#noxfortid

[noxianwilled]

so... are you part of that babygirl association now?

— @noxfortid

"What?" She's confused. "Why would I be?"

Is he — is he calling her babygirl?!

[kalijhomentethi]

what's my vibe?!

getting kinda mixed vibes from you, not gonna lie. part babygirl, part daddy. nobody’s stopping you from joining the club or the association, though! choices are always good. you’d be a great fit here, but i’m also pretty sure eve would take you in if you ask. thumbs up.

[yunalai]

→ [ Qiyana. ]: hey. i have a hard time believing it but if draven is at your house tell him i've been trying to find him → [ Qiyana. ]: and if that's true → [ Qiyana. ]: good luck you'll need it

-> [receding hairline] : oh yeah draven is here

-> [receding hairline] : do you need him for something??

-> [receding hairline] : he just agreed to spend the night over here

[hemoplagued]

@noxfortid followed -

"Did your brother summon you or is there other matters you have to discuss." he says, a smile on his lips that feigned innocence. He didn't recall doing anything horrible to Draven today.

[noxianwilled]

it's fine, he gives her a — rather eager — kiss for all her troubles at least.

— @noxfortid

As if the way he had grabbed her wasn't enough, his eagerness just furthers her own. Katarina retributes it with just as much hunger, nails digging into the back of his neck. They only part when she is breathless — and even then, it isn't enough. "You do know one kiss alone won't make up for it, right?"

If she had to be babygirl she may as well be a demanding one.

[noxianwilled]

grabs her by the hip. they say that's how you test potential babygirls.

— @noxfortid

oh. maybe being unexpectedly grabbed by the hip like that leaves her a little flustered. maybe she enjoys being manhandled a little, and maybe that's obvious in the look she gives him. she's not a babygirl though.

[noxianwilled]

looms menacingly behind katarina. he's looking directly at darius.

— @gutterblade (and @noxfortid)

"Tal, stop trying to pick fights you can't win."

[noxianwilled]

he'll grab kat's hand, gently lifting it to his lips before the latter make direct contact. doesn't matter how blood-stained they are. and what he lacks in words to express himself, he'll make up with kissing those old wounds better.

— @noxfortid

There is blood on her hands — not metaphorically, this time, though she supposes that remains ever truthful. It's not her own, for the most part, save for a small cut in one of her palms; not that messy, either, no more than a few droplets resulting from a recent kill.

Usually, she is the one showing up unannounced. Darius is a good soldier, disciplined in a way she is not; unusual for him to be up so late, having no small number of duties to attend to the next day. Tonight it had been him waiting for her (Katarina wonders if it had been worry that brought him here, or mere sleeplessness). It doesn't really matter; the moment she knows there is no threat, that it's him, all previous tension is gone, emerald eyes shining with unspoken affection.

There are greetings exchanged, weapons set aside (the daggers need cleaning, and usually that would be the first thing she would do); but he sees to preparing the clean cloth and water basin, bandages at the ready — and how can she refuse it when Darius asks for her to sit by his side, reaching for her hand with a gentleness she imagines most would not think him capable of.

The gesture remains tender as he presses his lips to her palm, careful, delicate; Katarina doesn't know if anyone ever held her so gently, with so much care (with such disregard for the blood). It hurts. Not physically, but in a way much deeper, like old wounds reopened to be healed right. Her silence is not a choice but need: she doesn't trust her voice not to break, her words not to falter, the tears not to fall.

There is so much love in the gesture she is almost tempted to withdraw from it, to turn away and run — to leave before he does, before something she does it too much, before he can see she is too much. Everyone does, eventually, and she doesn't want to wait for him to leave, too.

It is the instinct of self-preservation: Katarina doesn't think she could mend her heart after that.

Instead, she swallows back the tears and watches him continue, soft in cleaning the blood, particularly careful with her small injury. Her heart alone cannot contain the entirety of the love she feels; too strong to be contained in such a small space, to the point it hurts. There is a strict code she follows, the difference between being a common murderer or a weapon used by others, taking only the lives Noxus demands, only those she judges necessary, but she would kill for him without a care as to who is harmed, so long as they dared stand in his way or look at him wrong. A more frightening thought: she would die for him, were it necessary to keep him safe. Katarina could almost laugh; it is a little too late for self-preservation now.

It is only when he is done, her hands cleaned and her injury taken care of, that her hand reaches for his face, gently cupping his cheek (as if they were made for gentleness, for a moment, as if the same hands capable of atrocities and horrific violence could be loving and tender and caring). Katarina pulls Darius close, locking their lips together with as much passion — as much love — as she feels. He doesn't need to say anything. Each small gesture is more than enough.