#I kinda don’t have time and energy for it

[dazevi]

CHAPTER THREE: CAN WE PRETEND?

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: you're not sure what comes over you tonight, but caught up in the moment, you make a reckless choice—one that could change everything.

content warnings: MDNI. nsfw (18+ content), angst, fluff if you squint idk, rockstar!vi, bookshop owner/writer!reader, exes to lovers, friends with benefits (kinda), sexual tension, again—vi is down bad, smut; needy sex, oral (r rec.), vi cums untouched, little bit of overstimulation, idk what else !!!

wc: 12,183

notes: happy late late late valentine’s day! (i was supposed to post it on friday but got busy) and sorry for the wait on this chapter! here it is—glorious smut lmfao,, kind of ashamed to say that the next chapter is way more smutty—but ofc with feelings!!!)

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The cold bites at your skin, but you barely even notice it. Not with the way your heart is hammering. Not with the way your nerves are tangled in your stomach. You stand outside Vander’s bar holding a small birthday gift in your hands, staring at the entrance like you haven’t walked through those doors countless times before.

But it’s been years. A lifetime ago, it feels like.

And standing here now, dressed in a pretty black dress you spent way too long debating over—god, what the hell were you thinking?

You tug your jacket tighter around you, like that will somehow make you feel less exposed, less like you’re making a mistake by being here. The leather is warm, but it doesn’t do much to muffle the voice in your head telling you that this was a bad idea.

That coming here, looking like this, feeling like this—it means something.

You used to love this place. Loved the way it always smelled of whiskey and smoke, of cheap beer but distinctly of home.

It’s different now.

Or maybe you’re the one that’s different.

Vi is probably already in there. Maybe she’s backstage, laughing with the band, tuning her guitar, oblivious to the fact that you’re standing out here like a fool, trying to gather the courage to step inside. Maybe she’s already seen you through the window, watching like she always used to—like she could read every thought in your head without you saying a word.

You close your eyes for a second, exhaling slowly. You could still turn around. You don’t have to go in. But then again, you didn’t have to dress up either, and yet… here you are.

The second you step inside, the warmth surrounds you. You hadn’t expected this many people, but clearly, word must have spread that Vi’s band was playing tonight.

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting over the packed room. It’s overwhelming at first—the volume of voices overlapping, the clinking of glasses, the scrape of barstools against worn wooden floors. But then, beneath all of it, you hear Benzo’s boisterous voice cutting through the noise, followed by Vander’s throaty laughter.

It’s been years since you’ve been here, but nothing has really changed. The same old neon signs flicker against the brick walls, the dartboard near Vander’s glowing jukebox is still crooked, the pool table in the corner still missing a chunk from one of its legs, and behind the bar, bottles of liquor line the shelves, arranged in the same way Vander has always kept them.

And Vi is somewhere in here.

Your stomach twists at the thought, your heartbeat quickening as you scan the crowd.

Just as you’re about to turn toward the small stage, the sound of your name cuts through the noise.

“Is that really you?”

You barely have a second to react before a blur of blue rushes toward you, and suddenly, Powder is there, beaming up at you with wide, disbelieving eyes.

She looks different—older, maybe a tad bit taller—but the same excitement, the same energy, radiates off of her like it always has. Her hair is longer now, pulled back into two twin buns with trimmed bangs covering her forehead.

She doesn’t wait for confirmation before throwing her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

“Oh my god, it is you!” she laughs against your shoulder, squeezing you tighter. “I can’t believe it! When Vi said you might come tonight, I didn’t think—I mean, I hoped—but holy shit!”

You let out a breathy laugh, arms instinctively wrapping around her. It’s been years since you’ve seen her—since she left for college, since everything with Vi fell apart—but somehow, it feels like no time has passed at all.

When she finally pulls back, she holds you at arm’s length, her hands gripping your shoulders as she looks you over, like she’s trying to make sure you’re actually standing there in front of her and not some trick of the lighting.

“You look amazing,” she gushes, her eyes shining, before huffing playfully, shaking her head. “I mean, seriously—wow. Vi didn’t tell me you still looked like this. She’s soooooo in trouble.”

You blink at her words, your breath hitching slightly, but before you can even begin to unpack what that means, Powder grabs your hand, tugging you towards the bar.

“Come on, you have to catch me up,” she insists, grinning ear to ear. “How have you been? What are you doing back here? Wait, how did Vi even convince you to show up tonight?”

Your lips part, but you hesitate, glancing toward the stage. You still haven’t seen Vi yet, but now, with Powder in front of you, talking a mile a minute, you realize just how much you’ve missed this—her.

“Powder, slow down,” you laugh, grinning from ear to ear as you shake your head. “It’s really good to see you too.”

She beams, squeezing your hand once before looping her arm through yours like she used to when you were all younger.

“Dad, look who’s here!” Powder calls out, cutting through the music and chatter as she drags you toward the bar.

Vander stands behind the counter, just like he always used to, one large hand resting on the counter, the other holding a glass he’s in the middle of drying. He looks up at Powder’s voice, eyes darting toward the two of you.

His lips curve into something between a smile and a look of pure surprise. He sets the glass down, wiping his hands on a bar towel as he steps around the counter.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Vander murmurs, taking you in. His voice is just as you remember it—gruff but warm. “Look who finally decided to show her face.”

“Hi, Vander,” you say, your voice softer than you mean it to be.

He huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head before pulling you into a firm hug.

“You don’t gotta be shy, kid,” he says, patting your back like he used to when you were just a teenager sitting at this very bar, waiting for Vi to finish whatever dumb stunt she was getting up to. “Hell, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you murmur.

When he pulls back, he looks you over, eyes full of something fond.

“You look good,” he says, before glancing at Powder with a smirk. “She givin’ you trouble yet?”

You laugh, shaking your head as Powder scoffs, crossing her arms. “Me? Trouble? Never.”

Vander chuckles, ruffling her hair before looking back at you with that same fatherly warmth that makes your chest ache.

“Vi’s gonna lose her damn mind when she sees you.”

And just like that, your heart flutters all over again.

Vander studies you for a moment, his gaze settling on yours like he can hear every thought running through your head. But he doesn’t push, doesn’t pry. Instead, he gives you one last reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before nodding toward the bar.

“Well, since you’re here, let me get you a drink,” he says. “On the house. Benzo!”

Powder grins, practically bouncing on her boots as she gestures to the small, neatly wrapped gift in your hands.

“Come on, I’ll put that gift over with the others!” she chirps, already reaching for it before you can protest.

The chatter dies down slightly as movement stirs toward the stage, conversations dipping into hushed murmurs. People turn their attention forward, waiting patiently as the band gets into place.

Vi stands in the center of the stage, tuning her guitar beside an amp, fingers practiced as she twists the tuning pegs, testing each note. She’s glowing, that pink of her bright against the light, also outlining the sharp angles of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbones, the ink that winds down her arms and up the side of her neck.

She looks really fucking good. Dressed in a snug black shirt that clings just right, showing off the sculpted muscle in her arms, the broad set of her shoulders. The sleeves are pushed up slightly, just enough to expose the edge of her tattoos. Paired with a pair of baggy jeans that sit low on her hips, the waistband of her boxers showing every time her shirt shifts upward slightly as she moves—

—God, you have got to get yourself together.

But even despite how cool she looks up there, there’s a pout pressed against her lips, so slight that most people wouldn’t even notice.

But you do.

Because you’ve seen that pout before.

It’s the same one she used to wear when she was waiting for you after class and you took too long saying goodbye to your friends. The same one she had when you were late to meet her for a movie, arms crossed as she huffed dramatically before breaking into a grin the second she saw you. The same one she’d wear when you teased her by refusing to kiss her.

And now, up on stage, she’s wearing it again.

Because she hasn’t seen you yet.

You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of yourself. Of how you look, of how this dress looks on you, of the way your heartbeat has picked up.

You shouldn’t be this affected—you shouldn’t.

And then—just as she adjusts the strap of her guitar, rolling her shoulders back, her eyes sweeping slowly over the room, over the crowd, then towards the bar—

She finds you.

Her fingers still against the strings, her whole body tensing just slightly. Her lips part, eyes locking onto yours.

And then, just like that, her pout is gone, smoothed over with the faintest, laziest smirk.

You feel your stomach flutter.

Before you can fully process it, Ekko steps up to the mic, patting Vi on the shoulder, grinning out at the crowd.

Behind them, Steb is adjusting his drum stool and Loris, stands off to the side, his bass slung low, a cigarette tucked behind his ear as he watches the crowd with that same unreadable look he always has, like none of this phases him in the slightest.

Ekko leans into the mic, flashing a charming smirk towards the crowd smirk.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” he teases, though he’s clearly reveling in the attention, in the love the crowd is throwing at them. He lets the cheers die down just a little before continuing, “First off, gotta give a huge shoutout to the man who means the absolute world to me. Happy birthday, old man!”

The bar erupts into another round of cheers, laughter echoing through the room as Benzo raises his glass.

“I love you, Benzo!” Ekko adds, placing a hand over his chest in mock sincerity.

Vi chuckles beside him, shaking her head as she ducks slightly, her pink hair falling forward as she looks down for a second.

Your stomach twists as you watch her, taking in the way her fingers flex against the neck of her guitar, the way she glances at Ekko with that lopsided smirk before finally lifting her head again, pink strands shifting as she looks back out at the crowd.

And just for a second—so brief you almost miss it—her eyes fall back to you.

Ekko claps his hands together. “Alright, enough of the mushy shit. Let’s get this started, yeah?”

And the crowd cheers again.

The music begins, the first chords ringing out as Vi’s fingers find the strings of her guitar. The sound of the crowd fades into the background as she leans into the mic.

Every time her gaze sweeps over the bar, her heart skips a beat when she catches sight of you. You’re there, standing at the edge of the crowd, watching. Watching her. And god, it makes her feel alive. She can feel the heat rising in her chest, spreading down her arms, making her fingertips tingle as she strums the next chord. She can’t stop glancing at you, her smile widening every time your gaze meets hers.

She wants to impress.

She really fucking does.

And every time Vi steals a glance your way, her heart beats faster. It’s almost like the music fades and the room shrinks down until all she can focus on is you.

You look so damn good. Your dress is simple but it fits you perfectly, so prettily. The soft glow of the stage lights catches the curve of your neck, the way your hair falls just perfectly, and god—god—she’s getting distracted.

The thought crosses her mind before she can stop it—did you dress up for her? It’s silly, of course, but it flares in her chest anyway.

But then, before she can let herself spiral too far into that thought, she sees you again.

You came. You actually came.

I mean, you told her you would, but right now, she can’t stop smiling. She’s so fucking happy you’re here.

The set ends after an hour.

It wasn’t too long, but the crowd erupts into applause anyway, cheers and shouts and whistles echoing throughout room, although Vi didn’t really think much of it. She’s still buzzing, the tips of her fingers still tingling from the friction of the strings, but she didn’t care about it.

She doesn’t wait for the others. Ekko and Loris are already heading backstage, Steb cracking his knuckles as he follows, but Vi’s eyes are locked on you.

She doesn’t even care about the after show rituals—the sweaty gear, the backroom chatter—because right now, all she can think about is how badly she wants to get to you.

It doesn’t take long to find you. You’re sitting with Powder, a bright smile on your face, talking to Vander and Benzo at the counter.

And then, when she’s just a few feet away, you look up.

She opens her mouth, trying to say something—anything—but the words won’t come. She’s not sure why she’s so nervous now.

“Hey,” she says softly as she looks down at the counter, then back up at you. “You made it.”

Her smile is soft, almost shy, and she watches you carefully, her heart is pounding in her chest.

“I told you I would,” you reply warmly.

Vi nods softly and just stands there, her heart pounding in her chest, suddenly unsure of herself, the words slipping out of her mouth before she can fully think them through.

“You look… you look really good.”

It’s quieter than she meant it to be, but it’s honest. She can’t help it. She’s been trying not to let herself be completely consumed by the way you look tonight, but there’s really no stopping it. You do look amazing.

And she watches you closely, trying not to let her nervousness show too much, but it’s hard to hide the slight tremor in her voice.

Before you can even respond, Powder bursts in, her voice high and teasing as she slides up beside Vi and throws an arm around her shoulders, nearly knocking her off balance.

“Vi!” she says, her grin practically splitting her face, as she begins to tease her in hushed whispers, something about you coming tonight, maybe how nervous she was.

But Vi doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break her gaze from you. Her attention stays completely on you, even as Powder hugs her excitedly, laughing. Her focus is elsewhere. It’s on you. It’s always been on you.

For a moment, she almost wishes it was just the two of you in this room—no distractions, no people, no laughter, no teasing from an overly excited litle sister, just you and her.

Before either of you can speak, Powder pulls away from Vi, spinning on her heel as she looks around the bar.

“Say, where’s Ekko?” she asks. “I’ve got to go give him a talk about giving Isha the wrong cat food earlier.”

Without waiting for anyone to respond, she darts off into the crowd, running on pure energy that never seems to run out. You watch her blue hair disappear into the mix of people, the playful laugh she lets out fading as she vanishes.

Vi stands there, staring at you. There’s so much she wants to say, so much she’s been holding back for what feels like forever, but the words just don’t come.

“You guys sounded really great up there,” you say gently.

Her heart skips. She blinks, almost startled, and before she can stop herself, her lips curve into a wide, genuine grin, the pride swelling in her chest. She straightens slightly, shoulders relaxing just a little as her eyes soften.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, eyes glued to the way your tongue smooths over your bottom lip. “It, uh… feels good to be playing again… Here, I mean. At home.”

You smile again, and for a second, Vi forgets how to breathe.

“I bet it does,” you say, keeping your voice light. “I mean, I would have been disappointed if you weren’t any good.”

Vi chuckles at that. “Well, I couldn’t let you down. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, after all.”

“You’re being cocky,” you raise an eyebrow at her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says quietly.

Vi swallows hard, trying her best to stay calm, but being with you like this, well, it catches her off guard.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” she smiles softly. “I really am.”

And she’s grateful. Very grateful that she gets to see you, to be with you like this, even though you weren’t really hers anymore.

She spent the rest of the night glued to your side like she’s afraid to let you slip away, her body leaning just a little too close whenever you’re talking to someone else.

It’s a subtle thing, the way she gravitates toward you, like there’s an invisible thread pulling her in, towards you each and every time.

Vander, Benzo, Powder, and the rest of the band surround you, laughing and teasing, recounting old stories from their countless gigs, but Vi isn’t really paying attention to any of that. Not when you’re sitting next to her, not when you’re wearing that dress.

The fabric fits your curves so perfectly, but it’s your legs that keep pulling her attention.

Every time you move slightly, every time you cross or uncross them, the way your thighs peek out, just enough to tease—Vi can’t tear her eyes away. It feels almost too much—like she’s seeing you in a way she hasn’t allowed herself to in a long time. She tries to focus on the conversations, on the laughter and the jokes being tossed around, but it’s impossible to ignore the way her body reacts every time you move right next to her, every time she catches a glimpse of your skin.

Her gaze moves back to you again, almost instinctively, and her breath catches just for a second when your eyes meet hers, that soft smile of yours playing at your lips.

“Vi,” Powder says, nudging her with an elbow. “Earth to Vi? You’ve been dozing out over there for a while.”

Vi blinks, shaking her head and forcing herself to focus on the others. She smiles, though, a little embarrassed, and laughs it off, trying to shrug it off as a joke.

“Sorry, just got distracted for a second,” she says, but her eyes dart back to you before the words are even fully out.

She can’t help it. You’ve always had that effect on her—always able to pull her in, even when you don’t mean to.

And when you laugh, when you lean forward to talk to Powder, it sends a shiver down her spine. She can’t stop herself from thinking about how much she’s missed this. How much she’s missed being with her family. How much she’s missed being with you.

Her heart beats faster in her chest.

She wants to reach out and touch you. To kiss you. To touch you in places people aren’t allowed to see. She wants to say something, but every word gets stuck in her throat.

And throughout the rest of the night, you could feel her eyes on you.

It’s not just her glances you notice, but the way her posture shifts when you move, the tension in her shoulders when she’s close to you, like she’s trying to keep herself in check, but her body betrays her every time.

It makes your heart race. You can feel her eyes on you, even when you’re not looking at her. It’s impossible to ignore. The way her attention feels so intense, the way she’s so obviously drawn to you, despite all the people around you.

And you start to wonder if coming here tonight was a good idea after all.

It’s silly, isn’t it? You came because Vi had asked you to. Because you couldn’t say no to her.

You force yourself to look away, focusing on Powder and Vander’s laughter, on Benzo’s loud voice cutting through the noise, but you can still feel it. And every time your eyes meet, she looks away just a little too quickly, like she’s afraid of being caught.

You glance at her again, and this time, she doesn’t look away quickly enough. Her eyes catch yours, and you see it clearly. Vi hasn’t really changed that much. She was still Vi. Still the girl you once loved, and maybe, in some strange way, still the girl you might love again—

God, what are you talking about?

Is that what this is?

Is that what she wants too?

You force yourself to look away, focusing back on the chatter around you.

Was this a mistake? You didn’t know that answer to that.

All you knew was that it was clear Vi wanted you.

And you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want her, too.

It gets pretty late into the night when the drinks, as light as they were, started to settle in, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks.

It’s not enough to make you drunk—nothing like that—but enough to make your limbs feel a little heavier, your eyelids a little more droopy than they were earlier in the evening.

You glance around the table, taking in the chatter of old friends, the lighthearted teasing and laughter, the way Powder is leaning into Ekko’s side while Benzo and Vander talk shop at the counter. It was soothing to be here and spending time with them.

But your body is tired, and as much as you don’t want to leave, you know it’s probably time.

You stand up slowly, feeling the slight unsteadiness in your legs, the gentle sway of the room, but you brush it off. You pull your jacket on, the cool leather against your skin reminding you of the chilly air waiting for you outside. You catch Powder’s eye, giving her a soft smile as she looks over at you, but she’s too wrapped up in a conversation with Ekko to notice how tired you’ve become.

“I should probably get going,” you say softly.

Your words are met with a series of warm and friendly goodbyes, but there’s something in the air now that you can’t ignore.

Maybe it’s the way you’ve been trying not to meet Vi’s eyes, the way you’ve felt her gaze on you all night.

But you turn to her finally and say, “Bye, Vi.”

She freezes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, her lips parting as if she wants to say something—anything—but the words get stuck somewhere inside her all over again.

She doesn’t get anything out before you turn on your heel to walk out of the door.

Then, out of nowhere, Ekko elbows Vi lightly.

“Seriously?” he murmurs under his breath, though it’s loud enough for her to hear.

Vi blinks rapidly, snapping out of her trance, and before she can even register what’s happening, she looks up. She turns to the rest of the group, and to her surprise, the entire crew is watching her. Powder, Benzo, Vander—they’re all grinning, urging her with their eyes.

“Go!” Powder mouths.

And just like that, she just moves.

She grabs her jacket and practically runs, pushing past the tables and chairs, her heart pounding louder and louder.

But just as she reaches the door, her foot catches awkwardly on the edge something, and soon, she’s stumbling, the world tipping sideways before she crashes forward. Her head hits the doorframe with a sharp thud, and for a second, everything is disorienting.

And you hear it—the sound of Vi groaning behind you. You freeze, your heart leaping into your throat.

“Violet?!” you call out.

Vi’s still on the ground, her hand pressed against her forehead, trying to push herself up. Her face scrunches in mild discomfort, but as her eyes meet yours, she lets out a small, breathy laugh, shaking her head.

“I’m fine,” she says softly as she rubs her forehead where it collided with the doorframe.

Her eyes dart up to you, and she offers a sheepish smile. You can’t stop the small laugh that bubbles up in your throat. Your heart is still racing as you move toward her.

“Are you sure—”

“I’m okay, really,” she says again.

She reaches up, brushing her hair from her face, trying to play off the moment. You offer her your hand, your fingers brushing hers as you help her to her feet. She doesn’t let go immediately, her fingers lingering against yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“I… I wanted to catch you before you left,” Vi catches her breath. “Are you walking home?”

“Y-Yeah,” you finally say quietly. “It’s not too far.”

You motion vaguely toward the street, but it’s clear that the idea of walking back alone, in the late hour, with the chill creeping in, doesn’t sit quite right with you either.

“My truck’s at the back,” she says. “I’ll drive you.”

You blink, caught off guard for a moment. And before you can stop yourself, you start to protest, a gentle laugh slipping from your lips as you take a small step back.

“Oh, it’s fine, Vi. I don’t mind the walk. It’s not that far, really.” You try to brush it off, not wanting to be any more of a burden than you already feel like you are.

But she doesn’t let you get far.

“I’m driving you,” she repeats.

It’s not a suggestion. It’s not a question. It’s just fact.

You could argue, but there’s something about the way she looks at you, the way her eyes are so steady, so intent, that makes your inner protests feel futile.

So for once, you don’t argue.

“Fine,” you say softly, a smile tugging at the edges of your words.

Vi leads you toward the back lot where her old truck is parked, the cool night air settling over your skin as you follow a few steps behind her.

When you reach the truck, she moves ahead without hesitation, reaching for the handle and pulling the door open for you. It’s a small thing, but it catches you off guard—she does it like it’s second nature, like she’s done it a million times before. Well, she probably has.

You hesitate for a second, looking at her. Her pink hair is a little messy, strands falling over her forehead, but she doesn’t push them back. She just stands there, her hand still on the door, waiting for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur softly.

Vi just nods, not saying anything as you step up into the seat. She closes the door gently behind you, and a second later, she’s rounding the front of the truck, pulling herself into the driver’s side.

The engine stars, and Vi adjusts the rearview mirror before glancing over at you. You can tell that she has more that she wants to say, but instead, she just puts the truck into drive, her fingers flexing around the wheel before she finally pulls out of the lot.

The drive is quiet.

Not awkward, not tense—just quiet.

The road stretches ahead, the glow of streetlights passing in a blur, fleeting shadows across Vi’s face. Her jaw is set, a hand steady on the wheel, but inside the truck, everything feels so quiet.

You watch her from the corner of your eye, the way her fingers tap lightly against the wheel, the way she lets out a slow breath, like she’s thinking about something she won’t say out loud.

You shift slightly in your seat, your hands resting in your lap, feeling the warmth of the heater kicking in against your legs. You should say something—maybe thank her again, maybe fill the silence with small talk, maybe ask her again how long she’s staying in town, how long her break is, when she’s leaving again—but for some reason, you don’t.

You just sit there.

Eventually, the truck slows to a stop in front of your apartment building, the engine humming for a moment before Vi shifts into park and shutting the engine off. The street is quiet at this hour, the street lamps casting long shadows across the sidewalk, everything outside the window felt frozen.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just grips the wheel, her fingers flexing slightly before she finally moves, unbuckling her seatbelt.

Before you can protest—before you can even tell her that she doesn’t have to—she’s already stepping out, rounding the front of the truck with long strides. She opens your door for you again, and when you step down, you can feel how warm she is, close enough that you have to force yourself not to lean into it.

Then, she walks you up to your apartment door, taking the elevator, her steps slower now, like she’s drawing out the last few moments before she has to leave.

You fish your keys out of your bag, fingers brushing over the familiar metal as you try to ignore the way your heart is beating too fast.

But Vi… she just watches.

She’s standing a step behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her body tense like she’s holding herself back from something.

And she is.

Because she doesn’t want to leave.

Not when she’s spent the entire night thinking about you, stealing glances at you across the bar, admiring how the lighting made your skin glow, how your lips curled into that gorgeous smile she fell in love with—that she’s still in love with. Not when you looked so damn good in that dress, when all she’s wanted, since the second she saw you tonight, was to touch you, to press her lips against yours and see if you’d melt into her the way you used to.

Not when she still wants you.

But she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

She just stares, her jaw clenched slightly, her pink hair falling into her face as she tilts her head down, eyes darting between your face and your hands as you struggle with the keys.

She should say something. She should tell you goodnight, make some stupid joke to break the tension, turn and walk away before she does something reckless. Because every single part of her is screaming at her to stay, to close the space between you, to reach out and touch you the way she’s been dying to all night. To press you against that door and kiss you until she forgets where she ends and you begin.

She just bites the inside of her cheek, waiting—hoping—you’ll give her a reason not to go.

You finally find the right key, fingers brushing over the familiar grooves, you slot it into the door but you don’t turn it just yet.

Vi hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything, and when you glance up at her, she’s still staring—not in an absentminded way… No, she’s simply watching you, like she’s trying to memorize every single detail.

Your throat feels tight, but you push through it, offering her a soft smile, one that feels a little shy.

“Thank you for inviting me out tonight,” you say quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” she murmurs, almost hushed. “I—”

She stops, exhales through her nose, rubs a hand against the back of her neck before shaking her head, like she’s sorting through whatever thoughts are running wild in her head.

“I wanted you to come.”

You don’t know what to say to that, not when she’s looking at you like this, like she means it, like tonight actually mattered to her.

You swallow, gripping your keys a little tighter, trying to ignore the way your fingers tremble slightly.

“Still,” you say softly, meeting her gaze. “It was… nice.”

She looks at you like she wants to say more, like there’s so much more left to be said between you two, but she doesn’t say it.

Instead, she just nods, stepping just a fraction closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off her, close enough that if you tilted your chin just slightly, you’d be right there—right within reach.

And for the first time tonight, you realize you don’t want to step away.

Vi moves slightly, her hands still buried in the pockets of her jacket, like she’s physically stopping herself from reaching out. But her eyes tell a different story. They flicker over your face, down to your lips for the briefest second before settling back on yours.

“I… I wanna see you again,” she says quietly, almost desperately.

You freeze, the key still in your hand, but now the door feels so far away. Vi’s voice rings in your ears, and as you stand there, your mind spins.

You know what she means by those words.

You’ve already been seeing her as the weeks go by. As a friend—she came in to help with your bookshop, invited you out tonight. And now—now she’s expecting something more with you.

And you’re scared of that. Terrified, actually.

You can’t do this again. You won’t survive it.

You’ve lived through her absence, through the silence, through the distance. You’ve been holding your breath for years. You’ll expect her to leave the same way she did, promising you she’ll never forget you, that she’ll come home soon, she’ll call. You’ve already lived through it.

And soon, she’ll be leaving again. Once her break is over, she’ll be gone.

And whatever she wanted build with you now, you expect all of that to be gone the moment she is.

“Vi… I’ve been thinking about it for a while now… and I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you say, almost as if you’re talking to yourself, trying to convince yourself that this is the right decision. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t look at her as you speak, afraid that if you do, you’ll see the hope in her eyes, and it will break you.

Vi’s heart sinks at your words. But she doesn’t look away. She doesn’t argue.

Instead, she stands there, eyes locked onto the side of your face, refusing to let the space between you become any bigger than it already is.

She wants to say something—wants to convince you, to make you see that this time could be different, that she can be different.

But the words won’t come. They’re stuck somewhere inside her, tangled up with the fear of losing you again, with the ache of wanting you close, even knowing that you might not feel the same.

So instead of speaking, she just stands there, her hands still in her pockets, her chest rising and falling with every shallow breath she takes. Her gaze never wavers from yours, even as it breaks her inside to see the hesitation in your eyes. She doesn’t want to push. She doesn’t want to make it harder for you.

But god, she wants to be near you.

She wants you so fucking bad.

She wants you to say yes.

The lump in your throat feels like it’s made of stone as you swallow. Your hands tremble slightly as you stand there, staring at the door, tears already threatening to roll down your cheeks.

You can feel her eyes on you, searching, waiting for something, and you know—you know that she’s holding onto the edge of whatever this is.

But you can’t do this.

So, you say it quickly, almost too quickly.

“Goodnight, Vi.”

You can hear the hesitation in your own voice, the way it cracks just a little, as if you’re trying to make the decision for both of you.

You don’t wait for her to reply. You don’t give her the chance to stop you, to pull you back into her. You push the door open just a little more and step inside, slamming it behind you.

On the other side of the door, Vi stands completely still. She doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just stares at the space where you were. Her heart is pounding, your words still burning in her chest, but she doesn’t turn away. She doesn’t walk away. She stays in place, her eyes glued to the spot where you had been standing, as if she’s waiting for you to come back.

The sound of your footsteps on the other side of the door is faint, but it might as well be a symphony in her ears. Her hand reaches up slowly to knock, almost without thinking, like she’s trying to hold onto the last of the warmth that came from being so close to you, from having you near her again.

But it’s only cold now.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, doesn’t know how much time passes as she waits, hoping—just for a moment—that you might open the door again, that you might step back out and say that it wasn’t over, that it was just a misunderstanding.

But the longer she stands there, the more she realizes how hopeless that hope is, how much she’s already lost.

She almost turns on her heel to leave, the cold night air pressing in on her, but then—then—the sound of the door opening again stops her in her tracks.

You’re standing in the doorway.

For a split second, she doesn’t know what to expect. Her heart skips, and the breath she was holding catches in her throat.

“H-Hey,” Vi breathes out, her eyes widening. “Are you—”

Then, you move quickly, almost. You step up to her, and before Vi can make sense of it all, your hands are on her shoulders, and you’re standing on your tiptoes, and before she can breathe, before she can even think, your lips are on hers.

And holy fuck. Holy. Fuck. Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy— Is she dreaming? Are you really kissing her right now? Or did she really hit her head that hard?

Vi’s whole body freezes at first. It’s quick, but it’s enough to make her world tilt on its axis. She’s barely aware of what’s happening, of how she instinctively wraps her arms around you, pulling you closer. Her hands find their way to your waist, holding you gently.

She doesn’t want to pull away. She doesn’t want to let go of of you, not when it feels like you’ve come back to her. Her arms tighten around you, and she groans into your mouth, feeling the warmth of your body press against hers like she’s trying to make sure you’re really here.

Vi doesn’t think—she doesn’t have time to.

The second your lips press back into hers, everything else fades and she cant see anything else but you. She deepens the kiss, her hands squeezing roughly at your waist, pulling you impossibly close like she’s afraid you might slip through her fingers again if she lets even an inch of space come between you.

You respond just as eagerly, softly moaning into against her lips, your fingers fisting into the fabric of her jacket, pulling her forward like you can’t stand the distance either. Your body presses into hers, soft where she’s firm, delicate where she’s rough, and it only makes her want you more.

The kiss turns messy—more tongue, more teeth, like neither of you can get enough.

Vi doesn’t realize she’s walking forward until she feels you stumble slightly, your hands gripping onto her arms for balance. She guides you backwards, step by step, her lips never leaving yours as she pushes you back into your apartment. And with one firm kick of her foot, the door swings shut behind you both.

The moment the door clicks into place, she moves quickly—gripping your hips as she turns you, pressing you firmly against the solid wood making you gasp against her mouth, a quiet, breathless sound that sends a rush of heat straight through her.

Vi exhales sharply, pulling away from your lips only slightly to breathe, pressing her palms flat against the door on either side of your head, caging you in without a single inch of space between you. She can feel your breath against her lips, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you both try to catch up with what’s happening.

But then, as she leans in again, ready to kiss you breathless, she sees you.

Your eyes, wide and glistening, your lips swollen from the kiss, your breaths coming out in soft little gasps. And the trail of tears… still visible on your cheeks.

Vi’s stomach clenches.

Her chest tightens as she reaches up without thinking, brushing the pad of her thumb against your cheek, just beneath where the tears had dried. You don’t pull away, but you don’t meet her gaze either. You just stand there, still breathing hard, your hands still clinging to her jacket like you need something to hold onto.

Vi swallows hard, her fingers still lingering on your cheek, and she lets herself look at you—really look at you.

And it feels like a fucking punch to her stomach, a hard one, because you are still so beautiful, even like this.

And, she doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be here. If she’s supposed to be kissing you like this, touching you like this.

But when your eyes finally meet hers again, she knows one thing for sure.

She doesn’t want to let you go.

Vi opens her mouth, barely forming the words before you beat her to it.

“Vi,” you whisper softly. “I-If we do this… if we do this, we can’t commit.”

She blinks, once, twice, her breath still uneven from the way she’d just had you pressed against the door, her lips still tingling from kissing you like she had been starving for it. Her hands are still on you, one hand against your cheek, and another on your waist, her thumb ghosting over the curve of your hip.

“What?” Vi’s voice is barely more than breath.

You look up at her and she sees the hesitation in your eyes, the way you swallow thickly before you even attempt to explain.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. Because out of everything she expected you to say, this wasn’t it.

No commitment.

The words press into Vi’s chest like something sharp, something cruel, something that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does—but god, it does.

Her mind races, trying to make sense of what you mean, of why you’d say that after everything. After the way you kissed her, after the way you ran back out that door.

No commitment.

Did you think she’d leave again? Did you really think she’d break your heart a second time?

Vi swallows, her throat tight, her fingers twitching against you.

“What do you mean?” she whispers, careful, like she’s afraid if she says it too loud, you’ll pull away completely.

But she already knows.

She knows what you mean. She knows exactly what you’re saying without even having to hear the rest of it.

You don’t trust her. Not with your heart.

And fuck, she wants to argue again, she wants to tell you she’s different, that she wouldn’t leave you alone this time, that she would stay, that she wants to stay.

But you’re looking at her like you’re waiting for her to fight it, and she suddenly realizes—maybe you need this.

Maybe you need to believe that thi won’t be anything more than what it is tonight.

Maybe you need to protect yourself from what loving her again might do to you.

Vi’s jaw clenches, her hands tightening ever so slightly where they rest against your waist. She should say something. She wants to fucking say something.

You hold Vi’s gaze, your breath still uneven, your heart pounding so loudly it feels like it might drown out your own words. You don’t want to say it—you really don’t—but you force yourself to. Because if you don’t, if you let her look at you like that for a second longer, you might break.

“We just… we can’t do it,” you say, barely above a whisper. “We can’t pretend like we can just pick up where we left off, Vi. You’re still you—you have your whole life out there that you have to get back to, your career, your band, and I…”

You pause, exhaling slowly, pressing yourself back against the door.

“I can’t go through it again.”

Vi’s breath hitches in her throat.

But you see it—the way your words hit her, the way her fingers tighten slightly at your waist before she forces them to loosen, like she’s reminding herself to be gentle with you. Like she’s reminding herself that she did this.

That she gave you a reason not to trust her.

She wets her lips, blinking once, twice, all over again as if she was trying to process what you’re saying. But you can see the protest in her eyes. You can see how much she wants to protest, to tell you that you’re wrong.

“So… what?” she asks roughly. “You just want this to be… casual?”

You hesitate. You don’t want to call it that. It feels wrong, too small, too insignificant to name what’s happening between you.

Because it’s not insignificant. It never has been.

But you can’t give her what she wants.

So you force yourself to nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Vi stares at you, and it’s hard to read her face now, but you know her well enough to see the way her jaw tenses, the way she presses her tongue against the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to hold something back.

She looks down for a second, her hands still resting at your waist, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter.

“You… you want me to pretend that this—” she exhales, shaking her head just slightly, like she can’t believe she’s even saying it, “—that you don’t mean anything to me?”

Your chest tightens, and for a second, you almost cave.

“Vi…” You say her name softly, and it’s enough to make her close her eyes, her head tipping forward like she’s bracing herself for impact.

You bite your lip, shifting under her gaze, but you don’t deny it.

“I want something safe,” you say instead.

Vi stares at you longingly.

She runs a hand through her hair, exhaling a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she looks at you.

“Safe,” she echoes, like she’s tasting the word on her tongue, trying to decide how it makes her feel.

She knows exactly how it makes her feel.

It fucking hurts.

Because when it comes to you, Vi has never wanted safe.

She’s only ever wanted everything.

But she looks at you now and she can see the hesitation in your eyes, the way you’re holding yourself like you’re waiting for her to fight you, to push, to promise something she might not be able to keep.

And, Vi realizes that you probably need this boundary.

That this is the only way you know how to let her in without risking losing yourself in her all over again.

So she takes a slow breath, lets it settle in her chest before she speaks.

“Okay.”

You blink, like you weren’t expecting her to agree so easily.

“Okay?”

Vi nods, keeping her face straight and stoic.

“Okay,” she repeats, quieter this time.

She watches the way your lips part slightly, the way your breath catches, and fuck, she could kiss you again right now. Could prove to you that whatever this is—whatever it’s turning into—isn’t just something temporary for her.

That it never was.

But instead, she just looks at you, nods once more, and says, “I can do that.”

And she knows for sure if it’s a lie.

You can feel her breathing against you, warm and uneven, her body still so close. Your breath shudders, your fingers twitching at your sides.

You don’t know how to tell her that you’re just as scared, that this—whatever it is—is already starting to feel like something dangerous, something that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do the only thing you can do.

You lift your hands, slowly, hesitantly, and brush your fingers over the sides of her face, over the sharp line of her jaw, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your touch. Vi lets out a breath, and when you tilt your head slightly, your lips barely a breath away from hers, she doesn’t pull back.

She doesn’t run.

Neither do you.

And before she can say another word, before she can question it, you kiss her again.

Vi doesn’t hesitate this time.

The moment your lips crash against hers, she melts into it, melts into you. Her fingers tighten at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, like she needs to feel every inch of you against her. She’s warm, burning, her body radiating heat as she kisses you deeper, rougher, her teeth grazing your bottom lip before she soothes the sting with her tongue. A quiet moan escapes your throat, and that’s all it takes for Vi to lose whatever restraint she had left.

She cages you in again, her palms flat against the wood on either side of your head, her breath uneven as she pulls back just slightly. Not enough to create distance—just enough to look at you again.

She studies you, the way your fingers clutch at her jacket like you don’t want her to go anywhere, and for a brief moment, she wonders—is this what you need?

Because Vi doesn’t think she can just pretend.

She doesn’t think she can hold you like this, kiss you like this, and not want all of you.

But maybe… maybe right now, this is enough.

So instead of saying something that will ruin it, instead of pushing for something you aren’t ready to give, Vi does what she knows best.

She leans in again, slower this time, her lips brushing. Her hands move to your waist, then up your sides, fingers ghosting over your ribs before sliding down the the hem of your dress, slipping under the fabric to grasp at your thighs. She doesn’t rush—she takes her time, savoring the way your body reacts to her touch, how you shiver slightly beneath her hands.

“You sure about this?” she asks.

You nod, barely a whisper of movement, your hands sliding up her chest, over her strong shoulders, fingers curling into the soft fabric of her shirt.

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

One moment, you’re standing there, breathless, and the next, Vi is crashing into you, her lips slanting against yours.

You gasp against her mouth, and Vi grips you tighter, her strong hands sliding down, catching the backs of your thighs before lifting you up. You gasp, but your body reacts on instinct, your legs wrapping around her waist, arms winding around her shoulders as she holds you up with ease.

And, the way she holds you—firm, steady, possessive—makes the heat coil in your stomach.

She doesn’t stop kissing you, not even for a second, her tongue your mouth, tasting you. Vi carries you through deeper into your apartment, like she knows exactly where she’s going even though she’s only ever been here once for several minutes.

Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging slightly, and she groans against your lips, low and needy, sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel the tension in her muscles, the way her grip tightens around your waist.

She stumbles slightly as she reaches your bedroom door, blindly pushing it open with her foot before stepping inside. The moment she steps in, she presses you against the nearest wall, just for a second, just to feel you pinned against something, her body flush against yours, her breath hot against your lips.

“Fuck,” Vi mutters, her forehead pressing against yours.

Her breath is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, and when she looks at you—lips swollen, eyes dark with want—you swear you’ve never seen her like this.

You don’t give yourself time to overthink. You don’t want to think.

You just pull her back into you, your lips crashing into hers once more, and she groans against your mouth as she finally moves again, finally carries you those last few steps toward the bed.

And when she lays you down—Vi stares.

Her body hovers over yours, her hands braced on either side of your head, her breath still uneven as she takes you in—really takes you in. And fuck, you look so pretty like this, sprawled out beneath her, lips swollen and your lipstick smudged slightly from kissing her. Your chest rises and falls with each breath, the thin fabric of your dress shifting slightly, and Vi can’t stop staring, can’t stop drinking you in like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she exhales sharply through her nose, her hands curling into fists against the mattress as she forces herself to pause, to breathe. She feels like she’s standing at the edge of something dangerous, something she’s wanted for so long but never let herself have, and now that you’re here—now that you’re letting her have you—she feels like she might lose her fucking mind.

Her gaze trails down your body, heat pooling low in her stomach as she watches the way your thighs press together, the way your fingers twitch against the sheets, waiting for her to do something.

She wants you. Wants to make you forget everything except the way she touches you, the way she makes you feel, the way she’s about to have you.

Vi exhales again, slower this time, and when her eyes flicker back up to yours, she smiles bitterly—low, lazy, cocky.

“Oh, fuck,” she murmurs, shaking her head slightly, her pink hair falling into her eyes as she licks her lips.

She leans in then, pressing her lips against the soft skin of your neck, her teeth grazing just slightly as she whispers against you teasingly.

“Vi, hurry, please—”

“I’m on it, baby,” she says.

Vi doesn’t waste another second.

She shrugs off her jacket in a rush, the leather hitting the floor, and her fingers already working at the hem of her shirt. She pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in her jeans and her sports bra, barely noticing where it lands—because you’re right there.

Vi moves above you, her body pressing closer, and that’s when you see it.

The small glint of silver catches your eye, swaying gently as she hovers over you, her breath warm against your skin. Your lips part slightly, because you know that necklace—

And now, it’s still there.

Vi doesn’t seem to notice at first. She’s too lost in you, in the way your body moves beneath hers, in the way she’s been desperate to have you again. But when she feels you stiffen slightly beneath her, when she pulls back just enough to really look at you, she follows your gaze—and freezes.

Her breath falters, chest rising and falling just a little too quickly, her entire body suddenly too still.

She realizes what you’re looking at.

You don’t say anything, but you don’t have to.

And Vi—Vi feels like she’s been caught.

The necklace still rests against her skin every single day, always hidden beneath layers of fabric, unseen by anyone else.

But now, you see it. You know.

She doesn’t just want you tonight.

She wants you always.

Right in front of her, staring up with wide eyes, breath coming in soft, uneven gasps, your lips still swollen, and your dress still clinging to you.

And holy fuck, she needs you out of it.

Her hands find the fabric at your sides, her fingertips pressing into your skin as she tugs, as she urges your dress higher, bunching it up until she can pull it over your head.

You lift your arms for her, letting her take it off, letting her strip you down just like she wants, and Vi swears her brain short circuits the second she sees you like this.

Her breath catches, her pupils blown wide as her gaze drags down, raking over every inch of your skin exposed to her.

She groans softly, deeply and almost pained, before she lunges forward, her lips finding the soft skin of your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere she can reach. She kisses you so messily, open-mouthed and desperate, her tongue flicking out between kisses, her teeth grazing just enough to make you moan.

She wants to taste every inch of you, mark you up so that you remember exactly where she’s been.

“V-Violet—”

Your voice—soft, breathy, breaking just slightly on her name—hits Vi harder than anything else has tonight. It goes straight to her chest, down to the part of her that remembers, that aches for every time you used to say her name like that, every time you used to fall apart for her.

And fuck, she’s missed it. She’s missed you.

A soft whimper rumbles from Vi’s throat, her teeth scraping gently along the delicate skin of your chest before she pulls back just enough to look at you. Your bra is pushed up, her hands eagerly roaming your tits, swueezing and pulling just like she always did whenever she was in a rush to make you feel good. Its not long before she reaches behind you, one hand undoing your bra and throwing it on the floor with the rest of your clothes.

And you’re already so wrecked, your lips parted, your breaths uneven, your body arching beneath her as she touched you.

God, she wants you—wants to ruin you, wants to hear you beg, wants to make you forget everything but the way she feels against you, around you… inside you.

Vi’s hands tremble slightly as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging at the fabric slowly down your legs. She watches the way you react—the way your breath catches, the way your thighs tense, the way your fingers clutch at the sheets like you’re bracing yourself. Like you’re nervous.

She pauses, her thumbs rubbing small, absentminded circles against your hips, trying to soothe the tension in your body.

She’s thought about this.

Fuck, she’s thought about this almost every night—about you, about having you like this again, spread out beneath her, breathless and wanting an be needing her.

It’s been so long. Too long.

And as much as Vi wants to devour you as soon as possible—she also wants to savor this. She wants to feel it.

You make a small noise—soft, hesitant—and when Vi finally drags the last piece of clothing down your thighs, when she finally sees you, all of you, she lets out a breath she didnt even know she was holding.

You shift slightly, instinctively moving to close your legs, to hide yourself, but Vi is already there—her hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open for her.

And then she sees the hesitation in your eyes. The way you bite your lip and glance away. Shy.

Something in Vi’s chest tightens.

She knows.

She knows.

You haven’t done this in a long time.

She wants to say something, but can’t find the right words. So instead, she does the only thing she can—she leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, her lips soft and wet.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” she murmurs against your skin. “Always been so pretty, baby.”

She kisses you again, this time closer.

But when your breath hitches, when you finally look at her, when your fingers twitch like you want to reach for her but don’t know if you should—Vi knows.

She knows you want this.

You need her.

So Vi immediately gets to work.

The second she spreads you open, the second she sees how wet you are, she groans low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as she leans in without hesitation, before finally dragging her tongue through your wet folds.

Your body jerks as get tongue presses flat and firm against your clit, and your fingers immediately reach for her, tangling into her hair—longer now than it used to be, your fingertips curling around the strands, gripping on it, pulling on it.

Vi feels you everywhere—the way your thighs twitch slightly against her hands, the way your hips shift up as if you were chasing the warmth of her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair the second she flicks her tongue just right.

She hums against you, reveling in the way you respond to her so easily, like no time has passed at all, like your body still remembers her, still wants her just as much as she’s always wanted you.

She licks into you again, her tongue delving deeper into your pussy, messily and slurping loudly while her hands grip your thighs as she pulls you closer, like she can’t get enough—like she wants to devour you whole.

“Fuck,” Vi breathes against you. “You taste so good. Missed this pretty pussy so much.”

You let out a soft, broken sound as your hips buck slightly, your fingers still tangled in her hair.

Vi whimpers against your cunt, at the way your body gives to her so naturally, so easily. She tightens her grip, pressing you down into the mattress as she speeds up, her tongue dragging through your folds with faster strokes before circling your clit.

And when you whimper, Vi fucking smirks against you, because this is what she’s missed. The taste of you. The sound of you. The way you fall apart so easily for her, like you were made for this, like you were made for her.

“Hah, mmph—F-Fuck, Violet—”

Vi rolls her eyes back in bliss, moaning into your messy cunt as she slurps and sucks on your swollen clit. She loves hearing you moan her name like that—absolutely lives for it. Craves it. And god, she could fuck you all day just so that she could hear the heavenly sounds that fall from your lips.

She feels it before you even say anything—the way your thighs tremble beneath her palms, the way you close her in between your legs, the way you pant quicker and wuicker by the second, the way your body starts to tighten.

She knows you’re close already.

She knew you would be—knew from the second she laid you out in front of her, from the moment she tasted you, from the way you gasped and clung to her, fingers tangled in her hair, pulling, tugging, harder and harder, your body arching.

And that only makes her hungrier.

Vi doesn’t let up.

If anything, she doubles down, her grip tightening on your thighs, her tongue moving faster, more precise, lapping up everything you give her like she needs it, like she’s starving for it. She slurps at your wetness desperately, her tongue flicking, curling, pressing your pussy just right—just perfectly—and it sends you spiraling.

You don’t stand a chance.

Your entire body tenses as the orgasm crashes into you, ripping through you so fast, so hard, that your back arches off the bed, your thighs squeezing around Vi’s head as your fingers pull at her hair, and you cry out.

“V-Violet!”

Vi doesn’t stop.

She doesn’t slow down, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even pause—she just keeps going, her tongue still moving against you, inside you, her hands still gripping you tight, holding you down, keeping you there, like she’s refusing to let you come down from it, like she wants to drag you through it again and again and again.

And it’s too much.

Your breath stutters, your body twitching beneath her, overstimulated and shaking, but she’s relentless.

She moans against you, the vibration making you shudder, her tongue never stopping, pulling another wave of pleasure out of you before you can even recover from the first.

“V-Vi—” you gasp, broken and trembling.

But Vi just groans in response, like she loves how fucked out you sound, like it only spurs her on. She presses herself closer, tongue flicking faster, sucking have on got clit, drinking you down, devouring you, like she doesn’t plan on stopping until she’s satisfied—until you’re a mess beneath her, until you can’t think of anything else but her.

And fuck, with the way she’s going, you’re not sure she ever plans to stop.

Vi growls against you. Your body twitches beneath her, still trembling from your other orgasms, your breath ragged, uneven, and yet she doesn’t stop. Her tongue is still working you over and over, her hands still holding you down, still keeping you open for her, like she needs this just as much as she needs to breathe.

You gasp, your fingers tightening in her hair, tugging, pulling, trying to push her away, but Vi just moans at the feeling, her nails digging into your thighs as she keeps going, trying to drown you in the pleasure she’s giving you.

“V-Vi, I can’t—”

But Vi only smiles against you. Her fingers squeeze at your thighs, firm, steady, keeping you right there. And then, she finally pulls back—just barely, just enough to let her breath kiss over your wet, sensitive cunt as she tilts her head up to look at you.

Her lips are glossy with you, her pink hair disheveled from where your fingers have been pulling, and her pupils are blown, dark and hungry, her mouth curling into something dangerously smug, something so unbearably cocky.

“Can’t?” she echoes, raspy, teasing.

She presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss against the inside of your thigh, her teeth scraping just slightly before she smirks up at you.

And then she’s right back on you, tongue slipping inside, sucking at your clit, pulling another moan from your lips before you can even think to stop it.

You don’t know how many more times you came on her tongue.

It was so much.

And soon, you could hear Vi whimpering, louder and louder, her hands gripping your thighs tighter as she grinds her hips down onto your bed while she ate you out.

Vi was close. Untouched.

“V-Vi…” you breathe, your body trembling.

“Just a little more, baby, please…”

And you couldn’t say no to her. She always asked so nicely, even before—you loved it when she’d beg.

So she kept going and going and going.

Her whimpers grow louder, turning into moans, as she continuted to work her tongue against you. Fuck, she was so close. So fucking close. She could feel it tight in her cunt, waiting. All she needed was one more out of you. Just one.

She could feel you, almost there.

And when you jerk, trying to pull away from her mouth only for just a moment, Vi pulls you against her, wrapping her mouth around your clit and sucking. Hard.

You scream, the sound sending a wave over Vi’s body and that just about does it for her.

“M-Mmmph—Nn-ah, f-fuuuuck—” Vi whispers, gasping for air, her face still against your cunt.

She rests there for a moment, her cheek pressed againdt your inner thigh as she tries to catch her breath, her body shivering from cumming hard. She could feel her boxers, wet and sticky, and she swears you just sent her to heaven.

It doesnt take long for her to regain her energy, before crawling back up, leaving gentle kisses over your skin, before claiming your mouth with hers once more. You could taste yourself on her tongue, in her mouth. And you knew for a fact that Vi was cocky about it. She smiles against your lips before trailing back down to your jaw and neck, kissing the small bruises she left on them earlier.

Her hands are still resting lightly on your body, her fingers gentle now, as if she’s afraid you might shatter if she’s not careful. She pulls away a moment later, just enough to look at you.

She stares at you for a while, like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you—your flushed face, your lips swollen from the kiss, your eyes still half-lidded.

There’s a flutter in her chest. Vi can’t explain it—not really—not when every part of her is overwhelmed with the need to keep you close, to have you.

But she doesn’t say anything.

She just looks at you, her thumb gently brushing along the side of your cheek, her eyes soft as they lock onto yours. Her mind is running a mile a minute, every thought tangled up in the same three words that she wants to say but knows she can’t.

She says them to herself over and over.

I love you.

She says it in her head, again and again, her lips barely moving with the words as she stares at you. She wants to say them aloud, wants to let you know how much she means it, how deeply those words run for her, how she’s only ever felt like this for you.

But she holds herself back. She’s afraid of what might happen if she does.

Vi’s not sure if you feel the same way—if you even could, after everything that’s happened.

So instead of saying the words, she just leans down again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, letting her lips linger there for a moment, breathing you in. She pulls away slowly and moves to lay down next to you, her gaze still locked onto yours.

The room is quiet now. Vi watches you closely, her eyes tracing the rise and fall of your chest, the way your face softens as you drift off to sleep beside her. You’re curled against her, one of your hands still resting lightly on her chest.

The soft glow of the light outside the window makes your skin glow. She can’t stop staring.

Her fingers, still warm from where they rested on your skin, twitch at her sides, but she doesn’t dare move. She can’t tear herself away from you, from the way your hair spills across the pillow, the way your lips are still parted slightly. She reaches out slowlyc just to brush a few strands of hair from your face, her fingertips grazing your cheek gently.

You stir slightly, your lips parting in a soft sigh, and Vi feels her heart lurch again. She knows she should sleep—knows she should rest too, but the thought of closing her eyes and missing even a second of you like this seems impossible.

Vi can feel herself drawn to you, drawn to every subtle movement, every breath you take. Her mind spins with thoughts—of the past, of what could’ve been, of what might still be. She thinks of the way you kissed her earlier, the way you touched her, the way she was so sure of you before, and then everything fell apart. The distance between you both became something too big to cross, and now, after everything, she’s here again, watching you as you sleep beside her.

It’s not just being close to you—though, fuck, she wants to hold you, wants to feel you pressed against her until there’s no space left between you. But it’s the fact that she’s here with you. After all the years apart from you, she finally has you again. Right next to her. And she doesn’t know what it means or where it’s going, but right now, she feels whole in a way she hasn’t in years.

Her hand hovers for a moment, just over yours, but she doesn’t touch you. She just watches you, watches the way your chest rises and falls, the way your face looks so relaxed, so safe, like you’ve finally found peace in her presence.

Vi stays there all night, her eyes never leaving you. She watches the clock tick by, watches the light change, watches you sleep, and for the first time in so long, she doesn’t feel so alone.

series masterlist | next chapter (coming soon!)

taglist: @norwayromanoff @killuomi @wicked-laugh @bunnyrose01 @jupitism @sawaagyapong @trulyzizi @saturnhas82moons @oidloid @mk-a-1 @pornoangelz @savedforlaterr @catrapplesauces @ishamyshaylaaa @baylegend6 @auraclus @theapollochronicles @jivimatcha @chobssss @mystar-girl57 @narislvr @danonered @mikellie @xxyourlocaledgelordxx @thalchmy @ddandelionfluff @atittueball @brooks-lin @alex-thegiraffeboyy @visexualfemme @sugrcookiiee @fallingstarsburn @cupcakesnviolets @brbaabs @antobooh @london-uhmye @pen900 @quiquerwfx77 @violetszn @womenlover0 @tamale-4 @everybodyhatesari @sevyscoven @krilara @starrysetup22 @cyberdreamzzzz @jannesyjane @littl3cloud @caffeine-pup @hitmehardmommy

if you would like to be added to the taglist please leave a comment on the series masterlist post (its easier for me to track that way!)

[holy-obsession-batman]

UDRH but Nightwing is trying to 1) hide that he’s still Renegade 2) babysit Rose Wilson

Quick recap for those who don’t know what I’m talking about, after some very bad no good events happening to Nightwing in Blüdhaven, Slade Wilson aka Deathstroke offers Dick a deal to make the city neutral, free of both superheroes and supervillains. In exchange, Dick is to help train Deathstroke’s daughter, Rose aka the second Ravager.

However, Dick ends breaking the deal, turning Rose against her father and to the heroic side. Slade gets his revenge some time later by literally wiping Blud’ off the map via nuclear bombing — and that bit happens right at the same time as the events of Under the Hood. Now. What if Dick didn’t break his deal with Slade, and is still being Renegade, Deathstroke associate and Ravager’s tutor when UDRH happens?

Imagine Nightwing coming to Gotham to help with the Red Hood situation, except he’s got Rose on tow, because that was the only way Slade let him go: taking part in or at least watching a bat operation will be a meaningful experience for her. (Also dad-ing really doesn’t come naturally to this dude and he really, really need a brat-free vacation least he ends up snaping and eviscerating her)

The Bats have NO IDEA what Dick has been up to since Blockbuster’s death 8 months ago.

Feats:

Dick still too chicken to explain his last 8 months to Batman (Blockbuster’sdeath-Tarantula-jail-joiningthemob-Slade’sdeal), doing a bad job of dodging everyone’s question about why the fuck he was MIA for huit months

Tries (and fail) to hide Rose’s whole existence from the bats, ends up panicking and blurting out that she’s his sidekick (then has to pay her to play along)

the good, old, linear buildup in tension in the Red Hood investigation for the dramatic confrontation with Batman gets kinda thrown off as both the Batfam AND Jason keep getting distracted by the bits they learn about Nightwing’s MIA months

They all find out different bits separately

Babs thinks Rose is Dick’s new girlfriend and Rose gleefully plays into it. Actually angst topic because this is Tarantula trigger for Dick.

Red Hood watches in amusement Dick’s utter failure at damage control with Rose ‘Father, I crave violence’ Wilson ("No, you don’t get to gut the goons!"), finds it funny and goads her on.

Rose and Jason feed on each other’s menace gremlin energy and everyone suffer through ten times the drama. (The combined chaos is the only reason Dick manages to dodge the bat-inquiries for as long as he does)

"Are- are they—oh god, they’re flirting—"

If I were to do it character by character:

Dick: too chicken, desperately tries to believe he can dodge everything and just leave again

Rose: spends her unending feral energy in equal part on making Dick’s life a living hell and enthusiastically flirting with him, (he’s gentleman-ing the hell outa dodge). Match with Jason in freak, daddy issues, blood craving, secret longing for love, mental age, edginess and terrible flirting skill.

Bruce: hasn’t had access to his emotional support Dick Grayson for nearly a year, his communication skill has regressed to inarticulate. Distressed Fussing Hovering Brooding. He’s trying to investigate what happened to Nightwing but at the same is afraid to cross some boundary and have him go to ground again so he’s holding back a lot.

Babs: awkward mixed feelings between worry for Dick and the ex-girlfriend package of bitterness and suspicion. Suspects that Rose is Dick’s latest love interest.

Jason: in all his freshly-bathed Red Hood glory, at peak angst potential. Still a chaos gremlin who finds Nightwing’s hardships with the Ravager hilarious, and eggs her on. Also still concerned curious about wtf got to Nightwing, and trying unsuccessfully to investigate. Match with Rose in freak, daddy issues, blood craving, secret longing for love, mental age, edginess and terrible flirting skill.

Tim: has just spent the last few months with the Titans under violent attacks of Joey Wilson. Subsequently not impressed with Red Hood’s attempt in Titan Tower, also very up to date on Wilson family lore.

Also this proposed fic ends with everyone and their mother father getting their asses kicked by Cass—as it should be.

Bonus: dialogue snippets

(Masterlist)

[nanamineedstherapy]

Tsundere vs. Tsundere: A Battle of Pride (& Boob Grabs)

Tsundere!Four-Armed!Ryomen Sukuna x Even More Tsundere!Reader

Summary: You want to touch his toddies. Tags: Tsundere x Tsundere Warfare, You Made Sukuna Malfunction, Congratulations, He Tries to Kill You but He Can’t Because He’s Embarrassed, Grabbing the King of Curses’ Tiddies: A Cultural Analysis, Four Arms/No Peace, Sukuna Has a Chest and We Will Respectfully Objectify It, Reader Is a Menace to Society (and to Sukuna Specifically), Slow Burn But Only Because He Keeps Running Away, Enemies to "What the Fuck Are We?", No Beta We Die Like Sukuna’s Dignity, Reader has negative shame, Sukuna has four arms and zero escape routes, Sukuna tries to murder you multiple times but honestly? He kinda likes it.

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, was feared by all. He was a merciless, bloodthirsty deity, a demon whose name alone sent shivers down the spines of the strongest sorcerers.

And yet.

"Come on," you huffed, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "Just one squeeze."

Across from you, Ryomen Sukuna, all four arms folded like an impenetrable fortress, gave you a deadpan look.

"You are repulsive."

You gasped, dramatically clutching your chest. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, you perverted little worm," he grumbled, looking disgusted but also slightly concerned for humanity. "Who the hell asks a man to touch his chest like this?"

"A woman of culture," you corrected.

Sukuna exhaled through his nose like a disappointed father.

"You do realize I don’t even have—"

"Yes, you do," you cut in. "Look at those pecs. Absolute meat slabs. That’s not a chest, that’s a national monument."

His eye twitched. "You—"

"—should be honored that I even want to."

"That’s it," he snarled, unfolding his arms, looming over you like the eldritch horror he was. "You are the most insufferable human I have ever met."

You sniffed, tilting your nose up. "Fine then. I’ll just leave since I’m so unwanted."

Sukuna blinked. "Huh?"

"It’s clear you don’t want me around," you continued, sighing dramatically. "I’m not going to stay where I’m not wanted."

He narrowed his eyes. "Tch. Good."

"Great."

"Fine."

"Fine."

A pause.

You turned on your heel, marching off with your nose still high, shoulders squared.

Sukuna watched, waiting for you to stop, to turn around, to say something else—

But you didn’t.

You just kept walking.

His eye twitched.

The audacity.

He let out a sharp click of his tongue. "Oh, for—get back here, you pathetic little thing."

You stopped immediately, turning back faster than you should have.

He stared.

You blinked at him.

"...You were waiting for me to stop you," he accused.

"No, I wasn’t," you said, too fast, too defensive.

"Tch. Liar," he muttered, folding his arms again. "Pathetic."

You smirked, walking back over, smug. "Aww, so you do want me around?"

"I never said that," he snapped.

"But you implied it."

"Shut up."

You grinned like a little gremlin and stepped closer. Sukuna stiffened slightly but didn’t move away.

He was playing with fire, and he knew it.

"...So," you hummed. "About those boobies—"

"For the last time," he snarled, four hands twitching in irritation, "I DO NOT HAVE BOOBS."

"I dunno, Sukuna," you mused, eyeing his very grab-able chest. "I think you do. And I think, deep down, you want me to appreciate them."

"I WILL KILL YOU."

"You won't."

"You are two seconds away from being crushed under my foot, you flea."

You pouted, leaning against his massive frame like a lazy cat. "Then why haven’t you done it yet?"

A vein bulged in his forehead. "Because you’re too damn pathetic to waste my energy on."

"That’s cute. Keep talking."

He gritted his teeth. "Get. Off."

You looked up at him, utterly unbothered, and smirked. "Make me."

For the first time in his cursed existence, Sukuna did not have a comeback.

He glared down at you, his simmering rage met with your absolute lack of shame.

Neither of you moved.

It was a standoff of pride.

A battle between two tsunderes too stubborn for their own good.

Finally, Sukuna scoffed, reaching up with two of his four hands to shove you off.

But instead of throwing you away—

His hands landed on your waist.

He realized too late.

You grinned.

"Aww, look at you," you mocked, reaching up with both hands to squeeze his chest like a gremlin. "Such a big scary curse, and yet, so soft."

Sukuna short-circuited.

"YOU—"

"Shhh," you cooed, squeezing again, lovingly. "You’re ruining the moment, my sweet."

"GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF ME—!"

"I’M NEVER LETTING GO."

Sukuna roared, his rage shaking the very ground beneath you—

But his hands on your waist did not move.

And you grinned even wider.

Sukuna was a beast.

A god.

The King of Curses.

He had slaughtered armies, razed entire civilizations to the ground, and bathed in the blood of his enemies for sheer entertainment.

And yet.

“W-What the fuck was that?” he barked, stumbling back like you had just struck him with a Divine Retribution technique.

You licked your lips, looking very, very pleased with yourself.

"Huh. So you are sensitive."

Sukuna looked horrified.

"You—you disgusting little—" He slapped all four of his hands over his chest like some kind of violated Victorian maiden. "Did you just—"

You smirked. "I licked them nipps."

His entire body locked up.

For the first time in his immortal existence, Sukuna—the monster who had instilled terror into the strongest warriors, the man feared across history—ran.

He ran.

A whole four-armed sprinting menace.

You watched in absolute delight as he took off, tearing through the temple ruins like his life depended on it.

"Oh my god," you wheezed, doubling over with laughter. "This is the best day of my life."

---

Later, you found him lurking in the shadows like some kind of brooding, shirtless villain.

"Oi."

He twitched.

You approached, casual as ever, like you hadn’t just discovered his Achilles' heel (or nipples, in this case).

"Still sulking?" you teased, arms crossed, smirking up at him.

Sukuna was leaning against a half-crumbled pillar, arms crossed over his chest like it would protect him from your crimes.

His eyes snapped to you, burning with residual humiliation. "Say another word and I’ll tear your tongue out."

You hummed, tapping your chin, pretending to think. "That’s funny, coming from the guy who ran away the second I—"

"Shut. Up."

You grinned.

A slow, sinister, menace-filled grin.

"You know, Sukuna," you mused, watching the way his muscles tensed in pure, unfiltered rage, "it must be so hard being you."

His eye twitched. "What the hell are you—"

"You know," you continued, milking this moment for all it was worth, "all alone, up in this temple, no one to understand your struggles."

Sukuna glared. "I have no struggles, you imbecile."

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. "No one to talk to… No one to help when things get rough…"

He snarled. "I don’t need—"

And then—

You delivered the final blow.

You placed a hand over your heart, feigning sympathy, then tilted your head slightly, voice dripping with fake concern—

"Must be tough… lactating by yourself, handsome."

Silence.

The world stood still.

Sukuna stared at you.

You stared back.

A vein bulged in his forehead.

His four fists clenched.

The entire atmosphere darkened.

You, completely unbothered, bit back a laugh.

His breathing got heavier. "I am going to rip you apart."

You shrugged. "I’d like to see you try."

He launched at you.

You screamed in pure joy, honked his boobies and ran away.

A/N: Scream in the comments, or Sukuna will lactate alone forever. Your choice. 😌 If you want to discuss Sukuna's Lactation, my asks are open. (✿ ͡≖ ͜ʖ ͡≖)

All Works Masterlist

[sanesaviour]

My version of Sam :3

Here are some of my headcanons bout him:

1. He is youngest of Spidey team and so he has that younger brother energy going on

2. Skates everywhere and all the time, literally does that instead of studying for tests, his skateboard is his child. Also can surf really well, once he convinced Danny to try out surfing and from then on it became Dannys thing (he is actually better than Sam but Sam won’t admit it)

3. Brat

4. Likes to gossip with Ava (others don’t like when they do that)

5. Have those glow in the dark starts on ceiling in his room

6. Deliberately says something that is obviously incorrect just to piss off Peter

7. Likes to prank his teammates, especially Luke (even tho he knows pranking Luke can be life hazard) (also doesn’t dare to prank Ava, that would be death of him)

8. Wears baggy pants over his spandex suit (thinks it makes him look cooler)

I just realized how much people hate that Sam and Peter are so mean to eachother in usm, but I kinda like that dynamic, what buggs me more is that when they are arguing 99% of time rest of the team is on Novas side what is often out of character for them, like I don’t think they would choose Peters side either I just think they would be so done with those dorks.

[slmckle]

CHARLIE CONFESSING ON VALENTINE’S DAY

warnings: none? fluff, fem!reader kinda implied?

———— DECEMBER 11TH, 2024. ————

you worked at the game store, and charlie was a regular. you were fairly new, so when charlie saw you, he knew you weren’t there before.

he walked around the store, grabbing the essentials for his d&d game, or whatever, and he walks up to the counter. he places his items on the counter and smiled at you.

"hi! you're new!" he says with clear excitement. you look at him and return the energy, just trying to be friendly.

"i am! hi!" you say, grabbing his items and scanning them. he looks at you, eager to start a conversation. "so.. how do you like it so far?"

you sigh and purse your lips. "eh, its alright. its a job, thats for sure!"

he frowns slightly and tilts his head a bit. “ah, that’s no good!” he says.

you finish scanning his items and tell him his total, leaning over the counter a bit. “your total is 23.75 today, sir. will that be cash, or card?” you ask.

he answers with card, and pulls out a basic card. “you can just put it in the scanner there.” you say.

he does as told, and you say your goodbyes. “he was kinda cute.” your coworker, sam, says. he was also new, so he’d never seen him either.

“oh my god, shut up, sam!” you say, rolling your eyes before disappearing into the back of the store.

———— JANUARY 13TH, 2025. ————

charlie had came in the store many times since then, and you guys had gotten to know each other. you had exchanged numbers, and hung out a few times. you would consider him one of your closest friends, as would he. you had slowly developed a tiny crush on him, but would never admit it to anyone.

you don’t see him walking into the store, but the ring of the bell that was hung above the door let you know someone was there.

you finish stocking the shelf you were working on, and turn around. you smile when you see charlie and you walk over to the counter to assist him.

“hi, charlie! what can i do for you today?” you ask nicely. he smiles and speaks. “well, i was wondering when you got off, and if you wanted to hangout.” you smile and lean on the glass counter.

“i get off in about thirty minutes, if you wanna wait until then.” you say, looking at him and admiring the way he leans on the counter as well, almost mirroring you.

“yeah, i can wait!” he nods, leaning off of the counter and drumming his fingers on the glass. you push off the counter and walk back over to the shelves, making sure everything was in order.

you bend down to straighten out one of the cane cases that some grimey little kid probably messed up, but you swear you can feel a set of eyes on you…

FEBRUARY 14TH, 2025. VALENTINE’S DAY!

time skip, about a month later, and it was valentine’s day. you and charlie have gone on a few more hangouts dates , but he hasn’t asked you yet.

you’re sitting behind the counter and the game store, daydreaming when you hear the bell from the door signaling that someone has walked it. but this time, it’s charlie!

a grin spreads across charlie's face as he spots you behind the counter, his heart fluttering in his chest at the sight of you. he approaches the counter, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably as excitement bubbles over.

"heyyyyyyy." he says, leaning against the counter with a wide smile.

"hiii, charlie!" you say with a smile, tilting your head as you look at him.

his grin widens even more at the sound of you saying his name, his heart fluttering once again. he leans forwards, his eyes twinkling as he gazes at you.

"you have no idea how good it is to see you right now." he says. "oh yeah? whys that?" you ask, curiosity evident in your voice.

he taps his fingers against the countertop, his smile turning into a mischievous grin. "well, maybe because you're my best friend."

he pauses for a moment, studying your expression.

"and also because I have a very important question to ask you." he says, sitting up from the counter and brushing off his shirt and straightening his glasses.

"well, what is soooo important?" you tease, also sitting up from the counter, not missing the way his hands look while he straightens his glasses.

he takes another step forward, peering over the edge of the counter to get a better look at you.

"todays valentine's day, right?" he asks.

"mhm!" you say, trying to not sound too excited at the fact he might finally be asking you. 'but what if he asks me for advice for another girl..? no, he wouldnt do that.' you say in your head, ignoring the thoughts and focusing more on the conversation at hand.

he leans even closer, his heart racing in his chest.

"well…what are your plans for after work?"

he tries to make his question sound as casual as possible, although inside he's practically exploding with nerves.

“hmm, i don’t think i have anything planned, why?” you say, tapping your chin and looking up, trying not to smile as you act all oblivious.

he lets out a small sigh of relief at your response, his heart still thumping way too fast for his own liking. though he cant help but smile at your little act.

"good. that's um…"

he pauses, trying to form the words in his head.

"that's good. because I was wondering…if you maybe want to…go out? On a date? For Valentine's Day?" he asks nervously, and probably too fast.

"oh yeah? why should i?" you ask, grinning.

a cheeky smile appears on his face, loving the way you banter.

"well, let's see…"

he pretends to think for a moment, scratching his chin before listing on his fingers.

"because I'm charming, and i’ve also got some chocolate and flowers in my car. does that sweeten the deal, sweetheart?”

"hmmm.. i suppose it does!' you say with a smile, your eyes sparkling and catching charlie slightly off guard. he clears his throat and gains some composure before speaking, his heart feeling like it's going to burst with how excited he is right now.

"great."

he glances around the store, noticing a couple of lingering customers nearby. he lowers his voice.

"can I tell you something?" he whispers. "hm?" you ask curiously, lowering your vouce to match his.

he leans in close, so only you can hear him, his voice dropping low and quiet, tinged with excitement and a hint of nervousness.

"i've actually got one other surprise for you…" he says.

you look at him, your face lighting up as you question him. "really? what is it?"

he glances around once more, making sure no one is listening in on their conversation. once he’s assured the coast is clear, he turns back to you, a devilish grin on his face.

"you're going to have to come outside to see it, though. it's in my trunk."

"hmm, ill bite." you say, walking out from around the counter to meet him.

He lets out a soft chuckle at your response, his grin widening.

"awesome."

he steps back towards the store exit, holding the door open for you.

"ladies first."

he watches you pass him, his heart fluttering as he takes in the curve of your hips in the jeans that you’re wearing. he has to mentally remind himself to breathe as he follows you outside, the crisp air sending a shiver down his spine.

he leads you over to his car, parked out on the far side of the parking lot. he fishes the keys out of his pocket and unlocks the trunk, before motioning you forwards with a wave of his hand.

"come on, close your eyes."

he watches you as you close your eyes, your expression a mixture of curiosity and excitement. he can see the way your cheeks are flushed with anticipation, and he can't help but think it's one of the prettiest things he’s ever seen. he opens the trunk, removing a small bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, placing them off to the side before carefully removing a small, wrapped box from beneath a neatly folded blanket and placed it on top.

he makes sure everythings in place before walking over to you, grabbing your hands of of your eyes softly.

"okay, you can open your eyes now." he watches you open your eyes, a hint of nervousness creeping up on him. he’s biting his lip, hoping you’ll like the surprise he’s got for you, because he’s been thinking about it for a while now, almost a little shy to see your reaction.

“charlie…” you gasp, looking into his trunk, seeing the chocolate and roses, the small wrapped box, a small purple stuffed frog, and a bunch of little trinkets he hoped youd like.

he stands back, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches you look over the trinkets he's carefully picked out, his cheeks becoming warm with nervousness. every little gasp and look of wonder that appears on your face makes his heart skip a beat, and he can't help but be a little shy as you inspect the necklace. He rubs the back of his neck, a little sheepish.

"i, um.. i thought you might like some of these things…"

he watches as you pick up the stuffed animal, a small purple frog with large sparkly eyes. he remembers picking it out specifically because he thought the color would look nice against your hair, and the eyes reminded him of yours.

“oh, charlie..” you gasped, looking over all the trinkets that just scream ‘you.’

a shy, lopsided grin appears on his face as you hold up the little frog stuffed animal, the sight of you admiring it making his heart flutter. he rubs the back of his neck again, feeling butterflies in his stomach as he watches you look over the things he got for you.

"i um, i really hope you like it…"

“i love it… this is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me..”

his cheeks turn a deep shade of pink at your words, his heart skipping a beat as joy floods through his veins. he can’t help but feel a little embarrassed, but also incredibly happy that he managed to impress you. he takes a step closer, his gaze fixed on yours.

"you really like it? i, um, i was kind of nervous about picking stuff out for you. i wanted to get things that you would actually enjoy. and i remembered you saying you liked some of this stuff, so i got it.."

“oh, i’m gonna cherish her for the rest of my life.” you say, admiring the purple frog.

a warm, genuine smile spreads across his face as he hears your words. the way you speak about the little stuffed animal with such love and affection makes his heart flutter, and he almost forgets about the necklace he got you.

he remembers the necklace, and exclaims quietly. he grabs the small, wrapped box and hands it to you. you smile and take the box, shaking your head as you look up at him. "charlie, you really didn't have to..!" you protest lightheartedly, still beginning to open the box as he watches you.

"i wanted to, baby." he says, the pet name rolling off his tongue smoothly as he watches you open the box.

you open it to reveal the most gorgeous necklace youve ever seen. its a silver chain, that has a diamond in the middle of it, that would hang down on your chest.

you feel your cheeks heating and tears stinging your eyes as you admire the necklace. you look up at him, mouth agape. hes got a small smile on his face, cheeks red as well.

"do you like it...?" he asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets nervously.

"i love it, charlie..." you say, taking the necklace out of the box and looking at him, holding it infront of him.

“put it on me?” you ask. he nods and takes the necklace from you as you turn around and pull your hair up.

he drapes the necklace over your chest, and clasps it in the back, letting his fingers softly trace over your skin, sending goosebumps down your arm.

you turn around to look at him, smiling as the necklace sparkles on your chest. before he could say anything, your arms were wrapped around his torso.

he’s a little surprised as your arms wrap around him, but he instantly melts into your touch, his heart practically skipping a beat. he wraps his arms around you in return, pulling you close to him, holding you tightly. he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, the scent of your shampoo and perfume making his head spin. he lets out a soft sigh of contentment, his body relaxing as he relishes the feeling of having you so close to him. it feels so right.

"sooo, are you gonna ask me the question?" you ask, tilting your head up to look at him. he quirks an eyebrow, smirking at your question. "what exactly am i asking you?" he teases.

"dont play stupid, charlie." you warn. he chuckles and looks into your eyes. "will you be my girlfriend?" he asks, looking at you sincerely.

you hum before answering, your chest feeling warm. "of course, charlie." you say.

he doesn’t even wait for you to finish your sentence. the moment your words leave your mouth, he leans in and kisses you. his touch is soft and tender, his lips gently pressed against yours.

there’s a slight tremor in his hand, his fingers trembling against your face. he’s so damn thankful and lucky to have you right now.

he kisses you gently, his lips moving softly and slowly against yours. he can’t help but moan softly against your mouth, the sound a subtle expression of how much he’s been wanting to do this.

his fingers are still tracing your jawline, his touch trembling ever so slightly, but he’s suddenly very aware of how perfect it feels to kiss you, and he’s suddenly very aware that this isn’t going to be one, single kiss.

his other hand rests on your hip, his touch firm and steady, pulling you even closer to him, like he can’t get enough of your closeness. he breaks the kiss for barely a second before his lips are back on yours, more insistent this time, his other hand moving to your face, cupping your cheek as he kisses you again, and again, and again… over and over..

"hhmph- charlie!" you protest playfully, softly smacking his arm. he laughs softly at your protests, puling away to admire your face. "what?"

"i cant breathe!" "so?" "charlie!"

the end! blahhhhhh. my first time writing charlie hope u enjoyed ily

[honeyryewhiskey]

GIRLS LIKE YOU . . .

. . . REMIND ME THAT I'M LONELY

synopsis ! you catch soldierboy's eye at a penthouse party full of nyc's socialites. your daring attitude kinda pisses him off but he can’t help wanting more warnings ! smut with plot 18+, strong language, drug/alcohol use, pet names / no use of y/n, manhalding, teasing, mouth play, slight choking, fingering j's note ! this is my first sb fic if he sucks imsosorry & maybe pixie!reader the socialite will be a thing idk — inspired by the song 'girls like you' by miguel 3k words

Ben has been to enough of these parties to know better. The same overindulgent crowd, drowning in expensive liquor and bad decisions, pretending they aren't all bored out of their minds. Another penthouse after party, another round of coke laid out on a mirrored tray, another desperate attempt of the city’s richest heirs to feel like they’re worth something more.

He should leave. He tells himself to leave.

But then his eye catches on you.

Draped over a velvet couch, laughing like the world exists solely for your amusement. People flock around you, drawn in, drinking up the energy you infuse into the space. You’re all soft skin, wicked grins, and just enough mischief in your eyes to be a problem.

A fucking PR nightmare. That’s what Ashley—or any of those Vought assholes—would call you. A spoiled little socialite wasting daddy’s money on your favorite paraphernalia and bad decisions. The kind of girl he should avoid while he’s trying to rebuild his image.

But then you spot him, and for the first time all night, Ben doesn’t feel like just another overpaid, overhyped god amongst men. You look at him like he’s a thrill, not a headline.

"Soldier Boy," you purr, tilting your head as you sip from a flute of something bubbly. "Didn’t think this was your scene, we don’t usually see supes of your caliber around here."

"It’s not," he grumbles, but he doesn’t move an inch. Just looms over you, eyes raking over the delicate dress hanging off your body. It barely covers you, and normally, Ben would have something to say about that. But it shimmers, even in this dim light—like a million little stars—and all he can think about is getting beneath that galaxy.

You laugh, the sound light and playful, and hold out a hand. “Forgive me, I only know you by your supe name.”

He flashes that charming smile, the one you’ve seen plastered on billboards across the city. But up close, in the flesh, it carries a tantalizing feeling that you just want to devour. He reaches over, taking your smaller hand in his, his grasp firm as his hand swallows yours. “Ben.”

You’re no stranger to being around men who command attention—men people fawn over, obsess over. Another super-powered figure in tight spandex hardly fazes you. But this one, this man—he’s different. Dressed in a simple black shirt and jeans, he almost looks normal, like he could blend into the crowd. Almost.

The way the fabric clings to his broad shoulders, how his biceps flex with the slightest movement, even his features catch the glow of the party—there’s nothing ordinary about him. He carries an effortless power, something raw and unpolished, something just barely restrained. It’s exactly the kind of energy that you want to capture and toy with just to see what happens.

Your fingers squeeze around his before you withdraw, your glossy lips curling into a devious little smile. “My friends call me Pixie.”

His brow quirks at the nickname, and he looks like he’s going to make a comment on the peculiar name. 

Before he can get a word out, the guy lounging beside you snorts, flicking the ash off his cigarette. “Yeah, ‘cause she rides dick like she’s got wings.” 

Ben’s eyes snap to him, his brows coiling in disgust. But before he can say a word, you roll your eyes and rise to your feet in one fluid motion. You don’t even look at the guy as you take Ben’s hand and tug. He gives into your pull, content on the fact that he’d happily follow you into any hidden corner of your choosing.  “Come on, hero. Let’s find some privacy.”

Ben follows your lead, watching the gentle sway of your sparkling dress as you take him out onto the balcony. The city sprawls out below, glittering like the edge of a world only the two of you exist in now.

And for the first time in a long time, Ben feels something other than numb without the help of a little upper in his system.

The party fades into a distant hum, the bass rattling through the glass as the door clicks shut behind him. Out here, the city stretches wide—dozens of lights blinking into the night sky, but Ben’s eyes are locked on you.

You sigh, stretching your arms over your head before resting them against the balcony railing. Your subtle lean over the bar pulls the fabric of your dress just enough to distract him, but you act like you don’t notice—or maybe you do. Either way, you flash him a lazy, knowing smile.

"So, Ben," you murmur, rolling his name off you tongue like it was always meant to come from your lips. You tilt your head up towards him, curiosity dancing in your gaze. "What’s got you out and about with the city’s finest?"

He huffs a laugh, taking his time drinking in the sight of your silhouette against the banister before stepping up beside you.

"Needed to get away from those fucking Vought robots," he mutters, his voice rough, eyes still tracing the slope of your neck and shoulders. He can’t help the wandering thoughts, wondering just how soft your skin would feel in his mouth. He clears his throat, "they’ve got all these rules for supes now—fucking suffocating."

A giggle rolls out of you, light and teasing. It stokes the fire you’ve started in him, warming him from the inside out. "Is that so?"

Pushing off the railing, you scan the patio, searching for something. Ben watches as you drift toward a low table where a glass tray sits—papers, a round container, all the right tools. It's a neat sitting area tucked into the corner, with the perfect view, nestled against the side railing.

You glance at him over your shoulder, mouth curving in that wicked little smile again as you crook a finger.

"Come along," your voice ripples like silk. "I’ve got just what you need."

And just like that, he’s following without a second thought, settling onto the cushioned bench beside you.

The first hit settles in your lungs, warm and slow, before you exhale toward the sky. The city sprawls beneath you and for the first time tonight, you feel excited to pick apart someone’s brain. You pass the joint to Ben, watching as he takes it between rough fingers, bringing it to his lips.

You lean your head back to reel in the substance mixing with the alcohol in your bloodstream. Letting the cool night air kiss your skin. “So, what’s the story, golden boy? Do you always do what Vought tells you?”

Ben rolls his jaw, taking a slow drag before flicking the ash into a nearby tray. When he scoffs, a puff of smoke ripples around you. “A little princess like you sure is one to fuckin’ talk,” he shakes his head, sucking in another hit, “You always do what Daddy tells you?”

That makes you laugh—genuine, unrestrained—and you don’t miss the way his shoulders relax just slightly. You tilt your head towards him, catching his hardened stare, “depends who you’re talking about,” you murmur, a teasing smile playing at your lips. “But I meant it. This whole America’s hero act. Is it really you?”

His lips curl into a lazy smile, head tilting as he rolls the words around in his head. “I’m a simple man. What you see is what you get, Pixie.”

You hum, unconvinced, the bare skin of your thigh brushes against his jeans as you recross them. The movement catches his eye, as he unabashedly watches the way the hem of your dress hikes higher from the resposition. “I don’t know,” you sigh, looking him over like the answer is somewhere between his pretty lips and wide shoulders. “I think there’s more under all that muscle and ego.”

His eyes drag over you, slow and assessing, like he’s deciding whether he gives a damn about what you think. He doesn’t, not genuine at least. But he’s certainly enjoying watching your pretty little brain try to pluck him apart. “Uh, huh,”  he grumbles, passing the blunt into your hand, “and what is it you think you see?”

You take another hit, watching the smoke curl toward the sky before flicking your gaze back to him. “A man who likes being in control, hates being told anything about himself.” 

You reach over to poke two nails into his chest, the cherry of the blunt burning between your extended fingers. “But there’s somethin’ in here, something I could play with.” 

His expression shifts, scowl giving way to amusement as his eyes bore into yours. Theres a subtle movement in his lap—the faintest twitch of his fingers, like he wants to reach up and crush the hand making accusations at his heart. His eyes twitch, jaw flexing with his indecision. 

Instead, he just nods, “you got me all figured out, huh?” His tone dips, rougher now.

“Not yet,” you correct with a flick of your wrist, passing the joint back to him. This time, when he reaches for it, you don’t let go right away. Your fingers brush. A pause. He watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth before letting go.

“And what about you?” the smoke pools from his parted lips. “What’s your deal?”

You stretch, the straps of your dress slipping just slightly. His eyes track the fall of strings, the slight sagging material at the center reveals more of the skin of your chest, amusement flickering across his face.

“I just like to have a good time,” you shrug, leaning onto your hands in a slight invasion of his space. “And right now, you look like a very good time.”

His grip on the joint tightens, the muscles of his jaw popping beneath skin—and you know you’ve got him.

You lean closer, tilting your chin up to him, “You gonna keep eye-fucking me all night,” you tease, “or you gonna do something about it?”

Ben exhales slowly, smoke curling past his lips as he leans back, one arm draped lazily over the back of the bench. But the other hand—his fingers, thick and scarred, rest just within reach of your thigh.

His smirk deepens, eyes dark and full of a slow-burning warning. “Princess,” he drawls, voice like gravel and honey, “you keep talkin’ like that, and I’m gonna start thinking you want something from me.”

You tilt your head, your own smirk playing at the edges of your lips as you lean further, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. “And if I do?”

Ben doesn’t answer. Not with words.

His hand moves fast, rough fingers sliding beneath your jaw, pushing your chin up just enough to make you catch your breath. His thumb drags over your lips, pressing down just enough to part them.

"You talk too much," he mutters, before sliding his thumb into your mouth.

You hum in amusement, letting your tongue flick over the pad of his finger before sucking lightly, playing along. His eyes stay trained on your rounded lips, a slow smile etching across his features. But just as he starts to enjoy it, you sink your teeth in—not enough to hurt, just enough to test him.

Ben's expression falls instantly, a sharp rage flashing in those green irises. His jaw tenses, a slow exhale through his nose, and for a split second, you think maybe you pushed too far—

Then you giggle, all sweet and innocent as you pull away, leaning back like you hadn’t just pressed every single one of his buttons.

Ben’s never been a patient man, never had to be. As quickly as you leave his space, his restraint snaps.

The blunt is flicked into the ashtray—forgotten. Strong hands clamp onto your hips, and before you can react, he plucks you from your seat like you weigh nothing, dragging you into his lap with a rough pull.

A startled laugh escapes you, hands bracing against his chest, but Ben just smirks up at you, his grip firm, possessive. He’s staring at you with a challenge, like he’s daring you to keep pushing him. 

"You think you're funny, huh?" His voice is thick, low, teasing as his fingers dig into your thighs. "Keep it up, dollface, and I’ll show you what’s really fucking funny."

You roll your eyes, lips curling into a near-pout. "Quit threatening me and do something about it, Ben. Like a real man."

His smirk falters, replaced by a scowl as his fingers tighten around your hips. The pressure hurts, but it's enough to let you know you’ve hit a nerve. Something raw. Something real.

It makes your head spin.

The air between you crackles, charged with the reckless thrill of toying with a man who could easily snap you in half. It's a rush you've been craving, stronger than any drug or drink coursing through your veins.

Ben’s thumb drags slowly along your hip, deliberate, before his other hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to make your chin tilt up with a whimper. His other hand seizes both your wrists, locking you into place.

"Helpless," he murmurs, eyes devouring the sight of your half-lidded gaze, your lips parted just slightly. When your hips roll against his lap, he makes a low sound in his throat—a mix between a chuckle and a warning.

"You’re a fucking trip."

Without hesitation, he pulls you forward, crashing his mouth against yours.

The kiss is hot, wild—teeth clashing, lips parting, and his grip on you is so firm it feels like he's staking his claim. His hands tighten in your hair, pulling you down harder against him, as if he wants you closer. Needs you closer.

He lets go of your wrists and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into the back of his neck. You grind against his hardening bulge, the friction making you moan in his mouth.

The sound only makes him kiss back harder, a messy fight of lips trying to claim dominance over one another.

You bite his bottom lip, just to tease, to see how far you can push him—but it backfires. He growls, hands moving swiftly as he flips you, slamming you against the railing. Your knees dig into the bench as he presses against your back.

"You just don’t know when to quit, do you?" His voice is rough, laced with something wicked.

You smile at him over your shoulder, breathless. "Not when I’m winning."

Ben chuckles low and dark, his hands trailing your dress up and over you with deliberate slowness. "Pretty thing, you’re not winning." His lips brush your ear as his voice drops to a husky whisper.

"I’m just getting started."

With your dress shoved up over your hips, you gasp at the quick sound of fabric ripping. Your panties fall, torn past the point of fixing. 

The air feels cool against newly exposed skin, and Ben wastes no time—his rough fingers rubbing your slick folds. The sudden pressure makes you gasp, clutching onto the railing as your mind flutters. 

“Like a real man, huh?” he gruffs, your comment from earlier evidently still taking up too much space in his mind, “you’ve got some fucking nerve saying that shit to me, y’know that?” 

You open your mouth to try and respond, but it’s cut off by his other hand coming up to wrap around your neck. He grips tight, pulling you forward in one hand and shoving two fingers inside of you with the other. The railing digs into the top of your rib cage, but you can hardly notice the pain from it when he’s working you with his moving hand.

The sounds falling from your lips are pathetic and needy, but it makes Ben’s pants tighter to hear you melting into his touch. Your arousal coats his fingers as he shoves his knuckles inside, not an ounce of his movements are gentle. 

But it makes your knees weak and pussy weep to receive his frustrated aggression. 

His fingers retract, but the absence is quickly replaced by the pads of his fingers pressing into you clit. He works circles on your sensitive spot that makes you lean down into his touch—but the movement is corrected by the quick slap of his wet fingers to your core. 

You damn near yelp in response. “Nuh, uh,” he huffs, the hand around your neck pulling your body forward again, half your body over the railing now. You have to screw yours eyes shut to keep from looking down where the ground is a dizzying distance from where you lean over the balcony. 

You keep still, save for your hands clinging to his wrist by your neck. “Good girl,” he chuckles, his fingers back to working circles on your clit like it’s a praise for listening to him. 

“You like this shit don’t you?” he chides, “being a fuckin’ brat until you get what you want.” 

You merely hum back, eyes fluttering closed again as he slips his fingers back inside, your walls instantly clenching around his thick digits as his movements become harder. 

His grip around your neck tightens, stealing just enough air to make your mind go spotty for a second, “didn’t catch that princess.” 

“Yes,” you mumble, your thighs instinctively closing together as the knot forms deep in your core. His strength makes it easy for him to pump his hand in and out of you faster, harder. 

As his fingers curl inside of you as he moves, making you whimpering again, practically humping his hand. The sight ignites an amusement within him that devours the rage you tempted out of him. 

It was worth it, he decided, letting you piss him off was worth this sight of you pathetic and needing him for a release. 

He releases his grip on your neck to wrap your hair around his fist, tugging enough to make tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. “‘m not fucking you, yet,” he decides out loud, eyes watching the needy buck of your hips into his hand, “I wanna see you cum like this, for me.” 

You whimper again, “but—“ you breathe, but it’s cut off by his grunt as he tugs your hair.

“Nuh, uh,” in one swift movement he releases your hair, slipping his hand around your waist to claim your sensitive clit beneath his fingers while his other hand pumps into you mercilessly. 

It’s almost overstimulating to have both his hands on you like this, your thighs pressed tight together and the knot in your core breaks under his touch. 

“Fuck, Ben,” you’re panting as your release makes your legs shake. Your hand clutching his arm to hold yourself up. 

As your mind comes back down to earth, Ben’s breathy chuckle fills the air, rich and smug. He steps back, keeping just out of reach, watching you like a predator amused by his prey. The city lights cast sharp shadows over his face, highlighting the cut of his jaw, the smirk twisting his lips. His hair is a little messier now, a few strands falling over his forehead, and his chest rises and falls with the steady rhythm of someone who always gets what he wants.

When you shift to sit properly on the bench, he stands over you, broad shoulders blocking out the city skyline, the joint back between his fingers. Taking a slow, deliberate drag, he watches you through half-lidded eyes, sharp and assessing, like he’s still deciding whether to ruin you or let you stew in your own anticipation for more of him.

Then, with practiced ease, he catches your jaw in his free hand, tilting your chin up, forcing your gaze to his. His palm is rough, warm, his grip just firm enough to remind you who’s in control. He exhales smoke past your parted lips as he leans in. “I think you and me could have a helluva lot more fun.”

His head tilts, tongue running along his bottom lip as his gaze drags over your face, hungry and contemplative. Like he’s measuring your worth. Testing you. “What’d you think, princess?”

Your breath still stutters, but that little devious smile creeps back onto your lips as you nod—slow, teasing, full of promise.

Ben’s lazy smile stretches wider, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth before pulling away. His voice dips, low and rough. “That’s what I thought.”

And just as easily as he reeled you in, he steps back, leaving you with the slow burn of anticipation, the feel of being in his grasp etched into your mind.

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @soldiersgirl @jollyhunter @ultravi0lence14 @ultravi0lence14

if i may yap once more. . . i’m envisioning a dynamic of reader and sb getting hooked on each other like a bad drug. obsessive, pushing the boundaries, messy, i think this could be fuuunnn 🤭

[somerandomdudelmao]

Some shots from my probably forever unfinished animatic haha

[akito-shinonome-daily]

idk if it's too late but what if...akito in cooking mama

➥ what are you three cooking?

edit: i forgetted to put the cut in and format properly i’m tired

[liliaceaae]

back to our regularly scheduled rhea brainrot!

some explanations under the cut ^^

top 5 saddest rhea moments 😹🙀

1. Eating her devil fruit

One night, Rhea finally had enough of being forgotten and ignored by her family and ran away to the forest, planning to never come back. She thought that if she was “gone for good,” it would make them realize their mistake.

Over the course of a week, she sustained herself off of the diverse plant life, and learned survival skills by following the patterns of a family of wildcats.

However, only while watching the mother cat gently care for her cubs did Rhea realize that no one had come looking for her. She had purposefully stayed near the edges of the forest, hoping that maybe someone would find her. There among only the trees, she cried until her chest hurt; unheard, unseen, & forgotten.

She spends one more night out in the woods, running low on accessible food sources in the forest shallows. She spots a new fruit that she’s never seen before, and in a moment of naivety, cuts a piece and pops it into her mouth. So shocked from the bitterness, she instinctively swallows the fruit. Effectively traumatized, she leaves the rest of the fruit for the animals and heads home.

There was no one to greet her when she arrived home, no greeting in the following days, no greeting from even the townspeople. No one had noticed she had even left, and somehow, she felt more unheard than before.

2. Learning to be selfish

The Whitebeards notice the way Rhea doesn’t ask for things the way kids normally would. Over the smallest requests, she would avert her eyes and bow her head. When shown the barest act of patience or compassion, her eyes would gloss over a little bit.

Marco, being the one she trusts the most, decided to address this. Through various conversations, Marco attempts to piece together the life Rhea lived before setting sail. She would talk about God and punishment, the sea and vengeance, earning and losing love through action. While much of her worries were padded in metaphor, wether from fear of admission or simply the phrases she was fed, Marco could gather that her sense of self worth was too damaged for a girl of 10 years old.

On a day where Rhea was feeling particularly vulnerable, she finally tells Marco about her family. How she was forgotten in place of the new “first son” of the household; how she made herself small so that, maybe, she’d be good enough of a daughter to be remembered. She laughs emptily about it, claiming she understands the pressures of having a second child.

“Well, It’s their first life after all,” She gives her parents too much grace for Marco to accept. “But isn’t it yours too?” That short sentence is enough for Rhea’s world to break.

She’s overwhelmed with all the things she wants but never asks for. “Tell us what you want, and you’ll have it. You can be selfish, you’re a pirate!” Marco encourages. “I want to have my hair brushed,” she starts at a whisper. Her voice grows louder as she states her greedy desires. “I want to be hugged,” “I want to be noticed,” “I want to be loved!”

She’s sobbing into the fabric of her too-big sleeves by the end, and Marco holds her close in comfort.

3. Father

Her struggle to feel worthy is a difficult unlearning process. No matter the words of support that her brothers gave her, it didn’t make the feeling of weakness go away. When you’re surrounded by men as strong as monsters, it’s difficult to not compare your own abilities.

Her feelings of inferiority are especially supported when she needs to be comforted from whispers of battle on the wind. Too many times has Rhea watched images of her brothers’ blood from the backs of her own eyes. Her observation haki forces her to listen to their panicked heartbeats from where she tucks herself away in the smallest corner of the ship.

“She’s just soft,” she overhears Thatch say, after another dizzying afternoon of trying to press the remnants of wounds not her own out of her head. “I know, and that’s why I’m worried.” Marco responds quietly.

She tries to swallow her pain, make herself tougher in order to earn her place in the crew. She fails relatively quickly, lashing out due to the suppression of her hurt.

Whitebeard confronts her when she’s sulking while walking along the railing late at night. He calls her over to his throne, reprimanding her for her dangerous habit. She’s quiet when crawling into his lap, and still while wrapped into his cape.

“Rhea, did you know, I wanted to say yes. The very moment you first asked to fly under my flag.” Rhea was confused, Pops was rarely this sentimental unless he was drunk. “Why didn’t you?” she asks. “On these seas, there’s no guarantees. I could tell you were a child who deserved a long and happy life, there was no guaranteeing that if I had immediately said yes.”

“I don’t understand…” her confusion and hurt grows, “You don’t have to. What matters is now; and now, I see I made the right choice. I want you here, and I’m glad that you’re my daughter.”

The words from Pops felt concrete, they held the truth that Rhea was seeking. It extinguished her tangled feelings of jealousy and insecurity; The words she needed from a father.

“Even if I’m useless?” “You don’t need to prove your value to be loved! Who do you think I am, Big Mom!?” Whitebeard jokes, and Rhea laughs easy.

4. & 5.? Permanence

Rhea holds onto familiarity with desperation. She refuses to let go of things that are long gone, deluding herself that somehow she’ll get it back.

She had blissfully ignored death, convincing herself that her family was untouchable by those things. Ignoring the signs of age and wear on her crewmates. When Thatch dies, and the Paramount war happens, and she can no longer cling onto childish fantasies.

Rhea’s birthday is shortly after the Grudge war. Her brothers ask her over the snail what she wants, promising they’ll get her anything to cheer her up from their bleak loss streak. All she wants is to go home.

She misses the rock of the waves when she sleeps; The old doors that she needed to close with a little more force; The faces of her family and the easy conversations. Now, her heart twists at the thought of the Moby Dick. The ship sits in pieces under its enemy’s water.

She feels nothing but sickness when she turns 21. The thought that she had out-aged Ace haunted her all day. She couldn’t stand it.

[bagadew]

I’m about halfway through Turnabout Trigger, and having the opportunity to replay my favourite Ace Attorney game with a new translation is really doing wonders for my understanding and appreciation of it.

Like, when I first played the game I found Knight a fun villain. I enjoyed the VERY intense, almost manic, cocksure energy he brought to the table, and his completely disregard for gun safety. He was the sort of figure we’d seen before in these games. Someone who would burst into the world of Ace Attorney, burn brilliantly and briefly across the screen, and then vanish without a trace once we’d arrested them.

I’m going through a story I know well but the motions are slightly different, so I notice them more and pay better attention. It almost feels like I’m playing the game for the first time again, except this time I know how the story ends, so I end up noticing the little bits that guide it towards its path.

Obviously, when I later replayed the case I knew that Knight wasn’t really like that class of villain. He is very much not a man who came from nowhere, the circumstances of his existence are pretty damn important to the plot of the game, and in a way, play a part in the series as a whole. Although we don’t really see him alive again after his arrest, his presence comes up again and again throughout the game, and once you’ve reached the end it’s hard not to feel sorry that he died the way he did.

Playing through the case with my fresh all knowing eyes, I notice a strange realness to the way he was written that I hadn’t picked up on before. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still an intense, cocksure, manic, with no regard for gun safety. It’s just… there’s also something behind all that. Something more grounded and real. Annoyingly it’s also something I can’t screenshot or really put my finger on. But it made me think about his character in a new light and the impact that he had on the story as a whole. Knight is, in many ways, a deconstruction of the one off Ace Attorney villain and… I’m not sure I really appreciated that before.

I’m looking forward to seeing what else I discover.

[akkivee]

i was too keyed up yesterday from peak content so i slept like garbage and am a little too tired to stream today lol

but i offer you a transliteration of hitoya’s solo preview lol

[theswedishpajas]

The man truly can’t take a genuine compliment 🙄

[ryomaandgundhamkin]

griefer is literally a toxic son with daddy issues who turns into a plant

[oleanderspride]

Cartoonish blinking noises. Hi guys

[mylove-thresher]

I keep trying to post shit I been drawing lately BUT I CANT. I CANNOT BRING MYSELF TO. THE WORMS INSIDE MY HEAD DO NOT APPROVE OF THEM. I CANNOT FUCKING DRAW. PUT ME DOWN. I DONT FEEL THE SILLY IN ME.

[igotsnothing]

Hawt damn, here I am again with an un-updated game since the new pack. I haven’t opened my game in over a week. I think I’m developing a phobia.