#post vi uncertainty.

[maxfieldparrishes]

One of the things that the creators of Arcane do so insanely well is their attention to small details. It's incredible.

Take the scene where Vi catches Caitlyn as she collapses and cries - this was stunning to me, because look:

(Credit for the gif is this post by @kensatou)

Even though Vi has been so extraordinarily tender with Caitlyn throughout their shared nightmare, she's still a product of what's happened to her. As Caitlyn falls towards her, Vi catches her, because of course she does, but look at her hands. An Enforcer moves at her and her heart says catch her but her gut says fists up. It doesn't matter that it's Caitlyn. It's instinctive. It's ingrained. She continues to do it in other scenes during vulnerable moments.

She is so, so gentle with Caitlyn and she is trying so, so hard but she cannot undo the habits and behaviors that a lifetime of trauma and uncertainty and violence have forced her to develop, not by her own choice or from sheer love for someone else. She's tried that before, it didn't work, and she knows it.

[shouyuus]

very 18+, vi-shaped, modern underground fighter!au tw: in which vi uses a vibrating strap d1ldo and also fucks ur throat

popular underground fighter vi! x reader in which vi "soft launches" your relationship with this photo posted on instagram with clear red nail marks down her back and just the caption "post fight ritual 💋" and it's obvious that her knuckles are still bruised, but someone else made those marks on her back and they're definitely not from any fight she's ever been in.

and it's not like she's a stranger to people thirsting over her posts -- she kinda knows she's hot. or at least, she's been told enough times to know it empirically, but it still stuns her a little when she catches you staring, or when she sees the way your pupils literally dilate in her presence; it's not something that she grew up hearing, always being told that she's too tomboy or that she's not feminine enough, even though her own family never cared, and they've always supported her no matter how she wanted to dress or what she wanted to do.

you, though. she doesn't know how she got so lucky with you.

she might call it a chance meeting, but later on, you'd admit that you'd had your eye on her for weeks, thought she was so, so pretty, even with all her black eyeliner and her choppily cut hair (she does it herself; oh, you could tell? why? what gave it away? the weirdly uneven buzz or the fact that she totally missed a patch at the back of her head?), and you'd put yourself squarely in the line of her sight and hoped (prayed, really) that she'd notice you.

and notice you she did.

wearing that pretty little sundress of yours, leaning up against the bar of her favorite lesbian haunt, the one she goes to nine times outta ten after her fights, the adrenaline's still high, eating through her veins, the tattoo of her pulse pressing against her ribcage.

she'd pushed off the far wall and caged you in against the dark wood of the bar, turning her charm up to eleven and hoping against hope that she wasn't just imagining things when she saw your gaze run up and down the length of her body (she wasn't).

"hey pretty. thought you might wanna take a closer look."

you'd grinned then, caught someplace between bashful and triumphant.

"but... it's so dark and so... loud," you say, letting your hand linger on her shoulder even as you put up the very convincing front of uncertainty, the blatant tease of your words the only thing cueing her off that you were picking up what she was putting down.

"yeah? then... wanna go somewhere quiet where you can... take a better look in peace?"

vi's apartment, despite all the winnings from her fights, was a modest place, a small studio in the heart of the city, though the floor the ceiling windows are really what caught your eye that first time she brought you over.

that, and the giant mirror that covered the length of an entire wall opposite the windows.

"so i can check my form," vi says when you ask, running a tall glass under the tap water, holding it out to you afterwards.

and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been expecting a hookup. and honestly, so had you. but somehow, the pair of you had just ended up curled on the couch, sitting face to face, sharing stories and laughing. the next you looked up, the pink of dawn was teasing across the far skyline and vi was frowning at the dying phone in her hand, her eyebrows hitched.

"holy shit... it's 6am."

you bury your face in the cushions of the couch, your hands still wrapped around a half-empty cup of spiked apple cider (a bottle of martinelli's at the back of her fridge, along with a half-empty thing of grey goose she'd found, tugging the cap out with her teeth), feeling the tiredness drag at your eyelids.

"oops... sorry," you grin sheepishly at her, "usually, when i keep people up all night, it's not like this."

vi laughs at your tired little innuendo, but her eyes soften when she catches you watching her. and for some stupid, unfathomable reason, she feels her cheeks heating up.

"yeah peaches. i figured. but... i don't mind being kept up like this."

your brows furrow even as a grin threatens your lips as she nudges you with her hand. you shift back, making room for her as she sits down in front of you, close enough for you to feel the heat rolling off her skin.

beyond the windows, a brilliant sunrise is peering out over the city, and the sharp, shard-drawn light of it pierces vi's studio as she reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her thumb and forefinger trailing the line of your cheek till she's coaxing your chin up towards her.

"peaches?" you ask, your breath a bit short.

"yeah," her eyes flicker towards the tiny little stud earrings you'd put in, truly miniscule peach-emojis that you'd picked to match the shade of your dress. and you laugh, the tiredness making the air around you both effervescent.

and that was the first of many nights you'd proceed to spend at vi's, though eventually, she does drag you forward to kiss you, her lips insistent against yours, with you pulling back to gasp -- "took you long enough --" against her only for her to sink her teeth into the bared skin of your neck, letting her fingers curl around the delicate pulse-point nestled there as she says --

"they say good things come to those who wait."

neither of you can truly pinpoint the moment where this... thing became something more. something that neither of you had the words or will to deny any longer.

it might've come up the first time vi pressed three fingers into your sopping cunt, her eyes fixed on the way your expression goes slack, how your hips kicked up at every curl of her expert fingers. or perhaps the first time you'd pushed her back and kissed a line down her front, lavished her body with your lips, teasing and nipping at her tits before making your slow, arduous way down to her clenching cunt, licking up the wet slit before latching your mouth around her clit and sucking hard enough for her eyes to roll out of her eye-sockets.

or maybe the first time she'd pulled out her bright pink strap, the base equipped with a vibrating function and an opposing dildo that hooked into vi's pussy as she rucked her hips into yours, fucking into you so hard that tears had creased in your lashes after she was done with you.

"fuck peaches -- you just look so good cumming on my cock, don't you?"

and that's all it takes these days, a smirk, a slap on the ass, and her voice saying peaches for you to feel your body clench over nothing, for your stomach to curl with heat, even if she's just coming over to press a kiss to your cheek or murmur against your skin, asking how your day went, though sometimes, you'd get shy and your voice would get a bit too quiet.

"c'mon, speak up, doll. and look at me when i'm talking to you, yeah?"

her fingers squeezing your jaw, just tight enough to make you gasp.

and no one questions it; bc why would they? her coach is ecstatic -- not like vi's ever been an unfocused fighter, but these days, she's in such tip-top form that he's not got much feedback for her after her long training sessions.

"whoever she is," vander says, grinning even as vi flushes and sighs (she knows it's useless to lie, vander's known her for way, way too long), "she's good for you."

he presses a hand to her shoulder, shaking her slightly, "and my advice? when you find a girl like that -- you grab on with both hands and you don't let go."

so that's what she does, and what she's still doing now. it's been months -- almost a full year since you've made it all "official", though neither of you have posted much about it online (her fans have been speculating for a while though, specially the hardcore ones, the ones who have been with her long enough to know her, to spot how she scans the crowd before and after every right, how her smile's just a bit different these days, how there seems to be one particular girl she's always winking at, always hidden in the shadows but she's always swiveling around the first thing after a fight, win or lose).

"f-fuck -- that's a good girl --" vi groans, her hips jerking against yours as she fucks you through your third orgasm of the night (she'd wone her fight that night -- as she does most nights -- and you'd come over to celebrate), your nails biting into the skin of her back, dragging down the expansive tattoo there.

she feels the burn in her own thighs, her arms flexing, the veins popping blue as she drags you down the length of the bed by your hips, fucking into you, her eyes trained on the sticky white ring at the base of her pink strap, the sight in and of itself enough to send her over the edge.

"c'mere -- open your mouth, peaches," she says, guiding you towards her even as she pulls out of you, a thick string of cum slicking off the head of her strap as she inches up the bed to position herself over your chest and shoulders.

you let your jaw fall slack, moaning thick as she presses the tip of her strap to your tongue. you blink up at her, lashes fluttering as she sinks her fingers into your hair, hissing out a long breath as you swallow around her length.

"sweet fuck that's hot..."

she pulls you over her cock in shallow thrusts, her breath growing quick as she watches the way you eagerly clean your own cum off of her with your tongue, the completely fucked out, blissed out look in your eyes as you look up at her, so utterly besotted and at her mercy.

her feels the coils twist in her gut seconds before she shoves you down over her, the combined sound of your gagging and the pinpoint vibrations of the dildo sending her right over the edge.

"shit, shit -- shit oh -- fuck... mm..."

her fingers fist in your hair as she jerks around the dildo end of the strap, tugging out of your mouth with a lazy, lopsided smile.

"such a good girl for me, hm?" she says, tugging you up for an open-mouthed kiss. you mewl against her lips, so soft, absolutely melting into her arms as she shifts the both of you into the center of the bed.

it's not till she goes to shower later, with you sound asleep in her mussed up blankets, that she sees the marks -- red and raised on her back, scratched over her tattoo. a soft smile lifts her lips as she stares at her own reflection in the mirror, her neck twisting over her shoulder to get a good look.

and before she knows it, she's grabbing her phone and turning around to snap a pic, with the full intent of keeping it just to show you in the morning but... well, she thinks as she stares down at the photo with a dopey sort of grin, her heart thudding dangerously close to her mouth.

maybe the best gift she could give you on your one-year anniversary is this -- telling the world that she's yours.

[deathbxnny]

Hi I would like to request a part 2 of my previous request for the jinx x fem reader with abandonment issues

"I'm sorry you lost your way home." | Jinx x Reader

(Previous part)

I decided to combine these two, so thank you to the anons and their requests!! I hope you'll like this!<33

(I'm sorry in advance-)

Content: Heavy angst, abandonment issues, heavy spoilers for season 2 act 3, hurt/no comfort, established romantic relationships, death, sfw

Reader was asked to be afab in one of the requests. However, no pronouns are mentioned in the post!

((Not proofread))

The first person to visit you after her disappearance was Vi. The sister you had heard so much about, yet never anything good. But it all melted away at her words.

Your ears were ringing, and for a moment, you wondered if you had perhaps heard her wrong. "... Jinx said that she was going to help someone out before she left with Isha. And... And she swore they'd be back. So don't you lie to me-" You took a deep breath when you stumbled back against the doorway, nearly sliding down the rough wood in terror. Oh, how you wished the ground would open up to swallow you whole.

Vi gave you an unreadable look, her hand hesitantly reaching out to grab you, but she refrained at the last second. You meant the world to Jinx. She had asked her to find you just before... "I'm sorry. But what I'm saying is the truth, I-... They are both dead. There is no doubt about it. I saw it with my own eyes both times and... I can't get the images out of my head." Sweat dripped down your forehead as you only barely heard Vi speak to you.

Life was just becoming good for you... so why did this have to happen?

You both had just recently taken in Isha a while ago and were basically treating her as your child. You saw the way she healed Jinx and made her feel more alive. It meant the world to you to see her that way. And for a while, you perhaps even foolishly believed that things would go well now.

You thought about running away together before, in the darkness of your room, as Isha napped in your arms. You remembered turning to her and whispering, "Let's run away. Let's leave on one of the skyship and go somewhere far away... just the three of us." And you saw it in her gentle gaze, the way she considered it... but it meant nothing in the face of a war she had to fight in.

Looking back on it, you should've maybe seen the signs and listened to the uneasy feeling in your gut when the both of them left for a special mission she refused to tell you about. It was for your own safety she'd say and who were you to intervene or deny her orders? She was always so much more intelligent and stronger than you. You just blindly trusted her. You believed she'd return soon just as she's promised... but she never did.

Neither of them did.

It was radio silence for the longest time. And you hadn't moved an inch from the small apartment Jinx considered to be her second hideout with you and your kid. Not when the war broke out, not when there was a call for arms, not when you peeked out for the barricaded windows at the creepy, white machines that slinked right past your hiding space.

And now you wonder, in the haze of uncertainty and panic, if the balloon you had momentarily seen soar through the sky was her after all. Had the denial misled you into a false sense of foolish security? Did you really, fully believe she'd be back for you? That she'd bring Isha home safely and run away at last? Yes. Yes, you did. You believed it... but received a charred part of one of her bombs in return. A confirmation that it was truly over for the family and future you had built together for the shortest amount of time.

"... leave. Please leave. I can't bare looking at you." You gasped out in-between heaving breaths, unable to stand Vi's presence any longer. Everyone was making you feel sick. What's the point of being a savior if you die? What's the point of seeing a hero if you leave behind what you love the most to suffer in agony?

You had waited so long at this wooden door to your once warm home for their return. For her return. Yet all you were greeted with was the one thing that was left of her. A sister she did still love deep down more than life itself. You, however, could only feel rage.

"Wait. She told me to loom out for you. I can't-" "-I said leave! If it wasn't for you, then we could have left and been happy!" You yelled out, suddenly not caring about hurting anyone's feelings anymore. And god did it hurt. It hurt so much. Because Vi still had a piece of her in her. But it wasn't enough. Nothing would be enough in her and Isha's absence.

Slamming the door into Vi's face and locking it for good measure, you finally fall to your knees and clutch the last, charred thing you had of her to your chest, sobbing. You drowned out Vi's yells and bangs against the door whilst you did so, deciding that if you were in agony, then she didn't deserve any consolation either.

Your worst nightmare had come to fruition, just as the last skyship of the day flew into the sky and left its past behind.

[miyukis-writings]

— Bound by Silk and Shadows. [prologue]

pairing. ilumi zoldyck x (insert oc)

summary. In a quiet village, she runs a humble café, serving customers with a serene smile, unaware that she has captured the interest of one of the deadliest assassins alive. Ilumi Zoldyck, cold and emotionless, finds himself drawn to her—an anomaly in his carefully calculated world. She does not flinch under his piercing gaze, does not cower in fear like others do. And that intrigues him. What starts as silent observation soon spirals into obsession. He watches from the shadows, memorizing her every move, ensuring no one else dares to lay claim to what is his. Even Hisoka, ever the provocateur, finds amusement in Ilumi’s growing fixation. But Ilumi is not a man of patience. If she won’t come to him willingly… he may just have to take her. After all, a rare treasure should be kept safe—locked away, where no one else can touch.

tags. yandere ; kidnapping, manipulation ; friends to lovers ; eventual smut (will be tagged accordingly).

a.n. i've posted this on Wattpad as well. Been taking a day-off from writing fanfic since 3 years ago. Hope everyone enjoys this! <3 all likes, comments and reblog are greatly appreciated. xoxo miyuki

status. on-going // chapter I, chapter II, chapter III, chapter IV, chapter V, chapter VI

Ilumi Zoldyck had never paid much attention to those outside his family, nor did he ever feel the need to. The world beyond the Zoldyck name was filled with insignificant people, fragile and predictable, incapable of catching his interest. That was until he met her.

It was supposed to be a routine mission—an assassination contracted by a high-ranking client. The target was a corrupt noble who had grown too bold in his dealings, making enemies with the wrong people. Ilumi had followed him to a secluded village, a quiet place where the scent of fresh earth and burning lanterns filled the evening air. The assignment was simple: eliminate the target and disappear. But something—or rather, someone—interrupted the rhythm of his work.

She was there, moving gracefully between tables in a modest little café tucked in the heart of the village. At first, he barely registered her presence, only noting how effortlessly she navigated through the dimly lit space, serving patrons with a quiet elegance. Yet something about her movements made him pause. Unlike most people he encountered, there was no trace of fear in her posture, no anxious energy, no attempt to be anything other than what she was. That alone intrigued him.

He had watched from the shadows, unseen, as she closed the café for the night. She carried herself with an unshaken calmness, her hands steady as she wiped down the wooden tables, humming softly to herself. A melody, unremarkable in itself, yet something about the sound clung to the air long after she had stopped.

She was alone. Vulnerable.

It would have been easy to slip inside, to test just how deep that unwavering composure ran. He could have reached for his needles, just to see if she would flinch, if that calm exterior would shatter under the weight of his presence. And yet, something unfamiliar stirred within him—a curiosity he had never entertained before.

Why wasn’t she afraid? Most people lived in fear, whether they realized it or not. They feared loss, pain, uncertainty. But this girl—it was as if fear did not exist in her world. Was it ignorance? Naivety? Or was there something more beneath the surface?

His mission concluded without flaw. The noble never made it out of the village; his body was found in the dark alleyways where no one dared to tread. It should have been the end of it, another job completed, another name erased from existence.

And yet, as Ilumi stood atop the rooftops, watching the village settle into slumber, his gaze once again drifted to the small café. The lanterns had long been extinguished, the doors locked for the night. But the memory of her remained—how she had moved, how she had smiled, how she had existed without fear.

Why did she linger in his thoughts? He had met countless people throughout his life, none of whom had ever occupied his mind for longer than necessary. Yet she was different. Something about her had disrupted the carefully constructed stillness of his mind.

For the first time in a long while, Ilumi found himself considering something beyond his missions, beyond his duty to the family.

He wanted to see her again.

Not as a target. Not as an obstacle. But something else entirely.

He wasn’t sure what it was yet, but he was willing to find out.

---

Days passed, yet she remained in his thoughts like an ink stain on silk—impossible to ignore. Ilumi found himself returning to the village, perched in unseen corners, observing from the periphery as she continued her quiet existence. He watched her as she prepared tea; she laughed softly at a regular customer’s jokes, as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear with unconscious grace.

There was a careful simplicity to the way she lived, utterly unburdened by the weight of the world he knew. It was foreign to him—this peaceful way of being, this ability to find contentment in the ordinary. And yet, he could not look away.

His mind had always been a machine—calculating, logical, driven by precision. He dissected people as easily as a blade cut through flesh. But with her, there was no strategy, no clear answer. She was an anomaly, and Ilumi had been trained never to leave an anomaly unexplored.

One evening, he allowed himself to drift closer than usual, passing by the café’s entrance just as she stepped out to take in the cool night air. The golden glow from the lanterns framed her figure, casting a soft halo around her as she sighed contentedly, oblivious to the presence that lurked just beyond the veil of shadows.

He could have walked past. He could have left her to her world, untouched and unaware.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Ilumi lingered, his silent footfalls ceasing just as she turned her head slightly, as if sensing something—someone—watching her. Her eyes, deep and searching, flickered toward the darkness where he stood, yet she made no effort to move. No fear. No unease. Only quiet curiosity, as if she was reaching for something she could not quite see.

He should have disappeared then, melted away as he always did. But for a fraction of a second, Ilumi let the distance between them remain. A moment where the assassin and the girl from the café existed in the same space, in the same night, separated only by the knowledge of what lay hidden in the shadows.

Then, with the barest tilt of his head, he vanished.

And still, he knew she would not leave his thoughts.

[waitingandwishing]

(Cross posted on Wattpad)

Prev - Next Chapter

Y/N sat motionlessly on the edge of her bed, her fingers absently tracing the rough, scratchy texture of the worn sheets.

Her gaze was fixed on the ground, her eyes distant and unseeing, the once brilliant color now dulled into a pale, lifeless gray.

She looked as if she were suspended in time, caught between the weight of the past and the crushing uncertainty of the future.

Her thoughts circled relentlessly, clawing at the fragile edges of her composure. ‘Mylo, dead. Claggor, dead. Vi, dead. Vander, dead.’ The names echoed like the toll of a bell, each one a dagger carving deeper into her chest.

And then there was Ekko. Ekko, whose fate she didn’t know. Was he alive, wandering aimlessly through the wreckage of their shared past? Or was he lost too, swallowed by the chaos?

The uncertainty gnawed at her insides. She clenched her fists, a cold determination solidifying within her. ‘If he’s alive, I’ll find him. I have to. He’s all alone now— no one to care for him. I’ll find him.’

The weight of the small gemstones in her hand pulled her attention. She turned them over slowly, their surfaces catching the dim light.

The soft blue glow flickered eerily, somehow both beautiful and deeply unsettling. They seemed to hold whispers of the lives they’d lost, their brilliance mocking her.

Her thoughts were abruptly shattered by a sharp knock at the door. She flinched, startled out of her daze as she quickly shoved the blue stone in her bag. The familiar voice on the other side made her tense.

“Silco,” she muttered under her breath, even before he spoke.

“The girl won’t eat,” His gravelly voice called through the door.

Y/N hesitated before responding, her tone sharp. “Her name is Powder,” She corrected, pushing the words through clenched teeth. “Have you made her something?”

“Yes, but she won’t touch it.” Silco’s frown was evident even through the door.

For a moment, Y/N stayed silent, staring at the door as if it were some insurmountable wall. Was this another of Silco’s manipulations? A way to force her out of her room? She could still feel the ghostly heat licking at her skin, hearing the crackle of flames consuming everything she held dear.

But then, against her better judgment, she stood. The quiet sound of the mattress creaking as she moved surprised even Silco. He watched her warily as she brushed past him without a word.

Y/N knew he knew her weakness. She knew he could use her against her, but right now all that mattered was Powder.

“Where’s her room?” she asked, her voice flat.

He gestured silently down the hallway, and Y/N followed his direction without looking back.

Standing in front of Powder’s door, she hesitated for a beat before raising her hand and knocking gently. “Bluejay?” Her voice softened into something almost unrecognizable, a sliver of warmth peaking through.

The silence on the other side was suffocating, stretching out long enough for Y/N to feel the weight of Silco’s eyes boring into her back. But just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the door creaked open.

“Hey—”

The word barely escaped her lips before she was knocked backward. Powder flung herself into Y/N’s arms, gripping her tightly as if afraid she might vanish at any moment. Powder buried her face into Y/N’s chest, her small frame trembling with gut-wrenching sobs.

“Wh-Where—” She choked out, her voice cracking between gasps. “Are you going to leave me too?”

The question hit Y/N like a blow to the stomach. Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She looked down at Powder’s tear-streaked face, the raw desperation in her wide eyes. Y/N’s own tears began to pool, stinging the corners of her vision.

“Oh, Powder…” Her voice trembled as she wrapped her arms around the sobbing girl, holding her as tightly as she could. “Never… I promise I’ll never leave you. Never.”

Powder’s sniffles softened into quieter whimpers as she nodded, clinging to Y/N with all the strength she had left. Y/N reached up, gently wiping the tears from the girl’s flushed cheeks.

“What do you think about soup?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Powder nodded hesitantly, her gaze still wet and puffy. “The chicken one?”

“Your favorite one,” Y/N assured her with a faint smile, standing and lifting Powder effortlessly into her arms.

As she turned back toward Silco, her expression hardened again. “You have a kitchen, right?” She asked, her tone sharp with an edge of authority.

Silco nodded, his usual composure momentarily shaken. “Yes. Right down the hall.”

Without another word, Y/N walked past him, her grip on Powder secure and protective. Silco lingered in the doorway, watching the two retreating figures.

Powder’s red, tear-streaked face peeked over Y/N’s shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, Silco’s features softened.

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he turned away, retreating into the shadows of the hallway.

_____________________________________________________

Blood trailed out of her stomach, thick rivulets soaking into the ground beneath her. It was warm at first, uncomfortably warm, but soon the cold of the earth seeped through her clothes, biting at her skin.

Y/N coughed violently, her breath hitching as her chest heaved, her vision swimming behind a veil of tears. She tried to move, but her body felt like lead. Every gasp sent fresh waves of pain slicing through her ribs, each one sharper than the last.

Her blood coated everything. Her hands were slick with it, trembling as they pressed against the dirt, but it only made the ground smear with more crimson. Her clothes clung to her skin, drenched in the cloying liquid. The smell of iron was suffocating, sharp and metallic, twisting her stomach in revulsion.

She hated blood. The sight, the texture, the smell, but now it was everywhere. It was hers, and it was under her nails, wedged deep. She’d never be able to scrub it out.

Was someone coming? Was anyone even looking for her? Y/N didn’t know. The thought sent a pang of despair through her, but it was quickly overshadowed by a sharp, searing pain that exploded across her abdomen.

She gasped, choking as her mouth filled with blood. The taste was bitter and metallic, flooding her senses as she doubled over and collapsed against the cold, unyielding ground.

Her cheek pressed against the dirt, rough and cool against her fevered skin. She lay there, motionless except for the shallow, uneven rise and fall of her chest.

Blood dripped from the corner of her lips, pooling in a slow, dark stain beneath her. Her gaze turned upward, past the carnage of her body, to the endless expanse of sky.

She thought of Jinx. Where was she? Was she safe? Her heart clenched at the thought of the girl finding her like this. Y/N didn’t know what was worse: Jinx witnessing her death or never knowing what had happened to her.

Y/N swallowed the pain, though it burned like fire in her throat, and gritted her teeth. For some reason, something or someone pushed her to get through this moment.

With a shaky breath, she forced herself to move. Her body protested with every inch. Her muscles screamed, her ribs ached, and her vision darkened at the edges, but she turned onto her stomach.

The dirt smeared across her face and clothes as she dragged herself forward, inch by agonizing inch. Every movement sent pain ricocheting through her body, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Jinx needed her, and she would crawl through hell itself to protect her.

“Mom?”

A small voice broke through the haze. Panic surged in Y/N’s chest, momentarily cutting through the pain. No. No, no, no! She wasn’t supposed to be here. She couldn’t see this.

“Jinx…” Y/N rasped, but her voice was little more than a whisper, drowned out by the sound of her own labored breathing.

“Y/N!” Another voice, deeper and gravelly, snapped her attention. Through her blurring vision, she could make out figures approaching. Silco, Jinx, and… Sevika?

Y/N coughed, her body convulsing as more blood spilled from her lips. She forced her head to lift, barely able to make out their faces before the weight of exhaustion pulled her back down. Her eyes fluttered shut as her body grew colder, the edges of her mind slipping further into darkness.

“Y/N!” Jinx’s scream tore through the air, raw and heartbroken. She dropped to her knees beside her, her hands hovering over the blood-soaked body. Tears streaked her cheeks, her face twisting into something desperate and anguished.

“Please, Y/N, please!” Jinx’s voice cracked as she shook her sister’s shoulders gently. “Wake up! You can’t leave me!”

Silco stood a few feet away, his expression frozen in a rare moment of shock. Y/N was meticulous, a fighter to the bone. For her to end up like this was unthinkable. His mind raced, running through the possible culprits. Someone had orchestrated this, and they would pay.

“She hates blood. Why is she covered in so much blood?” Jinx whispered, her voice trembling as she stared at Y/N’s form. Her hands trembled as she turned to Silco, her wide, tear-filled eyes pleading. “Save her! You have to save her!”

Sevika knelt beside Y/N, pressing two fingers to her neck. After a tense moment, she nodded. “She’s got a pulse,” Her voice was steady despite the tension in her jaw.

Without hesitation, Sevika scooped Y/N’s limp body into her arms. Blood seeped into her clothes as she stood, but she didn’t flinch.

“Get her home. Now,” Silco ordered, his voice low and deadly. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as his gaze swept over the scene. “Find who did this. And bring them to me.”

Silco watched them go, his jaw tight as he turned his attention back to the bloodied ground. Whoever had done this had made a grave mistake. And they would learn the cost of crossing him.

Y/N’s head lulled aimlessly, her expression peaceful as she seemed to drift off somewhere. It was a beautiful place, though she wouldn’t remember it when she’d wake up. But she knew it was beautiful.

‘You still have a promise to keep, Y/N.’

_____________________________________________________

“I must thank you, Y/N,” Silco spoke, his gravelly voice cutting through the stillness of the room.

Y/N sat across from him, her posture tense as one of Silco’s medics worked deftly to wrap the bandages around her wounds.

The faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the smoke curling from Silco’s cigar. “For taking care of Jinx.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tight. There was something about the way he said her Powder’s new name, Jinx, that sent a prickle of unease down her spine. It rolled off his tongue too naturally, too comfortably, as though it belonged to her entirely.

“She’s my sister,” Y/N replied firmly, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

Silco tilted his head, the glowing ember of his cigar illuminating the sharp planes of his face. “And yet, I would think of her more as a daughter to you.” He exhaled a stream of smoke with deliberate calm, his visible eye gleaming with something unreadable. “She called you her mother, did she not?”

“She did,” Y/N admitted reluctantly, shifting under his piercing gaze. Her fingers clenched in her lap, knuckles whitening. “Whatever Jinx wants to call me, I don’t have a preference.”

“Oh, but I think you do.” Silco’s tone was laced with quiet certainty, the kind that cut deeper than any blade. He took another long drag from his cigar before letting the smoke escape in slow, curling wisps. The pungent smell burned in her lungs, making her feel as though the air itself were conspiring against her. “Jinx needs someone to train her.”

“Sevika can train her,” Y/N said curtly, her words more of a defense than a suggestion.

Silco merely hummed, his calm demeanor unshaken. “And you would trust Sevika with that responsibility?” he asked, his tone faintly amused.

Y/N feigned an eye roll, “No,” She admitted, pushing herself to her feet with a wince as the motion tugged at her bandages. “I’ll train her. If that’s all you wanted to say, you could’ve just come out with it. Whatever game you’re playing, whether it’s using Powder against me or something else, I don’t care.”

“Emotions are a volatile thing,” Silco murmured, ignoring her defiance. He turned his gaze fully on her, his infected eye glowing with eerie intensity. “Especially anger. You were reckless during your last mission, and that recklessness is why you suffered the consequences. Be grateful I decided to look out for you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, the sting of his words fueling the fire in her chest. “What? So now I’m in debt to you?”

“You are my daughter just as much as Jinx is,” Silco said evenly, his calm almost infuriating. He took another slow pull from his cigar before continuing. “I care for you just as much as I care for her.”

“We’re assets,” Y/N shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. Silco turned his head to face her fully, the soft orange glow of his infected eye swirling like a slow-burning ember.

“And is that what you truly believe?” he asked, his tone devoid of malice but laced with curiosity.

“I speak my mind, Silco,” Y/N replied, her voice cold.

“Indeed, you do,” Silco said, his lips curling into the faintest semblance of a smile. “I merely wish to express my gratitude. I’m glad you’re alive, Y/N. You fought with determination and skill.”

Y/N froze at his words, her body rigid. Gratitude? Praise? From Silco? It didn’t add up. What exactly was he playing at?

Silco leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Despite our differences,” He said softly, his orange eye gleaming as it fixed on hers, “I care for both of you. Never doubt that.”

Y/N swallowed hard, suppressing the knot of frustration forming in her throat. Without saying another word, she nodded curtly and turned on her heel, stepping briskly out of the office. The heavy door closed behind her with a soft click, and she let out a sigh she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Dragging a hand through her hair, she muttered to herself, trying to gather her thoughts. (For those who cover their hair or don’t have any, my apologies for not being more inclusive!)

Her steps echoed down the quiet hallway until she suddenly stopped. A faint, familiar energy pricked at her senses.

“Jinx,” She said, her voice steady, “I know you’re there.”

Out of nowhere, the blue-haired girl landed on the floor with an exaggerated huff, as if she’d been caught mid-sneak. Her electric blue locks, now long and swept back into a messy ponytail, swayed with the movement. She looked up with a playful, slightly sheepish expression, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“What?” Jinx asked, feigning innocence as if she hadn’t been caught red-handed.

Y/N crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘What’?” Her tone was sharp but not unkind, one hand shifted to her hip as she added pointedly, “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Jinx groaned dramatically, throwing her hands in the air as she plopped onto the floor in an exaggerated sprawl. “I know, I know! I tried! But I was bored, and I couldn’t find you!”

Y/N shook her head, her stern expression softening into a smile. “You really don’t make things easy, do you?”

Jinx perked up instantly. “So? What were you guys talking about in there? Sounded important.”

“Nothing important,” Y/N replied with a soft chuckle, her smile widening slightly as she crouched down to meet Jinx’s gaze. “But starting tomorrow, you and I have work to do.”

Jinx tilted her head, curious but intrigued. “Work? Like… fun work or boring work?”

“Training,” Y/N clarified, her tone firm but encouraging. “No excuses this time. You’re going to need it.”

taglist: @night-fall-moon @cyberwears @g0ul666 (If you'd like to be added tell me in the comments!!!)

[katerina-marie]

The Uncertainty of Domesticity

Toji Fushiguro x Female Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 of 3

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t afraid of much, though he definitely felt so when he became a widower in the same moment he became a father. Years later, he felt it again when you came along with the same hopes and dreams for a future he never thought he would experience again.

Content: JJK universe but no canon events / strangers & neighbors to lovers / medium burn idk / female reader and referred to as such but left descriptively vague / no y/n / out of character and soft Toji / single-father Toji / A little NSFW - brief mention/implication of vaginal sex so please avoid accordingly - but I can't write smut to save my life so it's not very explicit / Megumi-Mama/Mamaguro dies in childbirth and its mentioned once or twice / cutie pie child Megumi / fluff / slice of life / light angst from Toji's inner turmoil / discussions about having children / pregnancy and childbirth for reader / more notes below

WC: 9.2k (*nervous laughter*)

Notes:

Y'all....this thing is 9.2k words. It probably should've been split into another part, but I didn't and I'm just leaving it be. I'm sorry if it feels a bit "choppy?" I could've happily kept writing about all the little moments in between the parts shown, but I'm not sure if it ever would've ended at that point.

Also, I'm posting this at nearly 2:00 am my time because my end of week/upcoming weekend just got very busy and it's now or never, so please forgive any typos. I reread this chapter until I went crosseyed.

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

Toji Fushiguro liked to consider himself capable of many things. 

He, as a single father, had raised his son from infancy into a fine six and a half year old.

He was a teacher, no matter how unwilling, and had successfully kept all his students alive thus far.

He was your partner, doting and caring of your every whim and utterly wrapped around your finger. 

So, when he and Megumi woke up from a late afternoon nap in the middle of the summer only to step into a puddle of water in front of their kitchen sink, Toji was adamant he was capable of repairing the situation, regardless of his lack of experience in such an area. He mopped up the water, gathered tools, and squeezed himself under the sink the best he could considering his size. At some point, Megumi must have run across the street to fetch you because your legs appeared in his limited field of vision followed by your smug grin as you bent down to check on him. 

Your eyes glittered in a way that was betelling of your mischievousness, and Toji grimaced. “Having fun?”

“Just hand me a wrench from the counter, please.” 

You did as Toji asked without comment, and began to fill the silence (and test Toji’s concentration) with chatter about plans for the weekend in between his intermittent string of curses when something went amiss. As an hour went by with little progress to show for it, you made yourself comfortable on the floor next to Toji’s feet while Megumi had since found something outside to occupy himself with. When you felt water begin to tickle your toes, you reached out your foot to nudge it against Toji’s calf. 

“I mean this in the kindest, least offensive way,” you told him, “but don’t you think it’s about time we call a plumber?” Somewhere under the sink, metal clanged and Toji barked out an expletive followed by a groan of pain. 

“No,” he insisted grouchily, and you watched as he used his legs to wedge himself further under the sink. “I think I almost got it.” 

Your answering hum was full of disbelief, but Toji paid it no mind, even if he could start to feel the coolness of water seeping into the cuff of his pants. If only he could reach one more inch…

His concentration was interrupted when Megumi’s scream of pain filtered in through the open windows. Toji lurched upwards out of sheer instinct and hit his head hard enough against the metal piping that he saw stars. Through the haze of pain and spots across his vision, he saw you dash out the door, and primal parental instinct forced Toji out of the cramped space so he could tend to his child’s cries. When he finally managed to stagger out the front door, you were on your knees on the concrete cradling a sobbing Megumi to your chest. His bike lay on its side just a step away, and from how his son’s left arm was sitting limply over his lap and already changing colors, Toji suspected a hospital trip was in order for what was clearly a broken bone. He approached and you looked up at him with eyes that were glassy with your own tears, your heart breaking for how badly the little boy was in pain. Toji brushed a quick hand over your cheek before crouching down to meet Megumi’s eyes. 

“Alright, Megs,” he coaxed, and the sight of his son’s face clenched in distress and wet with tears was a sight Toji would never get over, “we’ll get you up and to the doctor to start feeling better, okay?” Megumi didn’t react to his words, but when Toji reached out to scoop him into his arms, he wailed harder and tightened the good arm he had wrapped around your neck, burying his face deeper into your chest. Surprise fluttered over your face and then it turned apologetic towards Toji, but he shook his head, the shock of his son’s preference for you in this moment not nearly as important. Instead, Toji carefully helped you up while you held onto Megumi and led the two of you to the car with a protective arm wrapped around your shoulders. 

The evening at the hospital passed in a similar manner. You reclined in a bed with Megumi against your chest while a doctor looked at his arm and Toji filled out paperwork. You murmured in the boy’s ear and brushed his hair back in soothing movements to try and distract him from the pain. When a nurse came in with an IV kit in hand, you let Megumi cry into your neck while Toji helped hold his right arm still. Eventually, after he drifted off to sleep, you took a seat next to Toji on the right side of Megumi’s bed while the doctor set his arm and fixed a cast onto it. The entire time, the worried father remained ramrod straight with eyes fixed on every move the doctor made, and he had your hand clenched between the two of his on his lap. You leaned to the side to rest your head against his shoulder, and adoration tightened your chest when Toji let out an anxious huff before turning his head to press his lips to your forehead.

When the whole thing was said and done and the three of you were discharged once Megumi was awake enough, you rubbed a comforting hand over Toji’s back as he carried his son to the car. Once home, the two of you worked to get Megumi changed and ready for bed, a delicate task when having to take caution with the state of his arm. Thankfully, the edge was taken off by painkillers, and he dazedly chatted about the cool blue cast on his arm and how he couldn’t wait to show it off to Yuji. Toji promised to get him markers for him to draw on it with while you persuaded him to get under the blankets after assuring him you’d bake a giant batch of cookies tomorrow in reward for his bravery. 

Toji took the time to place Megumi’s favorite stuffed animals around him and tucked him further into the blankets. You read him a bedtime story while Toji lay stretched out next to the two of you, and by the end of it, Megumi’s eyes were drooping heavily and his mouth had fallen open just the slightest. You gently lifted Megumi’s broken arm up so that Toji could settle a pillow under it, and after bidding the boy goodnight, he got up so you could slide in next to him. He watched with a thudding heart as you scanned his son up and down with fretful eyes and let your hands flutter nervously about him. You pushed some of the hair away from Megumi’s forehead and leaned down carefully to place a gentle kiss between his brows. When you looked back at Toji with a sad, wobbly smile on your lips but a determined gleam in your eyes in order to be brave for the little boy in front of you, Toji realized in that moment that he had fallen in love with you, and in the same breath decided that he was going to marry you, nearly a year to the day he met you in the middle of a grocery store. 

And later, when the two of you lay exhausted under the blankets of his bed, Toji rolled over onto his side to mold every inch of himself against your back and nestled his chin into the crook of your shoulder so his lips could brush against your ear. 

“Marry me,” he whispered, not so much asking as he was pleading. You were already half asleep, but he felt the shake of your shoulders as quiet laughter blew out from your nose, and you threaded your fingers up through his from where they were draped over your hip. 

“Of course,” you breathed, and Toji tightened his arms around you. He left a kiss on the back of your neck and let his eyes slide shut as he basked in the warmth of your body and smell of your lotion and the incandescent joy in realizing that he’d never have to go another night without it—without you. 

“But ask me again later so I can see you properly down on one knee.” 

A week later, because Toji Fushiguro was powerless to anything you demanded of him, he did as you asked in the middle of his kitchen while you, him, and Megumi still lounged in your pajamas and were only halfway done making breakfast. His son clapped excitedly when you squealed out a ‘yes’ and Toji grinned with pride as you admired the simple gold band that adorned your finger. Satisfaction made his heart full and your smile soothed his soul, but eagerness had him marrying you in a government building just a couple days later.

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

It wasn’t until Megumi’s seventh birthday that Toji realized stalling wasn’t going to work much longer. 

The months following your marriage had been busy with moving him and Megumi into your house across the street since it was bigger and didn’t hold the memories of a tragic past Toji was ready to move on from. The end of the summer had brought school for him and Megumi back into full swing, and two weeks into it Toji was ready to quit when all his students could focus on was the new ring on his left hand. Most of them were congratulatory in their teasing, but a few made jests about their disbelief that someone could bother marrying their grouch of a teacher, and while Toji had half a mind to bring you by just to shut them up, he decided it was kinder to not subject you to a particular white-haired menace. 

By the time the three of you got settled into the normalcy of being a new family, the year was already coming to a close and Megumi was turning seven. As requested, you had baked his son a double chocolate cake and covered the top in rainbow sprinkles. Toji had taken the time to pipe little swirls of frosting around the edges, though some were lopsided and varied in size (such small, precise tasks were simply too big of an ask for the size of his hands), but Megumi didn’t seem to care when the two of you placed it in front of him on the table, candles lit orange and reflecting off the wideness of his eyes. 

After singing and clapping, right as Megumi filled his cheeks with as much air as he could manage to blow his candles out in a single breath, you threw your hands out over them in an attempt to keep them aflame for just a moment longer.

“Wait, Megumi,” you gasped, yanking your hands back when the heat of the candles scorched a bit too close to your skin. Toji immediately gathered them into his to inspect your palms, but you shook them away, not minding his grumble as the brief sting faded. “You have to make a wish!” 

Megumi’s mouth dropped open into a perfect ‘o’ as he nodded vigorously. “Oh, yeah,” he chirped. “I forgot.” 

He immediately squeezed his eyes closed, and you and Toji watched in amusement as he scrunched up his nose and squirmed in his seat. You took the opportunity to snap a couple of pictures, and when he was done, Megumi’s eyes popped back open and he took in a great inhale before blowing out his candles all at once. You cheered while Toji ruffled his son’s hair, and Megumi looked quite proud of himself as you slid the cake towards you to cut him a piece worthy of being eaten on his birthday. Both of you chastised Toji when he kept insisting you make his piece bigger and bigger, almost so that he nearly had half the cake on his plate alone by the time it was all said and done. 

“Hey, Kid,” Toji said around a mouthful of cake while you pointedly took a polite bite of your own, “what did you wish for?” Megumi begrudgingly tore his attention from his cake, and you swatted at Toji’s arm from across the table. 

“You’re not supposed to ask!” you exclaimed, but he simply rolled his eyes and shook his head good naturedly before returning his focus back onto his plate. At the head of the table, Megumi stared at you with an all too knowing look for a fresh six year old and then set his sights on his father with an unimpressed quirk to his brow. 

“I wished for a baby brother or sister.” 

Toji promptly choked on the large bite of cake he had shoved into his mouth moments prior to Megumi’s unexpected declaration, and your lips parted in shock. Meanwhile, Megumi eyed the two of you expectedly as Toji hacked and coughed. You jumped from your chair to grab him a glass of water, then set it down next to him while rubbing a soothing hand between his shoulder blades. 

“Now, Megumi,” you began, not so much stern but intentionally practical, and he looked up at you with wide, attentive eyes, “babies, uhm, take their time getting here…” you trailed off and turned your head to your husband with an alarmed look on your face, but Toji was still working on regaining his breath and chugging his water and could only offer a shrug of his shoulders while he pursed his lips in defeat. 

You sighed and faced Megumi again with a weary smile. “Babies take their time getting here and that’s after their parents decide to have one. Any baby brother or sister will have to spend nine whole months growing in my belly before they arrive, so you’ll have to try and be real patient for us, okay?”

Megumi’s face fell dejectedly, and if Toji looked hard enough, there was a hint of disappointment on your features too. He watched as you playfully pinched at the boy’s cheeks and tempted him back into a happy mood with the hint of birthday gifts waiting for him in the living room. The whole exchange had guilt weighing heavy on Toji’s shoulders, and he had the bitter realization that it was his own fear—the one that lied solely in the scant possibility that you could meet the same fate as the only other woman he had ever loved—that caused the frown on yours and Megumi’s faces. 

In spite of that fear, Toji had promised you something, and in the six months since the two of you had been married, you hadn’t chastised him or given him grief when he pulled out at the last moment to spend himself across your stomach or back. You didn’t question him when he had a hard time meeting your eyes as he tore open a foil packet to remove the condom from inside. He knew your trust in him far surpassed whatever insecurities he wrestled with, but it didn’t make him feel less like a failure every time. 

So later that night, when Toji found himself above you and nestled in the warmth between your legs, he leaned into the security of your arms and sought reassurance in the taste of your lips as he came to his own end after ensuring yours. You ran your fingers down his back and whispered sweet nothings into his ear when the racing of his heart and trembling of his muscles could no longer be blamed on the energy he expended while pleasuring his wife.

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

You suspected something was amiss a couple months later. Toji had brought home your favorite take-out for dinner, and while the first bite was as pleasant as usual, every one after tasted more and more like cardboard and settled uncomfortably in your stomach until your appetite was thoroughly gone. You questioned whether it was something more and that maybe your period wouldn’t appear in just a couple of days, but when Megumi began to complain of an upset stomach toward the end of the meal, you banished the thought out of your head. 

However, two days after while you were cooking that evening’s dinner, one whiff of the package of raw chicken you had just cut open had you violently gagging and running for the nearest bathroom while ignoring Megumi’s call of alarm when you passed him in the living room. Your knees hit tile as you retched into the bowl of the toilet, and you weren’t sure how much time had passed when you were finally able to lift your head. You trembled on your spot on the floor and felt more tired than you had been in weeks. Nausea made your head spin, and you wondered if you’d ever be able to look at chicken again the same way. Just the sheer thought of it had your mouth souring, and your repulsiveness for it went deep into your bones. 

When you finally caught your breath and were mostly confident you had emptied everything in your stomach, you pushed yourself off the floor and rinsed your mouth before exiting the bathroom. Megumi stood on the other side of the door with his lips turned down in concern and your phone in his hand. When he raised it up to you, Toji’s name was displayed at the top of an ongoing call. 

“Hey,” is all you said when you brought the phone to your ear. 

“Megumi called and said something was wrong with you. Are you okay?” Toji’s voice wasn’t panicked, but you sensed the worry in it, and you could imagine his face looked much like his son’s had moments ago. 

“I was making dinner a few minutes ago, and the smell of the raw chicken…” you had to trail off when just telling him what happened made you gag a little. You hadn’t yet stepped away from the doorway of the bathroom, but you weren’t in a hurry to have to go back in, so you took a few deep breaths until the feeling passed. Megumi hugged your leg as he gazed up at you in concern and you patted the top of his head in reassurance. 

“Ah,” Toji remarked.

“Yup.” 

Toji cleared his throat after a moment of quiet and then asked a question that sent nerves skittering down your spine. “Want me to pick up a test on the way home?” 

“Please.” 

Later that night, after Megumi was tucked in bed, the two of you waited anxiously as the timer on your phone counted down from three minutes. Two pregnancy tests lay face down on the counter. You nibbled on the skin of your cuticle while Toji bounced his knee from where he sat on the closed toilet lid. 

“I mean, it’s not as if we weren’t expecting this to happen,” you pointed out, shaking your hands in front of you in an attempt to dislodge the nervousness from your body, and Toji snorted. 

“Yeah, certainly not.” He wiggled his eyebrows flirtatiously, and the smirk that tugged at the scar on his lip made your cheeks flush hot, and you rolled your eyes at him. As the two of you continued to wait as the seconds on your phone seemed to crawl by, a thought popped into your head. 

“Is it as nerve-wracking the second time around? Or is it easier?” you asked him gently, and you saw Toji’s features soften as his eyes went nostalgic. He worked his mouth in contemplation—perhaps in recollection—and then shook his head. 

“No, it’s uh, just as shocking I’d say—at least for me.” He pushed off his knees and came to stand next to you. “I think it’ll be this way no matter how many times we do it.” The thought of one day doing this a second time had the breath rushing out of you, but you filed the image away for a future discussion. It wasn’t something you had the capacity to consider now, not while you were currently waiting to see if you were about to become a mother. 

The shrill noise from your phone that indicated the timer had run down made the two of you jump a foot in the air, and you looked to Toji with wide eyes. 

“Take that one?” you offered, pointing with a trembling finger to the test that would answer with words versus a combination of lines, and Toji was suddenly very grateful he grabbed two different kinds at the store. While he knew he could squint at a test and convince himself that an extra line may or may not be visible, he was almost a hundred percent positive he wouldn’t suddenly become illiterate and unable to distinguish between “pregnant” and “not pregnant.” 

He nodded, and at the same time, the two of you reached for each test on the counter and flipped them over close to your faces only for your jaws to drop simultaneously. You turned to each other, wide eyed and bewildered (as if you didn’t know what the two of you had been doing these last couple months) because “pregnant” and two dark lines could not be misunderstood. 

You brought your free hand up to your mouth to cover it as unabashed laughter poured from your lips, and Toji wrapped his arms around your shoulders to yank you into his chest. Joy spurred him into kissing you deeply, and the pure love and elation in your eyes when you pulled back was enough for Toji to feel the first stirrings of excitement at the prospect of having a child with you. 

It wasn’t until later in the night, in the dark of your shared bedroom with nothing but the evenness of your breathing to interrupt the noise in his head that Toji could admit to himself that the entirety of it terrified him.  

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

“That’s a baby?” Megumi’s voice was full of skepticism, and he eyed the ultrasound photo with disgruntled disbelief as you pointed at the grey and white blob in a sea of black. 

“Yes, Megumi,” you giggled, smiling at Toji over the little boy’s shoulder as the three of you sat cuddled in your bed, “that’s your sibling. They are very small right now, but next time they’ll look bigger and more like a baby.” 

He wasn’t appeased by your answer, and he crossed his arms with a little huff of disappointment that had Toji struggling to muffle his laughter. The two of you had just returned from your first doctor’s appointment and had decided to break the news to Megumi now that you had a picture to confirm it, and while he had taken it well, he clearly was expecting more. 

“How long till it gets here?” he asked, glancing up at you, but Toji replied first.

“Doctor said January. You’re gonna have to be patient, Megs.” Toji grinned at his son, but Megumi looked even more unenthused than before and glowered at his father. 

“Why’d you have to take so long to have a baby?” he muttered, and the words wiped the smile clean off Toji’s face as you shook with laughter. With a pained look on his face, Toji simply shoved a pillow playfully over Megumi’s head and tickled him in the ribs to distract him from the question at hand. 

You used the opportunity to burrow under the blankets as your eyes began to grow heavy. Nausea, fatigue, and a general feeling of being unwell had plagued you from the moment the pregnancy test had turned positive, and you hoped an afternoon in bed and watching movies would offer a reprieve. You had just begun to drift off when you heard Megumi ask for Toji’s attention. 

“Dad, where do babies come from?” 

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

“I don’t think there’s much in that book you have to worry about,” Toji told you on a night that found the two of you lounging in your room after Megumi went to sleep. He was lazily folding laundry from his perch at the foot of the bed. You were reclined back against the headboard with said book in your lap. One hand rested against the curve of your belly that had just started to protrude against the fabric of your clothes in the last week, and the other dog-eared every other page laden with information about pregnancy, childbirth, and newborns.

“Perhaps,” you said, setting the book down on your thighs, and the pointed look you gave him made it clear you didn’t feel the same, “but that’s easy for you to say—you’ve done this before.” 

A harsh laugh fell from Toji’s mouth before he had a chance to stop it, and he tossed a bundle of socks in his hand at the tower he had made of his folded boxers. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t doing a very good job of it. We were barely surviving.” 

He watched as the pile of fabric warbled upon impact, and just as it began to tilt, you shot your foot out to brace it in place. When Toji looked up at you, frustration didn’t furrow your brow or pinch your nose. Instead, your smile was gentle and understanding.

“I know,” you said, voice soft, and it carried an undercurrent of reassurance. 

Toji released a deep breath and tilted up the scarred corner of his mouth in a way that he hoped looked contrite. He reached for the stack of his boxers and righted them so you could lower your leg back down. “I’m probably not the best person to get advice from anyway.” 

You tilted your head to the right, perplexed by his unusual self-deprecation. “I wouldn’t say so.” 

Toji just shrugged and continued fiddling with the last bits of laundry. 

“Sure, you’re a little rough around the edges.” 

“Can’t deny that,” he grumbled. 

“You can be a bit grumpy sometimes, and you have a history of giving in to questionable decisions and habits.” 

Toji shot you a withering look. “You really know how to kick a guy while he’s down.” 

“And,” you emphasized, holding up your hand to indicate that you weren’t finished, “you have a really tragic backstory that just makes the whole thing sad.” 

For once, Toji seemed to be struck speechless, stupefied by the bluntness of your words, and the bundle of socks he had been playing with rolled from his hand. 

“But,” you said, “there’s no one else I’d rather be doing this with than you, Toji.” Your husband, who had clearly been a bit rankled by the conversation, melted. The tension released from his shoulders and the puckered set of his lips smoothed out into a dopey grin as his countenance perked up.

“I love you too,” he teased, his tone light and easy, “even if you are something else.” 

You beamed at him as he got up to gather the laundry in his arms and set it in on the dresser in front of your bed, intending to deal with it tomorrow. He then flopped onto his stomach on the bed next to you, shaking the whole thing under his weight, and if the two of you hadn’t already thoroughly tested its limits, you’d worry about its ability to handle the size of him. The thought had your blood suddenly running hot and you rolled onto your side to nip at his ear when a different sensation in your lower half made you pause. 

For the last two weeks you had been feeling the tiny bubbles in your stomach and knew that your baby had gotten big enough for you to begin to take notice of its movement. However, this was the first time it felt significant enough to be noticed from the outside. You returned to your position on your back and pressed your hand lightly into the skin under your belly button. Nothing happened for a minute, and just as you were ready to give up, you felt the faintest hiccup against your palm. 

“Toji!” you blurted, and you urged yourself to stay still despite your excitement lest your little one move again and hide away. 

“You going to insult me again?” Toji’s voice was muffled from where his face was mushed into his pillow. 

“No,” you scoffed, wiggling your fingers at him even though he couldn’t see, “come here.” He groaned in protest but propped himself up on his elbows to shift onto his side nonetheless, and you snapped your hand out to grab his.

“What are you—,” 

“Shh!” You didn’t bother explaining as you covered his hand with yours and settled it onto your belly where yours had just been. His jaw shut with an audible click. You watched Toji’s expression carefully as you waited for another burst of movement, and even though you knew this wasn’t a foreign experience to him like it was to you, overwhelming joy filled you to your depths when his eyes glossed over with wonder as his child wiggled against his palm. He was quick to gather you to his chest with the arm that wasn’t draped over your hip and you tucked your head under his chin in an attempt to snuggle as close to him as you could manage. 

“Megumi’s going to get a kick out of that tomorrow—literally.” Toji’s voice was thick with emotion, as well as amusement at his own cleverness, and you swatted at his chest. But your laughter deceived you and Toji placed kisses all along the top of your head. 

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

Toji wondered if all the blood on the floor was retribution for the amount of it he had spilled in the years before. It pooled slowly, eating up the white of the tile and creeping closer until it stained the tip of his shoes. He was empty, void of anything really, and maybe this was the curse doomed to follow him. Loneliness, robbed of anyone precious to him, and instead of incandescent joy that should have taken over him at the sight of his newly born child, nothing except for seething rage and despair filled his mind. There was hatred for a family name that he had already tried to escape, a desire to soothe himself in all the previous vices that had once kept him occupied, and bewilderment that he was somehow in the same situation again.

It was all eerily similar, from the sudden rush of panicked movement in the room to the way he fell back into a cushioned chair, just barely conscious of the baby in his arms. The face of his late wife and yours flashed back and forth, superimposed onto each other as the two of you laid still with eyes closed and arms slackened at your sides. A shrill whine, a solid ringing filled his ears and silenced all other noise. 

Not again. Not again, not again, not ag—,

Years of discipline kept Toji from jolting into wakefulness, but he did suck in a mouthful of air when his eyes opened and took in the darkness of your bedroom. He wasn’t trapped in the sterile four walls of a hospital room, nor was he struck numb by the darkness of your blood. Instead, sweat stuck the sheets to the skin of his back, and above him the fan you always insisted be on spun quickly. The thought of you had his hand clambering across to your side of the bed, but when all that met his fingers was the unusual coolness of your pillow, he lurched upwards, flipped on his bedside lamp, and searched the room.

Rationality told Toji that you were probably fine, that you were in the bathroom or the living room and would be back any second. Rationality would tell him that there wasn’t any need for him to seek you out and confirm you were alive with his own eyes. But adrenaline, a tragic memory, and the nausea simmering in his gut drove him from bed and onto his feet, clad only in his boxers.

Toji was still a bit disoriented from his nightmare, and he tried to be extra mindful of his heavy footfalls as he passed the door of Megumi’s room. As he neared the end of the hallway, he heard the faintest plink of metal against glass and the racing of his heart slowed at the sound before ultimately returning to normal when saw you in the kitchen. 

Despite it being well into the middle of the night, you leaned back onto the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in your hands and a happy hum in the back of your throat. Your belly sat low between your hips, pulling taut the fabric of his shirt that served as your outfit of choice as of late, and the sight of it was a reminder that you were nearing the end of nine months now. Nervousness was a constant state Toji was in as your due date rapidly approached, and if he thought too hard about it, panic would shorten his breath and tunnel his vision, such as it was beginning to do in that moment. Thus, Toji wasn’t sure if he made a noise or if you just happened to notice him out of your peripheral vision when you turned your head to him, curiosity taking over your face. 

“Did I wake you?” you whispered, spooning one last bite of cereal into your mouth before setting it into the sink behind you. Toji shook his head and padded over to your side. He dropped his head to rest his cheek on your hair and trailed a hand down your stomach to spread his palm over the front of it. Satisfaction coursed through his veins when you let out a happy, weary sigh and leaned into his chest to rest your weight against him. 

Toji knew you were struggling. He knew your hips ached and it made walking a chore. He knew that your back only stopped hurting after he rubbed the muscles loose for half an hour and that everything including breathing had become difficult for you. The baby kicked you awake during the night, and if you weren’t tossing and turning in an attempt to get comfortable, you were up and going to the bathroom for the nth time. Toji did his best to dote on you in between his job, taking care of Megumi, and doing all the chores around the house. He certainly did want this to be all over for you so you could bask in the enjoyment of motherhood, but each day closer to your child’s birth spiked his anxiety exponentially higher, and he ashamedly wished he could ignore what was to come. 

“Would you like to go back to bed?” he asked, taking a step backwards. 

You nodded your head unwillingly. “I’m too uncomfortable to sleep right now. If I stay up and watch TV in bed will that bother you?” 

“No,” he replied immediately, and Toji was secretly glad he wouldn’t have to stare up at a dark ceiling, too afraid to close his eyes when all he wanted to do was bask in the warmth of your body and the steady rise and fall of your chest. 

The two of you made a slow walk back to your room, and Toji helped you into bed and shifted the pillows behind your back until you were as comfortable as can be in your given state. He scrubbed his hands over his face to rid his eyes of the tiredness that lingered behind them and then slid in next to you as you focused on flipping through channels on the TV. Toji snaked his right arm under the small of your back and wound his left across your lap so his hand could cup the side of your belly and then set the side of his face on the top of it. Your fingers came to scratch through his hair absentmindedly, and the relief that Toji felt from your touch and the quiet thump of your heart was nearly instantaneous. 

As minutes ticked by and most of the lingering tension from his nightmare had subsided, Toji still found himself tapping against the side of your stomach and pushing his fingers against it in an effort to get his child to respond to him. 

You reached an arm over his head to prod at the center of your belly yourself. “He’s been wiggling around a bunch throughout the day, but he might be right about here…” you trailed off just in time for Toji to feel a quick bump under his cheek. 

“I think you meant ‘she,’ isn’t that right?” he said with a smile. Only one of you was to be right about who your child was destined to be, but neither would know until they came out to meet you. 

“No, ‘he’ was correct, thank you very much.” Affection warmed his body and Toji pressed his fingers back into your skin so he could feel the movement again. The baby reciprocated his touch each time until Toji finally relented and figured you’d appreciate the break from being repeatedly poked and prodded. Your palm drifted down to cup his jaw and the swiping of your thumb over it was enough to lull him into the beginnings of sleep. He snuggled a bit closer into your side and let out a great exhale, recalling how you had once made a comment likening him to a large, lounging dog. Toji supposed he could understand what you meant. Really, at the end of the day, all he wanted to do was cling close to you and bask in the pleasure of your touch. 

While Toji knew that no amount of time he spent listening to your heartbeat or prompting his child into movement would prevent a cruel fate from bestowing you both should it be decided, he would let himself pretend if it meant keeping himself together enough to see it through. 

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

As a surprise to no one at all, childbirth was just as nerve wracking for Toji the second time around as it was the first. 

It didn’t help that he had been on pins and needles since your due date had come and gone, so when you stumbled out of bed and into the living room on the morning of the third day passed, your hand clutching your stomach and a harrowed expression on your face, Toji was coiled tight enough that he sprung into movement. He flung Megumi over his shoulder and was across the room at the same moment to grab the bags you kept at the ready by the front door. By the time you walked out, teetering between amusement at how your husband scurried about and uneasiness at the thought of what was about to happen to your body, Toji already had the car loaded and turned on. A few minutes later, you almost felt bad for Megumi when Toji stopped outside the Itadori’s house to practically throw him at Yuji’s dad—followed by his overnight bag—had the boy not already been hollering to his best friend about how he was about to get a new baby sibling. 

At the hospital, the terrible familiarity of the beige walls and speckled tile had Toji desperate to pace the room at how trapped he felt, but the desire to stay put next to your bedside and keep your hand in his won out. Labor could take hours, that he knew, and Toji spent every moment of it cycling his eyes between the baby’s heart monitor, your face, and the clock on the wall. Each time your expression would twist into a pained grimace, your hand would crush his and a potent cocktail of adrenaline, fear, and anticipation would send his heart racing. 

When the day turned into evening, just an hour before midnight, a doctor placed Toji Fushiguro’s second son onto your bare chest, much to his shock and delight. The noise in the room threatened to overwhelm him—the excited exclamations of the nurses, your panted gasps, the shrill crying of a newborn baby--but Toji wouldn’t let anything tear his focus from you. He stared at how wisps of your hair stuck to your temples in sweat, the red of your cheeks, how your eyes were full of tears and wonder and flicked back and forth between him and your child. Toji knew (how he wished he didn’t) that you could be fine in one instant and dead in the next, but for every minute that passed where you still breathed and your heart kept beating, he could feel the fear slowly trickle from his body. 

Once he was an hour old, Toji held his son for the first time as he sat next to you on your hospital bed. The baby had your nose and tufts of hair the same color as yours, and Toji realized with a sudden pain in his chest that he didn’t remember Megumi in his first couple hours. He couldn’t recall what it felt like to hold him for the first time, nor did he know how much he weighed just after birth. All the tiny details he assumed every parent would remember until the end of their days was overshadowed by a curtain of devastation, the death of his wife wiping it clean from his memory. 

So this time, when the room was quiet and he had you leaning against him, he studied every part of his newborn with rapt attention, determined to commit every detail to perfect recollection. And unlike before, in a moment he’ll always mourn, Toji felt peace and quiet and something indescribably blissful. 

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

It wasn’t so much that Toji forgot what it was like to have a newborn so much as he had completely blocked what could be considered some of the worst days of his life from his memory. He had been too sleep deprived to even properly grieve his wife and utterly shell shocked at the prospect of now being a widower and single dad. There had been no one to help, no one to encourage him when Megumi cried for two hours straight in the dead of night for a reason Toji couldn’t begin to figure out, no one to help him plan for a couple months down the line when his savings inevitably ran out and he’d have to figure out a safe, legal plan for employment or consider the risk of something illegal since it paid better. 

Yet two weeks into it, when Toji was just starting to discern the difference between Megumi’s wails of hunger and those of exhaustion, someone knocked on his door. He grumbled the whole way down the hall in fear that the sound would wake the baby he had just spent the last hour putting down, and also because he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten or let alone brushed his teeth. So, Toji figured he looked worse for wear when he swung the door open and glared at the man on the other side of it. He was middle aged and wore dark clothing and an even darker pair of sunglasses. He claimed he was an instructor at a school in the city and came to find him out when he heard that rumors began to swirl of Toji Zenin having a son. Toji had spat at him, snarling and enraged and cursing his old last name with vehemence, and he was all too ready to come to physical blows had his son not been sleeping just a few yards away. In the end, the man had just smiled and extended his hand with the promise of a job and to call him the next day. Toji had been wary, but he knew that pickiness wasn’t a luxury he could afford, and appeared at the gates of the school a week later with Megumi strapped to his chest. 

Things were a bit different now, that at least Toji could acknowledge, and the heavy exhaustion that threatened to wrench his eyes shut and made his hands clumsy as he refilled your water bottle didn’t feel so catastrophic this time around. He squinted at the clock on the wall and sighed wearily when he realized the night wasn’t yet halfway over and the two of you were already up for the sixth time. Five day old newborns apparently would wake up and eat more frequently than he could remember, and each and every time he insisted on getting up with you to tend to any needs you had while ensuring his son got the meal he demanded. With an extra snack in hand and a full bottle of water, Toji shuffled back to your shared bedroom and quietly closed the door behind him. 

“You fall asleep standing up at the counter again?” Your voice broke the silence and got a chuckle out of him as he fell onto the bed in a heap by your side. 

“Something like that,” he muttered, but thankfully you didn’t pry and instead gave him a grateful smile when he unwrapped your granola bar and held it up to your mouth since your hands were preoccupied with holding the infant to your chest. You munched on it slowly, and in between bites you would settle  your head back against the pillows and let your eyes flutter shut, trusting your husband to keep a dutiful watch on the two of you. Toji moved closer to you so he could gently rest his head against your shoulder and peered down at his son as he got his fill of milk. He rubbed a tiny foot in between his thumb and forefinger and grinned at the soft suckling noises he made, amazed at how differently things felt this time. Toji was stunned at how having a new child felt so much like the first time since he could actually slow down to process it all now. Maybe this time, when history didn’t repeat himself and he was at home with the people he loved, contentment would allow the memories to stay. 

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

It happened for the first time three weeks after your son was born. 

That particular Saturday was dreary and wet, but it made for a cozy atmosphere as the four of you lounged about after a late morning breakfast. Toji was putting away the last remaining dishes. The TV played a vintage cartoon on low volume and Megumi sat on the floor in front of your feet as he colored quietly in his notebook. You sat curled up in the corner of the sofa with your newborn nestled in the crook of your arm, and you watched him, utterly transfixed. As he slept, his nose would twitch and his bottom lip would jut forward. Every once and a while, a dainty grunt would escape his mouth and he would squirm and stretch and whimper just a little before going still again as he drifted back into deeper sleep. He let out a yawn that seemed to take over his entire little body, and in the next moment he was blinking up at you with unfocused eyes as his lips smacked together once or twice. The sight of it made your heart feel as though it could burst, and you wiggled your finger into his clenched hand just to feel him hold onto it. 

“Oh, hey, his eyes are open.” Toji’s voice caught you unaware, and you jolted a little at the suddenness of it. You glanced up at your husband from where he leaned against the arm of the couch to your right, and there was a soft smile on his face as he traced a finger gently down the apple of the baby’s cheek. The newborn’s eyes couldn’t hardly focus on his father’s face from how far it was, but it certainly seemed like he looked for Toji in the moment before his lashes fluttered and his eyes slid shut. 

Toji drank in the sight of you two. There was a blissful glow to your features that couldn’t be missed, even through the signs of exhaustion that still lingered from another night of caring for a new baby. You barely paid him any mind as you smoothed your palm over the wispy hairs on your son’s head, and Toji decided that he would give you another couple minutes before gently urging you to take some time away to shower and do your morning routine should you feel like it. He pushed himself off the arm of the couch and made a move to step around it and sit down when Megumi spoke up from the floor. 

“Mama?” 

Megumi’s voice was barely above a whisper, and it was heartbreakingly timid. The single word punched all the air from Toji’s lungs and he stumbled mid-stride, just barely steading himself lest he land in a heap on top of his eldest son. Megumi didn’t move from where he was hunched over his notebook, still coloring carefully onto the paper, but Toji could see the burning red of his ears and how his eyes flicked back to take stock of your reactions before they went back to what was in front of him.

When Toji whipped his head towards you, you were already looking up at him with a wide, helpless expression. You had never once pushed passed a boundary Toji had yet to lift when it came to how you handled your roll as Megumi’s stepmother, and he could see from the way your eyes searched his that you were waiting for his guidance, his acquiescence before you dared to respond back to the little boy who had just referred to you as his mother despite you technically not being such. 

To Toji’s endless gratitude, you had always treated his late wife with the utmost respect. While you almost always fielded Megumi’s questions about her to Toji, you didn’t hesitate to pull out photos of her when he asked, nor had you ever tried to erase her significance as Megumi’s mother over the time in which you had become a part of their family. 

However, as Toji had come to acknowledge, there was no denying that Megumi had come to see you in that way. Not so much as the woman who had birthed him (Toji had explained that to him in child-friendly terms) but in every other way a mother would be seen. Megumi had no tangible connection to his late wife, no emotional attachment to the idea of her that Toji hoped one day would blossom as understanding matured in his mind, but to hold that expectation to him now wasn’t fair. Toji knew, as you looked at his son with tears of adoration and love in your eyes, that you had been making space for Megumi in your heart for a very long time in preparation for this possible moment, and he figured that having the love of a mother in the land of the living didn’t take away from the one now gone. 

If nothing else, he supposed that Megumi would catch onto your shared habit eventually. Frequently did you and Toji refer to yourself as such when tending to the new little one. 

“Shhh, Mama’s here,” you’d murmur when he wailed out his discomfort while the four of you watched TV in the early afternoon. 

“Mama’s comin’, kid, I promise,” Toji would say when the baby would nuzzle into his chest in a search for milk when he and Megumi sat together on your bed while you showered at the end of the day.

So Toji swept a hand along your shoulder, capturing your attention, and his quivering smile paired well with the tear that trickled down your cheek when he nodded at you. Your hand swiped away the moisture from your skin and you cleared your throat.

“Yes, Megumi?” Your voice sounded a little thick and wet, but the boy spun around in astonished elation nonetheless, and his smile was so wide that Toji wondered if it stung the skin at all. Megumi jumped up to his feet but very cautiously approached you until he could rest his hands on your knees and stand on his tiptoes to try and look up at his baby brother. 

“Mama, can I hold him?” You giggled and nodded as you reached out your hand to caress Megumi’s chin, and he squirmed where he stood as excitement made him antsy. 

“Of course,” you told him. “Come sit next to me and your dad will sit on the other side to help you.” Toji felt his heart expand further than he thought possible when the two of you turned towards him with loving, expectant looks that spurred him into movement.

“Up you go, Megs,” he said, lifting his son up from under his arms so he could plop him down on the cushion next to you before taking a seat himself. He threw an arm along the back of the sofa so he could scootch in closer to you three. Once Megumi situated himself, you slowly transferred the sleeping infant to lay him in his brother’s lap, and Toji was there waiting with an open hand to help cup his head and neck. 

“He’s still so small,” Megumi said quietly—wondrously—but you and Toji laughed at how the baby was still too big for Megumi to fully cradle in his arms. 

“Don’t worry,” you said, “he’ll grow big before you know it, and then he’ll be ready to play all day with you.” Megumi offered you a small smile in response before he settled back to watching his little brother snooze in his arms. You propped your elbow on the back of the sofa so you could lean your head into your hand, and Toji stretched his fingers to swirl them against your arm. Your eyes met, still glimmering with the last remnants of joyful tears, and Toji was nearly overwhelmed by a surge of emotion as he took in the little family that the four of you made.

Fear had once hung like a heavy shadow over his hope for an idyllic future and his ability to experience it. Your smile and the small hands of his children were there to whisk it away. 

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

A little bonus:

Three years after the birth of your son, a daughter made her appearance nearly two weeks early, thrilling her eagerly awaiting older brothers. For all the work you did, she came out a near exact copy of her father, and Toji had no problem letting you know how proud he was about it as you laid propped up next to him in your hospital bed. 

“I’m telling you, there was a hint of green in them!” 

You rolled your eyes playfully as you watched Toji recline your daughter against his knees with her head cradled in his palms so you could both gaze at her, and she looked positively tiny in the breadth of his hands. 

“You know a baby’s eye color might shift from what it was at birth once they get a bit older. We can’t know for certain yet.” 

The words seemed to have no effect on your husband, and he simply dropped a kiss to your temple and murmured a soft “we’ll see,” into your ear. 

(To your surprise—and secret delight—Toji was right.)

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

Again, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who took the time to read this<3 I really just love giving tortured characters soft, happy endings, so I hope you enjoyed this endless rambling of fluffy fluff.

[gamerbot-22]

Teaching a Good Dog New Tricks

Prompt: Ice Skating

TW/CW: Sampard, banter that gets a bit suggestive in one spot, background Servasha if you squint, barely proofread and I appreciate spellchecks!

Word Count: 1,033

A/N: Oh god, this goober. With this prompt? There Is Only One Option. Canon be damned, I think this man has the grace of a newborn giraffe on roller skates. Also I keep starting these fics with "[shipname] if you squint" only to actually Start Writing and then have to drag myself back up here and change it to just "[shipname]"--

Likes and Reblogs appreciated (reblogs > likes) and Requests are Open! Read this story on Ao3 here!

<- Previous Ficlet | Collection Post | Next Ficlet ->

The dividers in this post were made by @/gamerbot-22 (me!) ☆

© All rights reserved by miHoYo

"C'mon, Geppie! The ice isn't getting any thicker out here!"

He knew that. Serval knew he knew that. Everyone else at this blasted festival on the lake knew that, but it did not make his knees feel any less shaky as he tried to pull himself up onto his feet.

In all of his time on Belobog--or Jarilo-VI as the outworlders of the Astral Express informed him this planet was called--Gepard had attempted ice skating... maybe three times? Two of which where when he was a child, and the third being right now. And of course the only reason he had even come out to the lake in the first place was because he had been dragged here by his sisters, and one thing led to another and now he was here, trembling from the uncertainty those two flimsy metal blades strapped to his boots instilled in him.

"Coming!" He called, knowing damn well that he was not going anywhere but down once he let go of the fence that had been installed on this end of the frozen lake.

This was probably going to go the same way the last two attempts had gone: Gepard was going to keep a death grip on this fence until Serval skated over, egged him into letting go, skated away, and he would lose his balance and his shoulder would hurt for the rest of the day. He made a mental note to try and not fall for it this time.

"Well, if it isn't Captain Landau!"

Oh, Aeons, no.

Gepard didn't even have to look to confirm who had decided to come over and heckle him. Right there, on the other side of the fence, with his feet planted firmly on solid ground, was Sampo. That smile on his face might fool some, but Gepard could see the mischief dancing in his eyes as he leaned over the section of fence right beside Gepard's trembling hands.

"Finally taking a day off?"

The Captain huffed, his breath billowing like dragon smoke in front of his mouth. "You wish. I may be out with my family, but that does not negate my respons--"

"--'Negate my responsibilities as a Silvermane Guard.' Of course! No one here doubts your dedication!" Sampo clasped his hands together. He must think himself so non-threatening, but Gepard knows that that posturing only means that he's playing docile until he can find some trouble to cause when no one is watching.

"What is it that you want, Mr. Koski?" Gepard asked, inching further along the fence, trying not to think of how he'll have to let go if he wants to get past the rascal accosting him.

Of course, Sampo played hurt right away, actually standing up straight to put a hand on his chest to communicate just how directly the Captain's words had struck him. Gepard took his chance to shuffle across the ice some more.

"'Mr. Koski?' Still? After all this time, my friend?" He followed Gepard with his head, letting him get about a foot or so away before moving to walk alongside him. "Don't you think we're past the formalities by now?"

"Not exactly, no." Gepard turned his head to look back out across the ice. At the other end of the lake, past all the other skaters, was his sister, completely oblivious to his plight as she skated alongside a woman in white with navy hair. He was glad she was having a good time but some help would be appreciated--

Sampo followed Gepard's gaze out onto the ice. He could care less who or what the Captain was actually looking at, and found himself more concerned with how he was looking out at the ice in general. He was looking at it. Not skating on it. And even with his gauntlets on, it was clear that Gepard was white-knuckling it with this wooden fence.

"Do you not know how to skate?"

Gepard's ears turned even redder than they had been from the cold. "I don't need your help."

Sampo waved his hands dismissively, that big smile breaking across his face again. "Oh, please! It would be my honor to teach you!" Before Gepard could protest, Sampo was already high-tailing it over to the little booth offering rental skate attachments. The Captain didn't have the energy to fight this. This was just going to be his fate now--learning to skate thanks to the man he wanted most.

In jail. The man he wanted most in jail. He wanted to put Sampo in cuffs and get him off the street, not--

"I would've used my own, but you know, they're all the way back home." Sampo held the rental skates up by the straps like a prize fish, letting the iron dangle and catch the rare sunlight that cut through the atmosphere.

"And that would be...? Gepard wobbled up into a straighter position, resting his weight on the front teeth of his own skates so he didn't go sliding sideways onto his ass.

Sampo hopped up onto the fence and started to buckle up his shoes, making sure the straps were good in tight before he swung around to get onto the ice. "Well, Captain, that depends on how well you listen to my instruction! Luckily, you're in good hands."

Gepard grimaced, hoping it would distract from the burning feeling in the tips of his ears and the back of his neck.

When Sampo offered his hand to lead Gepard off of the fence, the Captain hesitated, but upon some reflection and the reminder that it was he either tried this or be delegated to The Fence for the rest of the afternoon, he figured he would just bite the bullet and give it a try. No harm in trying, right?

Sampo smiled wide again, and for once it seemed to actually reach his eyes. "You won't regret it, friend! Now off we go!"

He pushed off the ice and took Gepard along with him, clutching tight to his arm so he didn't go tumbling face-first into the solid ground beneath him. Regardless of whatever he said, Gepard knew this was going to be a long afternoon.

[suprememuffin06]

should i post my caitvi canon-compliant character study fanfic on ao3???

i've written about 4k words so far, so far from any semblance of completion. this is my first fic and i'm soooo nervous to post it on ao3 because i'm scared it's just horrible lol. i'm trying to cover all the missing caitvi scenes for all the acts in s2, and im on act 1 so far. i'll post the draft here, and if anyone has any feedback, it would be extremely appreciated!

------

Vi couldn't look Cait in the eye, not properly. Not after all that happened. She was just comfortable enough staring at the girl’s royal blue hair and uniform, closely examining each subtle shake of a shoulder and each nearly imperceptible frown. Vi watched as the cracks in Caitlyn’s facade started to widen, the composed face she put up for the citizens of Piltover starting to slowly weaken.

Even from all the way below the balcony, in the waves of people gathered to memorialize Cassandra Kiraminn, Vi saw Caitlyn. Everyone else was looking at the daintily crafted blue and gold casket, to their councilwoman.

Vi heard the shifty murmurs of panic and uncertainty. A terrorist attack from the undercity. Half the counsel dead. Vi could feel the bile rising in her throat, tasting something like guilt mixed with the name Powder. And though her attention to Caitlyn never faltered, she couldn’t stop seeing flashes of Jinx’s gag in Cait’s mouth; she flinched as a cold crept up her spine.

Vi was surely going to throw up, and this time it didn’t feel like it would be as freeing as heaving after a gut punch from an inmate at Stillwater or wiping her mouth after one too many drinks from prison-made alcohol. Yet, there she stood. Her arms hung at her sides, the old wraps crusted with blood. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets, trying to hide the mess of her knuckles. The tattoo on her face gleamed in the sunlight like a proclamation saying “I don’t belong here” to the sophisticated individuals around her. She noticed the mothers pulling their children to their sides when seeing Vi, and the men that towered over her shot her murderous glares with fists clenched at their sides. I don’t belong here.

She didn’t care, not as long as she could look at her Caitlyn. Her Caitlyn. Her Powder. Her throat tightened, memories of blue flashing across her mind like lightning splitting the dark. It zipped around, knocking over and crashing into every crevice of her brain, leaving a trail of destruction in its path. Powder laughed with joy, and Vi could only watch as the short, choppy hair of her sisters grew into long, vine-like braids. In spite of herself, she winced at the thought.

The glitter bombs Powder held stopped exploding, in exchange for the sound of gunfire reverberating in her skull. Jinx aimed her machine gun through Vi’s eyes, directly at the indigo of the Kirraman girl standing above her. The worst gift Vi could give Caitlyn, delivering all the anger that her sister represented directly to her. And although she hated it now, Jinx would forever be a name buzzing right beneath her bones. No matter how much of herself she could give to Caitlyn, there was always an underlying paranoia that her mere presence was a vessel, bringing Jinx right at Caitlyn’s doorstep.

Vi wanted to feel it. You did this. No one else noticed the small tear that slipped down Caitlyn’s highest cheekbone except for her. YOU did this. Vi furrowed her eyebrows and locked onto that tear, watching it slide down the column of Cait’s neck. She saw the betrayal on her sister’s face when she saw her for the first time in seven years, with an enforcer. An enforcer, for fuck’s sake. And she saw the way Caitlyn listened to her when she told her not to shoot Jinx. And now her mother is in a box.

Somehow, Vi managed to gain and lose two of the most valuable relationships she ever held in the matter of a few weeks. You are a fire. Keeping people just warm enough if they stay at arm’s length. Once they draw near, they get burned. They get hurt, and yet you ask them to come closer still.

-

When Caitlyn’s eyes started to gain some focus again, her pupils pinpointed in the sunlight while scanning the masses, Vi vanished. She waded through the crowd and could feel Cait’s gaze find her back, watching her leave. She could only allow herself to indulge in the pain of looking at Caitlyn indirectly, but she would never allow her to know the pain of looking VI in the eyes again.

Vi would kill herself twenty times over before allowing Caitlyn to trust her, her judgement. Look what happened the last time she allowed that. Vi only brought ruin. A false security. She would not allow herself to be the cause of such anguish again. She needed to leave.

-

Caitlyn’s fingernails left crescent-moon shaped indents in her palm, and her enforcer uniform felt heavy on her shoulders as she watched everyone who came to her mother’s funeral. Really, she was looking at just one. The last thread of color in her life was slipping away, without so much as a goodbye.

Vi would have to be a fool to presume that Caitlyn wouldn’t find her in the sea of people, drawn to the side-swept mess of pink hair and bright red jacket. It took her every ounce of control that she had remaining to not clear the landing and sprint to the girl.

Caitlyn imagined herself crashing into Vi’s arms, and feeling the strength of the Zaunite’s biceps pressing against her cheek. Don’t go. You’re all I have left anymore. She could practically feel Vi’s breath rustle the strands of her navy hair, accompanied by the soft whisper of “I’ve got you, Cupcake” into her ear.

Tears started to well in her eyes and Caitlyn willed them to remain in place. She forced her back straighter as she watched the girl that she spent every day with for the last few weeks, walk away from her. Far enough away that Vi was just a pink dot in the distance, against the muted hue of the Piltover cityline. Caitlyn exhaled hard in favor of allowing herself to feel anything more, and steeled herself for the ending of the funeral.

The casket was closed, shrouded with a metric ton of violets, plucked delicately petal-for-petal. The hard contours of the box reminded Caitlyn of the sharp line of her mother’s jaw and the strong nose that she herself inherited.

The pall-bearers slowly lifted her mother’s coffin, and began their descent towards the cemetery just outside of Piltover city limits, where all of the most influential people were buried. Involuntarily, her feet began to shuffle forward, trying to catch one last glimpse of her mom, before one of the enforcers standing beside her shifted closer and in front of her. She didn’t know him well, but knew he was higher-ranking. Under any other circumstance she would have obeyed hierarchy and stopped herself. But today was not the day to test her, not when she was one more inconvenience from breaking down and raining hellfire on anyone who tried to tell her to “stay strong.” The officer shriveled under Caitlyn’s glare, one that could only be embodied by a councilwoman’s daughter.

She marched right beside the casket, her eyes level to the head of it, where her mother’s face would be if the box were open. This form of emotional expression, Caitlyn knew, was frowned upon by her people, but she couldn’t give two shits. Nothing was ever going to stop her from reaching those she loved again.

Caitlyn walked dutifully before reaching the stairs, catching the glimpse of her own shade of blue; her father. His broken gaze withered her soul and her body felt as weak as the day it did when Jinx killed her peace. She stopped in place. The only thing keeping her upright anymore being the red-hot swirl of something bitter brewing in her stomach. She was already imaging target-practice later today, with two sky-blue plaits covering the bullseye.

-

After Jinx had destroyed the council-building, Caitlyn’s ears were ringing so loudly she could barely register her screaming as her own. Vi’s strong hands were no longer steadfast when holding Cait up, and despite her injury, Caitlyn started trying to run. Out of Zaun, out of that hellhole that she thought was worth risking her family and her legacy for. In the back of her mind, she noticed that Vi was following her, calling her name, asking her to wait. You’re hurt Cait, please. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t think she would do it. I’m sorry. Violet’s voice cracked on the last apology.

Caitlyn didn’t spare a glance back, adrenaline flowing through her veins just enough that her long legs could carry her through the slums and across the bridge without collapsing. In hindsight, she realized that Jinx just disappeared after the incident, and neither she nor Vi went after her. The thought left an unbearably bitter taste in the back of her mouth, the thought that she was so close to Jinx, after all that she had been through at the hands of the girl, and she didn’t take the chance to shoot her in her fuck ass grin.

Caitlyn sprinted, harder than she ever had before, and felt Vi trying to keep up behind her. Vi even held her rifle that Jinx had taken from her during the abduction. She wished that the pink-haired inmate would just fucking trip on an overgrown root or leave her for her sister instead.

Vi was the one who told her not to shoot.

Vi.

How could she do that?

She kept running, outpacing Vi with every further step.

By the time Caitlyn arrived at the scene, her precariously put-together enforcer uniform was ripped in places she knew was unrepairable and new cuts littered her body. She was nearly knocked down by Jayce’s hulking body, running out of the building, carrying who she vaguely understood to be Viktor’s limp body.

Without sparing a glance back at her friend, she ran into the collapsing structure. She caught a glimpse of soft-white hair and turquoise earrings. Her mother was being carried out by four enforcers in gas-masks, her body slack and unmoving. Caitlyn watched her mother’s eyes, just barely clinging to any semblance of life, met hers, and blinked out one final time. She could do nothing but stand in shock as the enforcers pushed past her to the stretcher laid outside, Cassandra Kirramin’s blank gaze never breaking.

-

Vi was a fucking pussy. She told herself she fucking wouldn’t, that she would stay. away. Yet, she found herself at the foot of a towering mega mansion. From her vantage point on the ground, she could even see the window of Caitlyn’s room, the same one she had snuck into just a few days prior.

The feeling of manicured fingernails brushing her cheek came flooding into her body without permission, and a familiar warmth seemed to tighten its hold around her heart. “Fuck.” She cursed to herself, and took the first step up the massive stairs. She was weak, and always had been, but she tried to console herself by telling herself that she just wanted to make sure that Cait was okay, that’s all.

Once more, just to see her, that’s all.

The guards stationed at the large mahogany doors let her in without so much a second glance, and Vi, against her best wishes, felt her heart swell. Cait had to have told them to let her through, otherwise what competent guard would allow a Zaunite into one of the most influential Piltie families' homes, especially after recent events?

It took Vi embarrassingly long to locate Caitlyn, at some points just aimlessly wandering around the carpeted halls, fingertips brushing each piece of exquisite artwork adorning the walls. A few times, she nearly walked into rooms where Caitlyn’s father was in, before catching herself and speeding away. She didn’t need a reminder of how unwanted she was there and didn’t have the strength in her to apologise without crying.

Vi was the catalyst that led Cait to lose her mother. She wasn’t stupid, she could see the level of crazy that Jinx had come to. She had noticed in her youth that Powder wasn’t the most stable of children, especially after Mylo’s unrelenting taunting, but she never would have guessed how big of an impact her disappearance would have on her younger sister.

Sidling up with Silco, for fuck’s sake. Vi never meant to leave her, and every second after getting thrown into jail by some enforcer to her release, her only thought was of Powder. She knew Powder, her greatest insecurities and biggest goals and still she allowed the girl to think that her big sister, her protector, was leaving her. Powder was just a kid, and look at how badly Vi fucked her up.

Vi swallowed painfully at the realization that she did this. Powder became Jinx because of her actions, and now her hand hovered over the door to Caitlyn’s mother’s closet, where Kirraman was seated cross-legged, unsure if she should knock or leave again before she messes everything up again. She started to shuffle backwards, away from the room, walking away from the only reliable thing in her life.

Caitlyn must have heard the soft breaths of Vi’s shoes on the hardwood and looked over her shoulder sharply.

“Vi!” Cait’s desperate voice ended in a needy whisper.

The taller girl got onto her feet unsteadily and almost sprinted to Vi, falling into her arms. Her face was streaked and hair mussed. Vi could feel fresh tears soaking into the side of her neck, where Caitlyn’s face was currently buried. “I thought you left.”

Vi only held her tighter, but didn’t allow her grimy hands to come anywhere near the pristine uniform that Caitlyn wore, in fear of getting it dirty with her heavy hands. “I’m right here cupc- Cait.” It felt wrong to use such a light-hearted nickname, especially after all the pain she had caused the woman in her arms.

Caitlyn, seeming to catch herself, pulled away quickly from Vi’s hold and tried to inconspicuously wipe away any remaining water from her eyes. Half of the dark-blue shoulder length hair was falling out of the hastily done ponytail, and Vi’s hands itched at her side to try to stop it from brushing it out of the other girl’s face.

“How’ve you been holding up?” Vi asked, her voice soft.

“What do you think?” Caitlyn responded with a feigned chuckle and turned around. Vi noticed the clothing that littered the floor of the closet for the first time, and the ruffled tuxedo dress that Caitlyn clenched in her white-knuckled fist.

They stood like that a while, Caitlyn once again facing the days-untouched clothes neatly folded on racks, and Vi observing Cait from behind. The closet itself was bigger than Vi’s cell for seven years, but somehow felt even more desolate and hopeless.

Vi let her eyes drag from the top of Caitlyn’s head to the bottom of her heeled boots. The roots of her hair were getting slightly greasy, as if she hadn’t showered in quite a bit, but her uniform was as pristine and gleaming as ever, as if it had been polished and laundered many times over.

The skirt that Caitlyn wore left just enough of a gap above her thigh highs to show a sliver of white skin. Usually, Vi’s lust-addled mind would stare there more than she liked to admit, but now she could only think about the small bruise that was blooming under carefully applied makeup, mostly hidden by the hem of the skirt. Vi did her best, but could not control her sharp inhale at the view. How could someone be so pure in a world so cruel? And Vi had helped lead Caitlyn down a path where her blemishless, innocent skin would most likely be further marred by her past.

Caitlyn turned on her heel to face Vi once again, and Vi had to take a slight step back, forgetting how much taller the other girl was, especially in her shoes.

“I’m going to go check on my father, he’s not been eating.”

Vi, once again, couldn’t meet her eyes, and let her gaze drop to the floor.

A heartbeat later, a slim, manicured hand tentatively reached for Vi’s, and her heart melted.

“Are you.. Going to stay?” Caitlyn grew more confident as she slowly wrapped both her hands around Vi’s. She didn’t look up at her, instead opting to brush her fingers over Vi’s wrapped knuckles. “I could clean this for you.”

Vi felt the familiar tug in her gut, drawing her closer to the idea of staying with Caitlyn, but she felt disgusted with herself for feeling as such. “Cait..”

Caitlyn’s striking blue eyes met hers under long lashes and the words caught in her throat. Gently, she pried her hand away from Caitlyn’s pleading grip and brought it to her face. Her thumb brushed over one of the tear streaks on Cait’s soft cheek and she could feel her eyebrows tighten with something akin to affection.

“Of course I will.”

If it weren’t for Vi’s hand allowing her to feel the loosening of Caitlyn’s clenched jaw, she wouldn’t be able to perceive much at all about the girl’s reaction. Instead Caitlyn nodded into her palm.

“I’ll be quick, I swear. I just need to make sure he’s okay to sleep.” Cait covered Vi’s hand on the side of her face with her own. “My room is down the hall and the second door on the left.”

Slowly, she extracted herself, and Vi heard the clack of boots down the hallway, stunned at what she’s allowed herself to do. Caitlyn was a sweet girl with a heart that needed to be defended by someone who wouldn’t accidently hurt it in the process. Caitlyn Kirramin was the exact person she grew up believing didn’t exist, and Vi was allowing herself to become key to her destruction.

In her room?? The house was fucking massive, and there was more silk in the closet itself than Vi had ever been exposed to (exactly none), her entire life prior. They must have at least one spare room. She mentally kicked herself and clenched her fists into her jacket. All she could do was hope that she wasn’t making the wrong decision again.

-

Vi had no idea how anyone got around in this palace; it took her almost ten minutes of walking up and down the hallways until she finally found the familiar high-ceilinged bedroom, her face a mask of amused disbelief the whole time.

She entered as softly as she could. The room was as she remembered it, all organized and minimal, a picture perfect representation of one of Piltover’s most wealthy families. It seemed that this aesthetic left Vi unsure of where to keep her hands so she opted to cross her arms.

All was the same except one tiny change to Caitlyn’s crime board at the foot of her bed. At the center of the interweaving lines of yarn, there was one image plastered haphazardly. All the paths led to that one picture, like rivers flowing to the ocean. Vi felt her mouth go dry as the worst photo she had ever seen of her sister started back at her, with a deranged sort of stare.

She didn’t even have enough time to react to it before hearing the click of the door behind her. Caitlyn’s eyes immediately drew to what Vi was looking at and she quickly pulled a throw blanket off of the loveseat in the corner and threw it on top of the board, making sure nothing was peeking through.

“It’s getting late, Vi, I don’t want to think about anything substantial right now.”

Cait was indeed right, it was well past dark, as could be seen through the infamous window on the far end of her room. Vi attempted a small smile and her usually natural laidback tone.

“So, where do you want me?” She face-palmed internally as Caitlyn let out a small, endearing giggle. Vi’s smile turned genuine at the sound, despite the fact that she just accidentally let innuendo slip to the girl she would be spending the night with.

Caitlyn’s eyes were bright, despite the circles underneath them. “Hopefully in here?”

Vi’s hesitation was palpable, especially now. “Do you have a spare mattress? Or I could take the chair. Or the floor, I’m used to that one, feels like home now.”

Caitlyn just started at Vi like she was stupid. “I would never make you sleep on the floor.” She whispered, almost offended.

Vi couldn’t take any more of this. This.. guilt. But she endured, for Caitlyn’s sake.

“Thanks, Cupcake.”

-

Vi was easier to read than any books in Caitlyn’s family library. Zaunite's pupils were always blown looking at her and the scar on her lip twitched whenever she had something to ask. Not unusually, Cait was looking at Vi’s lips again. She found it ironic that such a hardened individual was so obviously transparent. The girl was concerned about her, and if anyone else were to be so, attentive, Caitlyn would send them out immediately. But, as she had suspected (and feared): she needed Vi.

Caitlyn had been raised to focus only on the task at hand; getting the job done. With all the memories pushing and pulling like tides in her head made the etiquette lessons with her mother feel like they happened hours ago. She could still feel the warm sting of a ruler rapping against her lower back whenever she slouched. The perfect daughter. Even in her dying breath, Caitlyn didn’t believe Cassandra thought that of her.

House Kirraman was a matriarchy, and she was the sole inheritor of the title. She understood it now more than ever, that her days of trying to find her “place” in the world were over. Recklessly selfish actions for the sake of a possibly hollow idea of self no longer had any place in her. Caitlyn knew who she was: capable and resourceful, and an excellent fucking shot. Although the future was still a perpetually uncertain mystery, she tried to take it one step at a time.

Vi was looking at her, she could feel her worried gaze. Caitlyn inhaled deeply, clearing her mind the best she could. One mission: get through the night.

Maybe then she wouldn’t feel Cassandra’s hard, but loving stare drilling into the back of her neck.

- Vi’s brain hurt trying to overanalyze every step of Cait’s movements, attempting to decipher what her next best move should be. Currently, the bluenette was rummaging through a dresser at the corner of her room. Vi slowly slipped off the bed, unsure of what to do.

Caitlyn walked over with two fresh pairs of clothes. She handed Vi a pair of soft linen pants and a cotton white tank top, while she held a similar tank and a short pair of her shorts.

“Do you need anything? You can change in the bathroom if you’d like.”

Vi smiled, but it probably came out looking more like a grimace. “This is more than I’m used to, don’t worry.” Her teasing tone was doing nothing to remedy Cait’s stoic expression. The only window Vi had for any indication of what she was thinking, were the girl’s striking eyes, clearly focused on something else.

Caitlyn walked directly past Vi and sat on her bed, legs crossed and knees to her chest with her face in her palms. Vi followed a few long seconds later, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the bed as she put her hand on Cait’s knee. Caitlyn finally met her eyes.

“Do you need anything else?” She asked gently.

Caitlyn’s voice was hoarse. “I’d like to shower.”

Vi looked at her slightly quizzically, unable to answer.

“She took me while I was bathing.” The words left her lips without ceremony, her tone flat, practiced. She knew it would hit Vi like a hammer, but what else was there to say? Her hand clenched the fabric of her shorts, knuckles pale against the dark cloth.

Vi felt the room tilt, her pulse thrumming so loudly in her ears that Caitlyn’s voice sounded like it was underwater.

She felt horrible for wanting to chuckle at Vi’s horrified look.

“Wha.. What do you mean?”

Vi’s breath hitched, her thoughts stumbling over themselves. Her chest felt tight, her fists curling unconsciously. Naked. Helpless. The image struck her like a fist to the ribs, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep her voice steady. Jinx’s laughter echoed in her head. What have I done?

“After the bridge. She kept me for a day, and..” Her voice trailed off, lost in thought.

-

Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. Oh my god what the fuck. Vi felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. It was so much worse than she thought. Her heartbeat started to match the speed of her thoughts, as she put together the pieces.

When she had seen Caitlyn gagged and tied, the girl looked more terrified than she had ever seen her. Even still, Jinx’s presence cast a shadow over her worry.

Every step she thinks that she takes in the right direction, just ends up hurting the people around her. Maybe her and her sister weren’t that different after all.

-

Even softly, Caitlyn caught onto the slight increase in Vi’s breathing pattern and used her pointer finger to lift Vi’s chin gently, so their eyes could meet. She slipped her ungloved hand into Vi’s buzzed hair, the short strands soft against her fingertips, her thumb brushing the warmth of Vi’s cheek.

“Vi, I want to shower.”

Vi looked as conflicted as she probably felt. All she did was nod.

Caitlyn leaned forward, resting her forehead against her knees, her hand still lightly brushing Vi’s. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as Vi shifted closer. She didn’t know what to say—hell, she didn’t know what Cait wanted her to say.

When Caitlyn finally looked up, her eyes held a quiet, raw intensity that made Vi’s throat tighten. “Could you…” Her voice was thick, and she cleared her throat, her fingers tightened around Vi’s for just a moment. “Come with me?” Caitlyn’s eyes were sharp but heavy, like an ocean that hadn’t decided whether to swallow you whole or let you float.

-

[wonder-worker]

the two skeletons may reveal the death of the Princes? 👀

I'm not super familiar with this topic, tbh. From what I can understand, it's possible, but it's equally possible that DNA testing may not actually prove or reveal anything regarding the Princes.

Context: In 1674, workmen found two skeletons in a wooden box in the Tower of London, where they had been buried 10 feet under the staircase leading to the chapel of the White Tower. Charles II ordered the bones to be reinterred in Westminster Abbey in 1678, and a Latin inscription written at that time translates to: "Here lie the relics of Edward V, King of England, and Richard, Duke of York". 

In 1933, the bones were examined by Lawrence Tanner, William Wright and George Northcroft, who concluded that they belonged to two children around the correct ages for the Princes, and that one skull showed evidence of death by suffocation. No further scientific examination was conducted, although many believe that re-examination with improved techniques and DNA sampling could provide a more accurate analysis. However, to disinter a body from the Abbey, permission has to be granted from the reigning monarch (ew), which has not been granted as of yet.

Many members of the R3 Society hope that the bones will be proved not to be the Princes, because they feel like it will vindicate Richard due to the absence of explicit, tangible evidence of their deaths. Those who believe Richard III was guilty (he was) believe that if the bodies were the Princes, it would prove they were murdered. If examinations reveal that were the Princes, and reveal manner of death was violent, then yes, the latter seems reasonable. But we don’t know what will will show up in the results - if they are ever allowed - and it's entirely possible it won't matter to the current case.

To quote @seethemflying from this post:

“Most scholars agree it will not actually prove anything at all. If the bones are the princes, it just proves that they died in the Tower, not who murdered them. If the bones are not the princes, it just means these bones belong to someone else. The Tower of London is old, and was built on part of Londinium's Roman wall. Pre-medieval and even Roman human remains have been found on the site before, it wouldn't be a surprise if these bones dated to any point before the 17th century […] Whether the bones are or are not the princes can therefore do little to answer the central questions about who killed these little boys.”

For example, there are a few sources - both contemporary and post-contemporary - that suggest water may be involved in the Princes' "disappearance" (murder). We don't know the exact circumstances, but if the Princes were disposed off in such a manner, we cannot expect to ever find their bodies.

Ultimately, regardless of the identity of the two skeletons, the Princes were almost definitely were murdered, and Richard III was almost definitely the one who murdered them. We do not know it "for sure", the same way we do not know "for sure" if Arthur of Brittany, Edward II, Richard II and Henry VI were murdered (and how), but all of them almost definitely were and it’s simply disingenuous to pretend otherwise. It’s equally disingenuous to act as though all the above-mentioned cases were clear-cut examples of murder while the case of the Princes is somehow a more Complex and Confusing one which you have to choose your words more carefully over when it's....really, really not (see: the matter-of-fact way they talk about John and Arthur VS Richard and the Princes). Either you should analyze all these cases with the same level of assertion/uncertainty, or don't analyze them at all.

Also, contrary to the claims of Ricardians, who believe that nobody accused Richard III until the Tudors, there are a range of independent contemporary sources who firmly believed he killed his nephews. It also makes zero sense for Elizabeth Woodville, Elizabeth of York and Edward IV's supporters, who were the ones to raise Henry Tudor as an active claimant to challenge Richard III in the first place, to endorse Henry in any way if they thought that Edward V or Richwrd of Shrewsbury might still be alive. The fact that they did can only mean that they knew/believed that the Princes were dead (though I think there was considerable ambiguity on the exact circumstances behind those deaths). It's simply illogical to pretend otherwise.

[shadowmaat]

username FIC game

Heya, @bluemaskedkarma I see your "choose a song for each letter of your name" and raise you "choose a FIC for each letter of your name." It's still a "get to know me" thing, but with the bonus of boosting other fic writers. SO!

S- Stonebrook by @sl-walker (Bail saves a young Maul from prison and takes him home to Alderaan. Lots of depth to this one. Doesn't shy away from things, though later fics in the series can be funny too.)

H- The House Built on Fresh Snow by @tiend (Jango/Shmi, AU where Shmi is an engineering slave on a ship where Jango is added to the ranks. Neither could predict what happened next. It's interesting to see these two thrown together and how they complement each other.)

A- After the Storm by SpaceWall (post-war AU, everyone is struggling to move on after the war. Cody joins an agricorp mission to Mandalore and tries to cope with putting his General in a coma. Heavy stuff at times, lots of angst, but there's a hopeful ending.)

D- Dawnbreak Accord by AugustArchon (Din/Leia, Leia defends one of the Mandalorian delegates and amid paperwork and political headaches, an unexpected kinship develops. These two really click, and it's wonderful to watch it develop.)

O- Out with Lanterns by Skyebean (AU where Mace is Ahsoka's Master, how that changes things... and what it doesn't. Some fun things, some serious things, and of course O66 still happens. This time Ahsoka is in the middle of it.)

W- Why Not's and How To's by @trixree (unadulterated crack AU where Obi-Wan is a lawyer who sets his sights on emancipating the GAR. Not yet complete. SO much silliness. But also, y'know, someone fighting for Clone Rights, which is always good to see.)

M- Mand'alor Cabur by @nautilicious (slow-burn Bobadin featuring lots of foundlings, growing a family, growing a community, and growing a brain to recognize the clues. Not yet complete. Din is an absolute idiot, but luckily Boba is incredibly, incredibly patient and forgiving.)

A- All Is as the Force Wills It by felurian (Rogue One escapes Scarif by the skin of their teeth and begin the long road to recovery. Distrust and uncertainty lengthen the road, but hope remains. Some good Chirrut/Baze stuff and Bodhi angst. "Everybody lives" doesn't mean things are magically all better.)

A- and your people shall never be destroyed by @bitebackbaby (Palpatine dies. The entire Corrie Guard has disappeared. Cody and some of the other Commanders investigate. One-shot. Cliffhanger. Heavy on the Corrie whump and Commanders guilt. I'm intrigued by the possibilities left out in the open.)

T- The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Staging Rescues by antigrav_vector and @quarra (de-aged clones and Obi-Wan get flung into the past to Korda VI and Jaster Mereel's camp. Chaos and mass adoptions ensue. Lots of humor, lots of competence. Gosh dang did I love watching the mini-clones (and Obi-Wan) running around and being amazing.)

This shit's trickier than you think, but anyone who wants to give it a go, consider yourselves tagged!

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

let my prize be your teasure

by idkwhatimdoingbutslay

Vi can’t help but watch Caitlyn think, her eyebrows furrowing and her (plush) lip caught between her teeth and her jittering eyes. Her features stay sharp despite her obvious uncertainty, but Vi remembers touching- No. No, she doesn’t. Caitlyn looks up, shifting her attention to meet Vi’s gaze. They stare for a few seconds, their faces close enough to be able to feel each other’s cold breath. Vi watches Caitlyn analyze her in a different way she’s been analyzing these papers, her eyes jumping from one of Vi’s features to another. Vi’s breaths become heavy without her even realizing it, Caitlyn’s attention suffocating and full of bliss. A familiar loud, vibrating buzz wracks through Vi’s body. Lips part and Vi’s hands are itching to touch places she can now, officially say she’s familiar with. Vi hates remembering each curve, each bite, each graze, each time and time again Caitlyn went in for more. Vi hates thinking about each ‘what if’ even more.

> Post breaching their rivalry and finding themselves way too close for comfort, Caitlyn and Vi adjust to sharing Heimerdinger's internship they were originally competing for. One office, two lesbians, and a nice dash of radicalization to go with it.

Words: 5551, Chapters: 1/4, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of uni/pride/pining/sexual tension/veryyyyy lesbian AU | the prize

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Heimerdinger (League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: mmmmmm the girls are at it again!, Forced Proximity, Co-workers, they share an office 😲, Getting to Know Each Other, annoyances to lovers, Co-workers to lovers, Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, taking edibles together 😲, Partners in Crime, Basically, Falling In Love, they're both reluctant but especially vi..., Parties, potentially costume..., Seven Minutes In Heaven Game, teehee 🤭, Useless Lesbians, Girls Kissing, Idiots in Love, forced to do things together !!! like, Yoga, and others lol - Freeform, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, kind of......., Alternate Universe - Office, OKAY THAT MIGHT BE IT LOL, they figure things out and totally fall for each other its so gross, There Was Only One Bed, Dress Up, get both of their povs :), Heimerdinger is the regular ignorant and privileged subtle ahole boss, IM SUPER LATE AS PER USUAL BUT HAPPY PRIDE LMAOOO, No beta 🏃🏾‍♀️ so rip, Pining, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, AHHH OK I ACTUALLY THINK THATS IT NOW, slay, :), had to mess with the formatting of the summary, cuz ao3 says its too long 😭, i swear i have paragraph breaks in this guys I SWEAR, and i know when to make new paragraphs!!!, i hate this place 😭

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER FOUR: FOR CUP'S SAKE

violet; 5,052 words; fluff, fake dating (is it tho?), situationship be situating, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, miscommunication, vi is very bad at feelings, simp!vi, first date, powder being powder, mention of skating competition, wlw, no "y/n"

summary: in which you and vi go on a cupcake date for the ages. oh, and skate america happens too, i guess.

a/n: WOOP WOOP its finally first date time!!! lmao i won't say much more for now ;) read and find out!

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ YOU TRY NOT TO FEEL too self-conscious, fiddling with the sleeves of your baby pink sweater.

“Hey!”

“Oh — hi!” you jerk up, smiling as you catch sight of Vi, and your throat seizes — god, that’s not fair, you think as your eyes flicker down the shape of her, dressed in tight black jeans and a cropped leather jacket, beneath which you’re sure she’s wearing nothing except a light gray muscle tank. You swallow, clearing your throat.

“Y-you’re not cold?” you ask, cursing your voice for the way it cracks.

Vi grins, shrugging, “Nah. I run pretty hot.”

“Right. Hot. Yeah.” You tear your eyes away from the sliver of skin peaking out from under her tanktop and jerk your head towards the cafe entrance, “Shall we?”

Vi sweeps her arm across her front, “After you, princess.”

You drop into a little curtsey as she pulls open the door for you and you prance passed. You don’t notice the way her eyes linger just a second too long on the bare skin of your shoulders as you shrug off your coat, or the way she puffs out a breath as her gaze skates up the long column of your neck, buttercream and swansong, the way it slopes up so gracefully into the thin cut of your jaw.

She shakes her head, forcing her eyes away as you smile at the server at the front.

“Just the two of us,” you say, and Vi swallows around the skip in her heartbeat at the word us. As if it means something more than just the word.

“Ohhh,” the server girl says, looking between the two of you as she leads you to a small table tucked into a corner, “first date?” she asks, setting down the menus as you take a seat and hang your fluffy coat on the seat back.

You chew on your lip, glancing at Vi for a second before smiling back up at her.

“Something like that.”

Vi nods, “First one here, anyway,” she offers smoothly, even though she stomach is hanging somewhere, suspended by her ankles as she drops into the seat across from you, doing everything she can to keep from salivating at the way your off-the-shoulder sweater frames your collarbones. And for the first time, she thinks that Powder might be onto something there, what with her near religious appreciation of them.

She makes a note to text Powder about this later.

“Well then, you should know we have a discount for couples — you get a free cupcake if you let us take a picture of the pair of you together and post it on our socials. Your faces don’t have to be in it or anything! It can just be your hands or whatever, but yeah! If that’s something you’re interested in…” the server lets her voice trail off as she looks between the pair of you.

You lick your lips, glancing at Vi, only to catch her looking at you with just as much uncertainty.

You turn back to the waiter, “That sounds cool! Let us think about it.”

The server nods, rocking on the balls of her feet, and for a second, she hesitates, but then, she leans in and says —

“And — sorry of this is cringe or anything but — I love your skating — big fan. Good luck at Skate America this week!”

She scurries off before you can say anything. You blink after her, a plume of heat working into your cheeks as Vi’s eyebrows tick up.

“Wow… geez, princess. You like… famous, or something?” Vi asks, her voice lilting into a tease even as you bury your face in your hands with a soft groan.

“Just… don’t…”

Vi laughs, glancing down the menu, trying to tamp down the wildfire thrum that she thinks is her heartbeat. She can’t quite remember the last time she’s felt like this, heady and light with that stupid, fluttery, butterflies-in-the-stomach sensation eating at her from the inside out.

“Huh, so the Pina Colada flavor looks good…” she muses, glancing up to admire the way you crinkle your nose and pull at your own menu, your cheeks still tinted.

“Y-yeah, and the — I think the Espresso Martini flavor is the one Mel said was super yummy,” you say, fiddling with the corner of your menu, your eyes flickering over the page without ever really settling on one thing.

“Sounds like we’ll be needing that free-cupcake coupon,” she says, her voice low.

Your eyes flash up, wide and uncertain as you search her face for a hint of… something. She shrugs, leaning back in her chair, fighting tooth and nail to keep the heat from eating too high into her own cheeks.

“’S like that girl said — our faces don’t have to be in it or anything, right?”

“R-right —” but your voice is drowned out by the sound of the server welcoming another couple into the shop. Vi freezes at the unmistakable, accented voice.

“I’ve been meaning to come here for weeks,” Caitlyn says, tossing a strand of midnight blue hair over her shoulder as the server walks her and Maddie to a table a few down from yours. You can barely see them from the corner of your eyes, but from her seat, Vi has a perfect view.

You can see her fingers clenching on the table, her knuckles going white.

“Hey,” you reach out, pressing your hand over hers, sighing as Vi jerks out of her reverie to look back at you.

“Huh? Oh, sorry —”

“You guys know what you wanna order?” the server swings back by your table, and you flash her a camera-ready smile.

“Yeah! Can we get the Pina Colada and the Espresso Martini? And —” you glance at Vi before cutting back to the server, your fingers giving Vi’s hand a squeeze, “we’ll take you up on that free cupcake.”

“Fantastic!” the server says, seemingly overjoyed as she reaches down to take your menus. “The picture’ll be candid, so don’t stress out too much about it — just… enjoy your time here, and we’ll show it to you with your receipt. Okay?”

You nod, still grinning. You think distantly that, if for nothing else, at least your years of camera training as a kid is paying off now, as you watch the server bounce away from you, her ponytail swinging behind her.

You turn back to Vi, only to see her watching you with a strange look in her eyes.

“Vi?”

She shakes her head, “Yeah? Sorry —” she puffs out a soft laugh, “I’m… not being a very good date, am I?”

“It’s alright — ‘s not like I’ve had much else to compare it against.”

“Wait — what?”

You bite your lips, your eyebrows ticking up at the incredulous expression on her face.

“What? Is that so hard to believe?”

Vi blinks at you, her expression open and incredulous.

“Uh — yeah. I mean —” she gestures towards you, “you’re —” she casts about for a fitting word, puffing out a breath when she finally settles on, “insane.”

You let out a startled laugh, your head tipping back, and a few tables down, you see the faint figure of Caitlyn glancing over towards your table, her eyes sharp as she watches you and Vi.

“Wow, thanks,” you intone, rolling your eyes even as Vi sputters.

“No! I mean like — have you seen yourself?”

You nod, propping a cheek on your knuckles, “Sure have — more than anyone should have to, honestly,” you drop your eyes to the table, fingers drawing abstract patterns into the pastel napkins.

Vi’s hand appears in your field of vision, running a thumb over the back of yours before she tugs your fingers loose and laces her own fingers between them.

Your breath hitches as your glance up.

“I could spend entire days lookin’ at you and never get tired of it, princess.”

Your throat squeezes as she reaches up to run a thumb along your cheek, coaxing your eyes towards hers.

“Y-yeah?” you breathe.

Vi nods, but before she can say anything else, the server bops back, with two massive cupcakes balanced on a pretty patterned plate. She sets it down between you, seemingly clueless to the way your hands have to jerk apart to make room for it. She giggles as she sets two miniature cocktail glasses on either side of the plate, tiny versions of the drinks the cupcakes are supposed to be emulating.

“And… here we are — the Pina Colada, and the Espresso Martini — the drinks are complimentary,” she leans down with a conspiratorial wink, “usually, they only come in pre-order packages but —” she lowers her voice, “I figured since it’s your first time here…” she lets her voice trail off, standing back up, looking mightily pleased with herself.

You flash her another bright grin, nodding, “Thanks so much! I’m sure they’re great.”

The server beams before she turns and flounces off to greet another set of guests.

Vi stares at you, a lopsided grin hung loose over her lips.

“Damn. I should come out with you more often, princess, if this is the kinda service you get.”

You laugh, “It’s usually not like this,” you say, “it’s a once every four years thing. When the Winter Olympics roll around and suddenly everyone remembers figure skating is, like, a sport.”

Vi chuckles, and it’s stupid, really, how easy it is to talk to you. How easy it is to tease you, how much she likes making you pout or squirm in your seat, how she’s hungry for the soft hitch in your breath, the part of your lips. How she can’t help herself when you lean forward and split one of the cupcakes with a plastic knife and push half of it towards her, pulling your finger back to lick the frosting from it, the way her throat bobs at the thought of reaching out to tug your finger into her mouth.

When you lean down to take a bite of your own half a cupcake, she licks her lips, thinking of the phantom taste of sugar on that might’ve lingered on your tongue.

“Wow —” Vi says, through a mouthful of cake, “this is good.”

You giggle, nodding as a crumb topples out of the edge of your mouth, “Mhm!”

And she’s so arrested by the sight that for a second, she forgets who’s sitting three seats from her, until she hears it — the loud, derisive laughter she’s come to know all too well.

Her head swivels towards the table before she can stop herself, and she sees Caitlyn smirking as she turns away, her eyes dark as she splits a cupcake in half with Maddie and pushes the larger half towards the ginger.

Vi swallows, the sugar in her mouth going ashy.

“Vi — you’ve got frosting all over your lips —” you say, laughing, your voice pulling her back as a soft finger runs across her lips and she’s left gasping at the sensation. She blinks, reeling ever so slightly as she watches you pull your thumb back and pop it into your mouth, your eyes sparkling.

A sharp spate of desire twists somewhere deep in her gut and Vi has to bite back a groan.

“You’re one to talk,” she murmurs, leaning forward to drag her thumb along the corner of your mouth, her heart thundering inside her chest as your bottom lip tugs open beneath her touch, easy as anything, and the hot kiss of your breath washes along her skin.

Sweet fuck.

The harsh tang of alcohol hits her tongue a second later, and her head spins to the sound of your breathy laughter. She watches you pick up the tiny Pina Colada glass in a sort of trance, your lips painted pink and perfect as you press them to the rim and take a sip.

Vi nods, her stomach flipping once, twice inside her as she reaches for your proffered glass.

She takes a sip without breaking eye contact, reveling in the way you flush three shades darker as she licks her lips clean of the foam.

“Yeah — whoa,” she clears her throat, “that packs a punch!”

You break into a fit of giggles so endearing Vi has to bite on her lips to keep from smiling too hard. And distantly, in the back of her head, a voice very much like Powder’s coughs up something like sounds suspiciously like pussy-whipped.

By the time you finish the second cupcake and the equally miniscule Espresso Martini, Vi is sure that she’s drunk, though perhaps not on the actual alcohol (of which she’s sure there was more than either of you had initially bargained for), but on the sound of your voice, on the way you tug on the ends of your hair when you’re talking, absently, and then how you flick them over your shoulder, the perfect bend of your collarbone dipping in the bright lights of the cake shop.

She’s drunk on the way your lashes flutter every time she makes you laugh, and god, does she really like making you laugh — she can’t remember the last time she’s tried so damn hard to be charming, pulling out all the stops (and on the first date?!) till she’s sure you’d have nothing else to talk about, but, despite that, the conversation flows, and flows.

“Wow, holy shit —” Vi leans back, running a hand through her hair as she checks her phone — 3:37PM. It’s been two and a half hours.

“Sorry, d’you have somewhere else to be?” you ask, and you sound so genuinely concerned, Vi has to laugh, shaking her head.

“Nope. Nowhere else but here, princess. Cleared my whole schedule for you.”

You flush, crinkling your nose, folding your napkin into progressively smaller and smaller bits.

“Oh. That’s…” your brows furrow as you stare down at the empty plates between you, “that’s really… nice of you.”

Vi clears her throat, her eyes catching on the shape of Caitlyn and Maddie as they stand up, Cait wiping her lips as she thanks the waiter with a tight-lipped grin.

She raises her voice just as Caitlyn walks by.

“Nothin’ less for my favorite ice princess.”

She leans forward to run a thumb along your cheek, but you stiffen as Caitlyn scoffs, brushing by your table with an upturned nose, Maddie following behind her, looking nervous as she glances between the pair of you.

You shrug off Vi’s hand as soon as they disappear, flagging down the waitress, flashing her another winning smile even as Vi curses beneath her breath. You’d put down your card before she can even fumble for her wallet, and you’d signed the electronic tablet faster than she has the time to wipe her mouth and stumble after you into the sunset street, a gust of wind picking up, whipping your hair into a silken frenzy around your cold-bruised cheeks.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You round on her, your eyes over-bright.

“Sorry, I forgot that this whole thing was just —” you suck in a long breath, eyes cutting away before they slice back to her, so sharp Vi almost winces at the contact, “a ruse for your ex.”

Vi gapes, her fingers digging so hard into her palms she thinks she might just draw blood.

“What? No! Oh, fucking —” she yanks you back as you try to turn away, and like this, with your windblown hair and the setting sun cast behind you, gliding the shape of you in gold, you look nothing short of ethereal. You swallow, curling your arms around yourself as the wind kicks up, your hair feathering around you like loose tendrils of sunlit silk.

“I —” Vi grasps for words she does not have, and you are so, so beautiful, even like this, even sad and wary, and bracing yourself against her, against the late autumn chill.

You lick your lips, “It’s okay, Vi… I knew what I was getting into when I —”

“No,” Vi says, so vehemently she almost startles herself. “That’s not — I mean — sweet fuck,” she swears, twisting around to rake both her hands through her hair, tugging harshly at the ends as she tries to center herself in the sting.

You stand there, watching her, holding yourself, the street behind you pooling with liquid gold.

Vi takes a deep breath, “I’m — I’m sorry. I didn’t mean — it was —” she pinches at her nose bridge, “I came here today for you,” she says, turning back towards you with an imploring look, hoping you’d understand. “Not for Cait, not for that new, ginger, button-cap mushroom girlfriend of hers.”

And at this, you let out a surprised laugh, shaking our head.

“Button-cap… mushroom?” you press a hand to your lips.

Vi grins, chuckling, “Yeah, sorry, it’s what my sister calls her —”

“Your sister… sounds like an interesting person.”

Vi rolls her eyes, “Interesting doesn’t even start to cover the basics with her —”

You laugh, and the sound is so inviting Vi almost groans.

“But… I — I mean it, princess. I came here today for you.”

“Yeah?” you sound so breathless, so disbelieving, that Vi almost tugs you to her, almost kisses you just to prove a point.

But she doesn’t, instead, she only nods, keeping her posture open as you look her over, and your arms loosen around your torso. You take half a step towards her, careful and a little hesitant.

Vi sighs, “Yeah. And… i-if you don’t believe me, I… I’d love to take you out on another date to prove it to you.”

You suck in a breath; your lashes flutter.

“Okay.”

Vi blinks, “Okay?”

You nod, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Yeah,” Vi echoes, feeling her heart thread up against her voice box as she nods, shoving her hands into her pockets, “okay.”

You laugh, shaking your head to free yourself from the tangle of hairs that had collected in front of your eyes. You brush them away and Vi feels her breath catch at the sight of you, your cheeks kissed pink by the cold, your eyes glittering with a promise of the days and nights to come, the street lamps around you flickering on one by one as the sun sinks beyond the far horizon.

“Then… I guess I’ll see you, Violet,” you say, smiling shyly up at her.

Vi nods, “Yeah. I’ll see you, princess.”

She watches as you take a few steps back, before turning to make your way down the street. Vi turns herself to head the opposite way, feeling a strange lightness in her steps, almost as if she were walking on clouds, as she fights down the urge to whoops and click her heels in the air.

Halfway down the block, she turns and shouts down the street, startling a good few passersby as she calls —

“Good luck at Skate America!”

You jump, twisting around to find Vi waving at you from nearly an entire block away, her hair a bright gash of pink against the dying light.

You curse yourself for the way your heart skips at the sound of her voice.

“Thanks!” you yell, waving back, “I’ll uh — call you after!”

Vi nods, “I’ll be watching!”

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

You give your hand another hard wave before turning down the corner, and letting the oncoming darkness swallow the shadow of Vi, still waving, behind you.

“Unless you’re calling to tell me that you’ve successfully laid some Olympic-level pipe, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Powder, I think I love her.”

“Oh wow… first date went well, I see.”

“Powder, no — you don’t understand —”

“Actually, I think I might understand way better than you do —”

“She wore this pink, off-the-shoulder sweater —” Vi gulps in a long breath of the chilly air, squinting at her phone screen as Powder dabs electric blue dye into her roots.

“Oh, I knew I liked her.”

“No, like — this is insane.”

“Sis, I swear, if you don’t wife her up, I will.”

Vi frowns, “You’ve literally never met her.”

“Don’t have to. I’ve seen all her clips on Youtube. Hey, did you know she’s got one of those Vogue ‘What’s In My Bag’ videos?”

Vi stares, “Uh… no?”

Powder rolls her eyes, twisting a strand of dye-saturated hair up to pin it, “You’re missin’ out, sis! There’s an entire treasure trove of content relating to your little ice-cream sandwich of a girl-crush, and all you gotta do is search.”

Vi blinks at the Facetime call for three whole seconds before pulling up her Youtube app and searching your name, and sure enough, the first video that comes up is the Vogue What’s In Your Bag video with nearly half a million views.

She clicks into it, digging in her pockets for her earbuds, shoving one into her ear just as the ad finishes and the screen cuts to you sitting in front of a pastel blue background, waving at the camera, your voice soft in her ears as you say —

“Hi Vogue! Today I’ll be showing you… what I carry in my skating bag every day —” you laugh, crinkling your nose, and Vi’s heart skids in her chest.

“Yeah… anyways,” Powder’s voice cuts through the video; Vi almost drops her phone for the shock — she’d nearly forgotten she was still on a call with Powder, “I’ll let you… explore,” Powder finishes, grinning crookedly at Vi before dropping the call.

A second later, Vi gets a text that’s just a link to a playlist of 47 videos, detailing your greatest figure skating programs, interspersed with interviews you’ve done with a variety of fashion and lifestyle magazines, and then the line —

Don’t forget to take pee breaks!

Vi rolls her eyes, swiping out of Powder’s iMessage to the Youtube app again.

Vi re-clicks play on the Vogue video, sighing into the sound of your voice, grinning stupidly to herself, thinking that she’ll be locking in for a long, long night.

You don’t remember much of Skate America, only that Vi had sent you a quick text of — good luck, pretty girl, seven minutes before your short program, and you’d stepped onto the ice feeling weightless.

You remember Amara’s smiling face, Mel and Jayce’s excited expressions as you’d passed them on your way to the Kiss and Cry. You remember staring at the number on the megatron screen even as the crowd erupted into screams around you, Amara clutching your hands so tightly in hers you lose feeling into your fingertips.

A new personal best, and a World Record to boot.

You’d skated clean.

The days before your free-skate are a whirlwind of flashing cameras and early morning practices. Amara’s voice ever constant in your ear as she works you through your paces. You barely have time to eat and drink and shower before collapsing into bed each night, and before you know it, you’re stepping onto the ice again, the sweet chill of the rink greeting you like an old friend.

Four minutes and six seconds, exactly — Liebestraum.

You close your eyes as the music starts. A flash — the faint after image of a memory cast behind your eyelids — Vi watching you from across the hazy plastic as the rest of the hockey team jostles around her. But her, standing still, the only in-focus thing in a smeared rush of shapes and color.

You smile; your body moves without you ever having to tell it to.

You remember stepping off the ice, feeling the fire expanding in your chest, the soreness already tingling through your limbs. But Amara’s tugging you into her side, pressing her palms to your cheeks.

You remember glancing down at your phone to see a missed Facetime call from Vi, and a string of texts.

You smile, flicking open your screen even as you’re herded towards the Kiss and Cry booth. You barely have time to see all the exclamation marks before the announcer is calling out your scores. Amara lets out a pleased yelp, and the spectating audience roars their approval. You glance up at the numbers, the mental math you’d been doing since childhood stacking up as you realize, a little belatedly, that you’re in first place.

It isn’t till the afterparty, long after you’ve received your gold medal and posed for all the necessary podium photos that you finally come to, ducking out of the raucous party hall to give Vi a call back.

She answers on the second ring.

“Hey!” she sounds slightly out of breath as she fumbles with something in her ear. A second later, she settles on what looks like a bed, and it’s only then that you realize it’s nearly 11PM at night.

“Hi! Sorry — I know it’s late but — I saw you called —”

“Yeah! No that was my bad — I uh — I called you by accident while I was watching your stream —”

“You were?”

Vi laughs, “Yeah! Of course I was! I got a Peacock subscription and everything — and I promised I would, didn’t I?”

You lick your lips, feeling your cheeks prickle with heat. You lean back against the padded hotel hallway, silently thanking the heavens that you’ve only had two glasses of champagne.

“You — you didn’t have to do that.”

“But I wanted to! And holy shit! You killed it, princess! I mean — you skated totally clean!”

You nod, laughing, buoyed up by her excitement even as she grins at you through the screen.

“Yeah — I know! I haven’t done that since —”

“Your Chopin skate — and I mean — this time though, you were so —”

“Wait — how do you know about my Chopin skate?” you ask, cocking your head.

Vi stares, and then, a bright flush works into her cheeks, visible even in the dim lighting of her bedroom.

She chews on her bottom lip.

You hitch an eyebrow, “Vi… have you… been watching my skates on Youtube?”

Vi clears her throat, “Uh… I mean —“ you watch as she chews on her lip, the thin scar on her top lip made all the more obvious by the sharp light of the phone screen. “Is it really that strange to wanna watch the pretty girl you’re trying to date do the thing she seems to be put on this earth to do?”

You blink, “Trying to date?”

Vi purses her lips, “I — sorry if that’s weird — I know everyone thinks we’re already dating but…”

You shrug, staring at your own fingers, clutched around the phone, your baby pink nail polish a tad chipped at the thumb. You resist the urge to pick at it.

“We… we can take it slow, though… right?”

It’s Vi’s turn to blink, before a crooked grin splits her face.

“Yeah? I mean — yeah… we can.”

You smile, nodding as Vi fights not to do something stupid, like break into a riverdance right there in her bed, even though her limbs are trembling with the urge.

“Cool,” you say, glancing somewhere off screen, and Vi lets out a breath. A second later, light appears and you say something to someone who’s apparently come to look for you.

“Sorry,” you say, pursing your lips with an apologetic little smile, “I’ve gotta get back to the Gala party.”

Vi nods, “Go on then, pretty girl. Have fun. You… you deserve it.”

You flash her a grin that makes her heart crawl into the back of her throat.

“Thanks,” you breathe, and the phone screen wobbles, the camera flipping down as you fumble with it for a second, affording Vi a glimpse of the dress you’re in. And its nothing like the one you’d worn to sorority house party, but it still makes her mouth go dry.

“I’ll — I’ll text you after the party’s over then?” you sound unsure.

Vi grins, “Sure. I might be uh, passed out by then — early morning practice tomorrow. Gotta utilize the rink when all you figure skaters are gone, right?”

She winks.

You crinkle your nose and something in Vi’s chest stutters.

“Okay then — tomorrow?”

Vi blinks, “Huh?”

You laugh, color washing into your cheeks as you tug open a door and light floods your face, the unmistakable sounds of a party blaring into your mic. Vi gulps — like this, she can see the glitter you’d painted on your eyelids, the mascara on your curled up lashes. She can see the light sheen of highlight on your cheeks, setting off the pink of your blush, your hair a little messy, but gorgeous as it cascades around your shoulders.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” you say.

Vi nods, “Y-yeah — right. Tomorrow. Good.” She feels the heat eating into her face even as she bites back the urge to smack her head against the wall. God, she sounds like a fucking idiot.

You giggle again, the sound shuddering straight through Vi’s stomach to coil somewhere low and heavy in her belly.

“Kay… gnight, Vi. Bye!”

“Yeah, bye Princess.”

The call drops and Vi lets the phone tumble from her fingers. Her head slumps back into her pillows and she’s left staring at the pebbled ceiling of her messy room, the far wall tiger-striped by the tremulous yellow streetlight peaking through her half-closed blinds.

She presses a hand to her chest, if only to feel the frantic thumping of her heart, to reassure herself that it really is still there and not somewhere in the vast metasphere, having leapt clear through her phone screen, just to try and get to you.

taglist: @traiitorjoe@rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly@drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22@lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless@armins-slvt@lin-elizabeth @ryescapades @kingkamk @princesssmars @chobssss @mybelovedvi @bouqette @noietta @brooks-lin @ally-all-around @bunnyrose01 @stumpystump @lia-winther @folklore13lover @sawaagyapong @sevikas-whore @sunflowerwinds @taurtel @tourmalinetyrone @oidloid @marcylated @krisziepowlet @vikaswife @pa-co @devotedlyelectronicartisan @aliluvszs @elliecoochieeater

[agentrouka-blog]

I always thought Melisandre would be at least partially wrong about her vision beyond it being Sansa rather than Arya. The marriage part in particular; while Sansa is (set to be) betrothed to Harry Hardyng, she has no reason to flee the wedding, and assuming he dies, Littlefinger making his move so soon?

I think it may be correlation instead of causation (Littlefinger is preparing a wedding to either Harry, Robin or himself, while Sansa is leaving independently after learning about 'Arya' to the one person she knows for sure would help her rescue her sister, that being Jon - and Melisandre assumed it was the reason for her departure), the error compounded by Melisandre's knowledge of 'Arya' and her own interpretation.

Certainly she will not be even half right. A conflict is being set up and Melisandre will most likely end up near Dany (making her a one-off POV just to kill her in half a book seems odd) but GRRM has been careful to make a point about her fanaticism and free, mistake-riddled interpretation while leaving a true-enough core to serve as foreshadowing device.

Your post about Melisandre's use to manipulate Jon into trusting her was incredibly on point, but we also shouldn't forget her "daggers in the dark" vision. She is invested in Jon's survival for the reasons you laid out, but she can see what's about to happen, and it runs counter to her goals. So she needs to persuade him to trust her ASAP, to make him listen to her warnings, except it fails. The mutiny takes place, like she warned.

Which means Jon post-resurrection would take Melisandre's visions more seriously - and that can't be in this story, so she'll immediately be wrong about something that drove Jon for the second half of the book. Sansa, not Arya. Not a marriage, maybe not even fleeing (though I do think the Mountain Clan attack theory has merit). Either Melisandre's messed with him and maliciously lied to gain his trust (as far as Jon'll be concerned) or she is much too unreliable to make decisions on basis of her visions.

All of that will probably be revealed before Shireen burns and totally ruins any goodwill Jon would have for her, which in turn means he cannot possibly be Azor Ahai in Melisandre's eyes [I don't think Jon is AA, but Melisandre's clearly considering him subconsciously due to Jon obviously having SOME role to play while she's also clinging to her Stannis interpretation] - and in the meantime, dragon rumors reach Melisandre's ears...

Hi there!

Given all the uncertainties about the exact timing of the Northern plotlines coming up, I find it difficult to make concrete predictions about what will happen when.

But I do suspect that Melisandre will not go on as she has been up until now, especially not the same way as she did in the show.

For one, her plotline has been intensely intertwined with Stannis and how own choices relating to the prophecy and the power Melisandre was willing to invest on his behalf, as well as the things he was willing to let her do for his own gain. It's basically led to a destructive religious fanaticism that is bound to take on a life of its own very soon.

I don't necessarily think that GRRM intends to keep around Melisandre as an essentially unchanged character and simply aim her at a different target this time. The horror that is Shireen's murder - something GRRM has been building up to all this time since their introduction - is bound to have consequences for everyone involved, not just Stannis.

And she isn't needed to connect Dany to the story and prophecy of Azor Ahai. There's a basis for that in Essos already:

Haldon nodded. "Benerro has sent forth the word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. From smoke and salt was she born to make the world anew. She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …" (ADWD, Tyrion VI)

Where Mel hailed from, others already wait in the wings.

Plus, the other angle on the prophecy:

 "No one ever looked for a girl," he said. It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. "I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger." (AFFC, Samwell IV)

...and...

He was not a man to be refused. Sam hesitated a moment, then told his tale again as Marywn, Alleras, and the other novice listened. "Maester Aemon believed that Daenerys Targaryen was the fulfillment of a prophecy . . . her, not Stannis, nor Prince Rhaegar, nor the princeling whose head was dashed against the wall." "Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy." Marwyn turned his head and spat a gob of red phlegm onto the floor.  (AFFC, Samwell V)

Melisandre's role in Westeros was, I think, intended to introduce the prophecy and see its destructive potential and the subversion through to the bitter end with Stannis. This provides important context for when this prophecy is brought up with other people, specifically Dany but potentially also Jon. But that doesn't have to and likely won't be happening through Melisandre.

If she walks away from the murder of Shireen essentially unchanged, GRRM would severely undercut his own message about the prophecy.

"An ant who hears the words of a king may not comprehend what he is saying," Melisandre said, "and all men are ants before the fiery face of god. If sometimes I have mistaken a warning for a prophecy or a prophecy for a warning, the fault lies in the reader, not the book.  (ASOS, Davos V)

GRRM chose to focus much of his energy in Melisandre's single POV chapter on showing how a) wrong she is about a lot of things, and b) how much she is trying to compensate for a deeply traumatic past. Melony, lot seven. Much like Daenerys, she is avoiding a confrontation with the past, with her own choices and her immense pain, and focusing on what she believes she has achieved and will achieve. She ignores her own mistakes to a fault. If I look back I am lost. But look back she must in order for her character to have a cohesive arc.

Melisandre is likely to finish her story before ever encountering Dany, and it is likely to involve a harsh reckoning with her own path and failings and false certainties.

If GRRM has all of Team Stannis collapse in the wake of the prophecy, instead of sending Mel on as a straight continuation, he challenges the reader much more openly into questioning the worth and purpose of the prophecy entirely. The issue isn't Mel, its agent, it is the prophecy and how people react to it.

If Dany encounters the prophecy with Melisandre, the blame could be placed on Mel for leading her astray like she did Stannis.

If Dany encounters the prophecy independently, we will be watching a mirror to Stannis unfold, and it will open up a clearer invitation to compare the patterns of how this exact prophecy has influenced different people throughout the centuries of Targaryen rule all in the same destructive way.

It's a warning that is mistaken for a promise, and in this way, it became self-fulfilling.

[miyukis-writings]

— Bound by Silk and Shadows. [II]

pairing. ilumi zoldyck x (insert oc)

summary. In a quiet village, she runs a humble café, serving customers with a serene smile, unaware that she has captured the interest of one of the deadliest assassins alive. Ilumi Zoldyck, cold and emotionless, finds himself drawn to her—an anomaly in his carefully calculated world. She does not flinch under his piercing gaze, does not cower in fear like others do. And that intrigues him. What starts as silent observation soon spirals into obsession. He watches from the shadows, memorizing her every move, ensuring no one else dares to lay claim to what is his. Even Hisoka, ever the provocateur, finds amusement in Ilumi’s growing fixation. But Ilumi is not a man of patience. If she won’t come to him willingly… he may just have to take her. After all, a rare treasure should be kept safe—locked away, where no one else can touch.

tags. yandere ; kidnapping, manipulation ; friends to lovers ; eventual smut (will be tagged accordingly).

a.n. i've posted this on Wattpad as well. Been taking a day-off from writing fanfic since 3 years ago. Hope everyone enjoys this! <3 all likes, comments and reblog are greatly appreciated. xoxo miyuki

status. on-going // prologue, chapter I, chapter III, chapter IV, chapter V, chapter VI

The night was crisp, the scent of damp earth lingering in the air after an earlier drizzle. The village streets, lit only by sparse lanterns, cast flickering shadows that danced along the cobblestone path. The occasional rustling of leaves and distant chirps of nocturnal creatures were the only sounds that accompanied them. It was the kind of quiet that felt suffocating to most—but Ilumi found comfort in it. He wonders as well but, he just put the thought aside for now. Ilumi was not accustomed to uncertainty. Every action he took, every step he made, was calculated. And yet, when it came to the girl from the café, he found himself unable to predict what should have been the most obvious outcome—her reaction to him.

Would his presence in front of her change anything at all?

He did not like lingering questions. He sought answers. And so, tonight, he decided to step out from the shadows and confront his curiosity head-on.

Of course, he was not alone.

Hisoka, ever the opportunist, had decided to accompany him, much to Ilumi’s dismay.

“Oh, this is quite unlike you, Ilumi~,” Hisoka mused, strolling beside him with the kind of exaggerated leisure that made him seem out of place in the quiet village. “Approaching a woman directly? How bold.”

Ilumi did not react. Hisoka’s presence was an irritation, but not an obstacle. If anything, it would serve as an additional test.

By the time they arrived at the café, the warm glow of the lanterns outside flickered against the darkened streets. Through the window, the girl could be seen tidying up the empty tables, preparing to close for the night. The only remaining customers had already left, leaving the place nearly silent.

Ilumi stepped inside first, Hisoka following with a lazy gait. The door creaked slightly as it shut behind them, the sound breaking the quiet atmosphere. She looked up at the sound, her gaze meeting theirs directly.

Nothing.

No hesitation. No wariness. No immediate sense of fear.

Just quiet acknowledgment.

"Welcome," she said, a soft smile was plastered on her face, her voice light, unbothered. "You're just in time. I was about to close, but I can make an exception. What would you like?"

Hisoka chuckled, moving toward the counter with an amused gleam in his eyes. “Oh my, does that mean we’re intruding? How terribly rude of us.”

Ilumi ignored him. “We won’t be long.” Ilumi studied her. He had expected at least a flicker of unease, a moment of recognition that something about him was… different. But there was none. If anything, she regarded him with the same gentle attentiveness she had given to all her customers before him.

She regarded him for a moment before nodding, her soft smile didn’t faltered even for a second. “Take a seat. I’ll bring the both of you something warm.” Despite her knowing that most of the tea had already been kept in the small cabinet in the cafe, but she didn’t mind fetching them for the two gentlemen in the room. She then took a small chair for her to reach the cabinet where she put the tea a few minutes ago.

Hisoka leaned onto the counter, propping his chin against his palm as she moved behind it. “How sweet~ You must be used to strange men showing up at odd hours, hmm?”

She didn’t even glance at him. “Not particularly.” She answered, her soft voice sounds like music in Ilumi’s ear but he shook the thoughts away, taking a close look around the cafe. Analyzing the arrangement of the chairs, tables and small ornaments being put in the room. The soft light coming from the lantern itself glows quite nicely, putting out a comfortable vibe in the room despite their presence trying so hard to turn the room into an uncomfortable vibe and yet, the room refuses to answered to their intoxicating presence.

Hisoka’s smirk widened. “Yet you don’t seem the least bit nervous. How refreshing.”

She didn't paid him any mind and poured them tea, placing the cups in front of them with steady hands. Ilumi watched her closely, taking in every detail—the way she carried herself, the absence of hesitation, the way her eyes didn’t reflect even a sliver of fear. The soft smile on her face didn’t seem to faltered even just for a second.

The café had become eerily silent, save for the occasional clink of porcelain as the tea was set down. Outside, the wind whispered against the windows, carrying with it the distant sound of rustling branches. The lanterns’ glow painted warm hues on the wooden floors, creating an intimate yet unsettling ambiance.

“Do you live alone?” Hisoka continued, stirring his tea lazily. “Or does someone wait for you at home?”

Ilumi shot him a glance, a small warning perhaps—for him not to do anything towards her but the girl merely answered with the same soft tone, “I live with my grandparents.”

“Ah, a family girl.” Hisoka sighed dramatically. “How disappointing.”

She remained indifferent to his antics, simply wiping down the counter as they drank. Hisoka, however, wasn’t done playing. “Tell me, do you ever get scared?”

She finally looked at him, confusion was written across her face. She then tilted her head slightly. “Of what?” Ilumi could not help himself but to be amused over her obliviousness.

Hisoka grinned. “Of people like us.”

Silence filled the air between them. Then, she blinked once, her soft smile was still plastered on her lips before replying, “Should I be?”

Hisoka let out a delighted laugh. “Oh, I like you.”

She chuckled softly, shaking her head lightly before replying. “That makes one of us.”

Hisoka gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Oh, what a cruel rejection! And here I thought we were forming such a lovely bond.”

She chuckled, simply shrugged. “You assumed wrong.” Ilumi simply sat, lifting the cup to his lips, tasting the tea but focusing on her. Waiting.

Would she fidget under his gaze? Would she avoid looking at him? Would she finally sense something was off about the man before her? But no. She merely continued cleaning, humming softly under her breath, unshaken by his scrutiny.

It was… strange.

For the first time in his life, Ilumi was the one feeling observed—except she wasn’t watching him with suspicion or fear. She was simply existing in the same space as him, treating him as if he was just another customer passing through.

Minutes passed in silence. She finished her cleaning, moving toward the front door to flip the sign to ‘Closed.’ When she turned back, she met his gaze again, tilting her head slightly in curiosity. "You don’t talk much, do you?" she mused.

He set his cup down, his fingers still resting lightly against the porcelain. "No."

She chuckled at his bluntness but said nothing more, allowing the silence to settle comfortably between them. Hisoka watches with a smirk on his face, amused by the scene collapsing between the two of them.

Ilumi finished his tea in silence, remembering the small exchange between her and Hisoka a few minutes ago with passive interest. There was something about the way she handled Hisoka—effortlessly deflecting his teasing without a hint of intimidation—that made her all the more unusual. Most people recoiled under Hisoka’s presence, yet she remained unchanged. The smile on her face never seem to faltered even a single bit, he found it quite amusing. And he never found anyone amusing before. Until he met her.

The tea had cooled slightly by the time Ilumi finished his cup. He set it down with a deliberate motion and pulled out the appropriate payment.

Ilumi remained for a moment longer, studying her, searching for any sign that she was pretending—forcing her ease around him. But there was nothing artificial about her. She was simply as she had always been.

Unchanged.

Indifferent.

As if his presence truly made no difference at all.

For reasons he could not explain, the thought unsettled him more than he had expected.

Rising to his feet, he placed the payment on the counter. As he placed the money on the counter, he studied her reaction—or rather, the lack of fear presenting on her face. Not even the slightest flicker of curiosity crossed her face. She then took a glanced at it and smiled for the last time that night. "Thank you. Please come again anytime."

Hisoka hummed in amusement, watching her as they prepared to leave. “We should visit again, Ilumi. She’s quite fun.”

Ilumi didn’t respond. Instead, he cast one last glance at the girl before stepping out into the night.

The cool air greeted them once more, the village feeling emptier than before. The faint sound of laughter and conversation from distant homes carried through the air, but Ilumi hardly paid attention. His thoughts were elsewhere.

His presence had made no difference to her demeanor. Not in fear, not in intrigue. Nothing.

And yet, despite that… he knew he would be back. Because for the first time in his life, he was curious.

And curiosity was dangerous.

He wanted to see how long it would take before something—anything—in her expression changed because of him.

Even if he had to force it.

[storyofmychoices]

Shadows and Deception: Parts VII & VIII

[Series Masterlist] [My Choices Masterlists]

Books: The Royal Romance (post-TRF), Crimes of Passion I, Desire & Decorum, Blades of Light and Shadow I

Characters: Trystan Thorne (M, no race mentioned), Marguerite Thorne, Olivia Nevrakis, Queen Amalas, Maxwell Beaumont, Daniel, King Liam (no race mentioned), Tyril Starfury, Nia Ellarious, Prince Hamid

Pairings: Olivia Nevrakis x Queen Amalas ; M!Trystan Thorne x (no gender given) MC (mentioned) ; King Liam x Riley (mentioned)

Rating/Warnings: Teen, mentions of blood, stab wound, knives/daggers (no graphic descriptions)

Word Count: Part VII: ~400; Part VI: ~1,500 : total ~1,900

Summary: Olivia makes it her mission to figure out who is trying to frame her and why, but what she finds isn't what she ever expected.

Catch Up: [Parts I and II] [Parts III and IV] [Parts V and VI]

These are the last two sections of the story. You should only read the "reveal" if you're caught up! I hope you enjoy the ending of this little mystery.

VII. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. (Sherlock Holmes)

Despite the evidence against Olivia, the King released her from custody, trusting his friend would not be so careless as to leave her own knife lying around as evidence of her wrongdoing.

Adrenaline filled Olivia as she returned to the ballroom, her mind racing with theories and suspicions. Stares fell upon her, filled with curiosity and uncertainty, yet she wouldn’t let them deter her from finding answers for herself. 

Ever the stealthy observer, she listened discreetly to hushed conversations, her keen ears capturing every piece of information that floated in the air. Some clues she already knew, like the red hair and her dagger, but others were new and intriguing, like whispers of coded letters and sightings of a cloaked female figure. 

Amalas slipped through the crowd with ease, making no waves as she passed, her focus entirely on her Duchess. "I see you've managed to evade their grasp," she teased, her voice filled with amusement.

Olivia's lips curled into a mischievous grin. "You know me, always one step ahead." 

Amalas leaned in, her voice low and intimate. "It's good to see you enjoying yourself," she whispered, her fingers lightly caressing Olivia's cheek.

A flicker of amusement danced in Olivia's eyes. "I must confess this party has become far more interesting than I expected. The year has been too quiet. I've missed the exhilaration of murder, treason, and deception that have come to be a staple of these gatherings."

"Why am I not surprised?" Amalas chuckled softly in admiration. She leaned in closer, brushing a kiss on Olivia's jaw as she whispered, "Perhaps we can make this night even more memorable." Her hand slid down Olivia's form, settling on her thigh as her teeth grazed the tender skin beneath her ear. "What do you say?"

As Amalas's words hung in the air, Olivia's thoughts were momentarily distracted by the events of the evening. Her calculating gaze shifted between Nia and Marguerite, contemplating their possible involvement. While pointing the finger at both was easy, she couldn't reconcile how either could have lifted her dagger without her notice. Nia wouldn't stand a chance even with magic, and while clever and cunning, Marguerite couldn't best Olivia. There was only one who stood a chance at that—

Olivia's gaze fell to her thigh, where Amalas's hand had been resting naturally above her collection of ornate daggers, Olivia not even giving it consideration until now.

VIII. It is not the past that matters, but the future. (Poirot)

As realization flashed across Olivia's face, Amalas knew it was time. The ruse was over. She swiftly withdrew her hand, but not quick enough to evade Olivia's hawk-like precision as another dagger found its place against Amalas's neck. 

The Spy Queen smiled in amusement at Olivia's discovery. "I knew you'd figure it out. Only you could."

"Why?" Olivia questioned, her voice filled with both curiosity and vengeance.

Amalas's fingers reached into her purse, her movements deliberate. "To keep you distracted so you wouldn’t figure out what comes next," she explained, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "And, I know you appreciate a good murder."

The tension in the room grew palpable as Olivia processed Amalas's words. Her dagger trained against the Queen's neck never wavered. "You killed Daniel? Why?"

"Oh, no." Amalas shook her head lightly. Her gaze drifted to the back of the ballroom, where she discreetly signaled someone. "You can call it a charade."

Confusion washed over Olivia as Maxwell called out to her, his expression filled with pride and excitement. 

He waved and smiled, his double thumbs-up a triumphant gesture. Standing beside him, far more alive than the last time she had seen him was Daniel. "I told Amalas I could trick you," Maxwell announced, pumping his fist in the air and dancing to celebrate his win.

"I had my reservations about his involvement, but he was very excited… and quite persistent, so I let him assist in my plot," she insisted.

Olivia's mind raced as she pieced together the puzzle before her. How could they make a fool of her? And who else was in on this ruse? Not the guard; they were too inept to even handle a fake murder. 

Clues and revelations swirled in her thoughts, forming a coherent picture of the events that had unfolded. The tense exchange between Maxwell and Daniel in an area sure to be overheard was the opening act, setting the stage for deception. Her mind flashed back to a particularly heated moment between her and Amala in the hall outside the ballroom just before the start of the event, their passionate embrace enough of a distraction for Amalas to lift her dagger without her questioning the placement of her hand. 

Her eyes widened as she continued to connect the dots: an evident stab wound and a pool of blood, but neither could explain his apparent lifeless form. And then it hit her—the syringe. It must have contained a substance to slow Daniel's heart and breathing, making him appear dead at first glance. But the blood—it still didn't make sense. She knew real blood when she saw it! 

Her jaw dropped slightly, her gaze settling on a certain Lord still celebrating his victory—Maxwell! She remembered an earlier quip she had directed his way, ‘I didn't know you were auditioning for the next Twilight movie. You've nailed the pale aesthetic. I'm sure you'd enjoy the glitter, but I don't think vampires dance.’ She shook her head remembering the interaction; there was a bandage on his arm. If it wasn't for her absolute fury at his participation in this deception, she would almost be impressed at his dedication to the game. Giving his own blood showed real commitment. Olivia's mind spun with the intricacies of the scheme, leaving her reeling as she processed the depths of deception that had taken place right under her nose.

Olivia took a step toward Maxwell, vengeance filling her gaze. "That was your blood?" she questioned, her voice dripping with accusation.

"Yup," he announced proudly, relishing in his deceit. 

She tightened her grip on her dagger, a scowl filling her face. "Since you're in such a giving mood, perhaps you'd like to donate more?" 

"If looks could kill—" he jested, a hint of hesitation creeping into his body as he took a step backward. 

"Oh, I promise it's more than looks," she sneered in amusement. 

"Time to go, Max," Daniel intervened, pulling his friend's arm. 

"She wouldn't…" Max offered, analyzing her face with a mix of uncertainty and concern. "...would she?"

"Let's find out," Olivia teased, her eyes fixed on him as she stalked forward. Much of the ballroom that had been listening in turned away themselves, hoping to avoid the Duchess's wrath.

"Yup, okay, time to go!" Maxwell conceded.

She would deal with him later, but for now, there was a much worse betrayal to confront. 

Her gaze flickered back to Amalas's hand, still concealed in her purse. "What else are you hiding?"

"The reason for all of this." She took a step closer to Olivia, despite her raised weapon. "You have captured my heart in ways I never considered possible. I can't imagine a path without you by my side. No secret or knowledge is as important and valuable to me as you." Amalas's usual confident voice faltered with a hint of nervousness. "Olivia Nevrakis, will you marry me?"

A storm of conflicting emotions washed over Olivia as she locked eyes with Amalas, her mind still reeling from the revelations of the night. The chaos and deception had led them to this pivotal moment.

Sensing her hesitance, Amalas continued, "I couldn't have you figure out my intentions, so I needed you distracted. You're too clever for your own good, my love."

"You never cease to amaze me," Olivia marveled at how Amalas was able to orchestrate the night's events, leading here with her none the wiser. Olivia's gaze narrowed on hers. "I could have killed you."

"I would have loved to see you try." Amalas nodded to the knife still in her hand. "You're welcome to make the first move... unless you prefer to wait until we're behind closed doors."

"This is the weirdest proposal I've ever seen," Trystan whispered to Marguerite, unable to turn away. 

"Don't get any ideas," his sister replied. "Rose won't find you as amusing."

"Are you sure?" His charming grin filled his face. 

"Yes," she nodded firmly. 

"But—"

"No." 

"It could be fun."

"It could lead to another international incident!" Marguerite reminded him. 

"What would life be without a headline or two?"

"You're lucky I like you!" 

"You love me!" Trystan wrapped his arm around his baby sister, his attention turning back to the happy couple, who were now settled in a passionate embrace, the ring happily settled on Olivia's finger. 

"You'll come up with something entirely your own," Marguerite decided, her head tipping to the side in consideration. "Unless of course… Rose proposes first." 

The proposal. His mouth opened as realization set in. His face contorted in dismay. “Wait, so the key, the locker, the notes, my whole investigation was for nothing?"

"Perhaps they deemed you a worthy adversary, one who might've detected the deception too soon, and so they gave you your own little distraction."

Trystan let out a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe I’ve been played,” his chagrin evident in his tone. "I was a pawn? I'm at least a knight," he sulked.

Marguerite smiled at his disappointment. “It seems your detective skills failed to notice the biggest mystery of all—love.”

After a moment of feeling sorry for himself, he straightened his jacket. “Well, at least, I wasn’t alone. No one else figured it out either.”

“That’s not quite true,” Marguerite teased, a satisfied smirk filling her face. 

“You did not see this coming!” He vehemently protested.

“I had my suspicions that more was at play than met the eye,” she reported. “Amalas seemed distracted, her focus on Olivia, even though there was no way Olivia would be so sloppy or that Amalas would suspect her. Then, there was her clutch; she kept it close like it held all her most precious secrets.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, there was that look too—”

“What look?”

“The one you wear so well—” she began, her voice filled with awe. “The pure admiration and adoration for the one you love and couldn’t spend a day without.” She pressed a kiss on his cheek, her words quieting. “It’s how I know your appreciation of this proposal isn't just in good fun and how I know you already have a ring of your own waiting for the perfect moment.” 

Before Trystan could respond, Marguerite slipped off into the once more lively crowd. She checked the time on her phone and headed to meet her contact with whom she'd exchange the flash drive she'd been concealing for secrets in an entirely different matter with everyone none the wiser.

The ballroom buzzed with a combination of awe, amusement, and adoration as the guests realized they had been unwitting participants in a grand charade leading into a moment they would never forget, the engagement of The Duchess of Lythikos and The Queen of Monterisso—a union that promised to be an adventure that surpassed even the captivating events of this extraordinary evening.

The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death. (Oscar Wilde)

Hi! If you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this mystery and the twist ending. I know not everyone likes twists, but I hope I did this one justice. This was not the ending I had intended but as I happened to write it, I couldn't see it ending any other way. Olivia deserves someone who would go to the ends of the earth for her and isn't afraid to push her. I hope I did her and Amalas justice... especially since I've never actually met Amalas in canon... This fic was never supposed to be this TRR series heavy but here we are.... I hope I did everyone justice.

I do feel for Maxwell, while Olivia can forgive Amalas, she might take some pent up frustration out on him in the near future. He better watch out!

Thank you again for reading and supporting this story. ❤️❤️❤️

Giveaway Information: complete details here

3 winners will be chose for minimalist portraits with @bayleedrawsx

Any one who comments on or reblogs with a comment with their theories, thoughts, ideas, ect. on any and all sections of the story will be entered in the giveaway. (1 entry per section)

Prompts: For @choicesbookclub COP ; @choicesmonthlychallenge Private Investigator Event

Special thanks: to JenBeaumontJones (IG) for beta reading

[trrenchertrash]

Hi I just found out your meta/analysis and I loved it!! Can I ask you opinion about last scene of Caitlyn expression after Vi said "nothings gonna clean me out", why it's does look like a sad face or uncertainty about their future etc not a determination face..

Anw thankyou so much for your post analysis can't wait to see more!

Hi! I think she’s definitely reckoning with the consequences of her actions here. Vi did just remind her of it all, even if she was teasing. So it’s more of a ruminative expression, and I think you could make the argument that there might be some quiet guilt or fear layered into it. Like you said, there’s uncertainty there too, like she’s wondering how she’s going to make all of this right. It’s a deep hole she’s dug herself into. And for all her arrogance and confidence I think even Caitlyn Kiramman would feel a little intimidated by that. Like her anger has finally been tempered with a little humility, maybe. That’s why she doesn’t have a confident, determined expression, I’d say.