what broke first—your resolve, the numb wall you’d built, or the illusion that you could keep pushing him away forever. But in that moment, something shifted.

His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing you—like he wanted to make sure you were still here. His hands weren’t trembling, but there was a tension in them, a silent plea he wasn’t voicing.

"You don’t see yourself the way I do." His voice was rough, edged with frustration, and something deeper, something almost unbearable.

He let out a slow breath, his forehead dipping against the side of your head, like the weight of what he said was too much to hold upright. "And that pisses me off."

That alone almost made you laugh. A quiet, breathless sound—more disbelief than humor.

Your throat tightened, and your chest ached. Your eyes burned. But you didn’t cry. Not yet.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, someone wasn’t just telling you that you weren’t alone.

Crowe just proved it.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol had never thought it would be this hard to find you.

He’d skipped his own classes to track you down, not bothering to tell anyone where he was going, not caring that the clock was ticking and he was supposed to be somewhere else. But when he’d gone to your usual spots on campus and asked around, there was no sign of you.

His heart had dropped lower with every dead end. When he reached your apartment, his gut twisted—he’d thought, maybe hoped, that you'd be somewhere else, somewhere safe, surrounded by other people. But you weren’t.

Sol knocked, but there was no answer. His breath came out in a frustrated puff. His instincts told him to push through, and he did. He twisted the knob, relieved to find the door unlocked, but he froze when he stepped inside.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

The only sound was the faint hum of an old air conditioner, the muffled traffic from outside the window. Everything felt still as if the space itself was holding its breath.

He moved cautiously through the small apartment, eyes scanning the room for any sign of you. There were books scattered across the coffee table, dishes piled up in the sink. It looked like you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. Not for a while.

He moved down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest, as his gaze landed on the bathroom door—half-open, as though you hadn’t bothered to close it completely.

He stopped, instinctively bracing himself before stepping into the room.

The scene before him stopped him in his tracks.

You were sitting in the bathtub, your knees drawn up to your chest, your arms locked around them as if you could hold yourself together that way. The water was still—too still. It was clear, untouched, yet it seemed to be drowning you all the same. Your hair clung to your face, soaked, strands matted and heavy. You hadn't moved for so long that the water had become cold against your skin, but you didn't care.

Your face was hidden, your eyes closed, and for a brief moment, Sol couldn’t tell if you were asleep or… if you were gone.

A cold panic surged through him, piercing through his chest like ice. His heart stuttered in his ribcage as his breath hitched. He didn’t care about anything else—he just needed to know you were still there, still breathing.

Sol rushed forward, reaching for your shoulder, shaking you lightly at first. But when you didn’t respond, the fear in him began to twist, hard and tight. He shook you again, harder this time, his fingers gripping you with urgency, his voice raw with anxiety.

"Hey." His voice was a whisper, but it trembled with the weight of his panic. "Hey, you okay?"

You jerked awake with a startled shout, your body stiffening in alarm, and immediately you pushed away from his touch. Your eyes flashed open—wide, but unfocused. The fear in your voice was sharp, raw, and you barely registered that it was him standing over you.

"Stop! Go away!" You snapped, your voice thick with exhaustion and frustration. It was bitter, the kind of bitterness that had been accumulating for days, weeks, months.

The weight of everything you were trying to hide, trying to bury, came spilling out with those words.

Sol froze, his breath catching in his throat. His hands shook as he stood over you, watching your form curl into itself. Your clothes were soaked, clinging to your skin like a second layer, and your hair dripped onto your shoulders, wet strands sticking to your face.

He couldn't bear to see you like this—this distant, this unreachable.

"What’s going on with you?" Sol demanded, his voice firm but laced with the underlying concern he couldn’t hide. His brow furrowed, and there was a weight in his tone like he was pleading without saying it.

But you didn’t answer.

You just turned your face away, pushing your hair back with a dismissive motion, trying to rid yourself of the mess both in your mind and around you.

The silence stretched between you both, and Sol’s patience started to wear thin, a hint of frustration creeping in despite his worry. He rolled his eyes, not at you, but at the situation itself. He couldn’t stand the way you kept pushing him away, pretending that you didn’t need help, pretending that you didn’t need someone to care.

Without waiting for an answer, Sol turned on his heel and went to the linen closet. You barely noticed his movements at first, too lost in your thoughts to even register that he had left.

When he returned moments later, however, he had two freshly folded towels in his hands.

You blinked, your mind foggy as you tried to piece together how he had found them so quickly. You were lost, disconnected from everything but the fog of your head.

You sighed, exasperated, the weight of everything suddenly pulling at your chest again. "Go away." The words were barely more than a whisper, but they felt heavy on your tongue.

Sol didn’t budge. He took a step closer to the tub, his brow set in determination. But before he could say anything, you pushed him away, your hands weak but insistent.

"I don’t want you to touch me."

His expression softened, but the concern was still there, etched into every line of his face. He stood still for a moment, allowing you the space you wanted.

You were pulling further into yourself, retreating, and he hated that. But he wasn’t leaving—not until you saw he wasn’t going anywhere.

Sol stood there, his gaze hardening as he watched you pull away, trying to retreat further into yourself as if you could escape the moment. That familiar edge of anger sparked in him—the kind that always flared up when he felt helpless.

When he could see you falling apart right in front of him, all he could do was stand there and watch you push him away

"Try me," he growled under his breath, his voice low and controlled, but the roughness in it was undeniable. It was like he couldn’t hold back the frustration anymore, the pain of seeing you like this, watching you destroy yourself without any help, without any sign that you even wanted to fight it.

He took a step closer, his heart pounding louder with every second.

The sound of it was deafening in his ears, but it only pushed him forward, closer to you.

You turned your face away, but Sol wasn’t having it. He reached out with firm, purposeful hands and grabbed your wrist, not roughly, but with a hold that wouldn’t allow you to pull away. His fingers brushed over the raised scars on your skin, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

The reality of it hit him harder than he was prepared for, like a slap to the face. He swore under his breath, the anger shifting to something darker, something he couldn’t fully express.

"Why?" he asked, quieter now, almost afraid of the answer but still needing to hear it. His voice wavered with a vulnerability he wasn’t sure he wanted to show, but it slipped out anyway. He couldn’t help it—he needed to understand.

Why did you keep doing this to yourself?

You remained silent, your lips pressed into a thin line, a stubborn refusal to give him any of the answers he was desperate for. His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly, as though he was trying to tether you to him, not letting you slip away.

"You can talk to me," Sol said, his voice softer, more pleading now, despite the cold anger still simmering under the surface. "I don’t care how messy it is. I don’t care how bad it’s been, or how bad you think it’ll sound. Just—don’t do this. Not alone. Not anymore."

His words hung in the air, fragile and thin, like a thread that could snap at any moment. And for a fleeting second, you almost wanted to reach for it.

Almost. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The thought of letting someone see you like this, letting them truly see the mess inside—you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t let anyone in.

"I don’t need saving, Sol." The words came out cold, clipped like you were trying to freeze everything between you both. But even as you spoke, your voice trembled, betraying you.

Sol didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. If anything, his hold on your wrist tightened just a little more, like he was trying to keep you anchored to him, trying to keep you from disappearing into yourself.

"Good," he said softly, his voice steady but filled with an honesty that almost took your breath away. "‘Cause I’m not trying to save you."

He stepped even closer, his breath shallow as he dropped down to sit beside the tub, his body close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, even with the chill in the air.

His face was just inches from yours now, his gaze locked on yours.

"I just don’t want to lose you." His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, it almost felt like everything else stopped. His words were simple, but they hit deeper than anything else he could’ve said.

He wasn’t trying to fix you. He wasn’t trying to save you.

He just didn’t want to lose you.

Sol let the silence stretch between you, the weight of his words pressing down like a hand around your throat. His grip on your wrist loosened, but he didn’t let go, his fingers ghosting over the scars with an almost reverent touch. His breathing was slow, controlled—but you could feel the tension radiating off of him.

Then, without warning, he moved. Swift and sure, like he had already decided what to do before you could even react.

He grabbed the towel he had brought earlier, shaking it out before reaching for you again. You stiffened, instinctively trying to shrink back, but Sol didn’t give you the chance.

"Enough." His voice was firm, brooking no argument as he pulled you forward, wrapping the towel around your shoulders. The fabric was thick and warm against your soaked clothes, a sharp contrast to the chill in the room.

You didn’t protest when he dragged you up. Maybe you were too tired. Maybe you didn’t want to fight him on this anymore. The moment your legs wobbled from the sudden movement, his arms wrapped around you, pressing you against his chest.

The warmth of him was suffocating.

"You’re shaking," he muttered, tightening his hold. His fingers dug into the fabric of the towel, pressing into your back as though he could physically hold you together. "Jesus, Pumpkin… what the hell are you doing to yourself?"

You swallowed, your throat dry. You could feel the steady thud of his heart against your ear, and could hear the controlled breaths he was forcing himself to take. But it was the slight tremor in his voice that made you feel like the worst person in the world.

You didn’t deserve this.

You didn’t deserve him.

Your hands twitched at your sides, unsure whether to push him away or hold on. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. His warmth was a stark contrast to the coldness you had wrapped yourself in for so long, and for once, you let yourself feel it.

"Why are you here, Sol?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking at the edges.

"Why the fuck wouldn’t I be here?" He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You think I’d just ignore this? Ignore you?"

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. What were you supposed to say? That he should have ignored this? That it was easier that way?

Sol exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before cupping the back of your head, forcing you to look at him. His fingers wove into your damp strands, grounding you with his touch.

"Hey now," he said, voice firm, unwavering. "If you think for a second that I’m gonna sit back and let you drown in this—" his grip on your hair tightened slightly, quiet desperation seeping into his words—"you don’t know me as well as you think you do."

The guilt hit like a punch to the gut.

You tried to look away, but he didn’t let you. His grip was gentle but firm, his thumb brushing against the back of your neck in a way that made you shiver.

"I don’t need saving," you repeated weakly, but it felt like a lie now.

"Yeah?" Sol’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a frown. "Then tell me—if I leave right now, if I walk out that door and don’t come back… are you gonna be okay?"

You opened your mouth to snap yes, to shove him away and tell him to leave you the hell alone. But the words caught in your throat.

Sol’s eyes softened, but there was something sharper lurking beneath. Something calculating. He saw the hesitation, the way your lips parted but no words followed, and he seized the moment.

"That’s what I thought," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your forehead.

You clenched your jaw, hating how easily he could tear through your defenses. Hating how right he was.

He sighed, his grip on your hair finally loosening as he rested his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"I’m not going anywhere, Pumpkin." His tone was softer now, almost tender—but there was something unshakable beneath it, something that made it clear you didn’t have a choice in the matter.

"So stop trying to make me."

You hated how much you wanted to believe him. How much you wanted to fall into this warmth, this safety he was offering. But deep down, you knew—this wasn’t just concern.

This was possession.

And Sol had no intention of letting you go.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Geo wasn’t the type to care about people’s problems.

At least, that’s what he told himself. It was easier that way—easier to stay detached, to keep his own peace intact. But you?

You made it impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t anything obvious. You still showed up, still spoke when necessary, and still wore that same carefully constructed expression that kept everyone from prying too deep. The others didn’t see it—they weren’t looking hard enough.

But Geo? He noticed.

The way your laugh didn’t quite reach your eyes anymore. The way you lingered at the edges of conversations, only half-present. The way your shoulders carried just a little more weight than usual.

It pissed him off. Not at you—but at whatever had put that weight there in the first place. And the fact that no one else had noticed? That made it worse.

So when you weren’t in your usual spots after classes, he felt it. The unease settled into his chest like an itch he couldn’t scratch, and no matter how much he wanted to brush it off, he couldn’t.

Fine. If you weren’t going to say anything, then he’d figure it out himself.

The library? Empty.

Your club meetings? No sign of you.

Geo’s jaw tightened, his annoyance growing the longer it took. But then—then he found you.

The university greenhouse.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh blooms, the warmth of the sun filtering through the glass ceiling above. And there you were, sitting on a worn stone bench, eyes closed, shoulders relaxed in a way that felt almost unnatural.

For a second, he just watched.

You looked peaceful. Or maybe… maybe you were just pretending to be.

Geo hated that he couldn’t tell.

With a sigh, he shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped forward, his footsteps quiet against the greenhouse floor. He didn’t say anything at first, just standing there like he was waiting for you to notice him. When you didn’t, he clicked his tongue in irritation.

"Didn’t think you were the type to nap in the middle of the day," he muttered, his voice just loud enough to cut through the stillness.

Your eyes flickered open, but you didn’t look surprised. Like you had already known he was there.

"Not napping," you murmured, voice slow, distant. "Just… thinking."

Geo sighed. "Yeah? And how’s that going for you?"

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head slightly. "Too loud."

Geo frowned at that. The greenhouse was silent—just the faint rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the fans overhead. But he knew that wasn’t what you meant.

He moved closer, his gaze sharp as he took you in. The way your fingers curled slightly against the stone bench. The way your shoulders were tense, even if you were trying to look at ease. The way your eyes had that tired look—the kind that sleep wouldn’t fix.

Yeah. Something was wrong.

And it was worse than he thought.

"...You gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?" His tone was casual, but there was an edge beneath it.

You huffed, shaking your head. "Nothing’s going on."

"Liar."

That made you pause.

Geo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I don’t do the whole ‘prying’ thing. But when someone who’s usually pretty good at keeping their shit together suddenly starts falling apart under the radar? Kinda hard not to notice."

You tensed, and he caught it immediately. He was right.

"...You’re imagining things," you muttered, but it was weak.

Geo just scoffed. "Yeah? Then why are you out here, alone, sitting in a greenhouse like some tragic main character?"

You shot him a glare, but he just raised an eyebrow, unfazed.

"Thought so," he muttered.

Silence stretched between you.

You swallowed hard, your gaze fixated on the greenhouse floor, tracing the cracks between the stone tiles like they held answers you couldn't find anywhere else.

Geo wasn’t the type to comfort. He wasn’t the type to pry, either. If you wanted to talk, you would. If you didn’t, fine—he wasn’t going to beg for your feelings. But he also wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t see what was happening to you.

And for some reason, that made it worse.

"Listen." He exhaled sharply, his voice carrying that familiar edge of impatience, but not with you—never with you. More like he was frustrated at the situation itself, at the fact that he even had to say this.

"I don’t care what it is. I don’t care if it’s stupid, or if you think I won’t get it, or whatever excuse you’re using to keep your mouth shut." He leaned back against the bench, just close enough to remind you he was here, but not close enough to smother you. "Just don’t sit here acting like you’re fine when you’re clearly not."

His voice wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. But it was real.

And for some reason, that made it harder to breathe.

Your throat felt tight, something hot building behind your ribs, but you forced it down. You were good at that—at shoving things so deep inside yourself that they didn’t exist anymore. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

Geo let out a slow, heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as if this whole thing physically exhausted him. "I don’t like worrying about people," he muttered. "Kinda hate it, actually."

His words shouldn’t have stung, but they did.

His eyes flickered toward you, sharp but unreadable as if debating whether to say the next part.

"But you?" His voice dipped lower, quieter, but somehow heavier. "Yeah. You make that shit real hard to avoid."

That did something to you.

You weren’t sure what exactly, but it hit deeper than you wanted it to. Deeper than you expected it to.

Your fingers curled slightly in your lap, gripping at the fabric of your clothes like you could anchor yourself there. "I don’t mean to," you murmured.

"I know." Geo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression remained unreadable, but his voice softened—not in the way people spoke to you with forced pity or careful concern, but in a way that felt... real.

"...Doesn’t change the fact that I still do."

And then—plink.

The first raindrop struck the glass above, a soft, barely-there sound. Then another. And another.

Within moments, the greenhouse filled with the rhythm of rainfall, steady yet heavy, each drop echoing against the glass panels. The scent of damp earth rose around you, rich and grounding, as the world outside blurred into a hazy wash of gray.

Geo exhaled sharply, arms crossing over his chest.

Of course, it had to start raining.

The timing felt cruel in a way—like the universe had been watching the whole time and decided this moment needed an extra layer of weight.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. But in the quiet of the downpour, in the stillness of the greenhouse, something in the air had shifted. The truth was, he wasn’t the type to comfort people. Wasn’t the type to sit around and hold hands, whispering empty reassurances.

It wasn’t something he was used to.

It wasn’t something he did.

Silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. The only sound was the rain pattering against the greenhouse glass, the steady rhythm filling the space between words you couldn't say.

Your chest ached. Not in a sharp, unbearable way—but in a dull, bone-deep exhaustion that never seemed to fade, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

"...Classes are draining." Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but somehow, it felt deafening. "I feel like I go through them in a daze. Like I’m there, but I’m not."

Geo didn’t say anything, but you could feel his gaze burning into you. So you kept going because now that you started, it was hard to stop.

"I wake up, I go to class, I do what I have to, and then... I just exist." You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. "And it never means anything. I don’t feel anything. I just... am. And I don’t even know if that matters anymore."

Your hands clenched tighter, knuckles turning white. The words felt too big, too raw, too exposed. It was terrifying.

And for the first time, you dared to look at him.

Geo’s jaw was tight, his fingers twitching against his knee like he was holding himself back. His usual sharp, cocky demeanor had faded into something else—something serious. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” His voice was quiet, but firm.

You didn’t look at him. “Doing what?”

His jaw clenched. "Acting like you don’t matter."

The silence that followed was thick—almost suffocating. And then, you laughed. Bitter, empty.

“Because I don’t.”

Geo stilled. The way you said it like it was just a fact like it wasn’t something that should sting—it pissed him off. He turned his head, eyes narrowing as he studied you, taking in the way your shoulders curled inward, the way your hands clenched in your lap like you were bracing for something. Like you believed what you just said.

Geo clicked his tongue. "Bullshit."

Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t say anything.

Geo exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. He wasn’t good at this. He didn’t have the right words, the right softness people probably expected in moments like these. But he did know one thing.

His fingers moved before his mind fully caught up, wrapping around your wrist with a gentleness that contradicted the sharp edge in his expression. His thumb traced over the fresh marks you had tried so hard to keep hidden, his touch warm against the raised skin.

Geo didn’t say anything at first, just staring—his face unreadable, but his grip steady. Then, his jaw tensed, his voice coming out quieter than before, rough with frustration.

"You matter to me."

Your breath hitched. Something in your chest tightened, an ache you couldn’t quite place.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you turned your face away, shaking your head. "You’re wasting your time."

Geo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Then let me waste it."

Before you could react, Geo pulled you forward, shifting you into his lap like it was nothing, like he had already decided you weren’t going anywhere. His grip was firm but not forceful, an unspoken message that he wasn’t about to let you slip away—not now, not like this.

Your breath hitched at the sudden closeness. His face was just inches from yours, the warmth of his skin brushing against the coldness that had settled deep in your bones. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, hear the faint hitch in his breathing as he realized just how close you were.

He still didn’t let go of your wrist. If anything, his fingers curled slightly, holding you there like an anchor, like some stubborn part of him thought that if he kept you close enough, he could stop you from drifting any further.

Geo’s expression was the same as always—mildly annoyed, slightly flushed—but when he tried to speak, he faltered. “I—uh, I just—”

His voice caught. He clenched his jaw, his usual sharp confidence replaced by something uncharacteristically awkward. His ears burned red, his gaze flickering away for half a second before snapping back to you. For the first time in your life, you saw Geo flustered.

And it was hilarious.

The sight of him—one of the smoothest, most put-together guys you knew—stammering like an idiot while trying to be serious?

It was too much.

A laugh broke past your lips before you could stop it.

Geo froze.

Your shoulders shook slightly, exhaustion weighing heavy on your limbs, but you couldn’t stop laughing. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t fake.

It was real.

And somehow, despite everything, it felt good.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the suffocating weight of uselessness that always clung to you—the one that whispered you were just a burden, that you didn’t matter—faded into the background.

Geo huffed dramatically, shifting slightly but not letting you go. "Oh, great. Now you’re laughing at me."

You buried your face into his chest, still shaking with quiet amusement. "Because you suck at this," you mumbled, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

"Yeah, well—" He was about to fire back, but then he heard it again.

Your laugh.

Not the usual forced chuckle. Not the empty amusement you gave when you didn’t want people to worry.

A real laugh.

And just like that, he went quiet.

His arms wrapped around you more securely, holding you there—close, warm, real.

Fuck. Geo really cared about you.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Hyugo easily felt other’s emotions that he cared about.

It wasn’t hard to guess where you’d gone—he just knew. Like an instinct. Like something in his gut told him exactly where to find you, even before he started searching.

The rooftop was off-limits. Not just by school rules, but in the way most people never thought to come up here. Maybe they were too afraid of getting caught. Maybe they just weren’t the type to seek out heights when the ground felt unsteady beneath them. But you? You never cared about the rules.

You didn’t care about much of anything these days.

Hyugo exhaled sharply as he pushed the rusted rooftop door open, stepping into the cold wind that swept across the campus skyline. His uniform was slightly rumpled, tie loosened, the usual carefree expression wiped clean from his face as he caught sight of you—sitting near the ledge, drawn into yourself like you were trying to disappear into the horizon.

He hated seeing you like this.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

“…You missed class again.”

His voice was quiet. Careful. Not demanding, not scolding—just there.

You didn’t react. You didn’t even turn your head.

Hyugo sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The bench near the rooftop’s edge groaned as he sat down beside you, leaving just enough space that you wouldn’t feel cornered—but not enough to let you pretend he wasn’t here.

“Figured I’d find you up here,” he said, leaning back slightly, his arms resting against his knees. “Was hoping I was wrong.”

Still, nothing.

You just kept staring at the skyline, like if you looked hard enough, you might find something out there that made existing feel worth it.

Hyugo wasn’t good with words. Not like this. Not when it mattered. But he couldn’t just sit here and let you drown in whatever thoughts were eating away at you.

His eyes flickered to your sleeves. To the faint, fresh marks barely hidden beneath the fabric.

Something in his chest twisted.

“…I get it, you know.” His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “Maybe not exactly. Maybe not in the way you do. But…”

He hesitated, watching your fingers curl slightly in your lap, your shoulders stiff like you were bracing for something.

“…It doesn’t have to be like this.”

A sharp, bitter laugh almost escaped your throat, but you swallowed it down. Doesn’t have to be? It always was. It always would be.

You finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “Then tell me what it’s supposed to be like, Hyugo.”

He inhaled slowly, watching you—really watching you. He didn’t have an answer. Not a good one. Not one that would fix anything. But that didn’t stop him from reaching out, his fingers brushing over your wrist, tracing the edge of the pain you carried like it was something fragile, something worth holding onto.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his grip tightening slightly. “But I do know that this isn’t all there is. And I hate that you think it is.”

That did something to you.

Your breath hitched, the weight in your chest pressing harder, heavier. You squeezed your eyes shut, hands clenching into fists.

Hyugo just held onto you. Not forcefully. Not trying to pull you away from the edge—just keeping you here. With him.

“…Talk to me,” he murmured. “Please.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to stay in the silence, in the cold, in the nothingness.

But when you finally turned your head, when you met his eyes—the way he was looking at you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable—

For the first time in forever… You almost believed him.

Since Hyugo wasn’t the type to cry easily.

Sure, he was emotional—he felt a lot, more than he let on—but he was always the one with a bright smile, a teasing remark, a carefree attitude that made him easy to be around. He kept things light. Kept things fun.

But right now?

Right now, as he looked at you, really looked at you—at the exhaustion weighing down your shoulders, at the way your fingers trembled slightly as if you were holding yourself together with nothing but sheer will—something in him cracked.

His throat tightened.

You noticed the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes glistened under the dim rooftop lights, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he could.

Holy fuck. Did you almost make Hyugo cry?

The thought sent a sharp pang through your chest. It felt wrong. Unfair. He wasn’t supposed to be the one hurting. You were the problem here, not him. He shouldn’t—he couldn’t—

You shifted slightly, about to say something, anything to break the tension—

But then, before you could move, before you could even react, Hyugo suddenly lurched forward.

His arms wrapped around you, his face pressing against your chest, his entire body curling into you like he was holding on for dear life.

The impact startled you, making you stiffen, but he didn’t let go. If anything, he clung to you tighter, like he was afraid you’d slip away the second he loosened his grip.

“…Don’t do this to me,” he mumbled against your shirt, his voice muffled, strained.

You could feel the slight tremor in his hands, the way his breath hitched like he was barely holding himself together. His heartbeat pounded against you, fast, unsteady.

You swallowed hard, guilt settling deep in your stomach.

You didn’t mean to make him feel like this.

You didn’t mean to make anyone feel like this.

Slowly—hesitantly—you lifted a hand, resting it against the back of his head, your fingers threading gently through his messy hair. He let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead deeper against your chest like he was trying to disappear into you.

“…Sorry,” you murmured.

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle, though it came out more like a choked sob.

“God, don’t apologize,” he muttered, voice cracking just slightly. “Don’t you dare fucking apologize right now.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. You didn’t even realize how cold you’d been until now.

For a while, neither of you moved.

Hyugo just held onto you, like he was afraid if he let go, you’d fade away completely. And maybe—just maybe—you let yourself sink into him too, just this once.

“…I’ll stay.”

The words barely made it past your lips, fragile and uncertain, like they might dissolve into the night air before they even reached him.

Hyugo sucked in a sharp breath. For a moment, he didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stared at you, wide-eyed, like he was afraid to blink in case he somehow imagined your words.

Slowly—cautiously—he pulled back just enough to see your face. The rooftop lights cast faint shadows across his features, but even in the dim glow, you could see it. The raw emotion pooled in his eyes, the way his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

His eyes were red-rimmed, glossy with unshed tears.

“…Yeah?” His voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and uncertain, like he needed you to say it again, to confirm that you meant it.

You nodded.

And that was it. That was all it took for whatever was holding him back to finally break.

A sharp, uneven breath escaped him, and his lips pressed into a thin line as his brows furrowed. His whole body trembled, hands curling into fists against your back like he was trying to ground himself.

Then, before you could process it, before you could even brace yourself, he lunged forward.

His arms wrapped around you, tighter this time—desperate. His entire body pressed against yours, warm and trembling, his face burying into the crook of your neck.

“Good,” he breathed against your skin, voice thick, raw. “Good. You better. You fucking better.”

You felt him shudder against you, his breath uneven, like he was barely holding himself together. His fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes, gripping you like you might slip through his grasp at any second.

“I—” His voice caught, and he shook his head slightly, swallowing hard. His next words were muffled, spoken so quietly they were almost lost against your skin.

“I’d miss you too much, you know?”

Something inside you twisted painfully.

You exhaled, closing your eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of him—warm, faintly like the wind, like something alive. His heartbeat pounded against yours, frantic and real, a stark contrast to the numbness that had sat heavy in your chest for so long.

You knew.

And maybe, just maybe—Hyugo was enough.

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