#WHY MUST I MEDDLE???? WHY???? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kamaluhkhan · 19 days ago

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ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 10.5k summary: after years away, vi returns home for the holidays and reunites with you, her ex-girlfriend. the universe (*cough cough* and your meddling families) push you together again, and neither of you can ignore the feelings that linger. (or: you, vi, and the ghosts of christmas past, present and future.) warnings: reader is ekko's older sister but not necessarily biological so appearance isn't specified; childhood friends to lovers + second chance romance; reader gets hit on by a creepy guy + gets into a fight (injury + blood mention), smut [strap mention (reader receiving), oral (both receiving), fingering (both receiving), biting, spitting, tribbing, sub!vi makes an appearance...kinda rough + possessive sex but there's aftercare too <33] (18+) ! a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR GIRLS AND GAYS <33 tbh i debated whether to post this now bc xmas was like....3 weeks ago but figured i might as well. so pls enjoy what is essentially an x-rated sapphic hallmark holiday movie.

♪: ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift (sun); winterbreak by MUNA (moon); last christmas by wham! (rising)

track 1: thank god it’s christmas by queen

(winter — age 17)

“okay, just relax your fingers — no, but keep some tension, apply a bit of pressure on the string….yep, that’s better. now, straighten your back….”

it’s dark and snowing outside, and the cold’s seeping in through the window of her attic bedroom, but vi still almost melts into the floor when you follow her advice and press against her chest. she worries that you can feel how fast her heart is beating — faster than it maybe should for someone she’d been calling friend ever since she could remember.

you shift in her lap, her arms still wrapped around yours from when she offered to guide you through an instrumental version of wham’s “last christmas.” you tilt your head towards her, nose almost brushing against hers.

“vi?”

“....yes?”

“maybe we should finish our lesson another time. we better hurry up, anyways. i bet ekko and powder are already arguing over whether we should watch home alone or home alone two.”

vi snorts. it’s practically a tradition at this point, along with the annual post-christmas-dinner pyjama movie night.

you try to hand her the bright pink guitar pick, but vi shakes her head.

“it’s yours. you’re gonna need it if you want more lessons.”

“hm, or maybe i could sell it for a billion dollars once you’re a big rockstar,” you tease. “i can picture thousands of fangirls painting your portrait and writing mrs. violet lanes in their notebooks.”

you get up, shoot her a wink, and leave vi on the bed, clutching her guitar and trying to get her pulse under control.

neither of you say anything as you both get changed. the stereo plays the mixtape you’d made for her — you got her for secret santa this year.

“my mom loved this song,” vi hums, a warm ache growing in her chest when the next song plays. this is the second christmas without her, but vi is still not used to using past tense. “she thought freddie mercury was the best rockstar of all time.”

“i remember. you…you must miss her.”

of course she does, and she could run through a million reasons why.

“vander says you’ll be spending new year’s at your dad’s,” is what she says instead.

you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “yeah.”

“your mom going, too?”

“just me and ekko. i swear, it’s like he’s trying to be this perfect dad to his new stepkids, meanwhile he’s the one who left us here to deal with his mess, the one who just ran away, and….whatever.” this time, you do scoff. “hey – do you have a shirt i could borrow?”

vi looks over to find that you’ve switched from the velvet dress you wore during dinner into a pair of flannel plaid pants; her cheeks flush when she sees that you’re only wearing a black lacy bralette on top.

she clears her throat and pulls a clean jersey from her dresser, tosses it over to you.

“that’s a shame. i was looking forward to spending new year’s eve together.”

you hum and slip the shirt over your shoulders. the only sources of light are the moon and the stars and the multicoloured christmas lights strung along vi’s walls, but she swore that your eyes flick down to her lips.

“why’s that?” you ask.

there’s something absolutely dizzying about being this close to you, the way your sparkly eyes wait patiently for her to respond. joni mitchell sings about skating away on a river, and vi wishes she could skate away from this conversation, but there’s nowhere to go.

vi blinks away from your gaze and fixates on one of the many things she’s pinned up on her bedroom walls throughout the years. it’s a page torn from an old notebook of yours, something from seventh grade math class, but vi always loved your little drawings in the margins.

vi?” you prompt, never one to let go easily.

“i want to kiss you at midnight,” she confesses.

“yeah?”

vi nods. she’s tempted to walk out of her room, down the stairs and out into the winter night, until you weave your fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. she looks up — and you’re beaming, a smile that brightens vi’s entire being.

“i want that too.”

vi finally, finally crashes her mouth onto yours, lips sticky with marshmallow fluff.

you taste like vanilla and gingerbread and hot chocolate that is definitely not spiked with irish cream that vi slipped into your mugs while you distracted the adults.

you taste like home.

….

so, slight change of plans….i’m gonna stay here in london with the rest of the band. apparently the kirammans throw a super fancy holiday party with super fancy people every year, and cait convinced her parents to let us perform. fingers crossed someone important discovers us.

merry christmas, baby. and, if i don’t get the chance to say it: happy new year.

….

track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love

(winter — age 12)

you’re supposed to be looking after ekko while your parents are at work, but all that really means is making a big bowl of kraft dinner and stove-top s’mores for lunch and watching old christmas specials on the worn-out living room couch while you draw in your sketchbook and your brother, only 7 years old, programs the doorbell to play ‘jingle bells.’

when someone rings the doorbell, the tune floats through the house and wakes up your dog who starts barking like it’s the end of the world.

“easy, ziggy.” you click a marker closed and run a hand through the husky’s fur, attempting to calm him down. “let’s go see who it is.”

you open the door, and there’s vi: snowflakes sparkling on her eyelashes, pink hair hidden under a knitted hat, and a toothy grin that brings out the dimple in her flushed cheeks. she’s also got a split lip and crooked nose from her last hockey game.

“we’re building a fort,” she tells you. she shuffles to the side so that you can see powder, who’s making a snow angel. “well, we’re going to. wanna join?”

you nod, smiling. “ekko!”

your brother’s already behind you, slipping on his chunky boots and oversized coat that used to be yours before running outside and collapsing onto the fluffy snow next to powder. ziggy bolts outside, too, running circles around them.

you stumble to get your winter gear on as fast as possible, the cold air rushing inside your front hallway as vi waits for you, kicking her snowy boot against the concrete entryway step. not even a heartbeat after shutting the door behind you, vi takes your gloved hand in hers and pulls you forward, the two of you a flurry of laughter.

…..

hey, pretty girl. i was at this party and one of your songs came on! every time i hear it, i’m in awe of how amazing it is….how amazing you are. i’m basically walking home in a snowstorm, so i’m gonna go before my fingers freeze off, but i just wanted to say that i’m so proud of my rockstar girlfriend.

i was also wondering: are you coming home any time soon? the holidays are coming up, and i really miss you. we all do.

…..

track 3: last christmas by wham!

(winter — now)

vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac:

no sex or romance between bandmates. it never ends well.

it was bad enough giving into the rumors and fooling around with cait, but it’s another layer of messiness now that cait and maddie dating. meanwhile, cait is very much still bitter towards vi, vi is very much pining after someone whom she’s pretty sure never wants to see her again, and steb and lorris are very much caught in the middle. it’s no wonder the band’s manager suggested everyone take some time apart to ease the tension. frankly, while others protested, vi was almost relieved at the suggestion.

so cait’s off to london, maddie’s off to glasgow, the boys are going god knows where, and vi —

vi’s heading back home, back to you.

she wakes up in the bed of her childhood for the first time in a long time. her dad put on fresh sheets, but they’re still the same ones from back then — worn flannel with cartoon penguins. it takes a lot of willpower to untangle herself from the warmth and cloud-like softness, but eventually she heads downstairs to the kitchen.

powder still has exams so she’s not home from college until tomorrow, and vander’s gone to work. it’s just vi in her too-small christmas pyjamas (she has yet to unpack), eating a box of stale cinnamon pop-tarts for breakfast even though it’s well past noon. curiosity gets the best of her, so she peers through the window to see if anyone is next door.

your mom’s car is in the driveway, completely snowed in. there had only been a dusting of snow while vi was devouring the first pastry, but four pop-tarts in and it’s about doubled. she waits until the snow stops falling; with nothing better to do and a sugar rush to burn off, vi pulls on her old winter coat and snow boots she hasn’t worn since she was 18, grabs a shovel from the garage, and gets to work.

it doesn’t take her long to clear the driveway, and she has some adrenaline to spare, so she decides to be a good neighbor.

vi’s heaving one last shovelful of snow over her shoulder when she hears:

“violet? is that you?”

she turns around. and, okay the first thing she registers is ziggy running towards her, the husky toppling her over into the snow.

“i missed you too, zig,” vi laughs.

she gets up as ziggy’s still bounding around in the snow, and sees your mom standing in the doorway, looking a little more tired and a little more gray. but the smile on her face when she sees that it is, in fact, vi — it’s so bright that the snow might not exactly melt away, but the years sure do.

vi remembers making snow angels with you while your moms gossiped over tea, how the two of you would stomp inside with a mess of slush and snow while laughter echoed from the living room. vi remembers your mom keeping a comforting arm around her shoulder through her mom’s funeral while you held her hand. she remembers your mom helping her pick out the perfect corsage to match your suit at prom, making a joke about how next time it might be an engagement ring, and telling vi how proud her mother would have been of her at your high school graduation party.

with the golden glow of nostalgia comes a crashing wave of guilt at what vi said to you last time you spoke.

“come inside, sweetheart. i’ll make you some hot cocoa as a thank you.”

vi is tempted to reject the offer, but your mom looks so hopeful and vi’s fingers are about to freeze off, anyways.

so your mom makes hot cocoa as vi defrosts, the two of them chatting in the familiar yellow kitchen that you and vi once almost burnt down while trying to bake a cake for powder’s birthday. even the magnets and paper memories decorating the fridge are the same, with the addition of an article about vi’s band that was featured in the rolling stone, pinned up by a ceramic cow.

“she’s an art teacher now,” your mom tells vi after giving an update on ekko. she glances at the oven clock. “speaking of which — i know you just finished shoveling our driveway, but do you mind helping me with another favor?”

“after the world’s best hot chocolate? anything.”

“i told my daughter that i’d pick her up from work, and i’m wondering if you would be able to take care of that.” your mom smiles. “i’m sensing a bad migraine coming on.”

the last sip of hot chocolate trickles down vi’s throat like cement. she knew she’d be seeing you, but didn’t quite plan for how that….reunion might go.

“of course,” vi says.

vi puts both of their mugs in the dishwasher, about to grab the car keys from the hook by the door when your mom calls out:

“oh, and violet?” vi turns around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”

you’re talking to a student when vi enters the art room of your old high school. nothing else in the building had changed — same boring concrete, same scratched up lockers, same graffiti immortalizing whom hooked up with whom. this room is the exception, vibrant with how students’ art is displayed all around, paintings and drawings and collages, and you’ve strung up multicolored christmas lights that give the whole space a cozy ambiance. you look the part of a cool, young art teacher: wearing a simple dark purple turtleneck tucked into black jeans and the same combat boots you’ve had since tenth grade, paint stains on your skin that is exposed by rolled up sleeves, and a marker behind your ear. you’re standing in front of an easel, talking to the student who happens to notice vi before you do.

“holy shit. is that violet lanes?”

vi watches as your face scrunches up in confusion, and then falls into shock when you see her standing there.

“it seems that it is violet lanes,” you state coolly while the student squeals. “what are you doing here?”

“oh, i, uh,” vi clears her throat, her palms sweaty. why is her body reacting like she’s a teenager about to ask out her crush for the first time? “your mom wasn’t feeling great, asked if i could pick you up from work.”

“you guys are friends?” the student asks, eyes wide as they flick between you and vi.

“we used to date, actually,” vi clarifies. wrong move, she realizes, because you can’t help but glare at her.

“oh my god.” the student squeals again and reaches in their pocket to whip out their phone. “i need to tell alyssa that ms. l/n was in a relationship with the violet lanes. are you guys gonna get back together? oh my god, have you come to win her back —”

“layla,” you clip, and by the furrow of layla’s brow, it seems like you’re not usually so stern. you smile at layla, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you’ve done some great work today, but you’ll have to finish this when we’re back from winter break. do you mind giving ms. lanes and i a minute?”

layla nods once, gathers her things. when she walks past vi, she can’t help but ask for an autograph. vi complies, of course, even lets her take a selfie. a fan is a fan, after all.

and, quite frankly this is the only part of being in the band that she still enjoys: hearing how excited young girls are at the music she writes, the music that vi wished she had growing up, about girls liking girls, about girls falling in and out of love with each other. everything else is just an occupational hazard that vi’s getting more and more fed up with.

when vi turns her attention back to you, you’re finished putting all the material away, wiping your hands with an already paint-stained towel.

“i meant what you’re doing back in town,” you explain, not quite meeting vi’s eyes. you pack away some books and your laptop into a supple leather briefcase, and slip on your coat. vi’s cheeks flush when you catch her watching you.

“it…it doesn’t matter. i’m here for a while, though.”

you sigh. “okay.” and you don’t say anything more. vi keeps up with you as you switch off the lights, lock the door, and stride to the parking lot in silence. when you get to the car, you extend your hand.

“i’m driving,” you say, gesturing at her to give you the keys. “we both know that you’re a terrible driver.”

“i’m not a terrible driver,” vi guffaws.

“says the lesbian who gives the rest of us a bad name,” you quip, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips, like the first bout of sun after a winter storm. “c’mon, pretty girl. i’m not giving up, so unless you wanna freeze to death….”

the nickname slips effortlessly from your tongue, so much so that you don’t even seem to realize it, but vi’s breath hitches and she’s more than happy to fold to your every whim if it means hearing you call her pretty one more time.

“so….” vi glances over at you from the passenger seat. a snowy landscape passes outside the window, and you tap on the steering wheel to a generic christmas song that plays through the stereo. “you’re teaching high school now?”

she wonders if you remember the last fight you had, almost two years ago to the day.

you keep your eyes on the road. “yeah. guess i graduated from finger-painting with kindergarteners.”

vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again.

so, you do remember.

she wonders if you’ve replayed it over and over again and hoped for a different ending like she did. she should have thought more about what to actually say to you —

“you know, i never understood why you liked this song so much,” you suddenly say when the radio starts playing dolly parton’s cover of ‘i’ll be home for christmas.’

vi can read between the lines, but she’s waiting for you to point out the irony in her preference for a song that’s about someone wanting to go home for christmas, something vi has deliberately avoided at all costs these past few years.

“it just seems kinda sad,” you continue.

“you love ‘last christmas,’ and that one’s pretty sad,” vi points out.

“sure, but it ends hopefully.”

“oh?” vi tilts her head towards you. “how’d you figure?

“sure, it’s someone singing about heartbreak and how much it sucks during christmastime, but then there’s this hope that they still find true love down the line. it’s a maybe that isn’t hopeless.” you shrug. “meanwhile, your song ends with the lyric ‘if only in my dreams,’ which just seems too accepting of the fact that going home for christmas, being with the person they love — it might just be a dream.”

“i don’t know. some dreams do come true,” vi muses.

by now, you’ve made it home. you put the car in park but keep the engine going, presumably to avoid becoming icicles. neither of you make a move to leave.

you glance over at vi. “your dreams sure came true, ms. violet lanes,” you joke, but there’s an air of sadness to it.

“not all of them.”

“yeah? which ones haven’t?”

vi swallows the lump in her throat and hopes that you understand the look in her eyes. “let’s just say i’m working on them.”

you blink away and cut the engine.

….

you’re still dealing with the shock of seeing vi back in town when your brother, freshly home from college, suggests going skating.

he can be fairly convincing, especially when he mentions that it’s a christmas season tradition, so, you prepare for what is essentially a double date with your brother, his girlfriend/your ex-girlfriend’s sister, and your ex-girlfriend, with isha as a fifth wheel.

should be fun.

it turns out, despite all her past hockey experience, vi really cannot skate. in fact, skating seems to be the complete opposite of riding a bike: she’s terrible at it after years off the ice, essentially reenacting that scene from bambi. it’s easier to ignore vi’s presence when she’s sitting next to the snack bar, by herself, but then powder skates up next to you and asks if you’d be kind enough to please help her sister have a good time. you roll your eyes at her shit-eating grin, but it is a bit sad, watching vi on the sidelines. she’s wearing a beanie and a pair of sunglasses to hide her identity, and now she kinda looks like a divorced dad watching his grown kids pass him by while he’s stuck in a midlife crisis.

you convince vi to give skating another shot — it’s tradition after all — and pull her out onto the rink. you start by holding her from behind, keeping her hips steady until she gets the hang of it. you try to let go, but vi stumbles and reaches out for your gloved hand, and you melt into the familiarity of her fingers curled around yours. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, first with you pulling vi along, then with her taking the lead, until vi almost knocks into a small child.

“see what i mean by you being a bad driver?” you jest, successfully maneuvering to avoid collision.

then, you follow where vi’s eyes have settled — on powder and isha laughing and chasing each other around the rink. vi had asked earlier when isha had dyed her hair blue; you still have some residue under your nails from last weekend, when powder came for a study break and the three of you ended up helping isha achieve a new look she’d apparently been itching to try.

“you know powder’s graduating this year?”

“she overloaded her credits so she could get out of there as soon as possible,” you explain, having had many conversations with powder leading up to the decision.

vi nods, her jaw clenched. you already know what she’s thinking, and frankly, you agree: that vi hasn’t been here, literally and figuratively. you also feel the warmth of vi’s skin radiating through her glove to yours, notice the slight flush to her freckled cheeks, how chapped her lips are from the cold, so much so that you’re tempted to share the vanilla chapstick you’ve got on your own lips, to kiss her deeply like you did last time you were here, together.

it’s only been three days since vi’s been back home. this is only the second time you’ve seen her, and you’re already falling back into old patterns, tempted to ask her to stay, to try again, even though you already know the answer.

except….not staying isn’t the deal breaker it used to be, so maybe trying again isn’t as hopeless as you think it is.

vi squeezes your hand, and you realize that you’ve stopped skating entirely.

“hey. you still with me?”

you nod, decide to enjoy this moment for as long as you can, and the two of you glide across the ice.

…..

when you suggest making stove-top s’mores, it’s another item on the list of things she’d missed.

a list that’s been growing a lot these past few days.

vi offers to make more once you’ve all run out, and ekko follows her into their kitchen while you, powder, and isha keep watching christmas specials in the living room. she turns on the gas stove, stabs a marshmallow through a wooden skewer and waits for it to roast — and, for ekko to say something.

“i don’t know what happened between you and my sister, but i need you to promise me that the tabloids aren’t true. that you and that kiramman chick didn’t hook up…at least until after y’all broke up.”

“or, what, you’re gonna challenge me to an arm wrestle? think you can finally beat me?”

“oh, i know it.”

a pause. the marshmallow catches on fire and vi blows on it to quell the damage.

“i didn’t cheat on her.” she throws out the burnt marshmallow and gives it another shot. “i would never. does….does she think i did?”

ekko shrugs. “not sure. some of those articles are pretty convincing. but, since you’re promising me that you didn’t…”

“i didn’t.”

“then that saves me from kicking your ass.” ekko nods once and uncrosses his arms, handing vi some graham crackers and chocolate. “actually, i could use your help with something.”

“sure.”

“she applied to this great art residency in new york, like, on whim. the only people she’s told are me, powder, and vander….i think she’s nervous to tell mom, at least until she knows for sure she’s gotten in, but this is the most excited i’ve seen her be about something in a while, and she worked really hard on her application…”

“i’m sure she did,” vi states. “what do you need my help with?”

“convincing her to go.”

“i’d love to help, but i’m not sure i’m someone she’d wanna hear from, especially about this. she was never a fan of me leaving to pursue my dreams.”

“she was never a fan of you leaving,” ekko corrects. “she’s still a fan of you pursuing your dreams.” he juts his chin out at the article stuck to the fridge.

vi had just assumed that your mom had pinned that up.

“okay.” vi says. “i’ll talk to her.”

a plateful of semi-burnt s’mores later, and vi and ekko return to the living room with the rest of you.

vi forgot how nice this felt, all of you cuddled on the couch, ziggy included, watching how the grinch stole christmas. she half expects her mom to walk in through the door without even knocking, shake the snow off her hair, and hold up a batch of pre-baked gingerbread people she’d gotten for the kids to decorate.

but that’s not happening. other than isha, none of you are kids anymore and things can never be the same.

and yet — you glance over at vi and give her a sticky marshmallow smile, and she feels her heart grow three sizes.

….

baby, i swear it’s not what it looks like. the record label thought it would be good promo to get a picture of me kissing under the mistletoe…’tis the season and all that…..cait and i were both really drunk and things got a bit out of hand….but it looks worse than it is. i swear on my mother’s grave that nothing happened.

please call me back, baby…..i’m so fucking sorry….please.

it’s not christmas without at least hearing your voice.

….

track 4: river by joni mitchell

(winter — age 23)

it’s hard to believe that hours ago, you were kissing vi backstage and showering her with praise after the concert. she was happy to indulge in your excitement, even though she was all sweaty and her ears were still ringing from the crowd.

more than happy, in fact. phone sex can only go so far, and it’d been too long since vi had seen you writhe and heard you whimper for her firsthand.

“i missed you so fucking much,” you groan, tightening your grip on vi’s hair. it’s now an inky black instead of fuschia — the band’s starting to lean more punk rock.

a particularly hard thrust is her way of telling you that she missed you too. so fucking much. she throws your legs over her shoulders, pushing the strap deeper inside you and digging her knees into the mattress as she coaxes you through another orgasm. you pull her down for one last searing kiss, your tongue searching each crevice of her mouth.

“i can’t believe you’re here,” vi continues a few moments later, after you’re both cleaned up and getting dressed. she wants to add something along the lines of i love you, but she bites back the sentiment. she’ll save that sappy shit for later tonight, when she finally gets down on one knee for you.

you glance back at her from where you’re pulling out a sparkly silver dress from your side of the closet (and isn’t that such a slip of the mind? your side, as if it’s a shared closet and a shared bedroom and a shared home; if she thought about it more, though, she would realize that, though she has no problem asking you to marry her, she’s still terrified at the thought of staying in one place for more than a few months).

“me neither,” you smile.

vi walks over to you, presses her half-dressed body against your lingerie-clad form (vi’s sure you wore this fuschia set just to drive her insane; it’s working). she lodges her hand behind your ear and pulls you in closer, kisses you deeply because you’re here and she missed you so fucking much and she’s so ready to make you her wife.

she could write a whole record just about the taste of your lips: the sweetness of vanilla chapstick, the saltiness of sweat and the headiness lingering from the wetness you lapped up from between her legs.

you pull away first. vi tries not to stare at how your chest heaves, your breasts straining against intricate lace.

“we, um.” you clear your throat. you slip your hand underneath vi’s blazer, and she groans when you make contact with the exposed, burning skin of her abdomen. vi thinks you’re about to suggest another round, or two, or ten, but instead you untangle yourself from her and say: “we should probably get ready.”

the after party is going well. the club’s busy, the music’s good, and the drinks are flowing.

you seem to be having a great time until someone (probably cait or maddie, on cait’s behalf) lets it slip that the band’s heading to london later in the month to start recording their new album before the end of the year….something vi decidedly did not want to tell you until later tonight, after the high of the proposal, after she’s promised you that she’s dedicated to this relationship, that she’s always been dedicated to you.

instead, vi’s trailing behind you as you angrily stomp towards the bathroom, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out of this argument.

there’s a line, but you cut in front and slip inside as soon as someone walks out.

“wait, what the fu —”

you slam the door and lock it behind you once you’re both inside, ignoring the subsequent banging and jiggling of the handle.

“please, baby, let me explain —”

“i can’t fucking believe you,” your voice is steady, measured, and for some reason that makes vi even more nervous. “you give empty promise after empty promise that you’ll be more present, but something always gets in the way, is always more important than —”

“don’t you dare say that you’re not important to me. i offer to fly you out anywhere to be with me, but you’ve only taken me up on the offer once. twice, now.”

“it’s been five years, vi. five years of us staying together because….god, at this point i don’t even know why — ”

“do you not understand how much i love you?” vi raises her voice over the sound of the club music outside. “i was gonna propose tonight.”

you stare at her, then start to laugh.

“please tell me you’re joking.”

“i’m not.”

“if you think marriage will save us, then you’re delusional. what was your plan — call me your wife while we’re thousands of miles apart, but not even have the time to answer my calls? we’re barely in a relationship now, vi. all that’s left between us are missed calls and voicemails —”

“oh that’s really all that’s left between us?”

“i love you, violet. i have since we were kids. but, now, there’s also all this — the parties, the crowds, the fame….you’ve gone all over the world, and you can’t even be bothered to visit your family during the holidays.”

“well i’m sorry that my ambitions are bigger than that nothing town we grew up in,” vi snaps. “i can’t believe you’re throwing a tantrum because i’m not making it home for christmas. for what? so we can all reminisce by the fireplace, pretend that we can be kids again, even though things can —” vi chokes back a sob, soothes it with a healthy dose of anger. “things can never be the same. you need to grow the fuck up.”

“maybe you should be the one to grow up!” you finally yell. “convincing yourself that this relationship is working, meanwhile you’re running away from everything and everyone you grew up with because it reminds you of your —”

“at least i’m not afraid to actually go after my dreams,” vi cuts you off before you can finish that sentence, uses the broken shards of your words against you. “don’t you want more for your life than finger-painting with a bunch of kindergarteners? you’re gonna end up just like your deadbeat mom, going nowhere, drinking yourself to sleep, all alone, with nothing to show for the life you’ve lived.”

as soon as the words leave her mouth, vi wishes she could take them back. you don’t bother swallowing your tears, letting them rush down your cheeks. vi digs her nails into her palms to prevent herself from reaching out and wiping them. it wouldn’t make sense, anyways. she’s the reason you’re crying.

you take a deep, shaky breath.

“yeah, well, i’m glad that your mom isn’t alive to see what a selfish asshole you’ve become.” there’s a pause, and vi feels her stomach turn at your casual cruelty, your quiet anger. “i’m gonna pack up my stuff and catch the first flight out of here. merry fucking christmas and happy fucking new year. have a nice life.”

vi screams and throws the velvet box against the door you’ve slammed shut behind you. the hot tears that were building in her throat finally boil over. the engagement ring clatters onto the floor.

…..

vi? it’s me. not sure if you’ve blocked my number. i wouldn’t blame you. i know it’s been, like, a year, but it feels weird not hearing your voice for this long, especially around the holidays. well, i guess i could just turn on the radio….it’s not the same, though. anyways, merry christmas. happy new year, too. and….and i’m sorry.

please come home.

…..

track 5: i’ll be home for christmas by dolly parton

(winter — now)

karaoke at the last drop used to be one of vi’s favorite christmas traditions, so you decidedly avoided it at all cost since the breakup. vander always tried to convince you to join, but he understood and even made sure to not give you a shift during that time after you started working there at 21.

you kept the job because, evidently, high school art teachers don’t make a ton of money, and you would one day like to move out of your mother’s house.

which, as it turns out, might happen sooner rather than later. you applied for this artist residency in new york, and, yeah, you put time and effort and heart into your application, but you were sure that you’d be rejected. while you got your acceptance email this morning, and you were so fucking overjoyed at first, the thought of leaving still terrifies you, so you’ll postpone worrying about that until after the holidays. that’s what they’re for, anyways: a break from reality, a peek into a cozy snow-covered world where everyone is festive and joyous and worry-free.

right now though, you’re feeling neither festive nor joyous. gert called in sick, and no one else is able to cover for them, so you’re stuck at the last drop on christmas eve, listening to one of your old high school classmates drunkenly fumble the lyrics of darlene love’s ‘christmas (baby, please come home).’

about three verses in, vi walks into the bar with mylo and claggor, flakes of fluffy snow melting into her grayish pink hair. you’re already pouring their drinks before they reach the counter. mylo and claggor offer their sincere appreciation, chattering away as they leave to snag a booth in the corner. vi stares at her drink before grabbing the beer glass.

“you remember.”

“are you surprised?”

vi smiles. “no. it’s just nice. cait keeps insisting i order gin martinis instead. says it’s classier.”

something sour curdles in your stomach. “yeah, well. i’ve always liked you the way you are.”

that probably ended up sounding like you’re still pining after vi (which you’re….not) rather than the bitter comment you intended it to be.

vi’s soft blue eyes search yours.

“i better get back to the boys,” she finally says. “maybe sign up for a song or two.”

you’re busy clearing a table when you hear her voice again. actually — a silence fills the bar, and it’s replaced by the lush rumble of vi singing ‘last christmas.’

you watch her as she performs, eyes locked on yours, and it’s over before you know it. you feel like you should go say something to her, but then there are a bunch of excited fans that she has to attend to, signing autographs, taking photos.

as you swallow your disappointment, the normal chatter of the bar resumes. you’re walking back to the kitchen when you feel someone pinch the back of your thigh, right under your ass. you whip around to find that old classmate who butchered a christmas classic an hour or so before (james, you think his name is, from ninth grade science), with the most arrogant smirk.

“hey, gorgeous. my friends and i were just arguing over who should take you home tonight.” he gestures towards a table of guys who look like equally preppy assholes. “i won the chugging contest.”

“good for you,” you say, balancing a tray of empty glasses. “grope someone in here again, and you’ll be sorry you did.” you turn around to get back to work, but james grabs your wrist and stands up abruptly so you’re chest-to-chest.

“i don’t think you understand what i’m offering, baby.” you gag at the nickname and the stench of beer on his breath. you’re a bartender, you’re used to getting hit on, but creeps like this are the worst.

you rip away from his grasp.

“i’m not interested,” you snap. “and i’m not your baby.”

“listen.” james puts his hands on your shoulders, and if both of your hands were free, you would promptly push him away. everyone’s having a good time and you don’t wanna cause a scene, so you try to think of ways to get this asshole out of the bar and into the snow without much of a fight. “you know, santa might come down your chimney on christmas eve, but if you’ve been a good girl this year i’ll come down your —”

“there you are!” powder’s voice is loud over the sound of someone singing another generic christmas carol. she knocks into your side, breathless. “sorry we’re late. had some car trouble.”

“well, hello.” he removes his hands from your shoulders, shifts his predatory gaze from you to powder.

oh, fuck no.

“powder,” you keep your voice steady even if your heart is racing. “go back to the table. i’ll be there in a sec.”

james reaches out for powder, but you punch him square in the jaw before he can so much as touch her, the tray of glasses crashing on the floor.

james’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only egotistical, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a blow to their ego.

in fact, he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but powder manages to catch you before you tumble into the broken glass. she holds you as people start yelling. you think that vander rushes over, too, shouting at james to get the fuck out of his bar and never step foot in it again.

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is all a bit fuzzy. powder tries her best, but you slump your body weight into hers and she almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” vi’s surprisingly calm voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you.

somehow, you find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter as vi stands between your legs. she carefully examines your injury, but you notice how she avoids making eye contact.

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while.

“remember teaching me how to throw a punch?” the question slips past your lips before you can stop it.

vi looks slightly amused, and she finally meets your gaze. “‘course i do,” she hums. “you tried to convince me to help you start an all-female fight club at school.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the pain from your nose.

she remembers.

somewhere within her, vi holds on to fragments of you.

“thank god the principal vetoed it. would’ve been a disaster,” she continues.

vi wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of her silk red button-down now stained a darker crimson. “how’s your hand?” she asks.

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

vi smiles sadly. “i guess you’ve been the one protecting my sister while i’ve been away.”

while i’ve been away.

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart.

vi’s back home, sure, but only for a limited time.

her fingers graze your cheek, and the breath hitches in your throat.

“you know, i only wanted to start that fight club as an elaborate plan to spend more time together,” you confess, opting to preserve the delicate bubble of nostalgia you’d stumbled into together. “we were each so busy….i had studio, and you were always away at hockey games. it wasn’t realistic in the end, though.”

“i would’ve stayed if you asked,” she tells you, and you wonder exactly what she might be referring to.

you swallow the lump in your throat. “it’s what you loved, though.”

“but i - i loved you, more. you had to have known that.”

“yeah, well. i loved you, too,” you explain, and it’s clear that neither of you are talking about a lesbian fight club. “whether it was hockey, or music….as long your heart was in it, it was more worth it to let you go, to not stand in the way of your dreams.”

“you were my dream.”

you scoff, cheeks heating up, and look away. “you probably say that to all the girls.”

“no.” vi guides your chin towards her. “just the one.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on vi’s— messy, urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. she cradles your face in her hands, and you wrap your legs around her waist to bring her closer. you taste beer on her tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the adrenaline, but dizzy from her. vi’s gaze is heavy on yours as she traces your top lip with her thumb.

“vi,” you whimper, itching to kiss her again.

“you’re still bleeding.”

vi wipes away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. vander, wondering if you’re okay and if maybe you could hurry up and get back to work.

you can’t sleep that night. before, staying up on christmas eve was an elaborate operation to catch santa. now, it’s overthinking a very hot kiss and all the unresolved tension between you and your ex-girlfriend next door.

logically, you knew that you missed vi, everything about her and who she is, the way you would laugh and argue and make love. but the rush of feeling her tongue licking into your mouth, her body melding into yours after being apart for so long….

you’re scared that she won’t feel the same, but you’re even more terrified of letting the moment slip through both your fingers without at least trying.

so, you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to her, when by some christmas miracle you get a text from her.

she climbs through your window not long after, wearing plaid boxer shorts and a zaun university sweatshirt you’ve been looking for, for about five years. you didn’t bother to change, either, only wearing an oversized shirt. you sit cross-legged on your bed as she waits by the window. vi stares at your chest for a good few seconds, and you remember that you’re wearing one of her band’s concert tees, faded from years of wear.

“so, um,” vi starts, her voice as soft as the well-worn cotton of your shirt. “we have so much shit to talk about and figure out, but, i, uh, can’t stop thinking about early tonight —”

“vi.” the swarm of butterflies in your stomach is replaced by something more delicate, more urgent. “do you wanna come sit?”

vi swallows thickly, looking between you and the still open window. a winter breeze rushes through. you shiver, thinking she might just turn around and disappear into the cold night. instead, she shuts the window, removes her snow-covered boots, and settles onto the bed next to you.

you place a tentative hand on her cheek, still cold and slightly flushed. she shudders when you run your thumb over the tattoo under her eye.

“i know there’s a lot we have to work through.” you take a deep breath as she shifts closer, suddenly dizzy from the familiar scent of her winter pine old-spice body wash. “right now….right now, i just want you.”

“yeah?” vi smirks, her shyness melting away. she settles a warm hand on your bare thigh. “how do you want me?”

you exhale sharply when her hand travels higher, dull nails scraping at the fabric of your underwear.

“it’s cute that you’re flustered,” she quips, leaning in even closer. her breath is warm and heavy against your lips. “because i’ve spent so many night replaying all the dirty, nasty things we used to —”

you tug her sweatshirt and pull her back onto the bed, feeling her body solid against yours. the vibration of her groan shudders through your body when you crash your lips onto hers with such hunger, you’d think you had been starving without her.

“how’s about an encore, superstar?” you drawl.

you bite your lip hard at how vi nods at you desperately, eyes all dark and lustful.

“you read my mind,” she breathes. by now, her hand has reached the hem of your shirt, and she pushes up the cotton to reveal the supple skin of your stomach. you give her permission to remove it, leaving your top half exposed.

her lips nip and suck down your body until she reaches the waistband of your panties. she pulls it up with her teeth, the elastic snapping back when she lets go. you whine her name, and she looks up at you with dark eyes.

“can i?” her breath fans over your navel, her nails digging into your hips as she waits for your answer.

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel vi smirk against your inner thigh before sinking her teeth into it. you whimper, and vi salves her tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. she positions your legs over her shoulders for better access to where you need her most.

vi moves her tongue and fingers in all the ways she remembers makes you shake, curl your toes, and grind down on her face. in return, you grip her pink hair, tightly, and utter praise in all the ways you remember makes her shake.

“just like that, pretty girl,” you encourage, practically melting into the mattress. it feels so good — dangerously good, intoxicating, even — to be devoured by vi. “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

vi’s moan vibrates throughout your body and she becomes faster, reaches her tongue deeper, bringing you over the edge. she leaves a few more bites on your body on her way up to meet you and when she does, vi’s lips and chin are shining with your release.

you lean forward slightly to lick it up. you ghost your mouth over hers.

“your turn,” you taunt and run your thumb over her tattooed cheek.

you twist your calf around vi’s leg and flip your positions. she lets out a yelp when her back hits the mattress. once you’re hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you do what you’re sure you’d never get tired of doing: you kiss her, passionately, deeply. you bite her lip as you pull away.

there was always a bit of jealousy that gnawed at you, became your very-own shoulder devil that you just couldn’t shake when you were together, no matter how hard you tried. it was no secret that vi was admired by many, that girls around the world were crushing on her, hoping they’d catch her eye, get their chance with her. you never felt like she was yours, and yours alone.

but you do get a deep satisfaction knowing that right here, right now, you’re the only person who gets to see her like this — pink hair splayed across the pillows like her very own halo, but the rest of her telling a much less-angelic, much more sinister story: her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her cheeks a devilish shade of red, her eyes dark and lustful and waiting for you to make the next move.

"you want me to have my way with you?" you whisper, voice honeyed with desire.

vi whimpers, a sound that fuels the fire in your abdomen. "yes."

you practically rip off her sweatshirt, kiss down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and sternum down to her stomach. vi lifts her hips from the bed so that you can remove her boxers, and you’re delighted to find nothing else underneath.

you’re greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you run your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already feel her slick coating your lips. vi spread her legs even wider, and you take the opportunity to sink two fingers into her cunt. you know her body, as well as you know your own, as well as she knows yours. you flick your gaze up, view slightly blocked by the pink curls of her bush, but you can still picture it — how her eyes roll back, how her mouth opens to release a perfectly delicious gasp.

"god, i've barely touched you and you're already about to cum. did you miss me that much?" you tease, feeling her clench around your fingers. as if you aren’t subtly rutting your hips against the mattress, eager to ease the throbbing between your legs.

all you get in response is whine. it’s muffled, and you crane your neck upward to see her biting down on her knuckles, so hard you’re worried she might break skin.

unacceptable.

the rest of the world gets to hear her every day, any time they please. you want to be serenaded by the lyrics of her want, the notes of her desire. all for you and you alone.

with your other hand, you reach up to pinch one of her pierced nipples, always so sensitive. "answer me, violet."

vi props herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you remove your mouth from her.

"yes!" she sings, practically sobbing. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the throbbing between your thighs intensify, hearing the frantic lilt of her voice — like she needs you and only you. "i missed you so fucking much. please, just do something."

at her request, you move up the bed so that the two of you are face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other is two fingers deep in her cunt. you add another, just to reveal in the timber of her sultry moan. she tries to bring her hand back, to quiet herself, but you shake your head.

with your thumb, you trace over her lips, uneven and scarred and imperfectly beautiful. "open."

vi obeys you instantly. you spit in her mouth, heart racing as you watch her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.

you continue fucking her with your fingers until she moans, louder and louder as she reaches her peak.

removing your fingers from her pussy, you lock eyes with her as you bring your syrupy fingers to your mouth and suck off her juices. then, you kiss underneath her ear, lips sticking slightly to her skin, and you whisper: "now i know why they say you have the voice of an angel.”

“fuck,” she exhales, the breath turning into a chuckle as you kiss underneath her chin, where you know she’s ticklish.

"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whisper. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."

vi nods, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts are touching. you start fucking her down into the mattress and she sits up slightly so that your nipples brush against each other, the cold metal of her piercings encouraging the roll of your hips, her nails digging into the curve of your ass to bring you impossibly closer.

“i missed you too. so fucking much,” you finally admit. you flick one of the silver rings before leaning down and wrapping your lips around her nipple.

“i missed these, too,” you add as you release her nipple with a pop, and vi moans. you’re grinning from ear to ear because, holy shit, vi is here and you’re together and you’re both happy, if only at the ecstasy of your silken cunts gliding against each other, at the taste of the other slicking your tongues, as thick as nectar and twice as sweet.

she laughs — love and magic and everlasting bliss — and you have to capture her lips now if you want to swallow the sound. you feel it bounce through your ribcage, awaken something deep within you that you feared was lost to time.

vi thrusts her hips upwards, presses harder against the seam of your cunt until you’re gushing against each other, not quite sure who’s making what mess.

strings of cum connect you as you remove your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath. vi drapes an arm over her eyes, chest heaving.

you throw on some clothes and leave the room, hoping that vi’s still there when you get back.

….

vi worries that if she opens her eyes, she’ll wake up from this dream.

she’ll be in some uncomfortable bed in london or tokyo or los angeles. the dull ache between her legs would be thanks to some girl who’d be eager to text all her friends and spill all the details about what vi likes in bed, or caitlyn who would tell vi to shave next time, darling, or i won’t let you fuck me again anytime soon.

instead, vi hears the creak of a door opening, feet tiptoeing along the floorboards. the mattress shifts with the weight of someone between her legs, though their body is not touching hers.

“vi, baby,” a gentle coaxing, a familiar voice, pulling towards something she forgot she needed. her heart soars when she finds you kneeling on the bed, holding a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in another.

“yeah?” her voice is hoarse, but her throat doesn’t sting in the same way it does after a concert. it feels tender, well-used, well-loved.

you hold out the cup of water, watch vi eagerly gulp down half of it before she realizes what she’s done.

“shit, i — did you want some?”

you smile and shake your head. “i had some downstairs after my shower.” it’s then that vi registers the water dripping from the ends of your hair, soaking the fabric of her (fine, your) sweatshirt. “i’m gonna clean you up. is that okay?”

vi nods.

okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash.

it’s been a while since someone has fucked her so well she’d be satisfied for years and then touched her so tenderly afterwards. you run the damp cloth over vi’s sticky, sweaty skin, occasionally leaning down to press soft lips where you’d left teeth marks and bruises before.

“there.” you throw the cloth on the floor. “so, um. do you wanna stay….?”

you bite your lip as you wait for vi to answer. you start picking at your nail polish, too. vi sits up and grabs your hand.

“i do,” she soothes. “do you want me to?”

your smile brightens the entire room and you kiss vi before muttering:

“i do.”

vi slips on her boxers as you settle into the bed next to her, leaving her top half bare. she notices the sketchbook on your bedside table, and she lifts it up at you, a silent question if she can flip through. you take it from her as you shift to sit between her legs, her chest warm against your back. the room’s only illuminated by the string of multicolored christmas lights you’d left on, but vi can see the talent, the passion behind your work as you walk her through your sketchbook. you tell her about the techniques you’ve been working on and new mediums you want to explore, about how you want to make the kind of art that makes people appreciate the beauty in the everyday.

“i always loved your art,” she muses. vi cranes her neck slightly, places a kiss on your shoulder then one on your cheek. “the world would be more beautiful if you shared it.”

you hum and place the sketchbook on your bedside table. you each shift to your sides, facing each other; vi notches a leg around your hips, and you throw an arm around her waist, fingers trailing down her tattooed back.

“ekko talked to you, huh?”

“i would have said that even if he hadn’t,” vi promises. “so….have you heard anything yet?”

“well….yeah,” you sigh, smiling shyly. “i got in, actually.”

“really? that’s amazing, baby.” she beams at you, excitedly cupping your face in her hands, leaving small kisses across your cheeks until you’re giggling.

“okay, okay,” you laugh. “i don’t know if i’m gonna go yet.”

vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours.

“i know you’re scared, baby,” she says softly. “but sometimes it’s just a leap of faith.”

“i know.” you pause, gnawing at your bottom lip while your eyes fixate on the scar on her upper lip. “can i ask you something?

“anything.”

“when you proposed to me….” her body tenses up, but you brush your hand over her bicep and the tension in her muscles dissipates. “was that a leap of faith? like, were you scared?”

“well, not at first.” she takes a shuddery breath, her voice suddenly small. “i always thought that we’d be together….i just didn’t think through how we’d make it work, i guess. i didn’t mean to mess things up, though.”

“hey.” vi leans into the hand you cup around her cheek. “we both messed up. we never actually talked, you know? but….i’m glad we are, now.” you swallow. “i still love you, vi.”

vi exhales. “you know, girls tell me that they love me pretty much every day.”

you can’t help it — you roll your eyes, and vi laughs. because, truthfully, her heart has felt more full at your admission of love just now than it ever has for an area of screaming fans.

“there’s a point to this, i promise,” she says, nudging her nose against yours. “i used to get such a thrill from it….but then i think about what you said earlier. my heart — it’s just not in it anymore. all the band is now is drama and gossip and compromises of fame over art, and…. i don’t know. it’s not really what i want anymore. i want to be with you. for real, this time.”

you blink at her; she can feel your chest pulsing against hers like a hummingbird.

“would you, um, if i were to take that leap of faith and do that artist residency, would you —”

“anywhere you wanna go,” vi promises. she thinks about it a bit more….how nice it’s been to be home for the holidays, how nice it would be to come home year round. “preferably close enough so we can have dinner at home on the weekends.”

“sounds like a plan,” you smile.

the two of you twist closer underneath the flannel sheets, sink into the mattress, and gaze up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling until you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

you jolt awake a few hours later, several firm knocks on the door and ekko shouting:

“it’s christmas! get the fuck up before ziggy eats all the bacon!”

beside you, vi protects you from the frosty winter morning. her body radiates warmth, and her eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, as you gently shake her shoulder.

she groans, turning on her back, rubbing sleep from her eye.

“i better go.”

“....yeah.”

you flush when you glance over as vi’s slipping on her sweatshirt, rose-petal bruises delicate across her skin. she opens the window, hair still mussed up, and a gust of frigid air rushes into the room.

the image is so familiar: vi, one leg in your room and another out the window. you feel like a teenager again, scrambling to get dressed and avoid anyone hearing that you’d snuck your girlfriend into your room late at night. but there’s something else now, too — you imagine this becoming routine: waking up next to each other every day, swapping clothes, kissing over coffee and pancakes at breakfast. a place where the two of you might create some new memories, build a shared life together. and much more, so much more that feels like it could be your reality, sooner rather than later.

you’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice vi rushing back towards you. she kisses you and kisses you, until your lungs are burning.

"merry christmas, baby,” she mumbles against your lips.

you grin back at her. “merry christmas, vi.”

....

hi baby, i know you’re at studio right now, but i forgot to ask you this morning: how do you feel about sending out holiday cards this year? i know they’re kind of cheesy, but it seems like the type of thing married couples might do…..

anyways, we’ll talk about it when you get home. i’m test-driving this new recipe for brussel sprouts to bring to dinner at my dad’s.

i’ll see you later. love you!

2K notes · View notes

misswynters · 2 months ago

Text

short drabble

Ekko and heimerdinger are being nerdy while you sleep

requested. by anon

There was always a soft hum of machinery that filled the air in Heimerdinger’s workshop. And with that accompanied by the occasional clink of tools and the professor’s enthusiastic ramblings. The workshop had an oddly calming atmosphere, a mix of glowing gadgets, bubbling contraptions, and the gentle warmth of lamp-lit light. It was perfect for dozing off, especially after a long day of following Ekko around Zaun.

You were sprawled out on the old, lumpy couch tucked in a corner of the workshop, your head cushioned by one of Ekko’s jackets that you’d claimed for yourself. Curled up against your side was your pet, a small, scrappy Zaunite fox. Its fur was a mix of gray and russet, with glowing green streaks running along its ears and tail. Ekko had found it injured near one of the Sump scrapers, and after some patching up, it had attached itself to you like glue.

Ekko called it “Scraps” (because of course he would), and Scraps was now peacefully snoozing, just like you.

Across the room, Ekko and Heimerdinger were huddled around one of the professor’s latest inventions, discussing something that involved words you didn’t fully understand.

“…but if you accelerate the core’s energy output without stabilizing the oscillation, it’ll implode,” Ekko said, gesturing animatedly at the device.

Heimerdinger adjusted his tiny glasses, nodding. “Precisely! Which is why you must ensure the harmonic calibrations are synced—ah, but don’t forget to account for temporal distortions.”

As the professor continued explaining, Ekko’s focus wavered. His gaze drifted toward the couch where you were sleeping, your form softly rising and falling with each breath. Scraps twitched its glowing tail but stayed nestled close to you.

A small smile crept onto Ekko’s face. You looked so peaceful, completely at odds with the chaos that usually surrounded you both in Zaun. Your hand was loosely tangled in Scraps’ fur, your other arm tucked under your cheek.

He didn’t notice the professor had stopped talking until Heimerdinger’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Ah, young love,” Heimerdinger said, his tone tinged with teasing amusement.

Ekko snapped his head back toward him, blinking. “Huh? What’re you talking about?”

Heimerdinger chuckled, folding his hands behind his back. “There’s no use denying it, dear boy. The way you’re looking at them, it’s rather endearing, really.”

Ekko’s ears burned. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was just—” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re asleep, alright? That’s all.”

Heimerdinger hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Still, allow me to impart some wisdom, as one who has witnessed countless romances blossom and wither over the centuries.”

“Oh no,” Ekko muttered, groaning.

Ignoring him, Heimerdinger continued, his voice taking on the tone of a well-meaning but meddling elder. “When courting a significant other, one must always show respect, patience, and attentiveness. Flowers are an excellent gesture, but so is active listening. Communication, you see, is the foundation of—”

“Professor,” Ekko interrupted, exasperated. “I don’t think you understand. We’re not—”

“Young people these days,” Heimerdinger said with a dramatic shake of his head, cutting him off. “Always so quick to dismiss advice. But mark my words: treat them well, or you’ll regret it!”

Before Ekko could retort, Scraps stirred, lifting its head with a sleepy yawn. The movement must’ve disturbed you because you shifted slightly, blinking groggily as the sound of their voices filtered through your half asleep haze.

“Mm… what’s going on?” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Scraps hopped off the couch and stretched before circling back to your lap.

Ekko winced, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Firefly,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d given you. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Firefly—because you were always a little light in Zaun’s darkness, buzzing around him with endless energy.

You shook your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “It’s fine,” you murmured, scratching Scraps behind the ears. “What were you guys talking about?”

Heimerdinger perked up. “Oh, nothing of consequence!” he said cheerfully, though his smirk told a different story. “Merely enlightening young Ekko on the art of courtship.”

You blinked, then glanced at Ekko, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Courtship?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Ekko muttered, shooting Heimerdinger a look.

The professor chuckled, his ears twitching. “Ah, youth. So easily embarrassed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ekko’s expression, your earlier grogginess fading. “Well, did you learn anything useful?” you teased.

Ekko rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

He reached out, ruffling your hair gently before pulling his hand back. “For real, though. Sorry we woke you up. Want me to walk you home?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the couch. “Nah, I’m good here. I like listening to you two talk.”

Heimerdinger beamed. “A kindred spirit indeed! Intellectual discourse is a joy to behold, is it not?”

Ekko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And now you’ve encouraged him. Great.”

You just laughed again, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. Scraps let out a contented sigh, curling up in your lap, and Ekko plopped down on the couch beside you. His hand found yours, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go, his usual ease returning.

The three of you stayed in the workshop, for endless hours as the two nerds worked on their projects. Whereas you cheered them on at the sidelines with cute ol’ Scraps to keep you company. Especially when they would talk about all the science lingo that you did not understand. Even though ekko would sometimes explain it in more simpler terms. It didn’t quite go through your head. Needlessly to say you enjoyed the days you would spend at the workshop.

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

banner. @anitalenia

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pretty-little-mind33 · 6 months ago

Text

James Potter x best friend!fem!reader

Summary: You and James stumble upon an ancient book of spells rumored to enhance pleasure.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm) + hurt and comfort

Warnings: sex while under an 'aphrodisiac' of some kind, unprotected sex, penetration, cock warming, quickie, public (not seen by anyone), riding, insecurities, porn with plot ✨

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

"Someone is gonna see us," you whisper, feeling James Potter's hand in yours, his thumb occasionally soothing circles over your palm as you stumble in the dark corridors under his invisibility cloak.

"That's the point of the cloak, love," James answers, holding in a laugh as he guides you towards the entrance to the library and he mutters the spell for the lock as you hold your breath.

"Hear us then," you counter, unconsciously squeezing his hand for reassurance.

James doesn't hesitate to return the squeeze and he smiles when the lock opens with a click. He opens the door and you both squeeze inside.

Once the door shuts behind you, James drops the cloak and you let out a shaky exhale, adjusting your hair. The room is dark and it smells like dust. You hold in a cough as James mutters, "Lumos," and then grins like he'd gone mad.

"Told ya we'd be fine," he sing-songs and kicks your shoe in a playful manner as he walks by you to look at all the restricted books.

You groan and take out your wand, walking along the shelves as you pick up dust with your index. "Are you looking for something in particular?" you ask, your voice low as you read the names of books, realizing just how dangerous this could become.

James nods. "Yeah, I bet Sirius I could find "Moste Potente Potions" so we could make some Polyjuice potion," he says casually.

"And you needed me, why?!" you turn to glare at your best friend.

James looks at you with a smile. "Didn't really. I'just like your company."

You bite the inside of your cheek and go back to looking at the books. "Polyjuice is dangerous, James. Are you sure you want to meddle with that?"

James nods again and he hums, "I'm top of the class in Potions, I'm sure I can handle some Polyjuice." He sounds smug and you roll your eyes at his behavior.

James is reckless and impulsive and honestly, you're worried about him making that potion with his friends. You don't dare bring it up, because who are you to tell James what to do? You aren't his girlfriend or anything—

"Woah," James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he walks over to you. You turn, standing in front of him as he flips the pages of some old dusty book. "These spells are ancient—and completely forbidden—" he mutters, his eyes round with excitement.

You tilt your head and read the title; "Antiqua Cantus." Ancient Spells.

"Bloody Hell, there's a pleasure-enhancing spell–like a sexual thing—" James exclaims and holds the book open to you so you can see. You walk over and stand next to him, looking over his shoulder at the spell. James begins to recite the spell and you read along, entranced by the words on the worn-out parchment.

By moonlight's glow and stars above,

Ignite the flames of lustful love.

Let passion's heat our bodies bind,

In ecstasy, our souls combined.

Whisper soft this sacred plea,

Unleash our wildest fantasy.

Once he's finished, you glance around the page and frown. "Shit." You grab the book from James and then look up at him with wide eyes, "James, this is a wandless spell!" you whisper and his eyes widen like yours did as he realizes what happened.

He grabs the book from you and reads the instructions. His shoulders relax and he points to the small print— "It says the participants must have already existing feelings for this to work," he mumbles and looks up at you, smiling reassuringly and unsure all the same. "So—"

"Yeah—" you whisper, stepping away from him.

"I feel fine," James starts.

"I do too," you say, feeling completely normal.

James shuts the book with a slam and his smile returns. "Thing is probably too old to work, anyways," he says confidently. You nod, less confident than he is but you push those worries down.

He doesn't like you like that—so why would it work?

Once James finally finds the book he's looking for, you both cram under the cloak and you make your way back to the dorm. You ignore the feeling, but your head feels fuzzier than it should. Every brush on James's arm against yours sends shivers up your spine. You're extra aware of how he smells and it's intoxicating. You bite your lip, hoping the pain will distract you from the pleasure building.

The spell.

James looks normal. He's even humming the Hogwarts song under his breath, his eyes trained forward as you make it to the Common Room. It feels so unfair—that he's fine and your stomach twists with butterflies as your nipples harden painfully against your bra.

It isn't fair.

As soon as you have the chance, you pull away from James and sit on the couch, pressing your thighs together. You glance up at the stairs to the girl's dorms, wondering if you should run up and take a cold shower to quench the ache.

"Hey, you okay?" James asks, folding up the cloak as he looks you over.

Bloody fuck, his voice.

"Mhmm," you nod, focusing your attention on anything but how turned on you are or how hot James sounds and looks. How much you want his lips on yours.

You clench your thighs again, nervously pressing your hands in between them and your breath hitches when James sits next to you, his hand flat on your thigh. You inhale.

"Are you sure?" he asks, looking at you behind his glasses with a look that makes you want to pounce on him. This is so humiliating. You move your thigh so his hand slips onto the couch and James's frown deepens. "Hey," he whispers again, "What's happened?"

You feel like your entire body is on fire. You need to touch yourself or throw yourself out a window—you can't make up your mind.

"The stupid spell—" you say, your voice soft as you avoid his gaze and stare at your knees, feeling your hands shake. "it's working and I- I can't handle it, James,"

He doesn't answer for a moment until you hear a familiar laugh. "Oh, darling," he says, his hand finding your chin as he turns your head around, grinning. "Look at me."

You do so but he shakes his head, his eyes shimmering. "No. Look at me," he whispers, his voice husky and deep and your eyes widen when you understand what he means. Your gaze falls from his eyes to the painful-looking bulge tenting his trousers and you inhale sharply, the sight causing your mind to haze over. How had you missed this!?

"Look at what it's done to me, love," James finishes as his thumb strokes your cheek. "We really messed up this time, didn't we?" he hums.

"You messed up," you whisper, leaning into his touch. Thank Merlin no one is in the Common Room at this hour because your desperation is embarrassing.

"I messed up," James says with a strained smirk and he twirls some of your hair in his fingers. "Can I make it up to you, darling? Can I make the ache go away?"

James knows this is wrong. You're both under some kind of sexually enhancing spell—this is so many shades of messed up. Still, his heart and dick yearn for you. Somehow, he's managed to hide it well, most likely because he'd had experience in that department—James was constantly turned on to some level when he was around you. He can't help himself.

"H-how?" you ask, the idea of giving in to the desires not even crossing your mind.

James smirks, looking at you as his glasses fall down his nose. He pats his thigh. You look down, your eyes widening. You shouldn't. This is wrong. Still, your body responds to him without your brain's permission as you lift yourself to straddle his lap. Your skirt bunches up your thighs as your arms wrap around James's shoulder. You gasp for air at how sensitive you are and you can't look him in the eye.

You can feel him hard and needy against you and you swallow.

"Look at me," James whispers once more, his voice husky and deep as his hands grip your hips and he moves you up and down his trousers. You whine and bury your face in the crook of his neck, your skin clammy and flushed from need.

Suddenly the movements stop and your grip tightens around his shoulders.

"Look at me," he says again, lips pressed to your ear as he sounds as desperate as you are. "O-or I'll stop," he threatens, not sounding convincing considering the spell is starting to hit him hard and he's about ready to come in his trousers.

You pull away, looking at him as your mind buzzes and you search his eyes for some hint that you both need to stop this. You see none so you say, your voice strained, "James. Fucking need you, please."

You lift your hips, finding his zipper and fumbling with his trousers as you push aside your panties. It's rushed and sweaty and not at all romantic like you'd planned—not to mention public. You pray everyone else is asleep and won't walk in on you sitting on your best friend's cock.

With a moan, you press down and he slides in easily. "Shit, you're so wet," James mumbles as he kisses your neck, holding you close as his cock twitches inside you. You both don't even think of the fact he's not wearing a condom or anything. You're too lost in the pleasure for any rational thoughts.

"Fuck," you groan, keeping him inside you without movement for a while. You hold him as close as possible, needing him. Needing his warmth.

James groans, his eyes shut in pleasure as he holds himself back from fucking you roughly. He's going to explode at any moment if he doesn't feel you move. "Y/n," he warns, his hands tightening even more on your poor hips.

You take that as an invitation and you move, your movements slow and languid in the beginning, feeling every pull and stretch and you can't tell if James's cock just feels so much better than any others you've been with, or if the spell is messing with you.

Perhaps it's a little of both.

"Bloody hell," James grunts, losing control, as he moves you with him, his hips snapping up into you. You gasp, falling onto his shoulder as you hold him even closer, the pleasure almost unbearable.

You don't know if it's been hours or mere minutes but once James spills himself into you, his hands around your back as he continues to move your body to his liking, you can't hold it in and your mouth opens, a silent moan catching you by surprise as you finish around him. You feel weak and fuzzy almost instantly as if the string master that kept you aware suddenly cut you loose.

James's hand soothingly runs in your hair as he pants, his eyes shut. The only sound you can hear is your and James' ragged breaths and all you can smell is the burnt-out firewood and sex. You feel much calmer now as your brain tries to catch up with the events that just transpired, and when it does your blood runs cold.

You sit up, looking down at your best friend. He's looking at you, not daring to speak. You'd just fucked him with such want and need and yet all you can think about when you look at him is how you did all that without knowing the feeling of his lips on yours.

Shame burns your skin and you scramble off him, the feeling of his cock leaving from inside you makes you wince as you hold in all the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you.

"Hey," James whispers, his hand reaching for yours as he stops you from running away, standing up in the process so he's looking at you. He drops your hand and, clearly embarrassed, tucks himself back inside his trousers. You stare at him, feeling dirty from an experience you'd wished had been amazing.

And it was more than amazing if you were honest with yourself. You'd never been more satisfied in your life, but it also wasn't what you'd really wanted. Was it too cliché to want roses and candles? A steamy kiss and some swoon-worthy romantic confession?

Instead, you'd gotten love bites and finger dents.

"What's going on in your head?" James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he moves closer.

"Hmm?"

"Darling, come on, please talk to me," he insists, wanting to know exactly what you're feeling so he can understand his own feelings.

You cover your face with your hands, head dipping down as your body finally calms down from the surplus of hormones you've experienced.

"We shouldn't have done that, James—I–it was wrong," your voice fades as his hands find your wrists and he pulls them down. He looks hurt, sad, and guilty all in one emotion painted on his handsome face.

"Do you regret it?" he asks, his voice wavering.

You open your mouth to say yes but hold yourself back. It's more complicated than that. "I don't know– I just didn't think it would happen like this and—we didn't even kiss," you ramble, avoiding looking at him. You should have been looking because then you could have seen his next move coming.

James gently takes your cheeks in his hands, pulling you into him so he can kiss your lips. For something surprising, it isn't forceful at all. He doesn't kiss you longer than a few seconds and he doesn't use his tongue. He's delicate with you, making sure he isn't crossing any boundaries.

When he moves away, your eyes are open and you're silent for a moment. Then, you grab his collar and pull him in, crashing your lips onto his. You kiss him like he's your last meal on earth--like you've been starved of him. He feels so good pressed against you, his hands in your hair and then your cheeks again, and then your waist. You feel dizzy and you pull away. Your lips feel swollen and love-bitten and you're a flustered mess.

James continues to hold you close as he presses his forehead to yours, his thumb rubbing your waist. "You're amazing," he speaks so softly as a faint smile graces his lips.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't tell you enough, do I?" James smiles and tilts his head. He leans in and kisses your neck. "You're amazing—so wonderful," he inhales your scent but doesn't comment on it and a shiver runs up your spine.

"I– we–" You want to bring up the fact you had sex with him but James puts his finger on your lips, his thumb rubbing under your chin and he shakes his head.

"Stop worrying so much, lovely. It's okay. I promise it's okay. I didn't hurt you did I?"

You shake your head and James's smile turns into a grin.

"Good. So we're okay, hm?" he looks at you expectantly. "You're still my best friend."

Your heart thumps loudly in your ears. Best friends. "Y-yeah, you're still my best friend, Jamie," you say, your voice strained as you smile reluctantly.

You want to be so much more than best friends.

James can sense your hesitation and he takes a breath. "W-would you want to try to be more than just friends, Y/n?" he pauses, and then his voice picks up, "and I'm not saying that because we just fucked. No. I'm saying this because I'm hopelessly in love with you and I think you love me too. You kissed me like you love me. I want to try to make this work."

You feel like the world is crashing around you. Your skin feels clammy and your head is dizzy. Still, an unfamiliar warmth spreads all around you. You feel blissful and you reach for James's hand, needing to hold him. He lets you hold his hand and he intertwines his fingers into yours. He looks nervous like he's expecting a rejection.

"I do love you, James. So much. I want to try this too," you whisper, looking at him with a shy smile.

James's grin widens and he picks you up, spinning you around as he keeps you close when your feet touch the ground again. "I'll do right by you, my love," he whispers in your ear and you hold your hands behind his neck.

"So no more late-night trips to the restricted sections and trying old, dangerous, spells?" you tease.

James nips at your ear. "I kinda liked this one."

You laugh and swat his pec, your hand trailing down his chest as you fist his shirt and look up at him with a mockingly stern look. "Don't be a smartass, you wanker."

James returns your laugh and kisses behind your ear. "No more trips to the restricted section and trying old dangerous spells. Pink swear."

You pull away and hold out your pinky, which he takes and you grin.

"We can still have sex though, hm. We don't need a spell to do that, right?" he teases but the question almost sounds serious.

You roll your eyes. "James."

"I'm just making sure!"

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esthercore · 5 months ago

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Cw: Mild Dacryphilia, Gn Reader! Oral, Size kink, dom/sub, a bit non-withdrawable consent if you squint, user has a crush on Capitano, power play

Telling you, I won't slow down, won't slow down Girl, you gotta know right now, there's no way out Imma pull the trigger off And imma let these bullets talk

Capitano glared down at the little soldier in training standing in front of him, their eyes red from crying so hard, cheeks and nose flushed too, the makeshift tent filled with the noise of their sobs.

"Tears will do you no favor, this is the outcome of your own incompetency," he said, yet the way his pants tighten around him crotch by the sound of your pathetic noises.

Silly thing trying fight off some treasure hoarders who tried to meddle with the fatui cargo you were help shipping, only to ruin the supplies yourself, by falling over them. Your posture all wrong, can't even hold a sword properly, yet tried to be a hero just for his attention.

And you did get his attention, alright, especially from his dick who takes a special interest how perfect you look, especially when crying.

"Why not make up to me then, cadet?"

"Ho-"

His finger laid against your lips shushing you, so gentle, as he leaned down so that your forehead can touch the cold metal of his helmet, his hand cupping your face, lightly brushing away the tear stains, "Just be a good doll for me"

His hand patted your head lightly before lightly pushing you down, guiding you to your knees, leaning a bit back, his torso moving ahead, so his clothed dick rub against your face.

Looking up at him for approval, you gained a strong tap on your chin, "Hands on knees, no more waiting." So you followed, hands pressed down, lowering his zipper with your teeth, only to be greeted by the unholiest length in Tevyat, gasping out loud. His pretty uncut cock very thick, and long, veins all visible and the slight up tilt on the tip, oozing out trickles of pre cum on your parted lips.

Tired of your slow pace, he positioned hi hand on the back of your head, pushing it on his cock, making you gag at the sudden intrusion in your throat, causing you to slap his thigs as a reflex, eyes watering again, earning a sharp pull on your hair, forcing his cock deeper in your throat.

"If you can't be useful if the field might as well use your pretty body for something." God how he loved they tears rolling down your cheeks, "Don't act like you haven't been dreaming about this for month, I'm not blind if you aren't aware."

Silly thing want to crush on him? He had all the rumors about you moaning his name in your nightly 'self-care', they way you look at him like he's a god, they way you are unable to not blush around him. A warrior must be observant after all, he notice the way your body moves, how pretty you look while doing anything and everything, how much you are not suitable for the cruel battle grounds, how desperately you need someone to take care of you.

How suitable you are to stand alongside him in public, and how pretty below him in bed, all his to indulge in.

Well if you want him so bad then get ready to be the best cocksleeve in Tevyat and he happily be yours for the eternity, no take backs.

Wrote this honor of him invading my dreams last night, hoping he come or cum back.

#capitano x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #mdni #genshin smut #genshin capitano #genshin capitano x reader #il capitano #cw size kink #cw power imbalance #cw dacryphilia #kinda start of yandere capitano #hehe #yandere capitano x reader #yandere capitano

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not-neverland06 · 27 days ago

Text

𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝚘𝚐

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Hosea's meddling has you and Arthur heading into the local town of Valentine. You're on a mission to get some clothes of your own. And Arthur's looking to help some woman named Mary. You don't know who she is, but she must be important for him to leave you all on your own in a strange town for the whole day. One thing is certain, you're not forgiving Mr. Morgan for this anytime soon.

You feel Arthur’s worried stare boring into the side of your head and let out a heavy sigh. “I am perfectly capable of driving a wagon, Mr. Morgan.” You turn towards him with a frown and his face falls flat. Like he hasn’t just been drilling holes into you for the past five minutes.

“I know, I know.” His brows furrow and he shoots you a worried look. “Still, you don’t have much experience.”

“Oh,” you huff and glare at him, tugging the reins a little to the right on accident. “Would you calm down?”

“Tree,” he says, eyes darting forward. You shake your head and he rips the reins out of your hand, “Tree, woman!” He doesn’t exactly shout at you, but you still feel like you’re being yelled at. Finally turning forward you see what he was saying.

“Oops,” you whisper, watching him direct the horses back onto the trail and away from the trees. “Well, it’s not my fault these ridiculous things don’t know not to walk into trees,” you argue, motioning at the horses.

“Hey,” he chuckles, “don’t blame the horses.”

You see Hosea lean forward from the back of the wagon. He peers between you both with a smile. “Having fun up here?” He asks you, nodding towards an overbearing Arthur.

You roll your eyes with a faux pout, “Not really. Arthur here can’t seem to wedge that stick out of his ass.” Arthur turns to glare at you and you nudge his calf with your foot playfully, giving him a sly grin. He fights it, but you see the way the corners of his lips twitch up.

Hosea glances between you both, something mischievous playing on his face. “What’re you up to?” You ask, suspicion brewing as you practically see a plan forming in his head.

Hosea sends you a smile that does nothing to assuage your reservations. “Nothing, nothing. Arthur,” he chides, turning towards the man, “let her try for a while.”

Arthur sighs through his nose, you see him glance out the side of his eye at you with a perturbed expression. You don’t know why he’s so adamant about not letting you drive. You only crashed the wagon once and that wasn’t your fault. The horses got spooked by a cougar as you were going down the mountain. Still, he hasn’t let go of it.

You know he’s not used to denying Hosea, but he takes too long to relent. Just as he’s starting to hand the reins over, the wagon bumps into something. The left side of it flies up, sending you sliding down the bench towards Arthur. His hand shoots out, bracing you so you don’t tip out of the wagon. You can’t help but flush at the feeling of his arm around you, caught off guard by the reaction.

You push that down, deciding to address it later. The left side dips down now and the horses come to a bumpy stop. You let out a rough sigh, turning around and glancing behind the wagon. Arthur drove you all into a large rock, knocking the wheel off the wagon.

You can’t help but bark a laugh at his expense. “Well, Mr. Morgan, looks like I’m not the only one in need of some driving lessons.”

He takes his hat off, running his hands through his hair and glaring at you. “Enough,” he grouses. He jumps down from the bench, walking off to fetch the wheel. Hosea climbs to the front of the wagon, taking a seat beside you.

“I suppose once he gets that fixed, I should take over.”

You laugh, grinning at Arthur as he props the wagon up. “I think that would be best.”

His head snaps up and he glares at you both, “Shut up, both of ya.” You can’t help but laugh a little harder at his grumpy tone.

Mary-Beth helps you set up your few belongings beside the tent alongside the other women’s trunks. You glance over your shoulder, watching Arthur pitch his tent and rifle through his satchel. A part of you is going to miss the solace of having Arthur beside you at night.

It was comforting, having such a strong man to watch over you while you slept. Especially while you healed. You supposed you were healed now, though, and you didn’t have much more of an excuse to be near him. Not like you did before.

A part of you is surprised by this sudden attachment to him. You should have seen it coming, though, this sudden onslaught of feelings. It has been so long since you’ve been around any truly decent man.

Your husband had been good to you at first, but they always are, aren’t they? You hadn’t had some great love story. But you’d been lucky for two people of high status to get along as well as you had. You suppose that success changes every man. For some, they turn into a miser. They want to keep their money as close to their chest as they can.

Your husband had been the opposite. He’d flaunted his wealth in every way he could. Placed larger bets than was smart. Let people borrow from him and never collected. And then he got into it with some bad men who set him down the wrong path. They made it so he was their cash cow, milking him for what he was worth and turning him against you all the same. They couldn’t risk any words of wisdom getting him to think about what he was doing.

There was no sharp pain in your chest when you thought about your husband lying dead in the snow somewhere. You didn’t want to lay down and weep. You didn’t even miss the ring on your finger. The one that those O’Driscoll bastards had stolen. If you didn’t remember every bad night with him then you could almost pretend that you’d never been married at all.

Since he had turned down that path, you hadn’t met a man you thought was worth knowing. Until Arthur. He could say what he wanted about himself, but you’d never had a man treat you as gently as he has. Maybe it’s creating some warped sense of admiration. It could explain the coying urge to want to repay him and be near him at every chance.

You almost wished you weren’t healed. If only so you could make up an excuse to see him. Now, you’re not sure what you’re going to do. You think he might have only spoken with you because he felt a sense of responsibility towards you. Alive and well, he’s got nothing to say to you.

“My, I think I see hearts in your eyes.”

Your head snaps up and Mary-Beth grins at you. “Oh,” you catch the teasing glint in her eye and frown. “Hush, you. You’re reading too many of those damn books.”

You help her haul a crate up, pretending to look busy as Miss Grimshaw passes by. “Uh uh,” she argues. “I might fill my head with too many love stories, but I’m no fool. You’ve got it bad.”

Before you can object Tilly walks up. “You talkin’ ‘bout Arthur?”

You frown, brows furrowed as you drop the act of unpacking anything. “How’d you know?”

Mary-Beth and Tilly share a knowing look, both of them giggling slightly. You can’t help but feel like it’s at your expense. “I’ve just never seen a lady so attached to him. Hard to stomach the smell sometimes,” Tilly teases.

“Hey, he doesn’t smell that bad,” it’s a weak argument and an even worse deflection but it makes them laugh harder. You can’t help but laugh along, cheeks aching with a smile. You’re not too much older than them, having been married to your husband at a young age. You find yourself enjoying the company of women your own age more than you thought you would.

Someone clears their throat behind you all and you turn around to find a very upset-looking Miss Grimshaw. The three of you straighten up, scrambling for something to fix. It’s not until she shakes her head and walks away that you start cracking up again. Tilly shoots you a look, turning up her nose and mocking the woman.

You smile, throwing your shoulders back and trying to adopt her haughty walk. It makes Mary-Beth snort so loud that Arthur turns towards you all. He sends you a questioning look and you can’t help but flush, turning around and busying yourself with anything other than him.

“Knew it,” Mary-Beth whispers behind you as she walks away. You roll your eyes and sigh but you know she’s right. Clearly, you’re feeling something for him. But it feels wrong too. Too fast and too soon for you to be feeling anything but lucky to be alive.

A few days later, once you’re all settled and Miss Grimshaw is finally satisfied with the camp’s state, you all gather around the fire. You’re late to join the others, having to change your dress after Uncle spilled whiskey all over the other one.

You walk towards the glowing firelight and the sounds of Javier strumming lightly on his guitar. He’s not singing yet but you’re sure a few more drinks for everyone and the whole county will hear your hollering.

You try to find an opening among everyone but most of the seats have already been taken. Just as you go to sit beside Charles, Tilly throws herself down on the log. She doesn’t look at you, just fiddles with the hem of her dress and slurps loudly on her drink. Your eyes narrow suspiciously but you don’t call her out.

Instead, you roam the faces of those around you, seeing a spot beside Sadie. She nods her head at you but before you can go claim it, Hosea grabs her attention. He sits beside her, asking her about some nonsense you can’t hear from where you stand. And just like that, it seems everywhere you look any open spot was gone. Someone either slid over or stole it. It left you with just one place left.

Arthur looks up from his cup as you approach. “You mind?” You ask, lingering by the log, unsure of whether or not he wants your company.

He slides over easily, “‘Course not.” You let out a small breath of relief and sit beside him. You don’t know if it’s divine interference or a few nosy campmates, but it feels too coincidental that the only open spot is beside him.

There are a few moments of stilted silence between you. It might all be in your head. You’ve messed yourself up, putting too much thought into how you feel about him. Now, you don’t even know how to talk to him. You just stare into the fire, and watch the shadows play across the other's faces.

Arthur’s voice breaks you out of your concentration. “You been feelin’ okay?”

You’re surprised by the genuine concern in his voice. He really cares and it’s such a strange idea to you- meeting a man so attentive. “I’ve been a little sore from the ride, but nothing too bad.” When you turn towards him you’re surprised to find him already looking at you.

It’s easy, to just stare into his eyes and pretend it’s just the two of you by the fire. It casts a comforting glow across the both of you, makes the dark night look a little warmer. Eases the chill of the night and lulls you into a place where you finally let the anxiousness that plagues you melt away.

“How ‘bout you, Arthur, you okay?”

He chuckles quietly, nodding his head and glancing down at his lap. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

The soft way he speaks to you lures you into a false sense of security. You wonder if it would really be so bad to say what you’re thinking. He’s so kind to you, you’re sure even if he doesn’t feel the same he wouldn’t be cruel.

“Would it be odd if I said I miss bunking with you?” You laugh a little at yourself, trying to downplay just how much you truly mean that.

You seemed to have made a horrible mistake though. Being around the woman of the camp has allowed you the comfort of a loose tongue. Judging by the way his whole body stills and he won’t meet your eyes, you think you might need to tighten it once more. “Oh,” you sigh, rubbing an embarrassed hand down your face. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” Arthur’s quick to stop you. He glances around, making sure no one else is listening. “Nothing wrong with that. I just think,” he pauses and lets out a huff. Your face pinches and you bite your tongue, trying to stop yourself from shouting at him to just spit it out. He sucks in a deep breath and turns to you with a pained look. “There are better men than me out there, Mrs. Rowe. I think you’d be better off goin’ after them.”

“What-” He gets to his feet before you can object. You’d like to tell him what a fool he is. How he’s a perfectly fine man and you can choose well enough for yourself.

“Good night,” he tilts his hat down, ambling off towards his tent and leaving the warmth of the fire behind.

You look down at your lap with a frown. “Oh,” you whisper, “You’re such a fool, Arthur Morgan.” You watch him slip into his tent and feel like a stone has replaced your heart. You feel heavy now, wanting nothing more than to sleep the sting of rejection off. You quietly slip away from the fire and head towards the women’s tent.

You ease onto the rocky ground and pull a blanket over your shoulders. You’d never thought you’d long for the rotted floorboards of that shed in the mountains but you crave that comfort more than ever.

Arthur adjusts his hat and steps out of his tent. He adjusts to the bright morning light and finds his gaze drifting toward the tent the other women are sleeping in. You’re not there, your bed roll fussed up like you’d just gotten up. There’s a split second where he worries you might have changed your mind about the outlaw life and left.

He’s not happy with the stomach-dropping feeling that leaves him with. He shouldn’t care whether or not you stay. Still, he isn’t satisfied until he looks around and sees you sharing some coffee with Hosea.

He debates walking over to you both when Pearson ambles towards him. “Arthur,” he barks out. He holds a white slip of paper in his hands and you turn away from Hosea to glance back at him. “A woman brought this by for you.”

He tries to wave at you but you whip around when you hear Pearson speak, avoiding meeting his eye. Hosea leans in and whispers something to you, but you just shake your head. His eyes narrow at the two of you, wondering when you got so cozy.

“Who was it?” Arthur asks.

“I don’t know,” Pearson grouses, walking off with a shrug. Arthur flips the paper over and sighs. He didn’t even need to ask. He knows this handwriting about as well as he knows his own. Mary.

He’s not sure he even wants to read this. There’s the chance that he’ll either have to deal with her father again or he’ll just feel the guilt of what she thinks could have been. Sighing, he turns away from you and Hosea. He flips the letter open, skimming it. He’s not ready to dive so deep into the past this morning but it could be urgent.

Most of it is pretty vague. Brief mentions of her father devolving past the fool he already was and something about her brother needing help. She asks him to meet her in Valentine and he tucks the letter in his satchel. He doubts anything good would come of going to see her.

Half the time they just have these quiet sort of non-arguments about how he can’t change and how she never gave him the chance to. They keep going back to each other and keep pretending they're different people than they actually are. She has it in her head that he would never abandon this outlaw life for her. And he thinks that she would never be able to truly accept him as he is.

They go round and around each other endlessly. Never quite meeting in the middle. These occasional meet-ups have just started to feel like a punishment for himself. But there’s a part of him that always feels the need to hear her out, to see her one last time. He hates that part of himself sometimes.

He turns to head towards the horses when an eager voice stops him. “Oh, Mr. Morgan!” Strauss stands up from his stool, walking over to Arthur with a large black book in his hand. “Just the man I was looking for.” There’s something in his tone that makes Arthur bristle. He has a feeling whatever he’s about to ask for is going to be something he doesn’t like.

“What?” Arthur’s short with him, never having been a huge fan of the man. He hates that he’s the one Strauss comes to for collections. He understands the necessity of the money for camp. But half the time the people are just desperate families trying to keep a roof over their heads. If Strauss targeted the rich, maybe he wouldn’t mind roughing the debtors up so much.

“I just need a favor from you. I’ve got some collections that need to be taken. A few reminders to be sent,” he laughs a little. The noise is empty and grates on Arthur’s already frayed nerves.

“We’ve barely been here a week. You’re tellin’ me you’ve already got lives to ruin?”

Strauss's eyes narrow into slits before he forces on another thin smile. “Mr. Morgan, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the loss our camp funds suffered in Blackwater. We need everything we can get. Surely you understand this is for the good of the camp, yes?”

Arthur lets out a rough sigh. He looks down at the list of people in Strauss’s hand. He knows that he’s always going to choose the gang over anyone else. But it doesn’t make this feel any better. “Fine,” he snaps, snatching the paper from him.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” Arthur shakes his head, ignoring the smug lilt of Strauss’s accent. He shakes his head and turns away, walking towards the horses.

“-well, Uncle ruined my only other good dress. I’ll need to buy some new ones,” Arthur looks over as you speak to Hosea. You motion sadly to a large brown stain on the front of your dress and he rolls his eyes, thinking of Unlcle spilling something on you. Maybe he could pick something up for you while he’s in town. You’ve got hardly anything to your name, you could at least use a new pair of boots.

He’s nearly to his horse when Hosea calls him over. Is he going to get anything done today, or does everyone need something for him?

He lets out an irritated sigh and walks back over. You don’t look up at him and that only further sours his mood. “What are you doing?” Hosea asks, the suspicious expression on his face only makes Arthur’s hackles raise further.

“Was gonna head to Valentine but Strauss has got me doin’ collections.” Your eyes lift at the mention of collections and he doesn’t miss the slight grimace that passes across your face before you’re looking away again.

Something hot boils in the pit of his stomach but he shoves it down, trying to ignore it. Hosea shakes his head, waving him off. “No, I need you to escort Mrs. Rowe to Valentine. Micah will handle the collections,” he tells him firmly, not leaving much room for argument.

“But-”

Hosea cuts him off with a frown, “No ‘buts,’ the lady needs some new clothes, Arthur. You can’t let her go into town without a proper escort. Imagine what could happen.”

Your face drops at that. You roll your eyes with a scoff, “I most certainly do not need-”

You trail off, sentence falling short as Hosea shoots you a sharp look. You throw the rest of your coffee into the fire and get to your feet. “Right, well I clearly don’t get much of a say in this.”

“Neither of you do,” Hosea responds. He’s got a look that means he’s far too pleased with himself. Arthur glances over at you, feeling a little guilty at the perturbed expression you wear. He doesn’t blame you for not wanting to spend time with him. He knows he could have been kinder to you last night, but all he’d been thinking about was stopping another situation like Mary from happening.

“Come on Mr. Morgan,” you call out, walking past him and heading towards the horses.

Arthur lingers behind for a moment, shooting Hosea a glare. “I’m gettin’ tired of your games, old man,” Arthur grouses before reluctantly following after you. Hosea just laughs, taking a long, pleased, sip of his coffee.

Arthur turns around and heads towards the hitching posts. You’re already waiting there for him, arms crossed while you examine the horse. “Somethin’ wrong?” You jump slightly, turning around to face Arthur as he walks up.

Your lips purse and he can tell you’re debating whether or not you want to speak with him. Arthur stops walking, standing just a little ways back and giving you no other choice but to talk. Rolling your eyes, you force the words out. “Your horse is too damn tall.”

Arthur glances between you and the shire, laughing a little under his breath. “Alright, come on.” He comes up in front of you, hovering his hands over your waist until you give him a reluctant little nod. He takes you by the waist and lifts you onto the back of the horse. His hands drift down to your knees, squeezing once before he forces himself to back off. “Comfortable?”

You glare down at him, but he can see a little bit of sheepishness in the look you give him. “Fine as I’ll ever be, sitting like this.”

He swings up on the saddle and glances back at you. “We’ll see if we can’t get you a horse while we’re in town.” Your face lights up at that and it unravels a bit of the knot in his chest.

“I think I’d like that,” you tell him, turning slightly to wrap your arms around his waist. He does his best to ignore the warmth you provide. But all he can focus on is how soft you feel against him compared to the harshness he deals with every day. He doesn’t say anything else, leading his horse out of camp and heading to town. He doesn’t know what he’s more stressed about, seeing Mary or having you see her.

He lets out a rough sigh and shakes his head. Women, they’re not worth the damn trouble.

The ride into Valentine isn’t too slow, but you know Arthur isn’t going as fast as he wants so that you feel more comfortable on the back of the horse. You’re still getting used to the finicky beasts, not quite having bonded with them like the others in camp. Still, you’d rather swallow your pride and get one of your own than have to keep riding side-saddle like this.

Sitting on the back of the horse is damn near impossible to get comfortable on. And you know the animals don’t like it any more than you do. You think it’s only making them dislike you more. You adjust yourself again and hear Arthur sigh in front of you. His chest heaves under your grip and you realize just how tight you’ve been squeezing him this whole time.

“Sorry,” you mutter, undoing your arms and stretching them out. You’re surprised the poor man can still breathe.

“It’s fine,” he responds, but you can hear the strain in his voice as he finally sucks in a full breath. You grimace, wondering how you’re gonna handle your own horse if you can barely deal with this one. Arthur’s is the least temperamental of the bunch at camp and you still can’t bring yourself to trust it.

Arthur passes by the train station and you straighten up, a little bit of relief forming when you realize how close you are to finally being able to walk around on your own two feet. Arthur brings the horse to a slower pace, pulling on the reins as townspeople begin to walk by more frequently.

You’re not sure what you were expecting of the town. It’s certainly not glamorous. But it’s not as backwoods as you had been expecting. The people seem friendly enough, at least to you. They’ll nod their heads with a polite, “Ma’am,” but they don’t seem very warmed to Arthur.

“You already been through here?” You ask, a little bit of a tease lingering on the edge of your words.

Arthur stiffens under your grip, tilting his head back towards you before looking forward. “Whaddya mean?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, “these people seem a little wary of you, that’s all.”

Arthur lets out a heavy sigh, “Not my fault,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. “He called me a pretty boy, what was I supposed to do?” You barely catch the words before he brings the horse to a stop and gets down.

“Pretty boy?” You question, a grin curling at the edge of your lips. His eyes narrow and he shakes his head.

“Forget it,” he demands. He holds his hand out towards you and you hesitate. You could just jump down, you'll probably roll your ankle, but you could do it. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like how wholly Arthur’s hand envelops yours, even if he’s made it clear he doesn’t think he’s good enough for you.

You slide your hand into his and he brings his other one up to your waist. He eases you down onto the ground but your boot slips into a bit of mud. You tilt forward, off-kilter, and catch yourself against his chest.

Your eyes widen when you feel the bulk lurking underneath his tattered shirt. You clear your throat, backing up quickly and straightening out your skirt. Even after a few weeks, you’re still not used to touching another man who’s not your husband. Especially not so brazenly.

Arthur laughs at your behavior but you see the nervous way he rubs the back of his neck. He ducks his head down, hat blocking his pretty eyes. You know that you have an effect on him. In the same way, a simple touch from him sends heat racing through you, you can see it happen to him.

You’re not some lovesick fool who’s blinded by your desire. You may be naive when it comes to relationships, but you know want in a man’s eyes when you see it. If only he weren’t so damn stubborn.

“I’ve got some business to deal with in town,” your face falls as he speaks. You’d almost forgotten about the letter Pearson had brought to him. The one that a woman had dropped off. You hope it’s his aunt or some withered old lady who just needs an outlaw’s help. As unlikely as that is, you still pray for it.

He reaches into his saddle bag and your eyes double in size as he holds out a holstered revolver. You stare at it, eyes darting between him and the gun. “You know how to shoot don’t ya?”

You scoff in indignation. “I’ve spent my entire adult life in the mountains. Of course, I know how to shoot. But why would I need to?”

He looks amused by your attitude and it only makes you narrow your eyes at him in irritation. “Just take it, would you? You’re traveling with a gang of outlaws, it’s not smart to go around without anythin’ to protect yourself with.” He nudges the gun towards you once more and you snatch it from him.

You bring it to your side, attaching it to your belt as you chew on his words. You hadn’t thought of that before, mainly because you haven’t left the camp since you made it out of the mountains. But you’re so used to being seen as a lady that you forget you’re now just as much of a criminal as the rest of them. If only by association.

“Fine,” you relent.

“Here,” he reaches into his satchel and tugs out a few bills. “Take this, for the dresses or whatever it was ya needed.”

You stare down at the money and shake your head, “Oh, no, Arthur, I couldn't.” He’s already done so much for you and the camp. You don’t feel comfortable taking from him further. But he won’t let it go, he takes your wrist and forces your palm open, placing the money in your hand.

“You’re not gonna steal the clothes are ya?”

“No, but-”

“‘Nough fussin’, just take it would ya, woman?” You tuck the money in your waistband and glare at him. He’s being awful pushy this morning.

He grabs the horn of the saddle, pulling himself back up and glancing down at you. “How long am I gonna be expected to look after myself?”

“Only about an hour, I’ll be back soon enough.”

“You better,” you chide. He only chuckles, tilting his hat towards you before riding off past the shops and towards the houses behind the town. You let out a heavy sigh, fiddling with the money and looking around town. You don’t imagine you’ll find much here, but you figure the general store is probably a good place to start.

It isn’t until you’ve bought yourself a few new outfits that you realize just how much money Arthur has given you. You could probably buy two horses with all this. You’re sure Dutch would be irate if he learned Arthur funded your shopping trip and not the camp lockbox.

You walk out of the general store with your box of goodies tucked under your arm. You hide the rest of your money away in the top of your corset like you’ve seen Karen do before. You look around the shops, trying to spot Arthur’s giant shire hitched somewhere. When you don’t see the horse you frown, deciding to do a quick lap around to see if he’s somewhere else.

It turns out to be fruitless, despite promising to be back within an hour, you can’t find him anywhere. You figure that his “business” just ran on longer than he thought it would and try and think of a way to pass the time. You debate going to the stables and getting your own horse but it seems rude to just spend his money so cavalierly.

Besides, you figure you should get his opinion before you commit to one of the erratic creatures. He seems to speak their language. You figure he could help you find one that won’t send you flying if it gets spooked.

With no other way to pass the time, you take a seat on the bench outside the general store. You pick up a discarded newspaper and figure you’ll just wait for him here. Of course, you only make it about three sentences into a report on a train robbery before you toss the paper to the side.

You’ve never been very good at waiting. Living the life of a proper lady has left you spoiled and you’re starting to get antsy. Jumping up from the bench you walk around the back of the shop towards the houses Arthur had ridden towards.

There’s a brief moment of intelligence where you think about the consequences of bugging him. He is an outlaw and for all the manners and grace he’s shown you, you’ve seen the bounty. You know he’s a known criminal and a murderer. Who's to say he won’t get upset at you for interrupting and just shoot you?

Still, the thought of him getting so mad he starts firing off rounds makes you laugh more than it makes you scared. You just can’t picture Arthur in that way.

It isn’t hard to figure out which house he went to. All you have to look for is the giant black horse grazing in the grass outside. You pick up your pace when you see Diablo roaming in front of a particularly nice house. It’s probably the biggest one around and the most well-kept. You wonder who he could be meeting out here, in Valentine being “rich” doesn’t mean much.

You notice the front door of the home opening, but you know they can’t see you past the large tree in front of you. You see Arthur first, the brim of his hat, and then his boot as he walks out the door. He turns around, talking to whoever’s inside and shaking his head vehemently.

You take another step towards them but your foot hovers in the air as the person he’s talking to follows after him. So much for a withered old lady. You feel your stomach drop as the beautiful woman he’s talking to reaches forward and takes his hands in hers. You can’t hear them speaking, but you can see the familiarity in the way they dance around each other.

She’s got a pleading look on her face and he’s got the expression of a man about to give into whatever she asks of him. You turn around as quick as you can, marching yourself right back to town. You never should have even gone looking for him. One hour or two, you should have just kept your happy ass where it was. At least then you wouldn’t be dealing with the racing thoughts going through your head.

You had a suspicion that there was once a woman in his life. In fact, it would be odd for there not to be. He’s traveled for so long and he’s so different than other men you met that it wouldn’t make sense for him to have not caught the eye of a pretty woman. But you hadn’t expected her. She seemed so much like…

You.

She reminded you of yourself before your husband had abandoned you and you started traveling with the gang. Hair done up prim and proper, clothes tailored perfectly to her body. Even the way she carried herself was straight out of the proper lady training book. She most certainly came from money.

You just didn’t know how Arthur knew her. Or what their relationship was. It certainly wasn’t familial. You knew that much from the longing in her eyes. Oh, this was just awful. Arthur didn’t reject you because he thought he wasn’t good enough for you. He just didn’t want you. He had a woman of his own, of course he did. You feel like such a fool, getting your hopes up over something that could never happen.

You trudge back into town, heading straight for the saloon. You’ve never had the stomach for alcohol, but you’re sure you can make an exception tonight. Just to ease the blade of hurt wedging itself in your chest.

You toss your box of clothes on the counter of the bar and the barkeep gives you a startled look. His eyes narrow before he slides a glass over to you. “Looks like you need a whiskey.”

“Make it a double,” you slip him a few more bills than necessary and he whistles. Instead of pouring he just places the bottle in front of you. He leaves you on your lonely end of the counter and scrubs up a drunken spill.

You use a heavy hand to pour and bring the glass to your lips, ticking your head back and downing as much as you can. The acrid, bog-like taste doesn’t comfort you. But it does make your tongue feel fuzzy and begin to soften the harsh edges of your mind. About a bottle later, you can barely remember Arthur’s name, much less why you’re drinking.

You’re debating entering a very risky poker game when you see it. Just out of the corner of your eye, a man goes stumbling up the stairs with a whore. It’s not out of the usual, it’s been happening the whole time you’ve been here. But there’s something familiar to you about the back of his head.

Stumbling to your feet, you rub at your eyes and blink a few times. You squint, trying to make out how you know this man when he finally turns slightly. Like a bucket of cold water being tossed over you, the whiskey seems to leave you for a moment.

Your husband’s glazed eyes pass over you and he laughs at a drunk man falling face-first to the floor. Your heart pounds so harshly against the cage of your chest you can hear nothing else but your blood rushing. He stumbles the rest of the way up the stairs and you stand there, completely dumbfounded and confused.

Your husband isn’t just alive. He’s here and he’s about to go fuck a whore like he didn’t leave you for dead.

Next Part

#Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x you #Arthur morgan #Arthur Morgan fanfiction #Arthur Morgan imagine #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x you #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption #red dead 2 #red dead redemption x reader #Hell Hath No Fury #rdr2

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caffeinatedvigilantewriter · 5 months ago

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Soulmark AU again

So in this AU, Dani was born to look 8 (I never understood why she looked 12 but whatever. Danny was 14 in this AU) and Damian arrived at Gotham when he was 10.

Dani traveled the world for around a year before she meet Damian when they were 9. Damian is with the League at that time

Obviously, they are soulmates. You can decide their mark.

As per League custom, any heir must kill or destroy any distractions.

And that includes Soulmates (because Ra’s is an ass)

So, Damian’s first solo mission, he has to track down his soulmate and kill her.

But when it was time, he couldn’t do it.

He let her go, telling her to never contact or try to find him, and he would do the same. Dani leave, very angry (Poor Baby bat didn’t think he had another option)

He burned the body of a dead deer, and told his mother that he scattered Danielle’s ashes in the river.

Years go by, Damian moves to Gotham, and never mentions Danielle to his family. He didn’t even tell them that he knew who they were. He was ashamed 9f what he tried to do. Even if he didn’t manage to succeed.

When they’re both 16-17, Damian comes across Danielle in Gotham (she doesn’t know he was there. She never tried to look for him)

And because she was left dry by her soulmate when she was 9, she’s kind of bitter.

So she leaves, but she told him he would have to deal with her presence because she and her older brother are in Gotham for the foreseeable future.

Damian sees this as a golden chance to get her forgiveness and gain her trust.

The only way for that to happen is if his family doesn’t meddle. The only ways that’ll happen is if they doing know.

So Damian never tells them.

Dani doesn’t tell Damian she’s a ghost, nor why she and Dante are in Gotham (GIW got a hold on Danny and he’s healing in the GZ)

Dani attends Gotham Academy with Valds money. And she and Damian share a couple of classes. Meanwhile, the GIW is in Gotham searching for the High Princess and High Prince. Siblings of the King.

Shenanigans include

-Damian and Jason becoming a regular at the bookstore Dani works at, but they come at different times.

-Steph and Cass are on a date when they run into Damian and Dani, also on a date. It quickly becomes a double date.

-Alfred and Clockwork are old friends and Alfred is either a ghost or extremely liminal.

-Titus and Cujo friendship.

-Wiggles the dragon. I recently found out he existed and live him already

-Bruce getting shot while on Patrol and the closest place was Dani’s and Dante’s apartment

-Peopel can sense when their soulmate is about to die/get extremely hurt. Dani senses Damian is in danger and kills(?) (at least gravely injured) his attacker

-Sam visiting Gotham and strangling the Joker with Undergrowth powers

BONUS!!

Each member of the Royal family needs their own Knight (typically their soulmate/lover of choosing. Sometimes not)

Dante decides to have Fright Knight as his Knight (as soulmates or friends you chose)

Danny has Sam and Tucker, so he’s extra safe.

Dani has Damian.

The reason this is funny is maybe there’s a trademark summoning scene and maybe the knight shows up with the royal member, or maybe they show up first to scout if it’s safe.

So there’s a summoning and Damian pops in the middle of the circle looking confused

If he didn’t know he was Dani’s knight, even better.

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fuckmeyer · 5 months ago

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how terrifying it must be to wake up and know nothing. no memories, no sense of self, no idea what world you've been born into. not only is everything suddenly out of your control, but you've lost the tools you've cultivated to feel a sense of control in life.

for this reason i like how manipulative & controlling Alice Cullen seems. why wouldn't she enjoy meddling in others' affairs? she has no recollection of the past & consequently no context for the present. future sight is her only means to relate to others. it's the only tool she has to piece her life together. no wonder it becomes her crutch to find sense & stability. she likes the false sense of security that control over the future gives her - bc nothing else can.

to take it one step further, Alice has built her life & support system around that which allows her more power over her world. in that sense, her choice of coven, mate, & best friend make sense:

the Cullens are isolated enough not to run into chaos, friendly enough to maintain good relations with other covens, & powerful enough to fend off enemies

Jasper provides even more control for her visions. influencing emotions means influencing situations by controlling how people react. not only that, he bends easily to others' authority, esp hers

for all of Bella's griping, she's a doormat to Alice's whims, which naturally makes her a better candidate for Best Friend than someone like Rose

Alice has carefully constructed her life to maximize the certainty of her visions. the more control she has over her visions, the more she feels she understands the world around her.

& it's why Alice's gift is ultimately a curse. it fools her into thinking there's certainty in an uncertain world.

#twilight renaissance #twilight #the twilight saga #twilight saga #alice cullen

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girlactionfigure · 3 months ago

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Antisemitism, an old saying goes, is the canary in the coal mine. The implication is that, when antisemitism is rising in a society, this is a telltale sign that said society is in decline. In many cases throughout history, this has very much been true. For example, the Nazis rose to power -- and later led their country into a suicidal war -- by mobilizing German society with inflammatory antisemitic rhetoric.

Nevertheless, I’ve always really hated the expression, not because it’s necessarily untrue, but because of the implication that what really makes antisemitism matter is that Jew-hatred eventually poisons everything and everyone else. I think antisemitism matters because Jews are human beings, and that should be enough for us to act decisively against it, not because antisemitism might, in the future, affect other groups of people.

Regardless, I do think that it’s important for people to understand why and how antisemitism eventually might affect them too.

ANTISEMITISM AS A SIGN OF SOCIETAL DECLINE

Which came first: the chicken or the egg? In other words, do societies decline because of antisemitism, or does antisemitism rise because societies are in decline? In my opinion, it’s a little bit of both.

First, it’s important to understand how antisemitism functions. Antisemitism is not only a bigotry, but a worldview that relies on conspiracies, scapegoating, and projection. When things are bad -- for instance, when a society is in disarray -- people need someone to blame. When a child went missing in the Middle Ages, who was at fault? Why, the Jews, of course. When as much as 30 to 60% of the European population died from the Black Death in the 14th century, who was to blame? The Jews. When Weimar Germany suffered from economic hardships, who else could be at fault but the Jews?

I personally noticed this phenomenon in real-time in 2020, following the murder of George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter protests. Instead of holding American police to account for their police brutality, very quickly, antisemites swept in with the “Deadly Exchange” conspiracy theory, which absurdly posits that it’s the Jewish state that is at fault for police brutality in the United States (as though American police brutality didn’t exist before 1948!). In this sense, it’s obvious that antisemitism rises when societies are in strife.

On the other hand, pre-existing antisemitism will poison everything in a society. White supremacists and Islamic fundamentalist terrorist groups, for example, often recruit followers with antisemitic rhetoric, but their violence targets more than just Jews. It doesn’t take long for hostile antisemitic environments to become hostile to many other groups of people.

"FIRST THEY CAME FOR THE..."

Surely you’ve heard the famous Martin Niemöller poem: “First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out — because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out — because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out — because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me — and there was no one left to speak for me.”

It is, perhaps, the quotation most often associated with the Holocaust and the Nazi persecution of Jews and political dissidents. And while Pastor Niemöller certainly had a point, the question bears repeating: why must others be targeted alongside Jews for antisemitism to matter? Shouldn’t antisemitism matter simply because Jews are human beings deserving of fundamental human rights and dignity?

As it turns out, Niemöller never quite got the memo. In the early 1930s, he not only openly agreed with Nazi ideology, but he voted the Nazis into power. His change of heart came not because he atoned for his antisemitism, but because he disliked how the Nazi Party was meddling with the Lutheran Church, which led to his eventual arrest. Even worse: after the Allied victory, he opposed the de-Nazification of Germany because he thought that it would “do more harm than good.”

In the end, it seems, for Niemöller, antisemitism only mattered when it affected him personally.

"FIRST THE SATURDAY PEOPLE, THEN THE SUNDAY PEOPLE"

The proverb “min sallaf es-sabt lāqā el-ḥadd qiddāmūh” — “after Saturday comes Sunday”— is used in many Middle Eastern countries, including Egypt, Syria, and Lebanon, to describe the treatment of Middle Eastern Jews and Christians. A popular variation is “first the Saturday people [Jews, who observe Shabbat on Saturday], then the Sunday people [Christians, who attend church on Sundays.” The idea is that what has been done to the Jews of the Middle East is now what is being done to Middle Eastern Christians.

The origins of the phrase, with this particular meaning, are contested, but some historians trace it back to the 1936-1939 Arab Revolt in Palestine and claim that it was coined by the followers of the Nazi collaborator Palestinian leader Haj Amin Al-Husseini. The phrase has also been attributed to the pro-Zionist Maronite Christians in Lebanon in the 1930s and 1940s. After the British authorities passed the 1939 White Paper, which virtually banned all Jewish immigration to and land purchases in Palestine, some Palestinian Arab Christians reportedly worried that they would be marginalized next.

In the 1940s and 1950s, virtually 100% of the Jewish population of the Middle East — which once numbered at around a million — was expelled from their homes in a series of systematic expulsions and massacres.

Unfortunately, much as the proverb predicts, Middle Eastern Christians have suffered a similar fate. In 1900, Christians made up about 13% of the population of the Middle East. Today, Christians form only 4% of the Middle Eastern population.

Assyrian, Maronite, Coptic, and other Native Middle Eastern Christians have been driven out of their homes by Islamic fundamentalist violence, a recent example being the massacres and executions perpetrated by ISIS.

JIHADIST GROUPS

Like white supremacist groups, Islamist jihadist groups such as ISIS have historically used antisemitic rhetoric as a “gateway drug” for recruitment. For example, Damon Joseph, also known as Abdullah Ali Yusuf, was indicted by a federal court in late 2018 for providing material support to ISIS. After an investigation, it seems that Joseph had been radicalized within a matter of months, following his conversion to Islam. Joseph, however, had espoused antisemitic beliefs for years, and it seems that his pre-existing antisemitic worldview influenced his fundamentalist interpretation of Islam.

According to former CIA agent John Kiriakou, after the CIA captured Abu Zubaydah, who at the time was believed to be the number three in Al Qaeda, Abu Zubaydah said that he never hated America and only wanted to kill Jews and attack Israel.

Similarly, in his 2002 “Letter to the American People,” in which he “explained” the 9/11 attacks, Al Qaeda founder Osama bin Laden justified his terrorist acts on the basis that the United States is allied with Israel and Jews allegedly “control” the American government.

Since the outbreak of the Israel-Hamas War, Jihadist groups have recruited lone wolf attackers in third countries by inciting against Israel.

Hezbollah, which was formed to fight Israel’s existence, has now taken the lives of Syrians, Lebanese, Iranians, and much more.

Antisemitism is closely linked to Islamist terrorism, even terrorism that doesn’t specifically target Jews, and it should be considered an international security threat.

WHITE SUPREMACY

Antisemitism is foundational to white supremacy, but it is not exclusive to white supremacy. White supremacy does not exist without antisemitism, but white supremacists don’t exclusively target Jews, and non-white supremacist ideologies can be antisemitic, too. In other words, all white supremacists are antisemitic, but not all antisemites are white supremacists, and white supremacists are bigoted toward many other groups of people, too.

Antisemitism plays a very specific function within white supremacy. White supremacists rely on antisemitism to (1) scapegoat, and (2) divide and conquer. For example, white supremacists believe that Jews are behind a supposed “white genocide,” aiming to replace white folks with Brown and Black folks. In other words, what starts with Jews doesn’t just end with Jews.

White supremacist groups often recruit online with antisemitic rhetoric, and many violent white supremacists were radicalized by consuming antisemitic content.

In the 1920s, the resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan is tied directly to the 1913 lynching of Leo Frank, a Jewish American. The KKK then went on to terrorize Black Americans.

DOMESTIC TERRORISM, MASS SHOOTINGS

Many domestic terrorists and mass shooters have been radicalized through antisemitic rhetoric, even if their violence eventually targeted other people. Some examples include Nikolas Cruz, who murdered 17 Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School students and employees in 2018, and the perpetrators of the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing, which killed 168 people.

rootsmetals

you shouldn’t wait until antisemitism affects you personally to care, but antisemitism *will* affect you personally eventually, whether you’re Jewish or not.

For a full bibliography of my sources, please head over to my Instagram and Patreon.

#antisemitism

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kooqitas · 4 months ago

Text

#pairing: ex-virgin!dino x reader.

#genre: smut MINORS DNI | #w.c: ~1800

!!! CLICK HERE TO ENJOY THE PART ONE

#synopsis: things have been weird since you took lee chan's virginity, but now you're in a library together and well… anything can happen.

#warnings: vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f.), soft dom dino, public sex. cute ending

#notes: i'm a little drunk (yes, again

★ m.list | inbox :D join my taglist

things with dino got a little... weird the next day, i mean, in the morning you still had coffee together before he left giving you a warm kiss, but after that things were definitely weird.

you didn't talk to each other in class, not even to tease each other, to the point where jeonghan asked you what the hell had happened to make you be like this...

"wait, you took WHAT from him?" jeonghan literally screamed when you told him about the night you had, he seemed more shocked by lee chan's (ex) virginity than by the sex between you exactly. "well, as the says, the person sucks your tits like a stray calf and then pretends they don't know you"

"literally no one says that, jeonghan!"

"well, i'm telling you..."

then jeonghan looked at his phone, and said that mingyu was calling him in the library, you ended up going along and well... that's the situation you're in now.

dino is sitting next to you at the table, trying to discreetly touch your knee, and you really want to punch him in the face, but that would end up with you having to explain how pathetic college fights turned into sex... yeah... things really were complicated.

"i think the right answer is letter b." dino says kindly to mingyu, who insisted that the answer to the question was f.

"you don't even study dentistry to know this, why don't you shut up and study your course instead of meddling in other people's business?" you retort.

"maybe because not everyone is as self-centered as you, sometimes people have a little empathy and think about others." he says without looking at you directly.

the whole table is in silent... even though jeonghan is the only one who knows that you had sex, everyone there understood that something more than just a simple college fight had happened.

"and maybe you should shut up and wait for someone to teach you how to do things right when you do it for the first time." you retort stupidly.

"you must love teaching people how to do things for the first time, huh?"

silence.

"ok, what did i miss?" joshua asked innocently, trying to figure out what the hell was going on at that table.

"NOTHING" you both yelled together.

pathetic.

dino tried (not very discreetly) to caress your thigh and waist, it made you feel... things, the cold hand of the air conditioning in contact with your hot skin was driving you crazy, but at the same time irritated, lee chan ignored you right after you took his virginity and now he was acting like this?

you roll your eyes when you get a message from dino on your cell phone, but you end up answering him.

you roll your eyes, getting up and leaving, but the next second you felt someone grab you by the waist and take you to the 'religious books' section.

'seriously, chan?'

"i'm the one asking you, what the fuck happened?"

"what the fuck happened? YOU started ignoring me completely after... you know."

"you let me cum inside you?"

"after you stopped being a pathetic virgin."

"i'm NOT a pathetic virgin"

"well... you're welcome?" you tease him.

dino looks at you, he seems to be thinking about whether to say something or not and this leaves you feeling a mix of stressed and sad at the same time. it's obvious that you were never best friends, but damn, disappearing after you took his virginity was cruel, you wondered if you had done something wrong.

"i just... okay... look..." he took a deep breath. "you can laugh... but i was afraid that i hadn't been good for you" he admits, sighing afterwards "like, when i choked you wrong..."

"you fixed it later" you roll your eyes, thinking he was making some pathetic excuse.

"baby... i'm not lying, i just... i wish that if things happened again i would be better..." he kisses your neck, causing you to shiver that you liked.

"stop with this shit!"

he takes advantage of your skirt, rubbing his middle finger right on your cunt, making you sigh at the sudden touch.

"do you really think i wouldn't wanna fuck you again? i told you, you're mine. i just wanted to do things better, but you're so fucking impatient that you can't wait a few weeks to have my cock inside you again."

he teases his finger inside your entrance, over your panties, making you tremble under his fingers.

"son of a bitch."

"let me show you what i've learned..."

you think about asking him how he learned something for a few seconds. the idea of him having 'trained' with someone makes you jealous, but any thoughts end the moment he bends down and kisses your panties.

your leg falters, fuck, lee chan is in the middle of the library, kneeling, with his head between your legs...

"stop it, fuck, someone might see us..."

"that's the fun, doll"

he moves your panties to the side, giving a gentle kiss to your wet hole, while rubbing his nose against your clit.

"fuck, lee chan"

you grab his hair, and you don't even know how, but your left leg is now on his shoulder.

the first contact of his hot tongue makes you moan loudly. the problem is that you're in a library, and even though the religious books section is abandoned, someone could still walk by...

you put your hand over your mouth, and dino laughs...

"you know... I had to learn by myself since you didn't want to teach me that day... so if it's bad or clumsy..." he looks you deep in the eyes, making you tremble. "teach me."

you gasp, because his tongue fucks you so well it seems like magic, you grab the bookshelf, trying not to pay attention to the fucking bible next to you, and the fact that anyone could walk by there, fuck, it would be so hard to explain why dino was kneeling between your legs...

but you don't think about it, in fact you can't think, his tongue on you is so good that your only concentration at the moment is not to moan out loud.

it's so good the way he sucks you like his life depends on it, like you're the last thing he'll ever eat in his entire life, the way he murmurs how hot you are and how much he's always dreamed about this.

you're gonna cum soon, and you know it, that's why you basically grind on his face, pulling his head against your legs in an attempt to get him to go even deeper, even though that's completely impossible.

"fuck, stop being desperate!" he scolds you, and you tremble at seeing him so authoritative, giving you even more pleasure. you end up rolling your hips a little more, who knows, maybe he'll talk to you like that again.

but maybe you're fucked, i mean, that's what you think when he spits on your pussy and stands up.

dino unbuckles his belt, then immediately puts the leg that was previously on his shoulder on his waist. he pulls your hair, giving you a hot, wet kiss, his tongue sliding possessively inside yours, you feeling your own taste mixed with the soda he had drunk earlier.

the way he kissed you was a little aggressive, but still affectionate, and you liked this 'new' lee chan.

he looks at you with his cock already inserted in your hole, silently asking for permission that he knew he had.

you like being 'subjected' to sex, you like being 'forced' to give in, but... consent is also fucking sexy, and you feel like you can cum just by saying 'yes, you can fuck me'

it's funny because he seems just as desperate as the first time, but at the same time he seems more 'firm' in his touches and you can't help but moan a little louder than you should.

"fuck, shut up, they're going to get us!" he whispers, you feel his balls pounding your hole, and the sound of his belt rubbing against the fabric of your skirt isn't low either.

you keep your mouth open, moaning words that you don't even know what they are, but it feels so good, the heat of his body against yours, the obvious need you have for each other...

"fuck, can't you keep quiet?"

you don't answer him, and in the next second three of dino's fingers are touching the back of your throat.

"my princess needs to always be full, right? completely..."

you hold on to the bookshelf, trying to release your lust through any part of your body that's possible.

"i'm not yo-"

"we've already gotten past that phase, right? you know you're mine, so much so that you're going to cum on my dick again, you're gonna let me fill you up again, and you're gonna let everyone know that I WAS the one who marked you."

"wha-?"

and the next second, dino's mouth was on your neck, leaving a hickey that you would only see later, but that everyone would notice as soon as you returned to the table.

"i'm gon-"

"cum for me, love, cum for your man."

"you're not my m-"

"i am... and you're mine. only mine."

ironically (or not), you cum with dino calling you 'mine' and he cums right after...

it takes you a few seconds to catch your breath. then dino moved your leg down and kissed your forehead...

"i hate you," you said...

"you can hate me, but you're still mine..."

"lee chan..."

"it was really fear, okay? i thought i had done something wrong and you didn't try to talk to me when i walked away either, i thought i had been horrible to you that night... i'm really sorry."

you take a deep breath, knowing he meant it.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean to confuse you."

"but you did." you answer him rudely.

"i know, i'm sorry about that. but i care about you... not just in a sexual way... give me a chance, okay..."

"i hate you."

"yeah," and he kisses you again.

you don't wanna go back to the table, but you know you have to. you want to be with dino, whether it's to have sex like before or just to stare at his lost puppy face...

"you're mine."

"yes, i am," you answer without thinking much, making him laugh and give you another kiss, this time calmly...

someone passes by the hallway and you're thankful that you're now dressed and just kissing, but at the same time a thought comes to your head and you can't help but ask.

"who the fuck taught you to eat like that?"

###

@highvivvy @bath1lda @unlikelysublimekryptonite

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laenordeservedbetter · 7 months ago

Text

My Way

Words: 6.7k

Pairing: Modern!Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Hightower Reader

Synopsis: Rhaenyra wants a scandal. You want to get back at your father. What happens when Laena brings the two of you together?

Warnings: Otto Hightower, Criston Cole (this one-shot is not Criston Cole friendly, I'm sorry), mentions of assault, cursing, inaccurate business jargon, self-deprecating thoughts, drinking. [Let me know if I missed any.]

masterlist || previous work

—

“What did you say to Jackie?” You seethe, slamming your fists onto your father’s desk.

“Nothing, my dear. Why? Did something happen?” He questions, briefly glancing at his lackey, Larys, prior to meeting your gaze smugly.

You could feel the sting in your palms from clenching your fists, but you paid no heed to it. Despite your figure towering over him, Otto remained in his seat as if your outburst was merely entertainment for him, fueling your ire. “You know what you did.” You spat.

“If you are referring to your companion’s refusal to return your calls, you must know that I played no hand in that.” Otto says calmly.

You regarded him with a look of disbelief. The earliest occurrence you could recollect that is akin to your current situation was when you went on your first date. You believed that it was your fault dear Tabitha ran for the hills. You were inconsolable for weeks on end until your older brother, Gwayne, informed you of your father’s… meddling. You know not of the details of the transaction between Tabitha and your father, but you did notice how luxurious Tabitha’s life became through her online feed that you definitely did not go through every single day for an entire rotation. Numerous incidents succeeded the first to the point where you could not recall the exact number. Now, your date, Jackie, the daughter of one of your father’s associates, has been denying your calls after drawing up plans to get dinner together. You knew that your father was responsible.

“Maybe Jacqueline has seen reason.” Otto offers, interlocking his hands together as he leaned against his chair. “It’s about time you do the same, daughter.”

“I am being reasonable. You can’t keep meddling in my affairs like I’m some toddler.” You argue.

“I will stop meddling in your affairs once you start pulling your act together.” Otto retorts.

Taking a deep breath, you will yourself to keep calm. As calm as you can manage, of course. “And how do you suppose I do that, hm? By marrying one of your senile friends?”

You could tell the insult irked him by the way he blinked twice whilst keeping a smirk on his face, bringing you a semblance of triumph.

“No, but now that you mention it, I do have a list of eligible bachelors that are interested in you. Perhaps you should take a look.” He pushes a stack of papers towards you.

It dawned on you that he had it prepared before you stomped your way into his office. He anticipated your arrival, which meant that you played right into his game. You smile mockingly at him, accepting the papers. Otto smiled back, believing that he somehow managed to get through to you. However, his self-satisfaction melted once you flung the papers into the trash bin before walking out of his office.

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes at her phone before tossing it to Daemon, “Read.” She orders, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

Daemon, although stunned at the abrupt shift in Rhaenyra’s expression, catches the phone with ease. Sighing, he goes on to read the headline of the recent article centered on their family’s —or his— wrongdoing.

“From Genius Turned Mad Man: Daemon Targaryen Assaults Criston Cole in Broad Daylight”

“Well, this article is overexaggerated.” Daemon jibes after reading the entirety of the article. “I barely touched him.” He flops down on the couch, throwing the phone in the air and catching it (barely). Despite Rhaenyra’s strong glare, he repeats the movement until his niece breaks the silence.

“The media is in a frenzy.” Rhaenyra points out. “A few Criston Cole ‘defenders’ on social media are demanding that you be put in jail,” She states, her tone growing louder as she speaks each reaction. “The Baratheons plan to back out on their investment, father is under severe stress that goes beyond planning the company’s annual party, and news outlets are questioning Baela and Rhaena’s safety with you as a father.”

The last information brings Daemon back to his senses. He sits up swiftly, Rhaenyra’s phone landing on his head. Daemon grasps the phone furiously, flinging it across the room. Rhaenyra doesn’t spare her presumably dead phone a glance as she continues looking at Daemon and his sour expression. He had a right to be angry, she thought. But he did bring this upon himself.

“How dare they include my children.” Daemon raves.

“They’re just looking for any excuse to attack our family.” Rhaenyra utters gently.

“Did they even look into the bigger picture?”

“They never do.”

“That whore deserved it.”

Rhaenyra nods, “Perhaps he did.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, as if challenging her to say more. “But?”

“But… what’s done is done. Our problem now is how we can fix this.”

Daemon opens his mouth to speak before realizing that it was no use trying to instigate a fight with Rhaenyra. She is not the object of his ire, after all. With a sigh, he looks at Rhaenyra expectantly. His niece has gotten the family out of precarious situations multiple times and was exceptional at it. Daemon would think Rhaenyra was suited in PR if he didn’t believe that she was destined for greater things.

“What is that look about?”

“Give me solutions and I will follow them.” Daemon shrugs.

Rhaenyra contemplates his words for a moment before ultimately saying, “No.”

Daemon scoffs, “No?”

“You got yourself into this mess, you get yourself out of it.” Rhaenyra says unwaveringly. She was exhausted of Daemon’s antics and having to clean up after his messes. It was time for him to handle the consequences of his own choices without being coddled. He gets enough of that from Viserys, thank you very much.

Daemon’s jaw clenches, disapproving of Rhaenyra’s denial.

“Well?” Rhaenyra looks on expectantly.

“I suppose I could think of two ideas.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“The first one is,” Daemon exhales theatrically, the thought being enough to make him want to hurl himself off the building. “publicly apologizing to Criston and vowing to never do it again, as well as to right my wrongs.” Rhaenyra and Daemon scrunch their faces at the suggestion, for the both of them knew that action would contradict Daemon’s entire being.

“And the second?”

Daemon gives Rhaenyra a sly grin.

“Create a bigger scandal that would make this one look like child’s play.”

Rhaenyra lets out a laugh, mirroring Daemon’s expression. “Now that, I can get behind.”

One thing you loved more than gossip was Laena Velaryon. Your friendship began through the business transaction between your father and Corlys Velaryon. You were brought to the office by your father, who thought it was a fine idea to acquaint you with Corlys’ son, Laenor. To his astonishment, you and Laenor got along quite well. However, it was Laena you were drawn towards. You were two peas in a pod. Both of you had a knack for defying your fathers’ wishes and visiting unrenowned coffee shops. Though, the purpose of your visits was more about escaping the scrutiny of the public (and by extension, your families) than actual coffee.

You’re in one of your favorite shops, drinking coffee with Laena that you actually enjoy. The ambience was remarkable. The place was always clean, the staff were nice, and there were booths that acted like little houses with curtains that could obscure you from the other people inside the café. It was another quiet day, which was alarming. It’s been like that for weeks now.

Lyman, the owner, opened the curtains with one hand and a tray of lemon cakes in his other. He places it on the table between you and Laena carefully, “Here you go, girls.” He says, offering both of you a smile.

It was a strange sight. For as long as you’ve been visiting the shop, Dyana has been the one to serve you. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen the girl since entering the place. Curiosity gets the better of you, prompting your question, “Is Dyana not working today?”

You wish you hadn’t asked.

Lyman’s smile falters. “We had to let her go.” He explains, “Business hasn’t been that good lately. It’s just me and Sandra now. If this keeps up, we’ll have to close the shop.” He says, his gaze on the counter.

You and Laena share a look, as if having a silent agreement.

“But don’t worry, girls.” Lyman smiles once more, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “If the shop closes, I’ll give you my lemon cake recipe so you could have it anytime you want.”

“Lyman…” Laena starts.

Lyman waves her off. “It’s alright now, Laena. Sandra and I will be okay.” He winks before leaving to go back to the counter.

Laena sighs, shaking her head. “Tell me what your dad did again.” She requests, focusing on your problem for now. If you offer Lyman help directly, he wouldn’t accept it. Better to address the issue without him knowing.

“Influenced Jackie to refuse taking my calls, then handed me a stack of names of eligible bachelors interested in me.” You frown, “I wish he would just stop messing with my life, you know? Every time I think I’m close to being happy, he rips it from me. I couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t attempt to use me for his own gain. He sucks the life out of everyone who loves him and it’s so exhausting.”

Laena looks at you sympathetically, feeding you a portion of lemon cake. She waits for you to finish eating before asking, “So, what do you want to do?”

“I want to get back at him.” You mirror Laena’s earlier actions, giving her a bite of the lemon cake. She shoots you a knowing look which you disregard by finishing your coffee, looking away from her.

“Among all your attempts at getting back at your father, which one has worked?” Laena questions rhetorically. Seeing your discomfited look, your friend pushes you further. “You need to take your goal seriously, not just doing things that he can simply brush off. If you want to get back at him, do something that will really leave him unconsolable for a long period of time.”

“Like a scandal?”

Laena raises a brow, “What kind?”

“I don’t know, like… Targeting his favorite business associates on Twitter, spread nasty rumors about our own company, go out with someone he despises or go on a date with someone older than him, spend a large amount of money on a shitty private jet, give people raises without consulting him...”

Laena ponders your ideas, playing out possible scenarios in her head. Your brows furrow, her words to you a couple days prior ringing in your ears.

I am a visionary, Hightower.

She gasps, gripping your arm firmly, the sudden movement jolting you forward.

“Have you met my cousin Rhaenyra?”

“You’re going to take a Hightower as a date to the biggest party of the year? Have you gone mad?” Daemon clenches his jaw, scowling. Laena stood beside him, rolling her eyes at his frenzy of rage. “Do you have any idea how long that family has been plotting against ours?”

Rhaenyra shrugs.

“Since the beginning of time, Rhaenyra!” Daemon answers himself, scandalized at Rhaenyra’s impassiveness. She was going to defy centuries-old rivalry by bringing a Hightower to the Targaryen company’s annual party. Not to mention that Rhaenyra’s date is one of Otto Hightower’s children, making the circumstances worse. Oh, how Daemon hated that cunt. His greed knew no bounds and neither did his ambition. If Daemon had not stepped in, Otto’s quest for power might have dented their family. And now Rhaenyra plans to step on his efforts. Daemon’s hard work will be all for naught. “This would ruin our family’s reputation.” He states, matter-of-factly.

“No, it wouldn’t.” Laena murmurs.

Daemon stares her down.

“Uncle,” Rhaenyra interjects, remaining practical. “This is the scandal we were looking for.”

“This wasn’t what I had in mind.” The silver-haired man expresses.

Rhaenyra regards him for a moment, trying to see the situation from her uncle’s point of view. The Hightowers, second only to the Targaryen business dynasty, are their major rivals. Otto Hightower, the CEO, has been doing everything and anything he can to usurp the title of the biggest conglomerate in Westeros. He came close to achieving his plans once upon a time. Daemon had done something to stop him, but the Targaryens did not come out of the battle unscathed. It took years to bring back the shareholders’ trust and improve their defenses. Getting close to a Hightower would be a suicide mission. Rhaenyra’s date might try to earn her trust in order to achieve her true goal: to gather information on the enemy.

But, as it stands, the Targaryens are grilled by the masses due to Daemon’s recent altercation with Criston Cole. Additionally, the Baratheons refused to move forward with their investment, disliking the idea of their business being affected because they are associated with the Targaryens. Rhaenyra has to resolve this conflict before permanent damage is done. Being associated with a Hightower may do just that.

“Our stocks are plummeting because of your dispute with that Dornish boy. Criston works for Otto. Taking a Hightower to the party would be a power play. It will appear as an alliance between our conglomerates. A truce, if you will.”

The words cause the gears in Daemon’s head to turn. The act would indeed serve as a silent agreement between the families. Cole would be humiliated, which was an added bonus. The company he’s working for humbling him by brokering a deal with the family of the person who destroyed his nose. It will be quite the spectacle. But something wasn’t quite adding up.

“Why would the Hightowers agree to such a thing?” He asks. “Cole has been working for them for a long time now. He’s practically an honorary Hightower. Why insult him through an alliance with us?”

Laena speaks up, smiling sheepishly, “Here’s the thing…” She chuckles nervously, “We’re not… exactly… brokering a deal with all the Hightowers.”

“Just one.” Rhaenyra elucidates.

“What do you mean?”

“It’d be better if she explains it herself.” Says Laena.

Daemon purses his lips, his patience wearing thin. “Who’s ‘she’?”

As if on cue, you enter the room, everyone turning their attention to you. “Apologies for my tardiness.” You say guiltily, freeing your hair from the dark hoodie you were wearing. “I had to get past security.” As you remove your sunglasses, Daemon moves towards you like a predator stalking his prey. You meet his gaze, annoyance shortly crossing your features. “Daemon, is it?”

He doesn’t blink.

You don’t let his coolness perturb you. That’s just how Daemon is, Laena once said when she was talking about her family. He seemed…. Not nice, exactly… But he wasn’t giving you any indication that he was going to punch your face, so it’s something, right?

“I’m Y/n Hightower.”

“Hm.”

Your eyebrows raise in disbelief. You’d think that he’d offer more words based on the way he seemed intent on standing before you. “Right.” You sigh, moving past him to greet Rhaenyra.

The heir to the Targaryen dynasty was clad in grey suit and pants, her tie loose. Rhaenyra welcomes you with a warm smile, ushering you towards the couch. “Please. Sit,” She instructs, waiting until you’ve taken a seat to offer you light refreshments. It hits you suddenly that she was just as nervous as you were, easing your nerves to some extent.

“Lemon cake?” Your eyes light up upon sighting the delicacy, meeting Rhaenyra’s gaze.

She looked flabbergasted that that was the first dessert you turned your attention towards. “Would you like some?” Rhaenyra offers you the plate with a spoon. She knew beforehand that you had a liking for lemon cakes because of Laena’s recent Instagram post. (You and Laena took a photo of you eating lemon cakes, the name of the café plastered on the background.) However, it did little to help her hide the astonishment she felt as she watched you take the cake from her hands eagerly.

Daemon regarded you with thinly veiled disgust. A bug within his family’s premises. Look at you, eating cake and making yourself at home while Rhaenyra is made to play the role of welcoming host. His niece was a willing participant, of course, but that did not make the thought easier to swallow.

You ignore his glare until you could no longer bear it. “Is something the matter, Daemon?”

“Out of all your siblings, why are you the one making a deal with us in behalf of your family?” was his query.

“None of them know I’m here.” You state impassively, passing the plate to Rhaenyra, who fixates on how meticulously the slice of cake was cut in half. It was an impressive feat, bearing in mind that you weren’t using a knife. “Eat.” You murmur to her while resuming your staring match with Daemon.

“Why not?” Daemon scowls.

“I’m doing this behind their back.”

“Why?”

“I want to piss my father off.”

Enthralled by your words, Daemon (at long last) displays an emotion other than disdain, “And why is that?” He tilts his head. Maybe you weren’t as boring as he thought.

“Must there be a reason for wanting to anger him?”

“For me? No. For you? Yes.” Daemon says bluntly, “You’re his daughter. He must have done something unforgivable for you to turn to the enemy.”

“‘Enemy’ is exaggerating it, but alright.”

You tell the three other people present in the room about your frustration with Otto, not leaving anything out. You tell them about the meddling, the lengths he went to in order to cover up your failed romances, the list of eligible suitors, how Otto continues to undermine your hard work, and the rest of the sordid details that even Laena wasn’t aware of. By the end of your report, Daemon was stupefied.

If he didn’t have any more reason to despise Otto Hightower, he surely does now. Otto was despicable in business, but Daemon never thought that he would be the same with his children. Does this man hold no love for anything other than power?

“Your father is a cunt.” says Daemon.

Rhaenyra and Laena gasp at his crassness. He really said those words in front of you, Otto’s daughter. While you might not have the best relationship with your father, it must be grating to have others speak about him in a bad light, the two women think.

You nod, agreeing with Daemon’s words. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

The two Targaryen women lock eyes, shrugging.

“The party is in a week, correct?” You ask to confirm the details.

Rhaenyra shakes her head in affirmation. “Yes. The Hightowers are invited, as always,” Even though your families were at “war” with each other, there was still a place for your family in the Targaryen annual parties. You believed that it was Rhaenyra’s strategy.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

“—But you will be arriving the party with me.” Rhaenyra continues, analyzing your expression. “We have to arrive late, in the middle of my uncle’s speech.”

“Quite the dramatic entrance.” You murmur, a smile gracing your lips. “I like you already, Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra grins triumphantly in response.

You spend the rest of the evening planning out your actions for the party. Daemon continued treating you with apprehension, though he was less insufferable about it. Thank the Seven. Rhaenyra proved to be a pleasant company, assuring you that you would never have a boring moment in the event. The party would last for eight hours, beginning at four p.m. sharp. Every important person you could think of will be there, all the more reason why you and Rhaenyra need to make sure that this would be the biggest scandal of the month.

You just hope that it will drive your father mad.

The day of the party rolls around and you are bubbling with anticipation and anxiety. You and Rhaenyra have been texting each other back and forth about the chaos that would ensue in just a few hours. As you read her recent message, you find yourself grinning at the kitchen table, giddy with excitement for what was to come.

“Ooh, what’s that?” Gwayne speaks from behind you, grabbing your phone. The shock gives you no time to react, your older brother scrolling through the messages. “Who’s ‘R’?” He stretches his arm, holding the phone above his head, and standing on his tiptoes to ensure you wouldn’t be able to reach him. “You have plans tonight?”

Letting your impulse take over, you punch his shoulder, causing him to drop your phone from his hand. Gwayne groans in discomfort while you pick up your phone, identifying where he stopped reading. You let out a sigh of relief once you realize that he wasn’t able to read anything that would indicate your plans for this evening.

“Nothing.” You state stiffly.

“Come on, I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.” You grit your teeth, wondering why he wouldn’t drop the subject.

Gwayne, sensing your displeasure, raises his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, don’t tell me. But the Targaryen party is tonight. Are you sure you want to miss it?”

You recall your earlier practice with Laena, reciting the script she has given you word for word. “I have an important meeting. I can’t go with you tonight.”

“Dad won’t like that.” Gwayne reminds you, “You know how much he loathes them. We need to form a united front against the Targaryens.”

“If he hates them so much, why bother going at all?”

“To keep track of their moves.” Gwayne explains as he takes one of the chocolate pancakes your cooks had made. He then proceeds to chew very loudly in your ear, invading your personal space. “Business 101, sister.” He says, “See, you’d know that if you actually listened to father.”

“Between the scheming and the bullshit he says, it’s hard to tell which one is worth listening to.” You move away from him, sitting down on a kitchen stool.

“What kind of meeting are you going to, anyway? Is it more important than the party?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. Your upcoming scandal with Rhaenyra is more important than the party. But then again, you’d have to be in the event for the scandal to work. But you can’t tell Gwayne that you’re going. It’ll ruin the surprise. But at the same time, your father will wonder why you aren’t going. He’ll probably send Cole after you.

Ugh.

Criston.

“Is it a date?”

“You could say that.” You try to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“What do you want me to tell dad?” Gwayne looks at you seriously, his brows furrowing.

Ever since he could talk, Gwayne’s main goal has been to gain your father’s approval. He thought that if he played the dutiful son, Otto would hand the company over to him. And for a while, your father did give off the impression that Gwayne would be his successor.

Until Alicent decided to go no contact.

You have to applaud Alicent’s resilience. She was twenty-three, fresh out of business school. She had money in her account, but it wasn’t much. Her departure was sudden. You didn’t hear from her until two years later, when her face was plastered on billboards across Westeros as a creative director for a renowned fashion brand. A year after, she started her own fashion company in the luxury industry. Your father reached out to her in order to “reconnect” and they’ve maintained a business relationship since. While the reason for Alicent’s exit remained undisclosed (even to you), it is clear that she is the most favored among your siblings. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Otto gives her the company when he retires.

Since then, Gwayne has decided he was going to “step up”, become the next man of the house. He would take on more responsibility that he can handle, refusing to buckle under the weight of the pressure and hoping that one day, Otto would see him.

“Tell dad I’ll be late.” You mumble, but it was enough for him to hear.

“You won’t be late, though. You won’t attend.” Gwayne points out.

“Don’t worry about it.” You smile, patting his shoulder on the way out.

Hours succeeding your father and brothers’ exit from your estate, you began to get ready. You took your mother’s infamous red dress from her closet, pairing it with some of Rhaenyra’s jewels that she lent you days prior. As you put on the necklace with the Targaryen crest, thrill washes over you. The piece looked good on you and the colors suited you well.

Otto taught you that going against your family is the greatest iniquity you could ever execute. But if committing this grave sin meant seeing the color from his face drain in front of the masses, you would carry out this act of treason a hundred times over. You felt no remorse for what you were about to do. It was about time you paid your father back for the hurt he caused you. However trivial and juvenile it may seem, you had dreamt of this day for a long, long time, despite the specifics being last to get finalized.

You finish putting on your makeup just in time for Rhaenyra’s car to arrive in front of the mansion. You open your door to the sight of her in an off-shoulder, black sleek dress. Her hair was styled in intricate braids with a few strands let out from the left side of her face. She looked otherworldly, like a goddess, perhaps. Rhaenyra had a beauty that could make individuals conclude themselves blessed purely by being around her existence.

“You look lovely.”

“You look beautiful.”

A laugh escapes your lips, finding it amusing, the way you spoke at the same time.

“You look lovely.” You repeat, taking in her features once more.

Her smile widens, “Thank you.” She observed you with awe and another emotion that you couldn’t decipher.

Throughout Rhaenyra’s life, there was never an instance wherein her thoughts were silenced. Her mind consists of a plethora of ideas that tangle themselves together, leading to everlasting noise inside her head. But at the moment, her world was entirely quiet. All she could ruminate about was how ethereal you looked.

“Let’s go?”

Your words snapped her out of the trance-like state, pulling her back to reality. She offers you her hand, which you take in yours, marveling at how gentle her grip was. You make your way to the Mercedes and Rhaenyra opens the door for you.

“And they say chivalry is dead.” You joke as you enter the back seat, Rhaenyra following soon after with an eye roll.

Numerous photographers and journalists lined the entrance of the venue, as if they were waiting for something interesting to happen. Some of them were sat on the ground, scrolling through their phones. These people are likely the ones who weren’t permitted inside the party. The sun has almost set, which meant that the temperature wasn’t as harsh as the earlier hours. But they’ve spent their entire afternoon under its glare, making you feel sorry for them. The heat was a formidable enemy, a sentiment everyone in your vicinity shares.

You feel a hand on top of yours, the tenderness of Rhaenyra’s touch making your breath hitch.

Gods, she’s playing this act a bit too well.

“Daemon texted me.” Rhaenyra says softly, squeezing your hand. “He’s delivering his speech now.”

Gaze fixed upon your hands together, you hum in response, then look back at Rhaenyra. You try to decrypt her emotions, almost losing yourself within those amethyst eyes you find so beguiling. You wanted to know her thoughts about this, if she wanted to push through. A part of your desire to know is due to your own doubts. Doubts that aren’t about the mess you were about to get yourself into, but rather the need to save Rhaenyra from your family before things get out of hand. The Hightowers have done well to mislead the people, persuading them to think that the family is the epitome of composed and organized. However, those who have seen what you and your relatives are like behind closed doors, know that everything you’ve shown to the public is merely a deception. Tonight, would be no different. If Rhaenyra gets insight on how fucked up your family was, she might want to run for the hills.

The second reason is simpler than the first.

You want to know Rhaenyra.

You want to understand how her brain works. You want to know how she is able to get her family through muddy waters and how she comes up with solutions that does not only benefit the Targaryens, but also everyone who associates themselves with them (workers included). You want to know her opinions on things, even the random ones. You want to know how she spends her time when she’s not working. Does she spend it like you do, reading books and doing anything you can think of, or does she have her own preference for how she utilizes the days without work. You want to know what she doesn’t like. You want to know if she hates Jason Lannister like Laena.

You don’t know Rhaenyra Targaryen, but you want to.

The questions you wish to ask don’t come out of your own mouth, however, as Rhaenyra beats you to it.

“Are you sure about this?” Rhaenyra’s brows were furrowed when asking the question, as if she has been thinking for a long time if she wanted to say it. The query was sudden, Rhaenyra’s words coming out in one breath. The situation was laughable, really. You’ve spent the last two minutes trying to figure her out while she was worrying about the same thing with you.

You can’t help but return the question, “Are you?”

“I asked you first.” Rhaenyra huffs, not liking that you evaded her query by shooting the question back at her.

“I’m sure.” You try to quell her worries by your words, ensuring that you sounded as sincere as possible. Rhaenyra doesn’t look convinced by your statement, cocking her head to the side with a challenging look. Gods, this woman was stubborn. “I’m serious, Rhaenyra.” You play with the ring on her finger, noting how that was the only one she was wearing in her hand, an unusual sight, given her love of rings.

Rhaenyra stares at you for a moment longer before determining that she believes you. With a sigh, she puts her phone back in her purse, getting ready to leave the car.

“I wasn’t joking when I asked you the same question, though.” You confess. “Are you sure about this?” Rhaenyra doesn’t respond for a while, which made you even more anxious. “Because if you’re not, then we can just go separately. No one will have to know and we can go about our lives like before.”

The idea of going back to a life without you scheming with her was unacceptable to Rhaenyra. Although she has only been granted the presence of your company for a week and a half, those days have been the highlight of her year so far. To call off your plans would entail the possibility of never speaking to you again. Rhaenyra would rather face Otto Hightower herself than be divested of the chances to hear your laughter. So, with a shake of her head, she utters, “No.”

Your face falls. It was to be expected, really. Who would want to involve themselves with you, with your family? Rhaenyra has every reason to back out. You probably look so stupid right now. But this is for the better. Rhaenyra wouldn’t have to deal with your family and wouldn’t get roped up in your father’s schemes. She probably didn’t even want—

“No, sorry, I meant, I don’t want to go back to the way it was before.” Rhaenyra confesses apologetically. Seeing you crestfallen brought an ache in her chest that gradually spread throughout her entire body like wildfire. “I’m sure of this.” She reassures you, squeezing your hand. Rhaenyra gives you a few seconds to breathe before she tells you that it would be best if the two of you head to the venue now, lest you miss Daemon’s speech and let your strategy go awry.

You thank Erryk for driving you to the place and he wishes you luck before you and Rhaenyra step out of the car.

The journalists, reporters, and photographers don’t notice you for a while, wrapped up in conversations amongst themselves. Erryk drives past you with astonishing speed, leading the press to turn their heads and question whose car it was. Erryk was no longer in sight, but in his place was you and Rhaenyra. The people stared at the two of you, dumbfounded.

“That’s Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

“She’s late.”

“She brought a date.”

“Who is that?”

“No way.”

“It’s Y/n Hightower.”

“Hightower?!”

“Hightower.”

“What are they doing together?”

“Aren’t their families—”

Rhaenyra turns to you, locking your arm with hers, “Ready?”

You exhale shakily, “Ready.” Closing your eyes momentarily, you steel yourself for what was to come.

When you open your eyes again, the media headed towards you and Rhaenyra. Mics were being shoved into your faces left and right. Photographers were snapping pictures of you, the light from their cameras blinding. It was a miracle you could still see.

Three of Rhaenyra’s bodyguards paved the way for you, guaranteeing your safety. They held off the press and made certain that they wouldn’t get too close. You held Rhaenyra’s hand, letting her guide you towards the entrance of the venue. You haven’t even faced the difficult part yet things were beginning to get overwhelming. Though, having Rhaenyra by your side did make it easier.

The security guards positioned at the entrance opened the doors as soon as they saw Rhaenyra. They bowed their heads in respect. You couldn’t hide your grin even if you tried.

“Don’t let go.” Rhaenyra murmured, referring to your interlocked hands.

“I don’t plan to, my darling.”

You could have sworn you heard Rhaenyra’s breath hitch as her grip tightened around your fingers. Together, you entered the venue, walking the red carpet laid before you. The place was massive. Banners with the Targaryen symbol of the three-headed dragon was placed all over the area. There was even a giant dragon statue near the stage. It seemed excessive, but there was no doubt that everything screamed luxury. While you’ve been to Targaryen parties before, you haven’t paid much attention until now.

“—And I thank my brother, Viserys, for giving me the opportunity to—” Daemon’s words get stuck on his throat when his eyes land on his niece and you. Viserys smiles at him cluelessly, wondering why he stopped in the middle of his speech. Aemma had to nudge him to turn his attention to the doors. Daemon hides behind a smirk as everyone in the room looks at you.

The attendees’ disbelief rose to a clamor, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. A Hightower and a Targaryen side by side. Surely, this would be included in the history books to come. Being under the scrutiny of the public gave you an uneasy feeling. You felt like a caged animal, a spectacle. Everyone was looking at you like you’ve done something wrong.

Taking a deep breath, you recall the lessons your father gave you on propriety. You hold your head up high as you waked with Rhaenyra, not letting go of her hand.

Walk now, overthink later.

You spot your father and your siblings on the left, near the stage. Otto had an incredulous look on his face, his eyes widening in horror. You school your expression, refusing to laugh as you imagined the things he would say to you when you got home. If he would even allow you to come home, that is. Gwayne and your brothers stood, dumbfounded, while Alicent raised a glass of champagne towards you, downing it in one gulp. Your father was too fixated on looking horrified at the scene before him to notice. The man would not move. Criston stood by his side with his jaw set firmly. It was hard to tell who was more appalled. Him or Otto. The former’s gaze hardened, staring Rhaenyra down.

At last, you make it to the front. Rhaenyra brings you to the stage, beside her parents, whom you’ve never shared an interaction with.

“Hello.” You smile shyly, unsure what to do.

“Hello, Y/n.” Viserys and Aemma reply, both of them grinning. This was the first time Rhaenyra brought someone with her during a Targaryen party. With a grand entrance, if they may add. They saw the smile on Rhaenyra’s face as she looked at you and immediately knew that you were someone who made their daughter happy. They had more questions, sure, but Rhaenyra seemed content around you and that’s what matters for now.

“It appears my niece has made quite the entrance.” Daemon says into the mic in order to get the attention back to him. “If my speech bore you, you could’ve just said so.” That earned a laugh from the guests.

“Sorry, uncle.” Rhaenyra whispers even though Daemon knew quite well what was going to happen.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” More laughter came from the crowd, successfully turning the attention away from you and Rhaenyra. You silently thanked Daemon for the ephemeral respite from the critical eyes of the masses. “I would like to thank Viserys for giving me a chance in helping him plan this party.” He turns to Viserys, “Your trust means greatly to me. I love you.” Daemon whispers the last sentence and…

Wait.

Is that a tear?

“Lastly, I would like to thank you all for coming and I hope you enjoy the evening.” Applause echoed around the room as Daemon finished his speech, stepping away from the mic and letting Rhaenyra take over. The praise died down promptly, the audience observing Rhaenyra with keen interest, eagerly awaiting her words.

“Good evening, everyone.” The silver-haired woman started. “I apologize for my tardiness. As you know, I’ve never been one to keep track of time. To my uncle, I offer my apologies as well for cutting your hour-long speech short. I know how far you had to go to perfect your writing abilities.” The sea of people dissolved into laughter once again. Daemon narrowed his eyes at her remark. He did not like being mocked. That much was clear. “The Targaryen party is an event that I look forward to each year. Not only do I get to see your lovely faces, but also the simple truth that it brings us together. We may not always see eye to eye on things, especially in business,” Rhaenyra locks eyes with Otto, “but there is no denying that during this day, we are granted the privilege to treat each other as companions. The tensions are eased and everyone gets to enjoy each other’s company,” Your father bristles at Rhaenyra’s words while others murmur in unison, agreeing with Rhaenyra.

“This event is dear for me and my family, which is why I chose today to make my announcement.” Rhaenyra reaches for your hand, “My love,” You move forward, intertwining your fingers together. She analyzes the crowd nervously, fearing their possible response to her impending revelation. “You may know her as an influential and stubborn businesswoman,” You hear Jason Lannister snicker at the word “stubborn”, still not over the stunt you pulled with the Starks. Jason’s family was promised a great deal from the latter, but because of your interference, the Starks offered their contract to you instead. “Or you might know her as Otto Hightower’s daughter . . . I’ve had the honor in getting to know the different sides of her and I can say that she is definitely as tenacious as she looks. It’s a miracle I’m here today, really.” Rhaenyra jests, “But, in all seriousness, this woman has inspired me to do better every day and never failed to offer her support whenever I needed it. You know her as a businesswoman, but right now, I would like to reintroduce her to all of you as the magnificent Y/n Hightower. My partner, the love of my life, and most importantly… my fiancée.”

Otto lets out a strangled cough.

#rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #queen rhaenyra #house of the dragon

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tom-foolery-incorporated · 18 days ago

Note

Worst option; Optimus walks in on Soundwave and Shockwave with the reader as they're fucking

Like, sure, he knows they're safe now, no issue there

But Soundwave reads his mind and suddenly, Optimus is considerably less safe than before

He's very sorry about his sweaty censor bar thoughts. Soundwave wishes bots and cons alike would stop perving on his S/O, they're married ffs, and tbh he doesn't want to see that. He did not need those images in his head

Bout to go blitzo nuts on this

Soundwave x reader, gender neutral AFAB reader, racially ambiguous, slight Optimus Prime x reader, fingering, size kink, creampie, exhibitionism, voyeurism

Optimus was a guest as strange as that sounds. Him and the Autobots were guests to Megatron and his lackeys as the two sort out this whole ordeal.

The Autobots kidnapped you with the best intentions. You were cooped up in Shockwave’s lab by yourself. How could Mirage not be led to believe you were one of the sick scientist’s test subjects? Your kicking and screaming was strange but surely that must just be the trauma from what you went through!

The way you begged to be let back to your husbands surely must just be some form of Stockholm syndrome or perhaps some sort of meddling inside of your mind done by Soundwave?

Wait.

Husbands?

The whole ordeal turned from the Autobots feeling heroic in rescuing a sweet human to the horror of realization when Ratchet tested the ring on your finger; spark casing from two different mechs.

Now Optimus had to clean up this entire mess for the sake of the Autobots’ PR as well as trying to deescalate the war further and figure out what to do with Shockwave’s research. Research he caught Wheeljack’s cooling fans blaring over. While Powerglide had Astoria and it was no secret that they were sexually active with each other, actual research on interspecies relationships between Cybertronians and humans was brand new.

What would happen if the greater human population heard word of this? Cybertronians sexual deviants who only came to earth to pray on helpless humans? You a traitor to your species and planet to court not one but two Decepticons? The whole thing was a meas that made Optimus’ processor ache.

He wanted nothing more than to visit the showers and wash the day off of his plating then return to his assigned habsuite with his fellow Autobots and plan for another stressful day filled with perverted allegations.

While Optimus’ processor mulled over the travesty that was the WaveWave Husband Scandal, as Bumblebee had named it, he didn’t pay much attention to which door he opened until he was greeted with a sight that would forever be burned into his optics.

Soundwave lounged on a berth with his slick coated spike flopped out of his modesty plate and onto his thigh. You were snug against his frame with your legs spread so wide little was left to the imagination. Two blue metal digits from the servo of the same arm that was supporting your body against Soundwave’s pushed in and out of your squelching hole.

You were so wet Optimus wasn’t sure if the human body was capable of safely producing fluids to such a capacity until he saw the ring of pink all too familiar fluid leak around Soundwave’s digits. Soundwave was fucking his own release back into your pretty little hole.

“Your performance was excellent,” Soundwave cooed into your ear. His mask was slipped away into his helm so he could lay soft kisses across your face and torso.

“Please!” You cried with your head thrown back.

“I will keep you stretched for Shockwave’s return,” Soundwave groaned before biting into your side.

You whined out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Too much.” Despite how pained you sounded you humped Soundwave’s fingers as they dipped and swam around in your thoroughly used hole.

You were beautiful.

Optimus understood the appeal of humans and understood why so many of the Autobots were now interested in pursuing interspecies relationships much like Powerglide. Humans were so small and soft. Cute fuzzy bodies that look like that could barely handle being spiked down by a minibot. But seeing this copulation between Cybertronian and human right before him, Optimus couldn’t help the greedy thoughts that pushed aside his stressful day and replaced it with images of you stretched beyond belief and begging for his overload.

“We were so worried,” Soundwave purred giving you a harsh thrust of his fingers. “We were led to believe you were offlined by a fellow Decepticon or by the Autobots.”

Optimus would never. He would never lay a finger on your precious head. Not when you continued to make such cute noises. Please keep sounding like that while he pushes his spike to the base inside you. Your soft stomach extending to make room for such a large intrusion. Optimus imaged laying his servo over your torso like a blanket and feeling how he shifted the insides of your body with his cock.

“I was so scared,” you whined grabbing onto whatever part of Soundwave you could.

Scared? Of the Autobots? Optimus felt a sharp twinge in his spark at the idea. He never wanted to scare you. He never wanted to see any human hurt or scared by his kind. Optimus only wanted to see your face smiling up at him as you shiver in delight through your orgasm. Your own juices gushing like they are now but mixed with his own release instead of-

Suddenly a thought that wasn’t his own permeated through Optimus’ mind. A feeling of pure rage and unadulterated lust for violence.

His panicked optics made contact with the glaring red of Soundwave’s visor.

The mech pulled you closer to his frame and sat up straight bringing his other servo to cover your nude form.

“Prime,” the way Soundwave growl echoed in his helm made Optimus’ battle protocols twitch in preparation for a confrontation.

You still remained unaware of the psychic confrontation happening before you. Your hips still pushed and gyrated against Soundwave’s fingers like it was the only movement you knew.

The leader of the Autobots put his servos up in a calming motion as he backed away hoping you wouldn’t turn and be frightened by his presence.

As gently as a 20 foot mech could, Optimus backed out of the habsuite letting the metal door slip closed with an electric hum.

The noise made you perk up believing Shockwave had returned but you were only met with an empty room where your other lover’s purple form should have been.

“Wha-“ you were cut off by Soundwave trailing his glossa up your chest.

“Nothing to worry about,” Soundwave mumbled between kisses to your skin. He rubbed the spongy spot at the top of your vaginal walls making you buck your hips and moan out his name.

You had been through enough involving the Autobots. All Soundwave wanted for you was to have you writhing in desperate pleasure.

#transformers #soundwave x reader #optimus prime x reader #valveplug #valveplug x reader #optimus prime #soundwave #transformers x reader #transformers x reader valveplug #optimus prime valveplug #soundwave valveplug

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agarbar · 1 month ago

Text

Rumors- Prologue

Sevika x Reader

MDI!! +18

You were Sevika's most loyal pet.

Warnings for whole story: (I will avoid giving too much detail of the plot of the fic, read at your own risk.) SMUT, Sexual descriptions, age gap, ANGST, SLOOOOW BURN (years literaly pass, kidnapping, aggression, Toxic relationship, aggression, cheating (situationship type), Sevika does not even like (or respect) the reader, Reader is delusional. Sevika hasn't lost her arm (yet), manipulation, reader might be described as curvy. More warnings be added later. SLOW WRITER! (sorry)

English is not my first language. I struggle a lot with punctuation and grammar. This will take multiple parts, and its set before the first events of Arcane. Its technically an x reader, but I will avoid using (Y/N) the best I can. There is an age gap in this story, the reader is also a bit weird and obsessive.

Sevika made her way through the crowd, her steel-toed boots making loud thumps as she marched along the wood and metal floors of the Last Drop. She headed to the ornate doorway of the top floor. The men guarding the entrance knew better than to attempt to block her path. The door swung open and banged against the wall, slammed shut just as loud. Silco did not even need to glance up to see who it was, he called her up after all.

“You asked to see me, boss?”

"Have you been taking good care of your pets, Sevika?" Silco questioned as he reviewed their latest shimmer supply record.

She nearly rolled her eyes at his question. "My men know their place— they do as I say, no questions asked. They don’t need pampering."

"You must already know how vital loyalty is for someone of your position. Particularly the ones you are affiliated with." The man poured himself a glass of liquor. “So then? How have you been treating your pets?”

The woman slumped down on a wooden coffee table, not bothering with the fancy velvet settee. "What exactly are you getting at?”

"Certain rumors are spreading around," Silco picked up his drink, swirled the golden-hued beverage, and leaned back in his seat. "In regards to Sheriff Grayson."

Sevika scowled as she heard the Piltie’s name. “What type of rumors?” She drew a cigarette from her vest and dug into her back pocket for her lighter.

"Insiders say Sheriff Grayson is going around digging for dirt."

Sevika blew a cloud of smoke out her nostrils, the burn alleviated the itch in her lungs. “Thought the Piltie had no interest in ‘fixing’ Zaun.”

"The sheriff does have a deal with Vander.” Silco dropped the papers on the table, no longer interested in revising them. “But things can change fairly quickly."

“You think she will start meddling with our business?”

"She might," Silco said, circling his chair to look at his large window. "There are numerous sightings, all late in the night. She visits one person in particular.”

“And you want me to deal with them?”

Sevika could tell Silco was more amused than enraged by the stupidly obnoxious way he swirled the liquid in his glass. Strange, considering that the possibility of the Sheriff suddenly placing importance on their business was a big reason for stress.

“Sources claim that the sheriff has been visiting a little seamstress.”

Sevika froze for a moment. So this was it? This was the reason why you've been avoiding her for months? Her jaw clenched in anger. Of course. Of course, Grayson would be targeting her... she pushed her thoughts aside, focusing on what was important.

“Blue building, three stories high, store front at the bottom, sound familiar?”

"Yes, I know the place.” She answered, gripping the cigar in her thick fingers and drawing it away from her lips.

Silco turned his chair to face her once again.

"The sheriff has been going in late at night, and leaving before sunrise.

The girl was a..... plaything of yours,” He arched his thinning brow. “right?"

Sevika averted her eyes. She despised being questioned. “I never claimed her as my own, just.. entertainment. A distraction.”

Silco leaned back in his chair, his eye never leaving Sevika’s face. "And, don't you think it's odd that the Sheriff is visiting your ‘distraction’, night after night?" his voice both serious and amused.

No, you wouldn’t. You were an attention-seeking hog, but you were too obsessed, too devoted to her for something like that. But then again... you had stopped attending to her needs. After ‘that night’ you had not shown up at the Last Drop to see her. Or tried to seduce her, shown at her doorstep for some fun, or showed your face anywhere she frequented.

“Are you implying she’s a snitch? For Grayson? My brat?”

Silco chuckled, taking another sip of his drink. "I’m not implying anything, Sevika. I’m merely stating the facts. Grayson has been spotted entering that little seamstress shop, night after night. And I find it awfully convenient that your little pet happens to be involved."

Sevika clenched her jaw, her irritation and anger growing with every word Silco spoke. "Bullshit," she hissed. "She would never.”

But a small, nagging doubt crept into her mind. It had been months since you stopped seeing her. Could it be that you were working with Grayson? Betraying her? No, there was no way. Was there?

Sevika took a long drag from her cigarette, calming her nerves before she spoke again. "Even if Grayson has been visiting that shop, it doesn’t prove anything," Sevika said, her tone stern. “There's no proof that they are involved."

"We don't, but we don't have any proof she is not either," Silco said, looking at how his glass gleamed with the moonlight. "I was going to let two of my men give her a visit for answers, but I doubt you'd appreciate me bruising one of your apples."

Sevika grimaced at the thought of you being roughened up by some ruffians. "No. Nobody touches her. I'll handle this myself." She snuffed out, her cigar on one of Silco's trinket plates.

Sevika stood up from her seat, determined to find out the truth. She needed to know if you were truly working with Grayson and if you had sold her out. She headed towards the door, her mind set on confronting the little seamstress she had spent most nights with for the last 3 years. Her hand grasped the door's brass knob.

"Take better care of your pets, Sevika," Silco said, "She was so loyal just months ago."

Sevika paused in the doorway, her hand on the handle. Silco's words dug deep, reminding her of the once loyal girl who used to attend to her needs.

"You think I don't know that Silco?" she said, her voice low and laced with irritation. "Just... let me handle this." She walked out and slammed the door behind her.

#sevika x reader #sevika arcane #sevika #Arcane #sevika x reader smut #sevika x reader angst #sevika x y/n #sevika x you #young silco #arcane silco #wlw #arcane fanfic #sevika fanfic #wlw angst #lesbian #Gar fic fic

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jaikoyaki · 1 month ago

Text

False Alarm

!Kang Haerin x Reader!

"Getting blamed for pulling the fire alarm and almost getting suspended? Annoying. Getting paired with the actual culprit for a project? Fucking mint. Falling for them— wait what?!"

Tags: Enemies to lovers, Highschool au, wedding booth, happy ending, overachiever kang haerin, SLIGHT academic rivalry, idk

Warnings: cursing, Haerin is a nonchalant dreadhead, meddling friends, bad pacing, rushed ending IDFK I JUST WANT TO GET THIS SHIT OUT OF MY DRAFTS😭🙏🙏, this is so long for no reason, but I was too lazy to shorten it, Not proofread😝😝👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

words: 8k(I think)

You pace back and forth, your sneakers scuffing against the dull classroom tiles. The ceiling fan hums faintly above, but it does little to ease the stiff air. The clock ticks loudly, grating against your nerves. But the real culprit isn’t the clock—or the room. It’s Haerin.

She’s sat on the teacher’s desk, one leg crossed over the other, her arms resting casually on her lap. Her sharp, cat-like eyes follow your every move, unreadable. You try to ignore the way her gaze makes your skin crawl—or how it quickens your pulse—but it’s impossible.

“Stop pacing,” she finally says,

You whirl around to face her, exasperated. “Stop locking doors!”

“I didn’t lock it on purpose.”

“Right. And I didn’t follow you because I thought you were up to something sketchy.”

Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing with quiet amusement. She hums softly, the sound brushing against your nerves. “You’ve got a pretty vivid imagination for someone who’s terrible at sneaking around.”

Your face burns. “I wasn’t sneaking!”

“You tripped over a chair in the hallway,”

“I was investigating.” you counter, defensive.

“Sure you were.”

The room feels like it’s shrinking, the tension pressing in on you. Maybe it’s the way her gaze locks onto yours, steady and just a bit too intense. You shift your weight, crossing your arms over your chest—not because it makes you look tougher, but because it feels like the only thing holding you together right now.

She doesn’t look away. Not once.

“Why do you care so much?” she asks eventually, breaking the silence.

The question catches you off guard, and for a split second, your bravado falters.

Why do you care?

You open your mouth to respond but realize you don’t actually have an answer—or at least not one you’re ready to say aloud. Flustered, you wave your arms in frustration. “Because you’re suspicious.”

Haerin raises a single eyebrow, “Suspicious enough for you to follow me for—what, 40 minutes?”

“Forty-five,” you mutter under your breath before you can stop yourself.

Her lips twitch, and then—just barely—you hear it. A laugh. It’s quiet, light, and so brief that for a moment, you’re not even sure you imagined it. It throws you off balance,

And you hate how much it surprises you.

How much it almost makes you smile.

You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re even here?” you ask, leaning against the door. You attempt to look relaxed—cool, even—but you’re painfully aware of how stiff and awkward you must appear.

Haerin regards you with an air of detachment, her expression betraying nothing. Then she shrugs. “No.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“That’s none of your business.”

The silence between you crackles with tension. Neither of you moves. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, but her posture remains perfect, completely unbothered.

Finally, she stands, brushing past you with infuriating ease. Her arm grazes yours, and the faint scent of her shampoo lingers—clean, sharp, unmistakably her.

You freeze.

She doesn’t even glance back as she reaches for the door handle. “Let me know when you’re done playing detective,” she says casually

The door creaks open without resistance.

It was never locked.

You stare after her, dumbfounded. Your shoulders slump as frustration bubbles in your chest.

“Damn you, Kang Haerin,” you mutter, the words too quiet to reach her as she disappears into the hallway.

Damn you for being so pretty.

The thought slips out unbidden, and you run a hand over your face, groaning softly.

Liking someone who almost got you suspended wasn’t exactly the highlight of your senior year, but here you were.

You didn’t even know when it all started.

Or maybe you did, and that was the worst part.

Let's go back a few months.

“L/N, it’s the first week of your senior year, and you’re already in my office.” The principal’s voice carries that mix of disappointment and irritation that makes your stomach twist. He leans back in his chair, exhaling heavily as though the weight of your alleged crimes is just too much for him to bear.

“Not exactly the note we want to start on, is it?”

Detention. For a month.

And it wasn’t even your fault.

The whole mess started when you got lost—an innocent enough situation, right? You were wandering the hallways, clutching a crumpled schedule, trying to find your history class in this architectural monstrosity they call a school. Then, chaos erupted.

Someone—some GENIUS—pulled the fire alarm. Students poured into the hallways like water bursting through a dam, everyone shouting and shoving. In the middle of the commotion, a voice rang out: “It was her!”

And just like that, you were the scapegoat.

By the time you were dragged into the principal’s office, you’d barely had time to process what was happening.

“Principal Kim, I didn’t do it!” you’d pleaded, gripping the edge of the chair so hard your knuckles turned white. “I can’t afford to lose my scholarship over this—it wasn’t me!”

He’d pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly weighing whether he cared enough to believe you.

After a long pause, he sighed. “I’ll give you detention instead of suspension. But, L/N, if there’s another incident, my hands are tied.”

Fast-forward, You storm out of the office, phone in hand, thumbs flying across the screen as you rant in your group chat. Rage boils under your skin, making your fingers tremble as you type. You’re so focused on venting that you don’t even notice the person in your path until you crash into them—hard.

A metallic clatter echoes on the tile floor.

You look up, already muttering an apology, and freeze.

It’s her.

The girl who pulled the fire alarm.

“You!” you blurted, pointing an accusatory finger.

She stares at you for at least five seconds before tilting her head, her expression calm, almost detached.

"Do I know you?" she asks,

Your blood pressure skyrockets. “You know exactly who I am! I’m the one who got blamed for your little stunt!”

Her brow furrows slightly, like she’s genuinely confused—or maybe just a really good actress. For a split second, doubt flickers in your mind.

Was it her?

But then you see it.

The half-finished graffiti on the wall behind her. A vibrant swirl of colors, interrupted mid-spray.

It's definitely her.

“Do you realize how much trouble you caused me?”

“Do you realize how loud you’re being?”

Her calm demeanor only fuels your anger and before you know it, you’ve snatched the spray can from her hand.

She finally reacts—a surprised yelp, quickly changed to a glare. “What the hell’s your problem?”

“My problem?” you snap, voice rising. “LISTEN YOU CRETINOUS BLUNDERBUSS, I ALMOST got suspended because of you! And if I get suspended, I’ll have a record. If I have a record, I can kiss my dream college goodbye. If I don’t go to my dream college, I won’t get into any college. And if I don’t go to college, I’ll end up broke, homeless, and probably dead in a ditch—”

You stop, chest heaving. Maybe a little dramatic, but who cares? You're frustrated.

She raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “You done?”

Your hands clench around the spray can. “I hate you,” You sputter, too stunned to even form a coherent insult.

“You know, I’d run if I were you.”

You blink. “Run from wha—”

“Student!”

Your body goes rigid. That voice—it’s a teacher.

You whip around, dread pooling in your chest. Sure enough, a teacher stands at the end of the hall, their stern gaze locking onto you.

You, with a spray can in hand, standing in front of the vandalized wall like a walking, talking confession.

“Stay right there!”

You do not stay right there. Your brain short-circuits. You’re running before you can think, adrenaline kicking in.

You tear around a corner, heart pounding so hard you swear it’s trying to escape. The girl’s ahead of you, her jacket flapping behind her as she darts into the girls’ bathroom. You hesitate for half a second before diving in after her.

You stumble inside, gasping for air, bracing yourself against the sink. “What the hell?!”

She’s by the mirror, calmly washing her hands like she’s got all the time in the world.

“I warned you,” she says, not even glancing your way.

“You warned me?!” You stare at her, incredulous. “You—ugh!”

She grabs a paper towel, dabbing her hands dry with infuriating nonchalance. The dripping faucet is the only sound in the tense silence that follows.

You gesture wildly to the graffiti on the walls. “Let me guess—this is your handiwork too?”

She doesn’t answer, just tosses the paper towel into the trash and heads for the door.

“I could report you,” you snap, desperation creeping into your tone.

She pauses, one hand on the doorframe. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to her.

Then she looks over her shoulder, her expression cool and detached. “Go ahead.”

Her words are like a punch to the gut.

And then she’s gone, leaving you standing in the stinky dingy bathroom with nothing but your anger and the faint scent of paint lingering in the air.

Who the hell does she think she is?

“Kang Haerin. Top student, perfect grades, a shelf full of awards, always getting called up at recognitions."

You slump back in your seat at the cafeteria table, staring at the picture on Ryujin’s phone like it’s going to change if you just squint hard enough. But nope—it’s the same as it was five minutes ago.

She's pretty.

"Are you sure she was the one who pulled the fire alarm?” Hyunjin pipes up, snatching one of Ryujin’s fries before she can swat his hand away.

“Yeah… I mean, with that kind of reputation, it does sound crazy,” you admit, your voice trailing off. Your eyes linger on the screen. The photo is a little blurry, but it’s enough.

Long, sleek black hair.

Straight bangs that frame her face perfectly.

And those stupid cat-like eyes.

Too pretty.

It’s her. It has to be her.

“Uh-huh.” Hyunjin gives you a skeptical look, biting into the stolen fry. “Maybe you should stop skipping your meds, Y/N. You’re starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist.”

You glare at him, swatting weakly in his direction. “Shut up. It really is her.” Your voice is firm, but there’s a small crack of doubt that you hate hearing.

Across the table, Ryujin snatches her phone back, narrowing her eyes at Hyunjin. “Can you not?” She punctuates her words by smacking his hand when he reaches for another fry.

“I believe you,” she says, offering a small shrug “I mean, Kang is… mysterious. Who knows what she’s hiding under all that? She could totally have a rebellious side.”

“Thank you!” you groan, practically collapsing forward onto the table. It’s the first time anyone has taken you seriously since this whole mess started.

Ryujin nods, shoving another fry into her mouth with a look of satisfaction. “People always act like the quiet ones are angels, but those are the ones you gotta watch out for. You ever see those crime documentaries? It’s always the straight-A students who turn out to be arsonists or something.”

Hyunjin snickers. “Okay, but setting a fire alarm off is a little different from being an arsonist.”

“Exactly!” you snap, slapping the table for emphasis. A little too hard, judging by the sting in your palm. “She’s too perfect. Nobody’s that perfect without hiding something.”

“Or,” Hyunjin says, smirking, “you’re just mad you got detention and need someone to blame.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Ryujin beats you to it, jabbing a fry in his direction. “Shut it, Hyunjin. You weren’t there."

"And yesterday? She didn’t even flinch when I called her out. Just stared at me like I was crazy. Who does that?” you huff

“Someone who’s got nerves of steel, apparently,” Hyunjin says, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head.

“Or someone who knows you can’t prove it.”

The comment hits harder than you want to admit. Because it’s true. You’ve got nothing. Not a shred of evidence that anyone’s going to take seriously. Straight-A Kang Haerin, the school’s golden girl, secretly pulling fire alarms and vandalizing walls? It sounds ridiculous. Even you know that.

so you decided to let it go...for now.

or not.

It's been days since that whole thing went down, and you're still stuck in detention. Of course. Ever since then, there's been this weird tension between you and Haerin. Every time you pass each other in the hall, it turns into a silent showdown of eye contact. First one to look away loses. Which, honestly, feels a little...gay? Anyway, she wins most of the time, but whatever—it's not like you're keeping score.

Today seems like another regular day of Haerin being her usual know-it-all self. That is, until you suddenly speak up.

“What’s the point of giving people ‘equal chances’ when they’re starting from completely different places?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

Haerin blinked, caught off guard, but quickly regained her composure. “Because without a system of clear rules, any attempt at equality becomes chaotic. How do you decide who gets what without creating even more inequality in the process?”

You lean back in your chair, forcing yourself to sound relaxed. “Easy. You focus on the people who’ve been left out the most—actually listen to them and adjust the system to fit their needs.”

“Adjust the system?” Haerin repeats, her voice smooth but with a faint edge of disbelief. “That’s a nice thought, but in the real world, people in power don’t just hand over control. Change has to come from within the system.”

You can’t stop yourself from scoffing. “Within the system? Right. Because the people who created the problem are totally the ones who’ll fix it.”

Her lips twitch, like she’s holding back a smirk. “So, what’s your plan? Let people just figure it out themselves?”

“Pretty much,” you shoot back, “It’s not about swooping in to ‘fix’ things for them-”

Haerin’s eyes narrow just slightly, but her voice stays annoyingly calm. “That assumes everyone has the resources or education to organize themselves effectively. Not everyone’s equipped to lead change. That’s why structured solutions work better.”

You don’t miss the implication—like she’s saying you wouldn’t be equipped to handle it. You bristle, your words coming out sharper than intended. “Wow, sounds like someone doesn’t trust people to think for themselves. That must be nice, deciding what’s best for everyone else from your perfect little bubble.”

Her eyes flash, and for a moment, you think you’ve hit a nerve. “Better than standing on the sidelines, throwing ideas around with no plan to back them up. Guess some of us prefer action over aimless complaining.”

Your classmates exchange looks, some clearly entertained by the impromptu showdown. “Action, huh? Like pulling fire-"

The teacher finally sighs, holding up a hand. “Enough, you two. This isn’t a competition.”

You shut up, mostly because you don’t want a month of detention turning into two.

“Now,” the teacher continues, “since you’re both so enthusiastic about participating, you’ll have the perfect opportunity to work together.”

Your stomach sinks.

“For the upcoming group project, Kang and L/N, you’ll be partners.”

Are you fucking serious?

just as you thought detention for a month couldnt be worse.

YOU just made it worse

you sigh as you slumped back in your seat, you take a glimpse at haerin brows furrowing as you see her...holding back a smile?

Weird.

Haerin kept her face neutral when the professor called out your names as partners, but inside? She was buzzing.

You were different. No one ever challenged her in class—most people either agreed with her or kept quiet. But you? You stood up and fired back without hesitation, and you surpringly made sense. You weren’t just smart; you were sharp. Every argument you made earlier was solid, like you’d thought about it for hours instead of coming up with it on the spot And the way your eyebrows scrunched when she pushed back with her own point? That was unfairly adorable. Not that she’d ever admit it out loud. She wouldn’t even admit it to herself—not fully.

She told herself it was annoying. You were annoying. But it didn’t feel annoying. It felt… like you were getting under her skin in a way no one else ever had. And the really frustrating part? She didn’t hate it.

She liked it.

She liked you.

She wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the day you stormed up to her, finger pointed and accusing her of pulling the fire alarm. Sure, she might’ve pulled it, but was it her fault you got blamed? Not at all.

She should’ve been defending herself or at least rolling her eyes at you, but all she could focus on was how your hair fell perfectly into your face while you were ranting. Or the way your voice got higher when you were mad. And your eyes. Even when you were glaring at her like she was your mortal enemy, there was something soft about them, like you weren’t capable of actually hating anyone.

She hated that she noticed all of that.

And she really hated that she didn’t hate it at all.

-A month ago-

"You know her?" Haerin asked casually, though her voice was just a little too steady as she looked over at Danielle.

Danielle, ever the social butterfly, didn’t even need to ask who Haerin meant. She tilted her head toward your table and squinted. "Which one? Ryujin? Oh! She’s the guitari—"

"No," Haerin interrupted quickly. "The one holding her phone."

Danielle’s eyes narrowed as she tried to place you. Just then, you slapped the table, the sharp sound cutting through the room. A few heads turned briefly before everyone went back to their conversations.

"Ohhh," Danielle said, finally making the connection. "Y/N. L/N Y/N. She’s the new transfer, senior, SUPER pretty, Super kind—" Danielle rambled, sipping from her orange juice.

'Super kind? Yeah, sure.' Haerin thought.

But the super pretty part? Yeah… she wasn’t about to argue with that. Not even a little bit

"Why? Why do you ask?" Danielle asked, turning her full attention to Haerin. Her head tilted slightly, and her eyebrows knitted together in curiosity. Then, as if struck by lightning, her eyes widened.

"Wait a second. Don’t tell me you like her."

At that, the whole table froze.

Hanni stopped mid-game on her Nintendo, her head snapping up. Minji put her phone down entirely,

"Haerin likes who?!" Hyein chimed in, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling with interest.

“No one,” Haerin said quickly, groaning as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I ran into her yesterday. I just… wondered why I hadn’t seen her before.”

The table stayed quiet for a second, then erupted in disbelief.

"Yeah, okay," Minji said, smirking.

"Sure sure," Hanni muttered, clearly unconvinced.

Hyein just went, “Ooooh,” dragging it out long enough for Haerin to want to crawl under the table.

"Are you cert-"

"Shut up."

Working with you wasn’t THAT bad. Haerin wouldn’t say it out loud—obviously—but you were a lot more organized and reliable than she’d expected. No slacking off, no ghosting. Honestly, you made the whole project way easier than she’d thought it would be.

Somehow, you’d both slipped into a routine. After class, meet up, work on the project, exchange a few sarcastic remarks, rinse and repeat. It worked. Eventually, you agreed—reluctantly—to swap numbers 'for better communication.' Not that Haerin hesitated. If anything, she grabbed your phone and typed her contact in like it was no big deal. Suspiciously fast.

Somewhere along the way, the bickering shifted. It wasn’t annoying anymore—it was… kind of fun? Almost normal? Maybe even nice??? Everytime she teases you, everytime you call her out, there was this flicker in her eyes. Amusement, maybe? Whatever it was, it made you forget to be annoyed.

And then there was her calmness. Like, even when you got frustrated and started spiraling. Her soft, steady voice was like a hand pulling you back from the edge.

Not that you’d ever admit that either.

You didn’t want to think about it too hard. But you also couldn’t help noticing these little things about her: the way she tapped her pen when she was thinking, or how she hummed quietly while fixing her notes. Stuff you wouldn’t have picked up on before.

Weird.

Haerin knocks on your door three times.

Three. Times.

She knocked on YOUR door.

Why was she at your house again?

Haerin's phone buzzed as your text lit up her screen. She clicked the notification immediately, her lips pursing as she read your message.

"Sorry can't meet up today, I'm sick."

Haerin raises an eyebrow, her fingers hovering over the keys as she types a reply.

haerin: No you're not.

y/n: Yes, I am.

haerin: What sickness do you have? A mental one?

She leans back in her chair, barely suppressing a laugh at her own comeback. You stare at the message for a moment, eyebrows furrowing.

y/n: SEVERE COLD, HAERIN.

haerin: You're probably faking it 🙄

y/n: WHY WOULD I FAKE HAVING A SEVERE COLD?

haerin: Idk, so you wouldn't work on the project, ig...

Your eyes widen. Typing out a response as you scroll through the project files on your laptop.

y/n: WE'RE LITERALLY ALMOST FINISHED.

haerin: What's your address?

You blink at the message.

y/n: Why? So you can bomb my house?

haerin: So I can come over and see if you're actually sick.

You smirk, flipping over onto your bed with a dramatic sigh.

y/n: You just want to see me... omg, are you worried about me? ❤💜😋

You laugh as you send it, but your heart skips a beat as you wait for her reply. Haerin’s fingers freeze for a second, the playful edge in her expression faltering. She inhales, trying to cover up the slight warmth that creeps up her neck.

Haerin: Worried ur face, what's your address? I'm coming over -_-

You laugh at her response, shaking your head as you type back.

Y/N: You idiot, do you not know severe cold is contagious?

Haerin: And?

Y/N: YOU'RE GONNA GET INFECTED BY ME????

Haerin’s fingers types back, repeating your sarcastic tone earlier.

Haerin: Omg, are you worried about me? ❤💜😋

Y/N: Yeah, if you get sick too, who's gonna finish the project? 🥺💔

She stares at her screen for a moment, her expression softening despite herself. She types quickly, trying to cover up the sudden warmth in her chest.

Haerin: Just send the address.

You grin, sending a pinned location.

And that’s how Haerin ends up standing in front of your door. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, balancing a plastic bag with a small container inside in one hand and her laptop tucked under her arm.

When you open the door, Haerin’s breath hitches for just a moment as she takes you in: the messy bun perched high on your head, the oversized pajama top slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing the curve of your collarbone, and black shorts that hang loosely on your frame. Your nose is red probably from sneezing, but your eyes, tired as they are, still carry that spark she’s always noticed. The way the light catches on the little stray hairs framing your face, the faint glisten of chapstick on your lips

What flavor is it? Cherry? Mint? She clamps down on the thought immediately. No no stop gay thoughts

"You actually came?" you say with a hoarse cough, your voice scratchy but still teasing.

She nods subtly, unable to tear her eyes away. There’s something disarming about seeing you like this—unguarded, cozy, real. You catch her staring, and she quickly looks away, her cheeks heating.

She pretends to inspect the plastic bag in her hand, as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Come in, weirdo,” you say, snickering, stepping aside and pushing the door wider.

Haerin steps in, her gaze darting around.

The place is clean—just as she expected—but noticeably quiet.

"You live alone?”

You close the door behind her with a shrug. “Yeah.”

Her eyebrows lift slightly. “Oh.”

"Where are your parents?"

“They died,” you add, deadpan.

Haerin freezes mid-step, her face falling. “I’m so—”

“Kidding!” You burst into laughter, which quickly turns into a series of harsh coughs. “They live across the country.”

Haerin’s jaw tightens as she smacks your shoulder lightly. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” you wheeze between coughs.

She rolls her eyes though there was a hint of worry as she toes off her shoes, setting the bag on the table.

“What’s that?” you ask, sniffling as you flop back onto the couch and burrito yourself in a blanket.

“Samgye-tang,” she mumbles, awkwardly standing in the middle of your living room, laptop still tucked under her arm.

“For what?”

“For you.” The words slip out before she can stop them. She fumbles. “It’s… uh, good for colds. I Googled it.”

You chuckle, your voice raspy. “How sweet.”

“Anyways,” she mutters, trying to mask the flustered tone as she pulls out her laptop, “we need to finish the project.”

You laugh at how quickly she switches topics. “How swift.”

“Ahh, let’s start,” she whines, failing to hide her smile as she plops onto the couch beside you.

Before opening her laptop, she pulls something from her pocket: a white face mask.

“I’m kinda offended,” you say as she slips it on.

“Don’t wanna get infected.” came her muffled voice through the white mask.

You rolled your eyes, slumping deeper into your blanket cocoon. “I thought you said ‘and?’”

Haerin didn’t answer. Instead, she just smirked, her eyes narrowing playfully, and flipped open her laptop. The hum of the device filled the air as she pulled up the project files.

Time flies and the once stillness of your house is now filled with the faint hum of Bruno Major’s Nothing playing in the background. The comforting melody wove through the air, blending with the soft clink of your spoon against the bowl as you sipped the soup Haerin had brought.

The soup was warm, richer than anything you would’ve bothered to make for yourself. It coated your throat, easing the lingering scratchiness from earlier. It was good—surprisingly good. And she’d bought it for you.

The thought made you pause, your spoon hovering mid-air.

When did this happen?

When did you and Haerin get this close?

Just months ago, she’d been the girl who pulled the fire alarm as a stupid joke(?), leaving you to take the blame. You still remember the awkward shuffle to detention every day for a whole month. You hated her then.

But now...

Now, she was here. In your house. On your couch.

Her laptop sat abandoned beside her, her head resting against your shoulder, her breaths slow and even.

She was asleep.

on your shoulder.

You turned your head slightly, careful not to wake her, and caught a glimpse of her face. With her mask pushed below her chin, her lips were slightly parted, her usually sharp features softened by the glow of the lamp. Her hair framed her face like she was the main character in some cheesy movie scene.

Your shoulder should’ve been aching by now, but it wasn’t.

Instead, there was a strange warmth blooming in your chest.

You stared at her, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like the blanket you were cocooned in. The realization crept in slowly, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

When did you stop hating her?

No—when did you start liking her?

Your heart gave an unsteady thud, loud enough that you were half-convinced she’d wake up and hear it. You looked away, setting the now-empty bowl on the coffee table, trying to stop the thoughts in your head.

This doesn’t mean anything, you told yourself. She’s just here because of the project.

But that didn’t explain the soup. Or the way her head fit so naturally against your shoulder. Or why, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to push her away.

Because even as you turned back to the glowing laptop screen, the weight of her head on your shoulder grounded you in a way that felt... nice.

Too nice.

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at her again. Just one more time. Her lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks, and her lips twitched ever so slightly, like she was dreaming.

And for the first time in a while, you weren’t annoyed with her. You weren’t frustrated or rolling your eyes.

Instead, you felt something else entirely.

"This is seriously gross. I hope they get kicked out," Hyein fake-gagged, pretending to shove her finger down her throat.

"Call me delusional, but I've NEVER seen Haerin smile that much in one day," Hanni whispers, leaning over her textbook.

“Right?” Ryujin chimed in, flipping a page of her notebook like she wasn’t dropping a bombshell. “Can’t believe they’re not together yet.”

“They’re not?” Hyein and Hanni’s heads whipped around so fast you’d think they’d snapped their necks. Their voices rang out louder than intended, drawing a sharp glare from the librarian across the room.

"You guys didn't know?" Ryujin raises a brow.

"No!" Hyein and Hanni hiss in unison, which earns them another sharp glare from the librarian across the room. They duck their heads, covering their mouth.

Minji, equally scandalized, glances over at the two of you. "Wait, so... why not?"

Ryujin shrugs like she couldn’t care less, though her smirk says otherwise. "Beats me. Guess no one’s got the guts to confess."

“They’ve got to be, like, this close to confessing, though,” Hanni whispered, holding her thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart.

“Not happening,” Ryujin replied without looking up from her notes. “Y/n’s definitely not confessing first. She’d die before admitting she likes someone.”

From their point of view, it looked more like a cozy date than a group study session. Haerin had insisted on sitting apart from the others, claiming the group was "too distracting." Her excuse for picking you instead? “You’re less distracting.” The irony wasn’t lost on anyone.

At your table, Haerin was mid-rant about the superiority of tomatoes over avocados, her words spilling out like a flood. You weren’t even sure how the conversation had started, but she’d gone from mildly passionate to full-on Eminem-speed enthusiasm. The right earbud of her headphones in your ear, the left in hers, the music was playing "flaming hot cheetos" by clairo. this is so gay, omg wait.

And you? You were absolutely useless. All you could do was nod along, every word she said melting into background noise as your focus stayed glued to her. The way her lips curved into a smile every time she made a point. The way she'd playfully hit you when you occasionally tease her. The little crease in her brow when she was trying to organize her thoughts. The warmth in her voice when she was really, truly excited about something.

She was so... Haerin. There was no one else like her. She was warm but guarded, quiet but opinionated, reserved until she wasn’t. And, as much as you hated to admit it, you were a goner.

"Yeah- Wow. Y/N is GONE," Minji whispers, pointing in your direction.

"Awwh, shes looking at Haerin like she’s the only person on earth," Hyein mutters, earning a snort from Hanni.

"You know what we need to do?" Hyein suddenly perks up, her grin nothing short of mischievous. "We should bet on who confesses first."

"10,000 won on Y/N," Minji declares immediately, pulling a crumpled bill out of her pocket and slapping it onto the table. "No way Haerin makes the first move."

"I'm in," Danielle says, jolting awake from what everyone thought was a nap. She stretches lazily and plucks out her own contribution.

"Hold up. Isn’t this, like... morally questionable?" Hanni asks, though she’s already digging through her bag.

"Okay, but since when were you morally anything, Hanni?" Hyein quips, raising an eyebrow. Hanni gasps, clutching her bag like she’s been deeply wronged, before casually tossing in her money.

The group splits quickly—Hyein, Minji, and Ryujin bet on you, while Hanni and Danielle side with Haerin.

"Okay hear me out," Hanni leans in conspiratorially, her tone serious. "Haerin’s shy, yeah, but i feel like she's the type to make a surprise move when no one’s expecting it."

“Haerin? A surprise confession?” Minji deadpanned, her tone dripping with skepticism. “Y/N’s been pining for weeks. They’ll crack first.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night” Hanni retorted. "I have faith in Haerin’s game bro.”

The debate continues in hushed whispers, the occasional glare from the librarian barely slowing them down. Eventually, Hyein claps her hands together, her grin wider than ever.

“WAIT, What if neither of them confesses?” Ryujin said, leaning back in her chair.

"Okay, so if neither of them confesses by the end of the week, we *make* it happen." hyein says

“Meddling feels kinda wrong, though,” Danielle said, frowning slightly. “Doesn’t it?”

“You’re already betting on them,” Minji pointed out. “May as well go all in.”

"Exactly," Hyein says, the gleam in her eyes downright devious. "They’re both gay oblivious disasters. Someone’s gotta give them a little push."

The group nodded in agreement, the stakes set. They whispered plans and strategies, the quiet library filling with the sound of low murmurs and barely stifled laughter as they decided whose side to take and what meddling might be necessary.

Across the room, you and Haerin were oblivious, still locked in your bubble. Her rant about tomatoes had derailed into a tangent about guacamole, and you hadn’t stopped smiling once.

“You’re not even listening, are you?” Her voice broke through your internal spiral.

“Huh?” You blinked, heart stuttering when you realized she was looking right at you, her head tilted slightly in mock suspicion.

“I said,” she leaned in closer, the scent of her shampoo soft but overwhelming in this moment, “you’re just nodding to everything I say.”

“I… agree with you?” you tried, hoping your smile wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

She laughed—a soft, melodic sound that made your chest ache.

“So, Valentine’s is coming up…” Her voice dropped a notch, softer now, almost hesitant.

Your heart skipped a beat. She let the sentence hang there, unfinished. Hope flickered in your chest, reckless and eager. Was this it? Was she—?

“…If you would like to help me with our booth?” she finished, though something in her voice wavered, like it wasn’t what she’d really meant to say.

Oh.

The flicker of hope sputtered, dimming.

“Hahaha…pleaseee...We’re friends, right?” Haerin laughed, but it was tight, strained. Her eyes broke away first, dropping to the textbook in front of her like it had all the answers she couldn’t find in this moment.

Her thoughts were spinning wildly, one plea looping on repeat. Please don’t say we are. Please don’t say we are. She just needed a sign—something to confirm that this wasn’t all in her head.

“Yeah, we are.” You nodded, forcing a smile, feeling the words land heavy on your tongue. "I'll help"

No, we aren’t.

But you said it anyway, and Haerin swallowed the ache that came with it.

She wished it were different. She wished you’d called her bluff.

You were perched at your desk, half-heartedly flipping through your notebook while trying to focus on your chemistry homework. "Focus, Y/N," you muttered, rubbing your temple. It was supposed to be a free day—a rare reprieve during the school festival, when most students were outside enjoying the chaos of booths and events. So why were you stuck inside, pretending to be productive?

Oh, right, because the last thing you needed was to run into her.

The mere thought made you groan, slumping further into your seat. It wasn’t like you were avoiding her—okay, maybe you were—but could anyone blame you? It was only a few weeks ago that you convinced yourself she’d friend-zoned you, and ever since, you’d been determined to distance yourself before your feelings spiraled further out of control.

You sighed, flipping a page. “This is fine,” you whispered, as if convincing yourself. After all, who needed cotton candy and cheap prizes when you had stoichiometry and self-loathing?

"Y/N!" A sudden pat on your shoulder startled you. You turned to see your seatmate, who gestured toward the door.

There, standing with unsettlingly grins, were Hanni and… Minji?

"Y/N L/N?" Hanni called out.

"Yeah?" you replied cautiously. That was all the confirmation they needed. In an instant, they were heading straight for you.

"Come with us," Minji said, not waiting for a response as she helped you up.

“Wait—what’s going on?” you asked, but Hanni was already tying a blindfold over your eyes.

"Am I getting kidnapped?” you muttered as Minji tugged you out of the classroom.

Several minutes of stumbling through hallways, bumping into walls, and almost tripping down the stairs later, they finally guided you into another room.

You heard hurried shuffling and faint whispers before everything went eerily quiet.

Wait… was this their booth?

Your mind flickered back to something Minji had mentioned yesterday about a wedding booth, and unease crept up your spine. Before you could say anything, wedding music suddenly blasted through the room.

"EVERYONE PLEASE TAKE YOUR SEATS, THE CEREMONY IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!!" Ryujin’s unmistakable voice echoed through a microphone, and the room erupted in cheers and laughter.

"Hold up—" you started, but Hanni and Minji were already leading you onto what felt like a raised platform. A veil was suddenly placed over your head, and you could only stand there, bewildered.

"Today, we are gathered here at this most sacred… uh, classroom corner… to witness the union of these two lovely individuals!" Ryujin’s voice rang out again, brimming with mock seriousness.

Laughter and cheers filled the room again, but one pair of eyes wasn’t laughing.

"You may now remove your blindfolds!" Ryujin announced dramatically.

Your hands fumbled behind your head, untying the knot. As the cloth slipped from your face, you blinked, your vision adjusting to the light

What the hell?

Hyein leaned against the booth’s table, lazily sipping on a soda while sneaking glances at Haerin. Perfect timing. Right on cue, she spotted Minji and Hanni practically manhandling you down the hallway. You, blindfolded, were stumbling and muttering protests while they cackled like maniacs.

“Oh. My. GOD!” Hyein gasped dramatically, slamming her soda can down on the table.

Haerin looked up, “What?”

“Do you SEE that?!” Hyein pointed, her eyes wide. “Minji and Hanni are—oh my gosh—they’re dragging Y/N! AND she's blindfolded!”

Haerin’s brows furrowed, her gaze immediately snapping to you being dragged down the corridor. “Why are they—”

“No idea,” Hyein interrupted, grabbing Haerin’s arm with a gasp that was so over-the-top it bordered on comical. “But we havee to follow them. What if they’re kidnapping Y/N?!”

"Why are you speaking like tha—"

“Come ON!” Hyein didn’t give her time to finish, already tugging her along.

"Dude?"

And there he was—Hyunjin. In a suit. Or, more accurately, some half-baked attempt at one. He stood in front of the makeshift wedding booth, the blindfold finally off, wearing an expression that screamed he'd rather be anywhere else.

Your eyes widened. “Uh… what is this?”

Hyunjin tugged at the collar of his ill-fitting costume. “Wedding booth,” he said flatly. “Don’t look at me—I got roped into this. Apparently, someone actually paid for it, so just… play along.”

10 minutes ago...

Hyunjin groaned dramatically as Minji and Hanni hauled him through the hallway, his sneakers dragging against the tiled floor. "I’m on Y/N’s side. Why am I even helping you guys?"

"Just shut up," Minji snapped, yanking his arm harder. Hyunjin stumbled over something on the floor—probably an abandoned textbook, or maybe just his own pride.

"Minji, you’re on Y/N’s side too, you traitor—ow!" He gasped in mock betrayal as she gave him a little shove.

"The bet is off," Hanni groaned, throwing her hands in the air. "It’ll be the apocalypse before they confess to each other. We’ve given them so many chances."

“Exactly,” Hyunjin grumbles. “Why are we still doing this then?”

“Because we’re desperate,” Minji retorts, dragging him forward. “Now quit whining.”

"Fine, whatever, but is the blindfold really necessary?" Hyunjin wiggled his eyebrows, trying to peek under the fabric tied snugly over his eyes.

"Yes," Minji said firmly, steering him to the right. "Watch your step."

They stopped outside a classroom door, and Hyunjin immediately perked up at the sound of Ryujin’s voice.

"Jin! Good, you’re here." Ryujin slapped a bundle of fabric to his chest. "Here, put this on."

"What's this?" Hyunjin asked, holding the mysterious item at arm’s length.

"It’s a costume, obviously," Ryujin said, barely hiding her amusement. "Hurry up! They already went to fetch her."

Hyunjin groaned again, "Can I at least take off the blindfold?"

"No."

“What… is this?” Haerin asked,

“OhHh my god,” Hyein whispered, nudging her. “It’s a wedding booth! Look, they’re marrying Y/N and Hyunjin. Isn’t that, like, sooo cute?”

Haerin’s jaw tightened as she stared at the setup, something twisting in her chest. “It’s… stupid,” she muttered.

“Dearly beloved,” Ryujin began, her voice overly solemn, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of Y/N and Hyunjin in holy—uh—festival matrimony.”

The room filled with laughter as Ryujin continued, but Haerin stood frozen near the doorway.

It's just a booth.

A stupid booth. She repeated the thought like a mantra, but it did little to supress the sharp ache in her chest. Her fists tightened at her sides.

"Now, Hyunjin, do you take Y/N to be your unlawfully wedded wife in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and be true to her in all things until death alone shall part you?" Ryujin said, trying way too hard to sound like a pastor. She squinted at Hyunjin, her expression screaming, just go along with it, dude.

"I do," Hyunjin sighed, finally giving in.

Ryujin nodded and turned to you, clipboard in hand. "And Y/N, do you take Hyunjin to be your unlawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and be true to him in all things until death alone shall part you?"

You hesitated, glancing at the amused faces around you. "I guess…?"

From the sidelines, Hyein smirked and nudged Haerin. “They’re actually doing it. You’re just gonna stand there and let Y/N and Hyunjin get fake-married?”

Haerin’s chest tightened. Her breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “It’s just a booth, Hyein,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Yeah, Haerin. Just a booth.

But if it was just a booth, why did this feel like someone had pulled the ground out from under her?

Why did it feel… real?

"Then by the power vested in me—”

Hanni nudged Ryujin. “Dude, you forgot the thing.”

“Right,” Ryujin cleared her throat, adjusting her glasses for effect. “Before we proceed, if anyone has objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Haerin froze. Her mind was suddenly everywhere and nowhere. Did she even have the right to object? It was a school festival. A dumb booth for laughs. But watching you stand there with Hyunjin (WITH A MAN.)—it made her stomach twist like she’d swallowed barbed wire.

“Haerin,” Hyein whispered, her voice low and teasing. “You’re just gonna let this happen?”

“I—” Haerin’s voice caught in her throat, sticking like gum.

Ryujin glanced up, sensing the hesitation. “Any objections?” she repeated, louder this time, her words hanging in the air like a challenge.

You turned your head, searching for her in the crowd. Your eyes locked onto hers, and for one fleeting second, you silently pleaded. You wished—no, hoped—she’d say something. Anything.

But she didn’t.

Haerin stood there, lips pressed shut, heart pounding like it was trying to make up for her silence.

The pause dragged on, and with it, everyone’s expectations crumbled.

Ryujin sighed. “Alright then. Let’s proceed.”

“By the power vested in me, by solid, liquid, and gas—”

“Ryujin, stop,” Hanni groaned.

“Fine. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

“You may now kiss—”

“I OBJECT!”

The words burst out before Haerin even realized what she was saying. Her hand shot up on instinct—like it always did in class. But this time, for the first time, she didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know what to say next.

Everyone froze. The air seemed to thicken as all eyes turned to her. Hyein stifled a laugh behind her soda straw while Ryujin’s jaw dropped in mock disbelief. Minji, Danielle, and Hanni exchanged victorious smirks, clearly pleased their plan had worked.

Haerin stood stiffly, her chest tight and her fists clenched at her sides. Her heart raced as she realized the weight of what she’d just done.

Okay, what now?

What was she supposed to say next?

This wasn’t part of the plan—except there was no plan.

Her eyes found you.

And suddenly, she knew.

Without a word, Haerin marched toward the altar, her resolve as sharp as the gasp that rippled through the crowd. She grabbed your wrist, her grip firm but not rough, and pulled you out of the classroom.

“Okay, I appreciate you saving me back there, but where are we going?” you asked, trying to keep pace as Haerin dragged you down the hall.

She didn’t answer. Her grip was firm—not rough—but she wasn’t slowing down either. The faint chatter of the festival behind you started to fade, leaving only the sound of your footsteps echoing down the empty hallway. Finally, she stopped outside an unused classroom, chest rising and falling like she’d just finished a sprint.

“Haerin,” you tried again, but she turned to face you. Her eyes were locked on yours, a mix of determination and something else you couldn’t pin down. It made your stomach do that annoying flip thing it had no business doing.

“I—” she started, then stopped, running a hand through her hair like she was stalling for time. “Ugh, this is so… messy. I don’t even know where to start.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How about with why you just crashed my fake wedding?”

“Because—” she stopped again, visibly bracing herself. “Okay, I’m just going to say this before I lose my nerve.” Her voice was steady, but she kept fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “I… like you. A lot. And not in the ‘begrudging respect’ way or whatever you’re probably imagining.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. “…What?”

“I’m serious,” she said quickly, “I didn’t plan on this happening. You hated me back then, and honestly? Same. But somewhere along the way, I started noticing things.” Her voice softened, like she was remembering each detail as she spoke.

“Like how you always hum when you’re concentrating—off-key, by the way, but it’s cute.” She smiled a little, her cheeks coloring. “And the way you tuck your chin into your sweater when you’re cold, even if it stretches out the neck. Or how you always carry extra pens even though you lose them half the time, just so no one else runs out during class.”

She glanced at you, then quickly away, like she wasn’t sure she should keep going. But she did.

“You chew your bottom lip when you’re trying not to laugh. And you never drink the last sip of your coffee because you think it tastes weird—but you’ll still offer it to someone else like it’s no big deal.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands, but then she looked back at you, like she was steadying herself. “At first, it was just curiosity. You’re loud, opinionated, stubborn. Basically everything I’m not. But working on that project with you? I don’t know—you made me want to do better. For once, I didn’t want to screw around and ruin things. Not when you were watching.”

She laughed softly, more at herself than anything else. “And the worst part? I wanted you to notice me. Not the version everyone else sees, but the real me. The screw-up who pretends not to care but actually does. And when the project ended, I realized…” She hesitated, her voice quieter now. “You make me feel like—”

You didn’t let her finish. Grabbing her collar, you pulled her into a kiss. It wasn’t smooth—your noses bumped, and it was kind of messy—but it got the point across. For once, her brain seemed to stop overthinking. She froze for half a second, then leaned into it, her hands hovering awkwardly near your shoulders before finally resting there.

When you pulled back, she looked completely stunned. Her eyes were wide, lips parted, like her brain was buffering. Then, slowly, the corner of her mouth curved into the tiniest smirk.

“I wasn’t done,” she muttered, her voice steady again.

“But I’ll take it.”

“LET’S GOOOOOO!”

Both of you jolted apart like you’d been electrocuted, turning toward the doorway as the sound of cheers and a confetti pop filled the air. Minji and Hanni stood there grinning like lunatics, Hanni holding a party popper in one hand and Minji, holding a camera.

Haerin groaned, her face going so red you thought she might actually combust.

“Haerin!” Hanni teased, drawing out her name with a dramatic gasp. “You didn’t tell us you were capable of romance!”

“Stop.” Haerin sputtered, flailing a hand in their direction.

“Not the Haerin confessing her feelings AND kissing someone all in one day,” Hyein added, clutching her chest like she was genuinely overwhelmed. “Who are you, and what did you do with the monotone gremlin we know?”

You covered your face, torn between laughing and dying of secondhand embarrassment. “You guys followed us?”

“Obviously,” Hanni said with zero shame. “How else were we supposed to know if she’d finally grow some balls?”

“Haerin, the WAYY you went full rom-com just now? We’re so proud,” Minji added, wiping an imaginary tear. “The heartfelt speech, the kiss—it’s like a movie.”

Ryujin smirked, tilting her head toward Haerin. “For someone who I usually hear speak in, like, three-word sentences, that was… impressive.”

“Right?” Hyunjin chimed in, still crouched dramatically. “Ten out of ten performance. I might actually cry. WAIT- Someone get me tissues.”

"Our Haerin is so grown up now." Danielle sighs

“For real, I feel like a proud bird mother watching her child fly,” Minji mock-sobbed, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve.

Haerin groaned again, burying her face in her hands. You reached out and gently bumped your shoulder against hers. “For what it’s worth, I thought it was cute,” you said, grinning.

She peeked at you from between her fingers, still red-faced but smiling despite herself. “You’re not helping.”

“Good. You owe me after dragging me through half the school, my arm's kinda sore.”

#newjeans x reader #newjeans #haerin x reader #kang haerin #kang haerin x reader #haerin #newjeans haerin #kang haerin x fem reader #kang haerin x fem!reader

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