#solidifying her reputation?

[2deadkat]

Nothing is more disappointing then reading the book where we see actual physical evidence of petunia and Thea hanging out together, but it’s the worst one in the series and their interaction is just them failing the bechdel test. And a poor utilization of their characters…can’t say this is a fun discovery for yuriville but it is what it is…

Anyways uhhhh I hate Run for the Hills Geronimo, bad writing, bad utilisation of characters

[loaksky]

— come a little closer

hockey jock!vi x tutor!reader, fluff / humor / angst / kinda slowburn / smut (18+ mdni!), wc: 16k+ [buckle your seatbelts bc i could not shut the fuck up about vi if i wanted to !]

synopsis: you’re many things; an exemplary student, quiet and well-mannered, loved immensely by those who bother to get to know you, but most importantly, the newfound object of superstar athlete vi’s every affection. or, in other words, hockey jock!vi is lowkey a loser, atrociously down bad, and will stop at nothing to make you hers.

content warnings: language (duh), brief mentions of familial issues, latent insecurity, miscommunication & lack of communication, kissing, groping, SEX! mdni, seriously, i’ll THROW UP!, more specifically fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), spitting, makeup sex idk, just good old fashioned lesbian BANGING! also! jazz cabbage, lets pretend for the sake of this au that student athlete’s don’t get tested bc i NEED hockey jock!vi to hotbox reader PLS.

fic soundtrack: i could imagine —alina baraz /snooze — sza /tonight — summer walker / pressure — james vickery + sg lewis / wish that i could — umi

author’s note: of course it’d be arcane s2 that resurrects me from my almost yearlong hiatus...pls enjoy this fic even though i’m pretty rusty; she’s been cooking in the drafts for weeks T-T i’ll be answering some (very long overdue) asks and chatting with you guys <3 and finally, this shit is barely proofread bc my brain is fried lol

main masterlist | arcane masterlist

VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.

One that supersedes every issue she’d ever given weight to in all of her four (and a half) years of university. Is way larger than twice-a-day practices on and off the ice that go hand-in-hand with studying so hard to make sure that her grades don’t slip a fraction. Probably way bigger than the fact that her little sister’s graduating high school soon and she’s trying her absolute best to be as great a role model as she can despite wanting to crack under the pressure. And most definitely bigger than her favorite on-again-off-again fling, Cait Kiramann, who’s rare to come by these days.

Vi has a huge problem, and quite frankly, it’s you.

In hindsight, she’s been relatively good at overlooking you, not that it’d been intentional to begin with, but Vi knows a lot of people. Too many, she feels sometimes. So it's easy for you to slip through the cracks when everyone’s vying for even a shred of her attention.

Perhaps it’s what piques her interest when your orbits finally do collide. Because, admittedly, you know all about Vi. Know that she’s probably one of the most valuable players on the uni’s hockey team (she’s an absolute beast on the ice). Also know that she’s a biomedical physics major and actually incredibly smart. But most of all, you know that not only is Violet a flirt, she’s a player.

Not necessarily that you’ve ever really been on the receiving end, but mostly because her reputation precedes her and you’ve seen it all from a distance. Can't not when the decorated hockey star is such a charmer whether she intends to be or not. Vi has girls both certain and questioning stumbling for a single glance.

You often think it’s pitiful, but it’s not like it’s really your problem.

Until it is.

It all starts at The Afterparty.

Hours after a big victory in the first game of three that solidifies whether the university hockey team participates in the championships, Violet is the star of tonight’s celebration.

She’d sunk the winning shot, and for that she’s being poured shot after celebratory shot. By eleven she’s practically hammered and it’s when her teammate, Ellie, and the captain, Abby, finally show up.

The three of them together, drunk, is like a minefield of obnoxious laughter, dirty innuendos, and rowdy behavior.

And for a while it’s funny, has Vi feeling like she’s on cloud nine, but eventually, the drunken high begins to evaporate and she starts to feel a little overwhelmed.

The spotlight shifts and even though Vi typically preens under the attention, she’s grateful to finally breathe.

With a plastic cup full of water, she’s sliding the back door open and stepping out onto the back patio to take in the cool air for a breather.

She makes a move towards the stairs, but nearly jumps out of her skin when she registers the silhouette at the base of the steps.

“Jesus, fuck,” Vi hisses to herself. “You scared the shit outta me.”

You don’t even spare her a glance over your shoulder, just take a sip from your drink.

“Sorry,” you hum passively.

She catches her breath, doesn’t even bother to ask permission as she drops all of her weight next to you.

The step creaks under pure muscle.

Her strong legs stretch out, elbows settling back against the step up as she waits. And waits. And waits.

The amount of silence that lapses is unusual, uncharacteristic for Vi, especially so because people are typically babbling enough to fill the void when it comes to her.

But you just sit there, nursing your beer and staring up at the stars. The moon hangs half in the sky, softly illuminating the planes of your features.

It’s her first good look at your face and Vi’s definitely drunk, but the immediate thought that comes to her mind is pretty, pretty, pretty. Undeniably and painfully pretty. And not Caitlyn pretty, the only girl she’s ever really used as a benchmark, but intimidatingly so in your own right. Makes her swallow hard, throat bobbing as she watches you unapologetically.

“It’s rude to stare, Violet,” you say simply, eyes finally flitting to meet hers.

Her breath catches in her throat, earthy flecks dancing in your moonlit irises. God, your eyes. Framed by thick lashes and round as you look up at her.

“You know who I am?” she asks stupidly as if point fives of her face aren’t blown up into memes and plastered all over the house.

“Who doesn’t?” you ask, breathing a puff of humorless laughter as you crush the can in your ringed fingers.

And perhaps you got her there, but Vi’s feeling exceptionally small under your gaze despite usually filling out a room. Something about you makes her shrink.

“I— fuck,” Vi stumbles, cheeks red because you’re looking at her with an indecipherable gleam in your gaze that has her squirming. “What’s your name?”

She cringes at herself, rolls the piercing in her nose once, twice, for comfort.

You laugh again, a little more genuine this time because, from a distance, the athlete’s usually so suave, undeniably gorgeous and composed. Right now, the girl in front of you only ticks one of those boxes.

“________,” you offer.

She weighs the name on her tongue, decides she likes it a lot, and tries to shake off whatever this feeling you’re giving her is.

“And you go to school here?” she asks.

You nod once.

“Neuroscience, fourth year.”

“Huh, we’re in similar fields, but I’ve never seen you around,” Vi observes. Because she’s certain she’d bookmark a face like yours, absolutely no doubt about it.

“We had organic chemistry together sophomore year with Dr. Talis,” you say matter-of-factly, like you’re not blowing her mind right now. “And I’m auditing Medarda’s biometry class this semester.”

Vi’s floored.

“Wait, wait, but...” She’s trying to piece the puzzle together, but her brain’s still a little fuzzy, equal parts from the alcohol, but also because she’s caught a whiff of your perfume and you smell so sweet.

“I pop in every once in a while,” you tell her. “But I tutor in that time slot every Tuesday and Thursday, only really go when I don’t have any appointments.”

“Hold on, this is nuts,” Violet says, body easing to face you. You flinch because she doesn’t realize she’s practically yelling. “There’s no way, I definitely would’ve remembered you if that was the case.”

You hum, corners of your lips quirking as you shrug your shoulders.

“Doubt it,” you counter. “I’m nothing particularly spectacular.”

“Nothing particularly spectacular,” Vi repeats under her breath.

And under normal circumstances, she’d be flirting up a storm right now, trying to charm her way into getting you to bite, but this is one of the first semblances of normalcy she’s experienced in a while. No ulterior motives, no exaggerated kindness, no outright asking her to fuck.

Suddenly your phone lights up in your lap and you’re turning your attention to the device.

“DD duties call,” is all you say as you make a move to stand up.

No, this can’t be all she gets from you tonight. Not when she’s been narrowly missing someone like you for the past four years and you’re just now coming to light.

The dormant liquid courage bubbles and Vi’s gently grabbing your wrist to pull you to a stop.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” she asks, steely eyes liquid as she stares up at you.

You eye the scar on her lip, gaze lingering there before flitting to meet hers.

“Maybe.”

Vi decides that she needs to see you again.

You’d left her with crumbs this past Friday night and she’d spent the better part of the weekend trying (and failing) to cross paths with you again.

“Jesus, you’re down bad,” Ellie chuffs Monday morning on their walk to the campus coffee shop.

“You don’t understand,” Vi defends. “She’s so...so...”

“So?”

“Different, I dunno,” Vi sighs, fiddling with the strap of her backpack as they walk. “We didn’t even talk about much, but that was the most normal I’ve felt around someone in a while.”

Her teammate snorts.

“Probably the gayest thing I’ve heard you say,” Ellie deadpans. “She isn’t immediately trying to munch and you’re already in love. Pathetic.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Vi scoffs as they approach the coffee shop, inside packed full with half-functioning college students so early in the morning. “Trust me, if you met her, you’d—”

The words die in her throat because halle-fucking-lujah, the universe or god, or whatever has answered her every prayer this past weekend as she clocks you a few paces ahead in line.

Ellie follows her friend’s line of vision to find exactly what she’s staring at and she lets out a low whistle when her gaze finds your frame.

From a completely aesthetic standpoint, she can see why Vi’s immediately hooked.

“Hah,” she makes a noise in her throat. “Okay, so maybe it makes sense.”

Vi can’t help but stare because, if it were possible, you were far prettier under the warm lighting of the cafe’s ambiance. The curls of your hair frame your face beautifully and it’s so fucking cute how focused you are on your phone.

“Hate to break it to you, though. That girl’s way out of your league,” Ellie says like it’s common knowledge.

“Wow, way to boost my ego,” Vi mutters drily.

“Just being realistic,” Ellie argues. “If you bag her, she’s easily the hottest girl you’ve been with.”

And Vi can’t really contest that, not when the proof’s in the fucking pudding.

Her body’s moving of its own accord and before she can register her own actions, she’s mumbling quiet s’cuse me’s under her breath as she squeezes between patrons to close a bruised hand over your shoulder.

You nearly jump out of your skin, fumbling with your phone as an earbud falls out.

“Shit, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Vi says quickly.

Your gaze snaps to her, brows furrowing almost imperceptibly before your expression settles.

“Violet,” you acknowledge.

And she realizes that she didn’t really have a game plan coming up to you so abruptly. Had been so focused on actually just seeing you again, that she hadn’t thought through the rest of it.

The way you stare up at her is thoroughly disarming because she doesn’t have the shield of night or alcoholic courage to carry her through it.

“Can I help you?” you ask, but not unkindly.

“Oh, uh, I...” She chances a glance over her shoulder to find that Ellie is watching her from a few customers away, eyebrow cocked and smirk testing. She word vomits before she can think of a coherent thought. “You mentioned tutoring...the last time we talked.”

You don’t even bat an eye.

“I did.”

“You’re also auditing Medarda’s biometry class.”

“I am.”

“I’m...I’m not really doing too hot in Medarda’s right now,” Vi says, brain nearly short-circuiting and freezing up because, lie! She’s doing phenomenally in Medarda’s session and, truthfully, she’s just downright scared to ask you to hang out.

Especially when you look up at her like that.

You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.

“Hmm, can’t have that, can we?” you hum.

Vi could melt.

“No,” she breathes out a laugh. “Can’t.”

“You can sign up for a slot through the library’s website,” you say after you weigh the thought.

Vi’s pausing, staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

“So I can get paid?” you fill in.

“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”

You give her a soft smile before plugging your earbud back in, leaving Vi to rejoin her obviously amused friend.

“You’re fucking joking!”

The librarian gives you and your incredulous roommate a look from the circulation desk and you return it with a sheepish smile from where you’re tucked by a wall of looming floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Maddie,” you whisper.

“You’re telling me that The Violet asked you personally to tutor her?” Maddie asks you, leaned over the tabletop with wide eyes.

“Yeah, cornered me at Brew House this morning and asked me to tutor her in Medarda’s class.”

“Just that?” she asks. “Nothing else?”

You look around in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah?” you scoff. “What else would she want?”

“What else would she— are you serious?” Maddie leans back in her seat, arms crossing over her chest as she gives you a plain look. “You know all about Vi, you’re actually gonna play stupid?”

“Oh, come on.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve seen the girls Violet’s fucked, right? Kiramann? The blonde from the tennis team? She’s got a type and you know it.”

It’s Maddie’s turn to roll her eyes and you see the exasperated groan she’s staving off.

“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”

“It’s not self-deprecating!” you argue. “Not everyone wants to fuck Violet, Maddie. Put me in the number one spot.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t start.”

“All I’m saying is that anyone with eyes can see that Vi’s hot as fuck. That being said, you’re also hot as fuck. Not only that, but rumor has it, she gives the most toe-curling—”

You’re rolling your eyes again, gaze fluttering out the window momentarily only to find that, speak of the devil, Violet’s approaching the library with a skip in her step.

Maddie stops her spiel to trace your gaze and nearly falls out of her seat when she finds the object of your conversation is advancing, fast.

“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself, pulling up your tutoring log on your tablet to find that, yup, Violet has most-definitely taken your advice and signed up for a tutoring slot.

If the time reads correctly, you’ve got three minutes before she’s due to be taking Maddie’s seat.

Your friend is grinning at you mischievously, stuffing her backpack quickly to vacate the space across from you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you scoff, slumping back in your seat.

“Tell me how it goes,” she giggles, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands.

“Maddie,” you warn.

“Love you, see you at home!”

Violet’s strolling into the library just as Maddie leaves through the other doors and try as you might make yourself small in the open air near the research center, her gaze falls on you as soon as she enters.

“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.

“Hi.”

A moment lapses before you’re nodding towards the seat before you.

“We can get started whenever you’re ready.”

Right. Right! Vi’s mentally cringing, pulling the chair out with a squeak and dropping onto the worn cushion.

Her eyes are locked, watching as you pull the biometry textbook from your little messenger bag.

“Any particular areas you’re struggling in?” you ask, flipping to a clean sheet of paper in your notepad and clicking open your pen.

Vi combs her brain, tries to think of anything she’s not really grasping in Medarda’s class, but she’s been acing all the exams with flying colors, so she spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.

“In relation to...?” You tilt your head and Vi’s breath is hitching.

“The Confusion Matrix,” she answers, even though she knows all about it.

It’s only when you start breaking it down from the bare bones that she realizes that she could listen to you talk for-probably-ever.

You obviously have a great understanding of the subject if the way you deconstruct the relationship between sensitivity and specificity (or whatever the fuck) is anything to go by, and she doesn’t realize that she hasn’t even blinked until you’re glancing up at her.

“Am I making any sense?” you ask softly, taking in the almost confused look on Violet’s face.

“Huh?”

Vi snaps out of it, cheeks coloring pink when she notes the way you straighten in your seat.

“Am I going too fast?”

“No, no!’ Vi practically shouts before chancing an embarrassed gaze around the library to find a few wandering eyes. She clears her throat and tries to relax. “No, you’re doing great. I get it.”

You don’t seem convinced, but the faster you get through the material, the faster Violet can leave and you can finally catch your breath.

Because maybe Maddie’s a little right. That while you know, one hundred percent, without-a-doubt, that you and Violet are cut from two different cloths and that you ultimately won’t mesh, there’s still a sliver of want that settles somewhere confined in the pit of your gut.

You don’t know how long you continue before you notice that sun has begun to set in the horizon, but Vi’s effort is unwavering. She’s probably on her tenth practice problem by now and so far, she’s only flubbed once.

You decide to fold your cards first.

“O-kay,” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as you roll your shoulders and squeeze your hands shut so tight your knuckles crack. “This is a good stopping point, don’t you think?”

No, Vi could keep going forever if it meant hearing you talk all night, but the little G-shock wristwatch winks the time and she realizes that the two of you have been going at it for going on two hours and you’re probably exhausted.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long,” Vi says sheepishly. “Thanks a lot for your help, I...”

You look up from where you’re shuffling your papers together, pausing when she hesitates.

“I really appreciate you. I know you probably help dozens of people every week and—”

She stops talking when she sees you crack what seems to be the first genuine smile she could get out of you since Friday.

“It’s my job, Violet,” you tell her. “I’m happy to help.”

And she’d done well enough during the tutoring session, had a successful run with the practice problems. You were confident it was just a one and done. Perhaps served as a review for the upcoming exam Medarda had posted on the class page.

But then you see her name in the final time slot on Thursday, don’t really think much of it until you’re tabbing to next week’s schedule for shits and giggles. Tuesday and Thursday are booked through again, her name highlighted in yellow.

You minimize the calendar and pull up the aggregate schedule only to find that every 4 o’clock slot every Tuesday and Thursday’s been booked until the end of the semester.

You refresh for good measure.

“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”

You don’t know what kind of joke this is, if Violet thinks that this is funny, but you’re not amused.

Especially when you’re stalking all the way to the athletic hall, ignoring the wolfish stares from shameless student athletes to whip into the women’s hockey team’s reserved conditioning space.

You find her benching near the center of the room, Abigail Anderson spotting her while the rest of the team engages in various workouts and exercises.

A hush ripples over the weight room as you approach the hockey star, standing at the end of the bench where her knees are bent. One of Abigail Anderson’s eyebrows quirk up as you stand there with your hands on your hips and you hope the chill that runs down your spine as she checks you out doesn’t visibly vibrate your body.

When the barbell nearly crushes Vi’s chest on her last rep, Abby’s quick to help her re-rack and takes the biggest step back as Vi sits up.

Her expression falls and her face pales when she locks eyes with you, your features severe and gaze stony.

“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.

Truthfully, she hadn’t really pinned you as the type to be confrontational. Thought she’d have enough time to build a strong enough story as to why she booked out all of your tutoring sessions when in actuality she panicked when Ellie started grilling the fuck out of her about being a fucking pussy and begging her to just ask you out.

“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”

And she should definitely be embarrassed, not at all turned on, but she can’t help it as she gulps. Because when you stand before her like this, she can easily admit that she’d die for a private version of the view.

The silence in the weight room is palpable and you want to back down, but if this is some running joke and Vi’s going to make a show of humiliating you in front of her teammates, then you’d give her a show.

“Violet.”

Someone in the back snickers, another whistles, and Vi’s cheeks go red.

She’s standing, sweaty hands closing around your biceps as she spins you around and quickly guides you out of the conditioning room and out of her teammates’ line of ogling sight.

“V—”

“I’m sorry,” Violet splutters. “I’m just not really confident in Medarda’s class right now and I don’t trust myself to study alone, plus you’re a really good tutor and—”

“You do realize that those tutoring sessions are added to your tuition, right?” you ask incredulously. “It’s fifteen dollars an hour.”

Vi’s smile is crooked.

“That’s what my scholarship’s for,” she grins.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?” you try again. “I feel that before an exam for a little refresh is fair, but this would be like relearning the material after every class, all over again.”

“If it’s taught by you, I’ll take it,” Vi says quickly, and you pause because what does she mean by that?

You don’t really have much rebuttal left even though you’d marched up here with a fire under your ass. Vi’s looking down at you with a softened edge in her gaze and she’s wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants and sweat-soaked grey tank that reveals swathes of ink that curls up her arms and disappears under the fabric of her shirt.

She breathes out a small laugh when she notices the way your eyes dance.

“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”

Your gaze snaps to hers and her grin widens when she sees you fidget, little pet name obviously eliciting a semblance of a reaction from you.

“N-No,” you stammer.

“Great, see you tomorrow?“

You swallow.

“Okay,” you agree. “See you tomorrow.”

Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.

Her hair’s wet from an obvious shower and you smell her, warm like honey and cedar as she takes the seat across from you.

“Afternoon, cupcake,” she greets, slinging her backpack into the seat next to her.

You give her a warning look, but she just flashes you a toothy smile and nods towards the opened biometry textbook before you.

“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”

And this feels an awful lot like mocking, but you can’t be sure, not when Vi’s been somewhat respectful, sweet even.

“What do you know about the the sigmoid function?” you probe.

“Jack shit,” she laughs.

And maybe you’d find it endearing if the entirety of the situation wasn’t still absolutely mindfucking you at moment.

“Can I ask you something, Violet?” you ask, leaning back in your seat as you cross your arms to level her with as an intimidating look as you can.

“Sure, anything.”

“Are you messing with me?” you ask. “Is this some joke you and your friends are playing? Because I can’t really think of an outcome that would be funny.”

And you’d like to say that the look of horror on Violet’s face is consolation enough, but you know how being loved and being popular can make people act sometimes.

Vi contemplates telling you the truth, that she’s too chickenshit to ask you out, that getting close to you in any other way scares the fuck out of her. That maybe getting you to tutor her will segue into some form of friendship that’ll allow her to ease her way in. And maybe she’s going about it the hard way, but maybe Vi also likes a challenge.

“No jokes, just bad at statistics,” she says weakly.

You’re silent for way longer than comfort allows before you turn your attention to the textbook and Vi’s letting out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding.

“Fine,” you give in. “Let’s talk about sigmoid function and practice some applications...”

Vi’s happy to listen, goes through your preselected practice problems with ease (and maybe fucks up a value or two here and there to really sell her need for you). But the sun’s going down again, and it’s nearing six when Vi folds her hand this time around.

It comes in the form of her stomach grumbling in the emptying library and she looks up at you in embarrassment as you crack the first smile of the evening.

“Hungry?” you ask.

“Starving,” she replies dramatically, leaning so far back in her seat, her knees bump yours under the table.

Your toes curl at the contact, heart skipping when she doesn’t make a move to reposition herself.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks, eyes looking everywhere but yours.

“Not since breakfast,” you admit.

“You like pizza?”

“Only the good kind,” you challenge.

“Beautiful,” Vi hums, shuffling her papers into her textbook and chucking it back into her bookbag. “I know the best place.”

Valentino’s is a hole-in-the-wall right outside of campus, a short walk from the library that Violet leverages as a way to get to know you outside of being lectured about statistical curves and correlation.

“Did you grow up around here?” Vi asks once the waiter sets two glasses of water down between the two of you.

You shake your head.

“No, grew up on the east coast and decided I needed a break from my life there,” you admit easily.

It’s almost as if the facade of professionalism fades away, melting to reveal you.

Vi’s desperate for more.

“As in?”

You look at her for a moment, wonder if you should divulge because you’re not really sure if Vi would get it, but she watches you like she’s hanging onto every single word you say, so you’re spilling.

“My dad died when I was little, left me and three other siblings with my Mom,” you offer. “And I love my siblings. Love my mom. She’s been a great parent, better than great actually, but most of our family disowned me when I came out and it was easier to run away than to deal with it.”

Violet’s expression falls, a furrow settling deep between her brows.

“Wow, I’m, uh, I’m really sorry to hear that,” she says, and she sounds sincere. A long moment lapses before she’s adding, “for what it’s worth, I think that’s very brave of you.”

And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.

“Thanks.” You smile. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

Vi could turn to goo in this dimly lit booth, stained-glass wall sconce casting a warm glow over your pretty face.

“You—” She sniffs, changes the subject because she doesn’t know if she can do this on an empty stomach. “You like pineapple on your pizza?”

“Oh yeah,” you confirm proudly. “It’s a hill I’ll die on, I’m not sorry.”

“God, marry me now.”

She doesn’t realize she says it out loud until you’re bursting into a fit of laughter on your side of the booth.

“So this is something we can agree on?” you ask, head tilting in the way that makes Vi want to grab your face and taste you.

“Oh yeah,” she parrots instead. “One hundred percent.”

Valentino’s becomes routine just as much as Vi seeing you at four every Tuesday and Thursday becomes routine. It’s always after the Thursday session (because they have a three dollar slice from 6 to close) that you and Vi cram yourselves in the same booth near the kitchen and giggle over half a Hawaiian pizza.

“...And my little sister blew up her science project in the fourth grade—”

You choke on your bite, eyes wide as Violet recalls Powder’s little mishap that sent the entire gymnasium evacuating despite the tiniest fire.

“Now she’s about graduate and start school for chemical engineering,” she says, obviously proud.

“She seems like a smart girl,” you observe, if the countless stories Violet shares with you is anything to go by.

You figure being related to someone as great as the new friend you’ve made also speaks for itself.

“The smartest,” she agrees. “I’m proud of her.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you too,” you assure her. “You’re a good big sister.”

And it’s in these moments that Vi realizes that she’s in far, far deeper than she initially gave stock. Because these past few weeks, she realizes that there’s a lot more to your big brain and your pretty face. You’re an attentive listener, way funnier than she could have anticipated, and just a lot more laid back than you let on.

That much she finds out after the two of you graduate from emailing with silly sign-offs to exchanging phone numbers and texting. It starts off rather irregular, a coffee order here and there, maybe a TikTok that Vi swears is funny, you just have to watch it all the way through! But then she starts texting you when she’s bored, when she’s in class, before practice, after. Even pops the question that’s been niggling at her since she met you: on a scale from 1 - 10 how down are you to smoke?

Like cigarettes?

no, weed, dummy.

Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.

She could not wipe the smile from her face even if she tried.

And then she gets the invite.

Ellie swears it’s her in.

“Jesus Christ if you even consider me a friend, you’ll bang,” Ellie calls from the couch.

“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.

“Yeah, at her place,” she scoffs. “At least test the waters, maybe cop a feel.”

“You’re a pig,” Vi snorts, making sure her laptop and all of the worksheets Medarda’s assigned over the course of the week is in her backpack.

“You’ve been wet dreaming over this girl for months.”

“Fuck all the way off.” Vi’s face warms because her best friend isn’t necessarily wrong.

You’re too hot for your own good, but you don’t even know it and Vi thinks she could die sometimes. Especially when you wear your favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hug the swell of your ass just right. Or swipe on that shimmery lipgloss she swears makes your mouth look edible.

If you were willing, Vi would be all over you, but thinking about taking advantage of the fact that you trust her enough to invite her into your space feels a little grimy.

“Whatever, bang, don’t bang,” Ellie says nonchalantly. “Blueball yourself for all I care.”

Vi rolls her eyes, slings her bag over her shoulder before sliding on her shoes and leaving her friend on the couch with a resounding click.

You live off-campus, maybe a ten minute drive, in a cozy little complex near the suburbs. Your roommate, Maddie, a chipper blonde with a bob, is all too eager to leave when Vi arrives.

“Hi, sorry we couldn’t meet anywhere else,” you apologize as you let her into your space. “Even if the library wasn’t closed, the vet said I have to monitor Pip for the next 48 hours.”

Vi raises a brow.

“My cat,” you clarify.

“Oh.” Vi doesn’t know why she suddenly feels like she’s intruding as she hesitantly toes off her shoes and follows you down the hall.

But she does take the opportunity to take you in in all your glory; all cozy and cuddly in an oversized sweatshirt, plaid pajama shorts and mismatched egg socks.

Cute. So fucking cute.

You spare her a glance over your shoulder and she’s clearing her throat.

“We don’t have to have a session tonight," she says, stopping at the threshold of the living room. “I would’ve understood if you had to cancel.”

You shake your head, give her a soft smile that has her knees feel like jelly.

“S’okay,” you assure her. “A promise is a promise.”

And you do start off studying, shoulder to shoulder in front of your coffee table, but then Pip crawls from his little hiding spot under the TV console to curiously nose along Vi’s feet and she’s a goner.

“He’s so sweet,” she practically wails as he paws at her thigh and nudges against her arm so that he can climb into her lap.

You warm at the sight, can’t help but snap a picture, much to Violet’s dismay.

“Stop,” she laughs. “That picture can’t see the light of day.”

“Why?” you whine, making a show of climbing onto your wooden coffee table to get a funny top down photo of the hockey star with your cat. “You and Pip look so cute together.”

She feigns a scowl even though her shoulders shake with laughter.

“I have a bad boy image to uphold, sweetheart.”

You snort, reach into her lap to scratch behind Pip’s ear, and her heart melts, body warm from her ears to her toes.

“Is he sick?” she asks cautiously, petting him softly.

“Just a little,” you say. “Something some rest and medicine won’t fix.”

It’s how the two of you end up on the couch, study materials long forgotten as Animal Planet plays in the background. Pip’s moved to lounge atop the covers draped over your lap and you’re blowing your nose into a tissue as an especially sad segment about baby animals being rejected by their mothers finishes.

Vi knows she shouldn’t laugh, but you’re too fucking cute and she can’t help but coo at you.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” you hiccup.

“What, that you’re a big soft baby?” she teases.

“Vi,” you whimper.

And something in her brain tickles because she can’t recall a time you’d ever called her by her nickname, only ever referred to her as Violet and nothing else.

She resists a smile.

“Okay, okay,” she gives in. “Lets change the subject.”

You make a noise of agreement as you cuddle your sleepy Pip.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” she says, arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers a hairsbreadth from your figure.

Test the waters, cop a feel.

Vi’s not particularly into the idea, but the opportunity’s right there in the way wisps of your hair falls from its hold. Her fingers move of their own device, tucking the strands behind your ear.

She feels you still for the slightest, most imperceptible of moments, but then you’re relaxing, letting her fingers brush from your ear down to your shoulder, then back to where it rests on the back of the couch.

“You doing anything on Saturday?” she asks, really hopes you’ll say no.

“Not that I know of,” you say without second thought.

Not that you really need to. Your tight circle of friends are all alike, tethered to their hobbies and their homes.

“I have a game on Saturday,” Vi starts, fiddling with a little hole in the cushion. “If you wanted to come.”

You don’t agree or disagree immediately, and Vi’s scrambling to soothe over any potential discomfort.

“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, of course,” she says quickly. “I just— I thought you might be interested in going and I’d really like to see you there and—”

A small little laugh puffs from your lips.

“Of course I’ll go,” you agree easily.

Vi deflates in relief.

“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”

Vi doesn’t know why she invites you. More so, she doesn’t know why she tells her teammates that she’s invited you because now they’re whooping and hollering in the locker room, towel-whipping her and sing-songing that their star player’s gonna get laid.

Doesn’t know why she invites you because as soon as she glides on the ice, she’s searching the stands high and low for your familiar figure. When she clocks you nestled in the middle with your roommate and another friend she vaguely recognizes, her heart’s soaring and her stomach’s twisting in knots.

Vi’s never nervous, but somehow you bring out the worst of it.

It only takes a few moments, though. The blare of the horn snaps her back into her zone and she leaves all the noise off-rink. In this moment, all she knows is cutting ice, dodging the other team’s most aggressive players and sinking shot after shot.

It’s nearing the end of the second period when she finally glances at the score.

5—4.

The opposing team’s giving them a run for their money and this is probably one of the tightest matches they’ve played all season. She takes a moment to find you in the stands again, and you’re right where she left you, eyes already glued to her as you hover over the edge of your seat.

She hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve got her number painted on her face and another surge of warmth layers over the exertion.

You give her a thumbs up and she feels like lightning.

They reset and she’s off, like a streak of light in the night sky, she’s shuffling the puck towards the goal.

Then you see the navy uniform barreling towards her, voice caught in your throat as Vi gives the puck one last shot before that damned Jersey Number Six shoves her so hard, she’s flinging into the rink’s wall.

The horn chugs, signaling the end of the second period and the stands erupt in a ceremonious cheer as the playback reveals that Vi had sunk the puck before time.

“Fuck yeah!” you cry out, shooting to your feet to clap your hands.

Vi ignores the instigating chants to fight, only really pays attention to your little dance of excitement as she shakes off the other player and rejoins her team for intermission.

“Fuck, Vi, you got it bad, huh?” Abigail Anderson’s spearheading the teasing once they all return to the locker room at the end of the game.

Vi’s body heats at the thought, isn’t really in the business of denying it anymore, because, you know what? Yeah. Vi’s got it so fucking bad for you, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself. You’re her first thought, her final prayer, and everything in between.

So all she does he shrug, can’t help the grin that splits her lips as she rubs her towel through her sweat-damp hair.

She’s the first one out of the locker room, dressed in some sweats and a pullover, towel slung around her neck as she steps into the tunnel. Your contact’s pulled up, and she’s ready to fire off a text asking where you want her to meet you, but she stops short to see you already leaned outside of the change room’s doors.

“Hey, cupcake,” she murmurs, smiling hard when she finds the smudged number 5 still chalked on your face.

“Hi, Violet,” you return shyly, hands clasped behind your back.

She hears the telltale whoosh of the locker room doors, the chattering of her teammates as they poke their heads out into the hall to be nosy, but she’s guiding you along, throwing a wink over her shoulder as the two of you fall into step.

“Thank you for coming,” Vi says after a moment. “You being here really meant a lot to me.”

You don’t know if Vi’s always been this sentimental, but just never given the opportunity to showcase it, or if she’s just buttering you up, but you can’t help but beam at her with pearly teeth and dimpled cheeks.

“God, Violet, you were so good!” you say excitedly, a little skip in your step. “You were in the rink, skating circles around them, like this, and like this.”

She bursts into laughter as you start speeding down the tunnel, dodging garbage bins and jumping up into the air to click your heels.

Something falls out of your little fannypack when you land, and Vi’s crouching down to pick up the tulle baggie to find a little beaded bracelet with a gold clasp that reads puck off.

“What’s this?” Vi asks, and you stop your shenanigans to turn your attention to her.

When your expression falters and you’re running back to her at full speed, she’s holding the baggie up just a little too out of reach for you, grin smug.

“Is this for me, sweetheart?” she asks presumptuously, even though her heart’s thrumming hard in her ribcage.

You’re on your tiptoes, chest pressed against hers, and god, please! is all Vi can think when your head tilts up, a little defeated knit between your eyebrows.

She milks the fuck out of whatever this is, arm banding around your waist as she returns the baggie to you.

“Maybe,” you whisper finally.

“Maybe what?” Vi teases.

“Maybe it’s for you,” you respond, free hand coming to rest on her chest.

“And what do I have to do to get it?” she asks, voice low.

It makes your body jolt hard as a shiver slinks down your spine because there she is, the insufferable flirt who knows exactly what to say to have your brain turn to mush.

You seem like you’re contemplating for a moment and Vi’s breath is hitching in her throat, wondering if you’re willing to play this cat and mouse game with her.

You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.

“Puck off.”

Your giggle is maniacal as you slip away, leaving her temporarily stunned before she chases you down the tunnel. And she should expect your speed, especially because you’ve got legs, but it takes her a moment to catch up with you when her practice bag’s thumping on her back like that. Her calloused fingers are closing around the flesh of your hips in no time and she’s pulling you back into her arms.

“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.

You whine.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you counter.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

And you give in because Violet’s made you weak. She’s holding out her wrist as you free the multi-colored bracelet.

You barely clasp the closure in the ring before Violet’s stumbling into you, a big burly girl from the other team shoulder checking the fuck out of her.

“Nice job standing in the middle of the walk way,” she bites.

Violet only snorts a laugh.

“Whatever, good game,” she calls.

Whoever she is, stops, levels Vi with a deadly look before her gaze flits to the bracelet you’ve just fixed around her wrist to you who stands frozen into place as the tension crackles between them.

“Cute,” she observes and your skin prickles. “Let me take her for a spin?”

“Violet,” you warn when her shoulders square and she takes a step forward.

She looks torn between walking away and beating the shit out of whoever this instigator is, but one of her teammates is shoving her along.

“Leave it.”

Whatever that was shatters the moment between the two of you and Vi’s taking in a deep breath as Abby trails behind the two of you.

The girl whistles for good measure and you throw a dirty look over your shoulder.

She winks.

You’ve still yet to find out who hosts these parties, but this time around gives you a weird sense of deja vu as you climb the steps with Maddie in tow.

You and Vi had parted ways at the rink, not before extending you an invite to the celebration later in the evening.

You should come, I can pick you up.

But per usual, DD duties call, and you’d smiled up at her despite the lingering pressure from the prior confrontation and promised her that yes, you’d absolutely be there.

Maddie squeals from the step below as you climb the front porch, breaths coming out in puffs of steam.

“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.

You giggle nervously, sure hope you do because you’re freezing your ass off!

“Yeah?”

Maddie gives you an incredulous look, eyelids powdered with glitter and gaze lined charcoal. She’s looking extra cute tonight too and you know that the two of you could fall into an endless cycle of teasing because a certain someone’s probably inside tonight.

“If she doesn’t fuck you before the night ends, I will,” Maddie teases, and you’re warming unceremoniously at the thought.

Because maybe you’ve been thinking about it a lot more recently despite only going into this trying to get through these tutoring sessions and dipping. Especially as of late now that Vi’s made it a habit to FaceTime you after practice, on your walk to the library, dripping sweat and chest heaving.

You’d always seen the appeal, but now you feel it.

You smooth down your asymmetrical skirt and Maddie steps up to adjust your tits in your lowcut lace blouse just as the door swings open to reveal none other than Violet.

“Oh—” Her voice catches as she takes you in.

Maddie gives your ass a little swat and Vi’s gaze is following the movement as your roommate pushes past her to slip inside.

“I was— I was just about to step out. To, uh, to call you,” she stammers.

You breath out a little laugh.

“Here I am.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”

Jesus, fuck Vi could burst into flames right now. Your boots hug your thighs and Violet’s not gonna lie, she really wishes it were her head squeezed between—

“You look...” Hot, so fucking edible, downright fuck— “...really nice.”

You smile, but you can’t help the way your teeth chatters.

“Fuck, shit, you’re probably cold,” she curses, warm hands closing around your shoulders to pull you inside. “Why didn’t you wear a jacket? You’re gonna get sick.”

I wanted you to want me.

“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.

She looks like she wants to scold you, but instead, she’s pulling down her coat, a big black work jacket, hanging from the banister of the stairs around your shoulders and you’re relishing the residual warmth that lingers there and her familiar scent.

“Can I get you a cider?” she asks. “It’s still warm.”

It hits you as her fingers curl through yours, that Vi’s truly nothing like what you initially thought. She’s sweet, and she’s respectful, and she’s everything you could ever hope for.

You freeze at the thought, and Vi’s glancing at you when she’s tugged to a stop.

“You okay?” she hums.

Your eyes search her face, gliding over the scar on her lip and the one slit through her eyebrow. The gold hoop pierced through her nose glints under the lowlight and her thick lashes flutter as she looks down at you.

You give her a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes because wow, you’re in deep.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, give her fingers a squeeze for good measure.

When she finally secures you a mug of steaming cider, she’s guiding you to her group of friends that occupy the living room.

You only recognize Ellie, her best friend and her roommate, and Abby, the captain. Everyone else is a jumbled mix of names and faces and you stick close to Vi as she settles into the left corner of the couch.

You make a move to sit on the armrest, legs crossed and hands folded around your mug, but Vi’s spreading her legs and pulling you into her lap before you can effectively protest.

Her warmth immediately engulfs you and it takes every ounce of self control not to curl up into a ball in front of all her friends and classmates.

As they recap the game and catch up with each other, you remain hushed, eyes flitting from person to person as they speak. Toes curling whenever Violet’s voice vibrates in her chest as she talks big about sports and the hot teams this season.

You’re caught off caught when Ellie’s directing a question towards you and you barely register.

“What do you like to do?” she asks you.

All eyes audibly shift to where you’re cozied up in Vi’s lap, cider empty and abandoned on the side table.

“Uh.”

Your words are lodged in your throat because you’re so used to talking Vi’s ear off about your interests (namely, Animal Planet and your son Pip), showing her your little craft projects you like to do in front of the television on a weekend evening (you’d taken a break from the scarf / hat combo you were knitting to finish the bracelet you designed for Vi), and yapping about some obscure film you’d watched while finishing said projects.

But here, now, you don’t know what to say. Not when this isn’t your typical crowd and you don’t know what to expect from her friends.

Vi must feel your hesitation because her digits are slipping into her jacket, fingertips ghosting the small of your back as she presses a palm against your spine to smooth the tension there.

It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.

You give her a look from the corner of your eye before you turn your attention back to Ellie.

“I don’t do much,” you offer honestly. “Just starting my old cat lady duties early, I suppose.”

Ellie laughs benevolently.

“You have a cat?”

“Yes, his name’s Pip, and he’s basically my kid.”

“Cute,” Ellie coos. “You got any pictures?”

And you seem to light up, spare Vi one more glance as you dig in her coat pocket to produce your cellphone, charms jangling as you power it back on to show Ellie the lockscreen.

“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”

“—How To Train Your Dragon!” Abby fills in from across the couch. “That’s such a good ass movie.”

It warms Vi to the bone, seeing you and her friends nerd out. Seeing them put in the effort because they know she likes you and seeing you reciprocate because, well, you’re you, and you just need a little warming up.

She doesn’t know how long you and her friends chat for until you’re shifting a little and turning your attention back to her.

“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”

Her gaze flits to her circle, and they’re smirking, obviously under the impression that this must be some sort of code the two of you concocted.

She ignores them, and most importantly she ignores the way her pulse jumps when you stand from your seat and perch between her legs, offering both of your neatly manicured hands to her.

This is getting fucking ridiculous.

The bathroom is tucked under the stairs near the front of the house and she stands post outside the door as you finish up.

It’s only when you’re poking your head outside the door sheepishly that she stands up straight.

“Can you help me with my zipper?” you ask timidly.

She puffs a laugh, slips in through the space you crack for her to find you holding the two sides of your skirt together.

And she knows she shouldn’t look, but the space allows her to see the pink lace of your panties. She’s shoving her tongue in her cheek, focusing on lining up the seams and pulling up your zipper as you hold the fabric taut.

“Thanks,” you whisper, looking up to see that Vi’s impossibly close to you in this cramped little powder room.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” she croaks, leaning against the counter as you wash your hands.

She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.

“I like this,” she admits, gaze trailing up to meet yours. “You look pretty.”

Your ears burn, unable to meet the smolder of her steely eyes. You’d probably find that her pupils are blown wide if you did. Instead, you’re watching her mouth, lips stained cherry and tongue coming out to wet the dry patch.

You hold your breath as you reach across her for the hand towel, but her hands find your hips, teetering into dangerous territory as she moves almost close enough to slip her hands under your skirt.

“You’re not gonna say thank you?” she asks, watching you through hooded eyes.

A nervous giggle bubbles.

“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.

“‘Course,” she agrees easily. “You gonna wear it again?”

You bite.

“If you ask nicely.”

She licks her lips again, body flexed as you allow her to press you closer. One of your hands splays on the counter behind her, the other brushing over the blooming bruise on her jaw.

“Can I?” she husks.

You don’t need to ask for clarification, not when her nose is nudging yours and your breaths are mingling.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”

The door rattles with the ferocity of whoever’s knocking on the other side.

“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”

To your dismay, the two of you don’t talk about Saturday night. And things’s aren’t particularly bad, but something’s definitely shifted and it’s driving you nuts.

Vi’s on the ice practicing the following morning and after classes on Monday, so you wait for your session with bated breath on Tuesday. You try extra hard despite every voice of reason telling you that you’re reading into it too much.

Vi smiles at you easily as she drops into the seat across from you, pulling out her biometry textbook without so much as a peep about the fact that the two of you almost kissed in whoever the fuck’s bathroom that was over the weekend.

You’re staring, hard.

Because that familiar feeling’s coming back. The seedling of doubt that had rooted in the beginning about Vi’s intentions with you. She’d done a good job of weeding it out over the weeks, of dismantling whatever image you’d built of her in your head, but it plants itself again.

She’s squeezing your hand across the table and your gaze flits down to her rough fingers. That’s when you notice it, the bracelet, still fastened where you clasped it on game night.

You relax a fraction.

“Everything okay?”

You smile, something small.

“Yeah, good,” you assure her.

The rest of your tutoring session is uneventful, goes off without a hitch. And you’re shameless in admitting that you hate to see her go as she walks you to your car in the student lot near the library.

You’re grasping at straws, clearing your throat before she closes your door for you.

“Uh,” you squeak. “Do you want to come over?”

Vi’s pausing, hand still on the edge of your door as her lips twitch.

“Like right now?”

You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.

“Like right now,” you confirm.

She checks her wristwatch, sighs heavily because fuck yes, she’d love to come over right now, but Anderson and Williams are expecting her for a strategy meeting with the coach and—

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “You don’t have to, I know we only really—”

She pinches your cheek before tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“I can’t tonight, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she says. “But tell you what, if you’re willing to free up your Friday night, I’d really like to plan something.”

Your heartbeat skips.

“All yours,” you say without missing a beat.

Vi’s grinning wide.

“Perfect, drive safe,” she bids. “See you tomorrow.”

And you don’t know why you’re so fucking high strung, not when Vi hasn’t done anything to make you doubt that this isn’t all in your head, but it only gets worse as the days go by.

It doesn’t come to a head until Thursday, when your tutoring slots are miraculously empty until Vi’s and you receive an email from Medarda to meet in her office after her string of lectures.

“Afternoon,” the older woman greets, smiling warmly at you as she lets you into her office. “Just wanted to check in with your audit and request any feedback you have.”

You think for a moment before shaking your head.

“Nothing in particular that I can think of,” you say easily, then add with a laugh, “feel like I’ll be a professional by the end of the semester.”

“Why do you say that?” Medarda chuckles as she logs into her computer.

“I have a student sitting every Tuesday and Thursday for tutoring in your class,” you reveal.

She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You giggle at the distant memory of Vi’s expression in the weight room. “She seems to be picking it up well enough, though.”

“Huh, every Tuesday and Thursday?” she asks, fingers flying over her keyboard. “I must be doing something wrong.”

“I’d hardly say that,” you say. “When Violet booked all my sessions, I thought it was a joke, but I think she’s just really dedicated to doing well.”

“Violet?” Medarda repeats, hands stilling over her mouse.

“Yeah, Violet, on the women’s hockey team?”

Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.

“Why would you— huh. Weird,” she comments.

“I admit it was a little strange, but—”

“Violet’s a consistent top scorer on the exams,” Medarda shares. “She’s been top of the class since the beginning of the semester.”

And it’s like the world stills as she reveals that information, fragile pieces shattering as the gears start turning in your brain and you try to put the puzzle together.

You glance at the clock, find that you’re due to meet Violet in half an hour.

“Uh, if you’ll excuse me,” you say politely, try to ignore the concerned expression etched on your professor’s face at your sudden departure. “It was nice chatting with you. If I think of anything feedback-wise, I’ll be sure to email you.”

And you’re running.

Vi’s in the locker room after practice, toweling off after an extra long shower because she’s been looking a little extra forward to seeing you today, but perhaps that’s everyday as of late.

She’s hooking the bracelet you gave her back on when her phone vibrates and she’s practically diving into her locker when your text tone bleats.

sweetheart: I have to cancel your session this afternoon. I’m sorry.

Her expression screws up.

everything ok? can i do anything for you?

sweetheart: Personal things to take care of. I’ll see you next week.

I’ll see you next week.

But what about tomorrow? She’d been working so fucking hard on tomorrow, on finally pulling her head far enough out of her ass to ask you to give the two of you a shot.

She sets her phone down, slumps down on the bench as she turns her wrist and takes in the smooth glass beads of the bracelet.

She sighs. Hard.

You hole up all weekend long, put your phone on do not disturb, and try your best to get whatever this is out of your system. But you’re a slave to your emotions and you can’t help but check your messages every time you know Vi’s free.

It’s a single text on a Saturday night, one that surprises you because you know she has practice now that the big game’s fast approaching.

violet <3: hey sweetheart, just checking in. i know you said you had a few personal things going on, but i’m here if you feel like you need someone <3

You’re texting back before your better judgement can stop you.

Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?

.

.

.

Then you add, We can smoke.

Vi’s sending you three running emojis and you crack a smile at your screen before realizing that you need to shower.

You lay out some clothes beforehand, ultimately settling on last Saturday’s skirt.

Vi’s giggling as you fumble with the wrapper, rolling it with clumsy fingers because, truthfully, you don’t do this often, but she shuts right up when you don’t break eye contact as the tip of your tongue slides across the seam to seal the joint.

She’d picked you up with a Sprite and a slice to split from Valentino’s, throat drying as you bounded down the stairs in the same fucking skirt that had her touching herself after she’d gotten home from the party, guilty and wound tight. Now the two of you are tucked away behind some abandoned strip.

“Ready?” Her voice rasps as you pop the end between your lips and she brings the lighter to ignite the end for you.

It burns as you inhale and Vi’s thighs squeeze together involuntarily. She’d smoked with you twice before, both times on the roof of your apartment building and at a reasonable distance. But now, she knows what your body feels like, almost knows what your lips taste like.

You take a few more puffs before offering it to her and the smoke begins to plume to fill the space of her little coupe. It’s moments like these, tucked away from prying eyes, that it’s just you and Vi.

Not Vi, the supposed womanizing hockey star, or you, the nerdy homebody tutor. Just the two of you, two souls trying to get through university and carve your paths.

“I aced Medarda’s exam this week,” Vi says softly, jay pinched between her fingers as she watches you with lowering eyes.

“Oh, yeah? I wonder why,” you quip in return, face impossibly close to hers despite the console between you.

“I have a smartypants tutor that does an especially good job when she’s motivated,” she answers.

Your cheeks flame, but you don’t back down. Vi’s been extra good at pushing your buttons and flirting hard as of late, and maybe you’re a little more than willing to receive and reciprocate, but the two of you have been toeing the line, yet neither of you have taken the leap.

This moment, however, feels like it could be it. Like you’re going to find out what the fuck all of this even is.

“I have to meet this tutor of yours,” you play along. “She sounds like a miracle worker.”

“Among other things,” Vi teases, sucking in the smoke and blowing it through her nostrils.

“Like?”

“She’s also funny as fuck,” she hums. “A big baby when we watch Animal Planet.”

You narrow your eyes at her and Vi lets out a little laugh that makes your toes curl.

“Uh-huh?”

“She’s really fucking pretty too,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she affirms. “Kind of pretty that makes you wanna do bad, bad things.”

You smile falters as a shiver rips down your spine and before you know it, Vi’s putting out the joint before climbing in the cramped backseat of her car to spread her legs.

Doesn’t even give you a moment to process before she’s pulling you on top of her and allowing you to settle comfortably in her lap. Her hands run up your thighs and disappear under your skirt to grab the fat of your ass.

You breathe out a little giggle as your slender fingers come up to cup her jaw.

“Think my tutor’ll be mad at me?” Vi murmurs, nose brushing yours. “‘Cuz I really, really wanna kiss this pretty girl in my lap right now.”

You let out a broken little sigh when her hips buck.

“Maybe she’ll forgive you,” you whisper. “I know I would.”

And that’s all the affirmation Vi needs from you before she’s taking the plunge and slotting her lips with yours; kissing you with so much fervor, you’d think she needs you to breathe. She tastes like mint and weed and you can’t get enough.

Vi’s all-consuming, her kiss a delicious mix of teeth and tongue. And, god, her hands. Rough and calloused, but gentle in the way she explores your body. It isn’t until she’s snapping the band of your thong and her fingertips ghost the seam of your sticky heat that you’re hyper-focusing.

“Mmmph, Violet, Vi—” Your voice cracks as she breaks from your lips to map a series of kisses from your jaw, to the juncture behind your ear, down the column of your neck. “Wait.”

She stops, hands pulling from under your skirt like you’ve burned her. And perhaps you have, branded nearly every part of her because she can’t really think of a sound moment if you’re not there.

“Sorry, sorry,” she shudders as the arousal ebbs through her tightened body. “I—”

I’m caught up. I’m losing it, and it’s all your fault, and—

“Violet,” you swallow, fingers toying with the collar of her varsity sweatshirt. “I have something to say.”

Her throat bobs and her grey eyes gleam like ash in the lowlight of the backseat of her car. The windows are smoked out and it’s exceptionally warm, equal parts sexual tension and another thing Vi can’t quite pinpoint.

“Yeah, anything,” she assures you, hands resting on your waist instead. “You can tell me anything.”

One of your palms settles over her chest, right where her heart is and you suck in a sharp breath.

“I— uh, I really like you, Violet,” you admit quietly. “A lot more than I think I’ve ever liked someone in a long, long time.”

Oh.

Oh. Here it comes, the big fat rejection. The coming to your senses.

“But?”

The look on your face is devastating and Vi’s scared.

“I have to know that if I give you a chance, you won’t abuse it,” you hiccup, and wow, that’s definitely not what she expects you to say, but fuck does it leave a sour taste in her mouth.

“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.

“Violet,” you sigh.

“Abuse what?” she husks.

“I know you—”

“Do you?” she scoffs, a wave of irritation washing over her as she looks you with disappointment. “What gave you the idea that I would ever even dream of taking advantage of you giving me a chance?”

“You don’t necessarily have a spotless record, Violet,” you say, voice edged. “And I know that I’m not your usual—”

“Not my usual what?” The venom in Vi’s tone is uncharacteristic, but this is not at all how she expected tonight to go and she’s frustrated. “Not my usual type? You internalized all this shit that people say about me even though I’ve been trying to get you to see me for months.”

Emotion clogs your throat because a small part of you knows that Vi’s right. She’s never given you an outright reason to doubt her interest in you, but it all just seems too good to be true.

“Sue me for wanting to protect myself,” you choke, climbing out of her lap and back into the front seat. “Especially because I know that you don’t actually need help in Medarda’s class.”

And that catches Vi off guard. You see as much in the rearview mirror when she pales.

She clambers back into the driver’s seat.

“Who told you that?” she asks, not even bothering to deny the fact.

“I mentioned that I was tutoring you in passing when Medarda asked for feedback on her class,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “She asked why I’d be doing that when you’re top of all her sections.”

Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.

“And then your past hook ups parade around campus like a reminder that—,” you cut yourself off, obviously hurt after bottling this all up. “And it isn’t any of my business, nor are we anything enough for me to plausibly upset—”

“Yes, I lied,” Vi admits quietly. “But only about one thing.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re right, I don’t need help in Medarda’s class. I lied about being clueless and I signed up for tutoring even though I didn’t need it,” she says.

“Why?”

“You know why,” Vi huffs. “From the moment I met you, I knew.”

It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.

“No one ever says it out loud, but I know what everyone thinks,” you choke. “Violet’s fucking that loser?”

“You really believe that?”

“God, Violet, I don’t know what to fucking believe,” you cry out. “My life’s fucking fine and dandy and then you show up and make me fucking question everything I—”

Vi lets out a humorless laugh, can’t even look at you and it could make you sick.

“You’re so fucking loved by everyone, even those who won’t admit it,” you croak. “And you’re incredible at everything you do, turn everything you touch to gold, and I’m just...”

Vi’s brows furrow.

“You’re what?”

“I’m me,” you whisper meekly. “I’m just me and you’re you, and I just don’t see what makes me so different.”

And Vi realizes that she’d read it all wrong.

“Look at me,” she says softly, fingers tracing your jaw.

You knuckle your tears away, make a petulant noise in your throat.

“You wanna know why I booked all your stupid tutoring sessions?” she huffs. “Because I really fucking like you, ________. And it’s beyond wanting to fuck you even though god knows I’d fucking die if you let me. It’s so much more than having you physically. Because I’ll take being just friends with you if it means having you around. I don’t give a shit about anything else but you.”

It’s the most sound declaration you hear from the girl in the semester you’ve known her and it makes you cry.

“You make me feel so fucking normal and you remind me that I don’t need to be anything else but me,” she breathes. “And I get where you’re coming from, I hear you. I just really hope you hear me too.”

“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

Vi squeezes your thigh, takes your hand in hers and brings your knuckles to her lips.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” she offers gently.

Vi only has one more game before the championships and she won’t lie and say that this limbo with you has her feeling like she’s going to be ill.

You’d cancelled her tutoring sessions this week, told her that maybe the two of you needed to spend some time apart and that she was clearly doing a number on you. So she agrees, tries to give you space to work through what’s weighing on you.

sweetheart: Good luck at your game tonight, Violet. I’m rooting for you.

She really wishes you’d be there, but she knows you need the time alone.

thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.

“Alright Vi, we have fifteen til puck drop,” Ellie says carefully, has been front row to everything transpiring between you and her best friend.

Vi tucks her phone away in her backpack, unhooks your bracelet from around her wrist and fastens it to the handle of her bag, and grabs her stick from the rack before she lets her teammates jostle her into the tunnel.

And she wishes she could lock in, clear her head and get into the game, but all she can think about is you.

It’s a narrow victory once the game ends, but she can’t find it in herself to celebrate, especially not at the kickback afterwards because fucking Sev and her assholes are there.

“Where’s your little dime piece?” she taunts.

“Fuck off,” Vi warns, obviously not in the mood.

“Shame,” she whistles. “She looks like a fucking weirdo, but she sure does have a fat ass—”

Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.

“She told you to fuck off,” she hisses.

Sev spits the blood in her mouth on the toe of Ellie’s shoe, fists bunching the collar of her sweater.

“Keep that fucking energy on the ice because I’m gonna wipe the floor with your fucking pissbaby team.”

You wake up on Monday morning to a text from Vi and a handful of notifications from Instagram.

violet <3: can i see you this week?

You open Instagram.

sev.94 has requested to follow you! sev.94 has sent you a message request!

Your brows furrow, opening the message request hesitantly. There’s a few DMs and a video from this Sev person.

sev.94 hey pretty, sorry to text you like this. sev.94 just thought you should know the kind of person your little girlfriend is sev.94 sent a video. sev.94 i don’t really do relationships, but i’d take your mind off of it if you let me.

You’re playing the video, quality grainy and audio blasted. You don’t know what you’re looking at at first, it’s dark, and there’s so many voices. But you see skin, see the outline of a girl’s naked back, delicate and arched in pleasure.

You think this Sev person’s just fucking with you, playing some stupid joke with a shitty punchline as someone’s hands snake around to palm the flesh of the unnamed girl’s ass, but then you see it.

The bracelet.

Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.

(1) Because you haven’t responded to her message despite your read receipts being on, and (2) she can’t fucking find the bracelet you’d gifted to her.

She’s barging into Ellie’s room, shirtless and hair dripping.

“Jesus, fuck, do you knock?” Ellie hisses, buds she was in the midst of grinding scattering across the floor.

“I can’t find the bracelet she gave me,” Vi says quickly.

Ellie’s face scrunches.

“Huh?”

“The bracelet ________ gave to me,” Vi says. “I hooked it on my backpack before practice on Saturday but it’s not there anymore.”

Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.

“Maybe you misplaced it,” Ellie offers. “Regardless, we practice tonight, I’ll help you look for it.”

Vi’s chest is tight, doesn’t want to admit that the stupid little bracelet means way more to her than she lets on. She only ever takes it off when she’s on the ice, won’t risk losing it when she’s got a target on her back and everyone plays rough.

It turns out to be futile when they enter the rink and she retraces her steps only to come up empty-handed.

This, she realizes, is the start of a very long week.

You should’ve seen it coming, really. Don’t know why you tried to psyche yourself into thinking that Vi could ever really want something with you when the world’s her fucking oyster and she can have anything she wants.

And you want to feel bad when she texts you intermittently through the days, checking in, offering to meet you, anything. But part of you is angry, unforgiving, tired.

You could’ve gone the rest of the school year unscathed if she’d just left you the fuck alone, but she pried and she tugged and she settled, and she made a home inside of you and you hate that you let her.

xxxx: i really miss you.

You block her number, block her social media, and even though finals are imminent, you now know that Vi’s been playing you for a fool this whole time and you cancel every last one of the sessions she’s booked.

You hope she’d get the message, figure that you’d caught onto her little game and aren’t willing to play anymore, but she doesn’t, that much is clear when you’re finishing up your two thirty session and find her stalking into the library just as the student leaves your table.

“Are we going to talk like adults or are you going to keep acting like—”

You don’t entertain a response, just pack your bag and sling the strap over your shoulder because the tears are bubbling and you don’t trust yourself not to break.

“Seriously?” Vi bites, hot on your heels as you throw all of your weight against the library doors and suck in the icy air.

“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.

“No, fuck that,” Vi spits, hand closing around your bicep. “You don’t— You don’t get to make me fall for you and then try to leave with no explanation.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Fuck you, Violet,” you hiccup, yanking your arm from her grasp and putting as much distance as you can between the two of you. “I hope you and your friends got a good laugh out of it.”

Her face is screwing up and if she wasn’t confused before, she’s definitely confused now.

“Listen, I can’t fix something if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Vi argues. “I’m so fucking lost right now.”

You hate how believable she is. How the thought of hurting you seems so inconceivable to her. But that grainy video was clear enough.

“I hate you,” you murmur. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

Your name comes out broken, like you’ve wounded her. But you’ve officially folded your hand, won’t dare look her in her eyes because the both of you know it’s not true.

The championships roll in fast like a tide and neither your or Violet are ready for it.

You hear they’re live streaming the game, it’s the most anticipated one in the season. Piltover Stallions against the Zaun City Tigers. A part of you wishes you could support them, but then you’re starkly reminded that you’re a laughingstock amongst them.

The library on a Friday night is as quiet as can be, the hum of the fluorescents background to the voices in your head that are loud. You’re so engrossed in the study material that you don’t realize someone’s making a beeline for you until they’re knocking on the tabletop.

Ellie Williams stands before you in all her lean glory, hands sunk in her pockets as she stares down at you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?” Your tone is clipped, disinterested because you believed that you and Ellie could be friends once upon a time.

“Coach sat me out because I socked one of those dickhead Zaun City Tigers in the mouth last weekend.”

You humph.

“Listen, we don’t have much time left, so I’m going to make this short and sweet,” she says. “Whatever happened between you and Vi is obviously personal and that typically would have nothing to do with me, but she can’t get her shit together because all she can think of is you.”

“And that’s my problem because...?”

“I know that Vi comes off a certain way, but she’s my best friend, like my best friend in this entire shithole of a world, and she’s—”

“No offense, Ellie,” you cut her off. “But if Vi sent you here to plead her case, I think that’s pathetic and—”

“Okay, well maybe if you shut up for three seconds and let me get to my point—”

You close your textbook and shove it in your backpack before standing to signal the end of the conversation.

“Whatever, I don’t have time for this.”

Ellie watches you walk away, takes in a deep breath because wow, you’re a bitch when you’re mad, but she absolutely gets why Vi is whipped.

“Violet’s in love with you.”

And that statement makes you freeze. Tears cloud your vision as your fists tighten around the strap of your bag.

“If you fuck someone else while you’re in love, I want nothing to do with it,” you bite.

Ellie’s brows shoot up.

“Whoa, what?”

“Violet fucked someone else as soon as things got tough, and if that’s the kind of person she is in love, I’d rather be alone,” you say stiffly.

“Respectfully, there’s no way Vi’s interested in getting pussy from anywhere else with how down bad that bitch is for you, but even if she was, I spend over seventy percent of my day with her and know that all she’s been doing the past two weeks is moping over the fact that you handed her ass to her on a silver platter.”

“There’s a video.”

Ellie’s brows must be mingling with her hairline right about now.

She reaches a palm out.

Show me.

You open the DM from sev.94, watching as Ellie’s expression morphs from morbid curiosity to disbelief, to a quiet rage.

She’s handing your phone back to you and grabbing you by your forearm.

“She’s fucking dead.”

When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.

It’s the middle of the second period and the game is tied 3—3.

Your eyes comb the playing area, can’t find Vi’s jersey number in the mix, but finally settle on her on the bench, shoulders terse and obviously on edge.

She doesn’t clock you yet, had given up on the idea of patching things up with you after your last conversation.

“Vi’s been missing her bracelet since practice on Saturday,” Ellie’d told you on the way there, then pulled out her phone to show you the photo she’d taken of Vi passed out in nothing but her boxers on the couch the night of the last game, fucked up and sad. “We went out for like an hour after the game, but that was it. Vi was too fucking in her head.”

The girl from the tunnel, the one who’d been taunting the two of you, you piece together, has been the one behind it all, stirring the pot.

Throughout the end of the second period and all through intermission, Vi doesn’t notice you, too busy trying to get off the fucking bench to survey the crowd.

It’s only during final puck drop in the third period that their coach finally gives in, smacks the back of her helmet and tells her to make him proud that she lifts her head up.

And there, front and center of the student section is you.

Her eyes are wide, body frozen in place as she tries to figure if you’re just a figment of her imagination, but then the horn’s blaring and she’s having to zone back in.

At this point in time, she doesn’t give a fuck if they win or lose, she just needs to get to you.

“Your little bitch looks cute tonight,” Sevika comments wolfishly. “Bet she tastes as good as she looks.”

Vi easily intercepts her pass, cuts between two players as she shuffles it along with practiced precision. She sends the rubber flying and the goalie narrowly misses block.

“Maybe if you played as good as you ran your mouth, you’d wipe the floor with my pissbaby team you big bitch,” Vi calls, resetting in their corner.

And perhaps you’re her good luck charm, the only thing she needed to see to get back into it, because Vi reignites. The adrenaline pumping through her veins fuels every shot, and soon the timer’s buzzing.

7—5.

The roar is deafening, but you’re all she sees in the ocean of cowbells and pompoms.

She barely inches forward before something arcs through the sky and lands before her feet.

Her bracelet.

You watch from the sidelines, the final confirmation as Vi picks up the loop and launches herself at Sevika.

The crowd cheers.

Fight, fight fight!

You don’t know how many swings Vi gets in, just know that she’s flashing you a bloody smile before she skates off the ice.

Ellie emerges from the locker room and you’re perking up.

Most, if not all, of Vi’s teammates had come and gone and you’d been waiting patiently, anxiously, for her to emerge since the end of the game nearly an hour ago.

“She’s the last one in there,” is all Ellie says before strolling off.

“What if...what if she doesn’t want to see me?” you ask hesitantly.

Ellie chuffs a little laugh, doesn’t bother turning as she calls from halfway down the hall, “Find out for yourself, sweetheart.”

Vi’s pulling a tank top over her head as soon as you enter and your cheeks bloom when you catch a split-second of her tits.

She glances up at you, nose bruising and lip busted.

“Hey,” she spares you, stuffing her uniform and skates into her gym bag.

“Hi,” you squeak.

A pregnant pause as you take her in, hesitant to close the distance between the two of you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” she observes.

And you don’t really have a bullshit response, know that you had every intention of staying as far away as humanly possible, so you settle on humming your agreement.

“Ellie told me,” she starts. “Why you lashed out on me.”

You swallow.

“And part of me gets it, I really do,” she continues, “but I also thought you had more faith in me than that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Fuck, Violet, I’m so sorry.”

“I told you to free up Friday night a few weeks ago,” she says, shuts her locker door and slumps down on the bench behind her. “I was going to tell you everything, officially ask you out, but then all that shit happened and it caught up to me.”

You take a step forward, and then another, and another until you’re standing in front of her.

“You have to know that I would never do something like to anyone, but especially not to you,” she says softly, taking your hands in hers.

“I know.”

She brushes her lips against your knuckles, pulls you in closer so that you’re standing between her legs.

“You’re right,” she continues, voice hoarse. “I don’t have a spotless track record, but I meant it when I said that I don’t give a shit about anyone else but you. I would give you anything I can if you let me.”

Your hands rest on her shoulders, her chin resting against the plush of your belly as you look down at her, speechless.

“That night, in the car, you said that you didn’t see what made you so different.”

“I don’t,” you admit.

Vi stands, caging you between strong arms as she drops her face into the hollow of your neck. You shiver when you feel her lips press to the skin there.

“We could start off with the obvious.”

One of her hands rests on the small of your back, pulls you flush so that the only things that separate you are the flimsy fabrics of your clothes. The other grabs a handful of your ass.

“I meant it when I said that you’re the kind of pretty that makes me wanna do bad things.”

You gulp, thighs squeezing as her lips part and she bites.

“Vi.”

“You got a giant brain,” she laughs breathily, fingers coming around the fiddle with your belt.

She kisses you, mouth hot and breath warm. It’s better the second time around, no doubt obscuring you from truly indulging.

“Pl—ease.”

“You’re kind and you’re selfless, and you’re my sweet, sweet little crybaby.”

“Violet,” you sigh breathlessly. “Listen to me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”

Violet nearly runs two red lights and whips into your neighborhood on two wheels.

The two of you are stumbling up the stairs and she’s spanking your ass on the last step as you fiddle with your keys and try to find the right one under the dim light of the complex hall.

Violet’s already unbuckling her belt as you turn the key, nearly taking you down as she shoves you inside and up against the front door.

“Maddie home?” she breathes.

“Out of town,” you answer quickly, kicking off your sneakers and pulling your sweater over your head. “Visiting her family upstate.”

“Perfect,” Vi hums. “I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on your couch.”

“Oh–”

One of her rough hands comes to cup your tit over your bra, her tongue laving over the other while her free hand makes work of the clasp.

You walk her back to the couch, stand between her knees as she flops back into the seat. Her arms spread over the back as she settles in, legs widening to give you ample room to strip.

Her eyes never leave yours as you easily unclasp your bra and shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a tight pair of little lace panties and pink socks that has Vi wet.

“C’mere,” she rasps, pulling you to straddle her lap.

Her lips immediately latch onto one of your pebbled nipples, tongue hot as her hands wander.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me what you want,” she husks, biting down on the swell of your breast.

And having Violet this close, her touch excruciatingly featherlight and tempting, you wind tight.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper, fingers fixing around her throat. “Please.”

“Yeah?” she eggs you on, lips brushing yours as her palms settle on your ass. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nod eagerly, hips rolling in her lap as her breath pitches.

“Vi.”

Her nickname puffing from your lips makes her crack. You’re wound in her arms, face in her neck as she peels your thong taut, away from your waiting cunt, and runs her fingertips from your slit down to your clit.

“F...F—uck,” you sigh.

“Holy shit,” she marvels, licking her lips when she easily glides through your folds. “You’re really fucking wet.”

You grind down against her, clothed clit catching against her belt buckle. The cool metal sends a jolt through your pussy and you’re moaning loud in her ear.

And Violet really wants to take her time with you, wants to milk the first time she ever gets to fuck you for as long as she humanly can, but she’s still fully dressed and you’re practically naked, perfect tits pressed to her chest and fat ass in the palm of her hand.

She shifts you further into her, so that she can peek over the arch of your back as she sinks her middle and ring finger three knuckles deep into your needy heat.

“Ah, fuck, Violet.” Your voice breaks as she starts pumping into you, your arousal coating her fingers and the sound of her easily slipping through your pussy reverberating through the living room. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

She kisses your jaw, litters them until she’s catching your lips and licking crudely into your mouth.

You cry out when her fingers slip out.

She’s leaning the both of you forward, easing you from her lap and onto the couch as she takes a moment to shuck her shirt off and pull her belt through the loops in one tug.

You watch her through it all, the way the trim muscles of her biceps and shoulders flex as she leans over you, takes you by the ankles and yanks you until your ass is half-hanging from the edge of the couch.

She kneels before you, strips you out of your thong.

You don’t miss the way she shoves the soiled fabric in her jeans pocket.

“Jesus,” she breathes, gaze fluttering between your eyes and your pussy. “You’re so fucking pretty, sweetheart.”

Your toes curl at the praise, fingers closing around where Vi’s holding your legs apart.

“You know how bad I’ve been wanting to taste your pussy?” she rasps, gathering the lewdest amount of spit to dribble onto your clit. When you don’t answer, she’s freeing a hand to slap your slit.

“Nnngh, fuck!”

“Think I’ve always wanted to have you,” she admits. “But it was that stupid party fucking party and that stupid fucking skirt. God, I would’ve fucked you in that skirt if you let me.”

“Yeah?” you whine breathlessly. “Tell me.”

She’s stuffing you again without warning, curling her fingers in a way that has your back arching off the couch.

“Would’ve bent you over that sink and made you watch yourself while I ate you out,” she says easily.

And it’s so fucking delicious, the nasty shit Vi’s saying to you while she pounds your aching heat; the way she finally gives in and tastes you, sucking on your clit like she’s starved and you’re the only thing that can sate her hunger.

Your fingers curl through her hair as you teeter dangerously over the edge, nails grazing her scalp and tugging when she hits the spot deep inside of you that has you keening for more.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you choke. “Holy fuck.”

You feel Vi grin against your pussy, watch her with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes because the sight of her between your legs in your moonlit living room has your insides twisting hard.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” she encourages you. “Cum all over my fingers. Wanna see you gush.”

“Hah, h—” Your thighs tighten around her head, fingers curled so hard in her hair, she moans in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Don’t stop, Vi, please.”

She moans into your cunt, savoring the heady taste of you as you practically ride her face.

The sound that fills the room is downright filthy, the sight that Vi beholds when she peeks from where she’s devouring you equally so. It’s picturesque, the way she has you writhing. A sheen of perspiration glistens over your flesh as she eats you out and it’s a perfect mix of her tongue and her fingers that send you soaring over the edge.

It’s a pitched whine that echos, the staccato of your shaky breathing that sings like music in her ears as you cum. And hard.

Her lashes flutter against the skin of your inner thighs as she peppers kisses there, her lips slick with spit and arousal.

“Fuck, babe,” she whispers. “That was...”

She can’t really choose a specific word, is just mind blown at the fact that she’d just made you cum so hard and so fast. It makes her tense and tingle, a smug wave of pride washing over her as she starts mouthing a trail from your belly, between the valley of your tits, up your throat, to finally press a chaste one on your lips.

You taste yourself first and foremost, but then you taste everything she’s ever wanted to say to you, all the unspoken words and the things she’d been too scared to share. Feel it in the way her hands are roaming, squeezing, caressing.

You breathe a disbelieving laugh, peck her lips again when she pulls away to brush your hair from your face.

“Vi—” Your breath hitches and your eyes glaze.

“I know, I know.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, legs hooking around the narrow of her waist as she bears your weight and picks up your boneless figure.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

The sun is warm against your skin when you wake up the following morning, your bedroom bathed in an orange glow.

You feel bone tired, body sore and muscles tight as your arm sweeps the other side of the bed in search of balmy skin, but instead you’re met with cool sheets and swelling dread.

You sit up quickly, find that you’re still naked, and take a moment to asses your bedroom. The bathroom door’s cracked, light off, and everything else is exactly where you left it.

Everything except Vi.

Oh, you think to yourself.

Almost don’t want to leave your room because your empty apartment will be confirmation enough that Vi really did get the last laugh in the end.

But you force yourself out of bed, shrug on an oversized t-shirt before finding the living room just as still as it had been before the two of you had barreled in the night before and she’d left her mark on you.

The only sign that the entire thing wasn’t just a figment of your imagination was Vi’s belt strewn haphazardly on the coffee table.

You feel hollow, almost numb, and even if a persistent part of your brain was consistently telling you that you should’ve known better, the tears well in your eyes because you’d really hoped Violet was different.

You knuckle the tears away angrily, mind racing far too fast to register the door quietly unlocking and the soft footfalls coming down the hall.

“Babe?”

Your gaze snaps up.

Like a vision, Vi’s standing in the doorway, a handful of plastic bags in tow. She’s wearing her clothes from last night and the puffs under her eyes make her a little worse for wear.

She sets the bags down on the eat-in, rounds the couch to take you by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” she worries. “What’s going on?”

You hiccup, crumpling in her arms because you were so fucking scared.

“Thought you left,” you croak.

Vi breathes a sigh of relief, blowing out a hollow laugh because her girl’s such a baby.

“You have jack shit in your fridge,” she teases lightly. “How am I supposed to make you a five star breakfast with greek yogurt and carrot sticks?”

You whine.

“Don’t care about breakfast,” your muffled voice sounds from where your face is pressed in her chest. “Just wanted to wake up to you.”

Violet groans.

“You’re so cute,” she laughs, kissing the top of your head.

“I wanna go back to bed,” you mutter petulantly, emotional whiplash making your eyes droop.

“You’re not gonna let me make you breakfast?” Vi picks, smoothing the hair from your face.

Your eyes catch the bracelet refastened around her wrist and you grin softly, taking her fingers to press a kiss to her palm.

She could combust, gaze gooey as she watches you watch her.

Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.

One that’s particular, and overarching; one she doesn’t think she can go without.

And frankly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

neng © 2024

[bi-writes]

a hand for a hand | knight!ghost x f!reader

in the year of our lord 1657, your king wields a weapon that cannot be reproduced. as your queen's lady-in-waiting, you steer clear of it, lest it cut you when it passes by. but duty and desire are rarely met in a man's world.

type: one-shot (6.5k), AO3

cw: dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, mentions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, ghost is obsessed with your tits (18+)

It is not a secret that you are afraid of the king's men. There is a reason that they have a reputation of cruelty. Ravagers, conquerors, unruly and untamed–they train like dogs, and they live like them, too. By accident, you have wandered to where their barracks are, and if it wasn't for the happenstance of your king hearing your screams, they would've taken your virtue that night.

That one belongs to my wife, he had said, gripping you by the scruff of your neck. Spoil it, and I'll have your fuckin' heads. His queen had been much kinder when he returned you back inside, cradling your head in her lap and promising to have something fashioned for you to wear so none of his men would ever touch you again.

And they haven't. They do not bow to you, but they open the doors for you, move out of your way, try to keep their eyes off of the softness of your cleavage and the curve of your skirt. But there is one that does not, there is one that refuses, and this one you avoid the most.

You don't know him by any other name other than Ghost. The right hand of the king, his most trusted advisor and his most brutal of men. There are times when he barges into the throne room, his sword dragging along the stone floor and trailing blood in its path, and he tosses the head of the king's enemy onto the floor. You clutch onto the skirt of your queen's dress, tears welling up in your eyes, and when you look up, he is staring at you, heaving in the metal of his armor, and you look away as his men yell out proudly as they crowd the room.

His eyes are always on you when you are in his presence. They track you as you move behind your queen, follow you as you eat and drink and tend to her majesty's needs. He wanders the halls, and he observes you as if you are his next meal. And maybe you are–if he suddenly decided you would be his next conquest, you don't think a refusal is in order. Maybe that's the mercy he gives you; just the aggressiveness of his stare and his stare only, and not the strength of his hand or the cruelness of his demeanor.

There is always a party. Always a celebration for this brute. He is praised by politicians and priests alike, because he must be the hand of god, delivering whatever the king asks for when it is asked of him. He does not lose, all he comes back with is chests full of gold and new slashes to add to the growing collection on his skin. Sometimes you wonder if he puts them on himself. You wonder if he drags his dagger in a crooked line down the length of his arm, as if he is tallying his win, counting up to a number that already puts the men that came before him to shame.

He seems like the kind of man to do so–like the kind of man to do it even with the blood of his adversary still warm on the sharp edge of the blade, the kind to lick it clean when he's finished just to solidify the unease and the terror of the next man to have the unfortunate fate of ending up at the wrong end of his adrenaline.

He has no face. He has no name. And if he is coming for you, it's already too late; your fate has been sealed, and you should say your last rites. The only mercy he ever gives is that death is always quick. His sword is too sharp, and his hand is too heavy.

It is late in the evening when you hear it. There's screaming in the courtyard, yells and howls and cheers. You put down your hairbrush, getting up and padding to the window to look outside. The king's men are there, hundreds of them milling about and walking around. They share mead and wine, crusty bread in their muddy hands. They are bloody and bruised, but they are happy. They sing and chant, hold each other and crowd around fires. They left weeks ago, and they are back now, and you suspect it must be victory on account of their demeanor.

You are not surprised by this. They aren't kind, but it makes them good soldiers. They aren't afraid to die; it's a common idea in your culture that for a man to die in battle is the only way to true salvation, to actual ascension. You have always hated this idea. Boys become cruel, and men become unforgiving, and it is why you are so grateful to be her majesty's lady-in-waiting because it means she is your only duty and nothing more.

You are surprised by the knock on your door. You think about ignoring it, but then there is another knock, and then a familiar, low voice mutters, "Are you awake, my lady?"

You tie your robe and scurry. When you open up the door, you curtsy low and graceful, your eyes drawn to the floor as you tremble a little in the king's presence. You've never really spoken to him before, not without his queen at your side.

"Y-Yes, your majesty? I'm sorry for my appearance, I–"

"It's quite late," he says gently. "You don't have to apologize. Is it alright if I come in?"

You stand from your curtsy, blinking up at him. You think for a few moments before you nod, widening the door. He settles himself at the seat by the window, looking down into the courtyard. He has a hint of a smirk on his face as he looks down at his men, still singing.

"I have a request of you," he says finally. You take a seat at the edge of your bed, wringing your hands nervously in your lap. Whatever his request is, you don't know why he's putting it this way. You're not exactly allowed to refuse. "It is time for my most decorated men to receive their titles. They deserve it, after what they have done for me these past few years."

You swallow, "Yes, of course. You have such a fine army, your majesty. You must be...V-very proud."

He turns to face you, and he nods.

"These titles come with land. Money. Responsibility. And it comes with other things they might request," he explains. "One of these things can be a bride."

"They are most fortunate," you say softly, trying to smile. He stands, turning back to look down into the courtyard.

"You are to be wed tomorrow," he tells you. "I know you gave up much to accept your role at my wife's side, and for that, I have arranged for a sizable dowry on your behalf. Congratulations, my lady." he turns to smile at you. "By sunset, you are to be a duchess."

You're shaking when he goes. You clutch the sheets, sinking to your knees, and you cry. You cry because you know who asked for your hand. You know who wants you, you know who it is, because every time he comes back from war, he cannot take his eyes off of you. He eats you with his gaze, he violates you and has never even touched you, he takes from you, and you've never spoken to him, but you know it's him, you know it, you know it–

Your queen is ecstatic. She lends you diamonds to wear, and she fusses over the embroidered silk and cotton dress they've sewn for you overnight. She tells you she's so proud, that you will make such a beautiful bride and a beautiful duchess, and it takes all of your strength not to cry, to choke back your sobs. Your innocence will be gone by the next morning, you know this, and yet here she beams about colored fabric and your new, unwanted title and all of the duties you have never, ever wanted for yourself.

Marriage will be your prison, and you will never be free. You'll be hidden behind closed doors and forced to carry loud, chubby babies.

You are not the only bride that afternoon, but you feel like the most important. Your veil is the longest, your dress is the most intricate, and you are wearing the queen's diamonds. Not to mention, you are to become a duchess, and the rest will be lords and ladies, nothing more. You have always hated the hierarchy that society fits themselves into, but you've never despised it more than this moment.

He is waiting for you when you make it to the throne room. He wears his armor, polished and without blood, his face covered and his hood up to shadow his dark eyes. He wears his telltale insignia with pride, the skull motif of his belt gleaming and the paint of his mask fresh. He stands tall and menacing, a reaper in human skin, and you are so close to tears as you make your way to him. Your eyes find his, and he holds out his hand for you to take. You slip a delicate hand into his gloved one, letting the rough fabric warm you as he brings you to stand in front of him. He purrs, you think, a low rumble as his eyes look you up and down.

You are a prize. A trophy. Nothing more. A gift given for cutting the heads off of your king's foes, and that is all.

The ring on your finger is gold, and the ring you slip over his is silver. And then he gives you his first gift as your husband–a tiara, made of emerald and gold, and he slips your veil off to tuck it between the strands of your hair. The intricate pattern on the tiara matches the patterns along the iron of his armor, and you want to think of this as a gesture of good will, but you know it is given with possessive intent, a brand of ownership.

Because that is what this is. Not a ceremony of love, but an exchange, a transaction. You've been bought with blood, and there is nothing you can do about it.

But one day he will grow bored of me, and maybe then, I'll feel myself again.

He narrows his eyes, glares, and your lips part, trembling, you are terrified. His response is to growl with delight, his eyes falling to stare at the laces that hold in your cleavage. You observe this fact–the fact that you have things that other ladies do not. You are not tiny like them, not thin nor delicate. You are warm, soft, and the squeeze of your breasts in your dress draw him in.

You are a prisoner, now. But perhaps, if you play this game correctly, you can be in your ward's good graces. This is the hand you've been dealt; perhaps there is still a way to win if you steel your bluff.

The party is lively. There is music, gold coins tossed haphazardly on tables, so much dancing and enough food to stuff yourself for days. There is endless wine, and there are brides seated in laps, hungry new couples kissing and whispering soft nothings into each other's ears. The king blessed you all, told you to enjoy your new lives, your new titles, to make your country proud and raise pretty, fat babies.

You sit aways from him. You don't speak, just stare at your dinner plate, sipping wine absentmindedly as you think about the rest of your life and how miserable you will be. You think about the control you have never had, the choices you have never been given, and you wish so badly that you were a man.

Men simply ask for, and then they receive. Women simply hope that their eyes don't meet a flame too hot to handle.

His eyes bore into your head. When you catch his gaze every once in a while, all he does is tilt his head to the side and observe you. The beauty that you are, the woman that no one can have, the supple tits that belong to him, and the perfect cunt he knows that you have under the multitude of skirts you hide it under. Your skin glows, your hair is healthy, you will give him everything that he needs, that he craves.

You'll look so beautiful carrying his heir. You'll look so perfect when you begin to wear the dresses he will buy you, when you sleep in the bed in the house that he gives you, when you stand in the kitchen that he builds for you. Although, a woman like you deserves to do nothing but relax, be pampered, to lay down on a bed of furs as he eats your sweetness and fucks you stupid.

When the morning is early, you sneak out. You scurry to your bedroom, closing the door behind you for a moment of peace. You take a seat on your bed, the bed you aren't sure you will have for much longer, and you sit there and stare at your feet until the door opens.

You know who it is right away. Coming in unannounced, because now he is allowed to, because everything in this room now belongs to him, from the thread holding your dress together to the very breaths you take.

You sit up straight, turning your head. Ghost slips through, taking up the space by the door as it shuts behind him. You watch him as he stands poised just like the soldier he is, looking at you illuminated by nothing but candlelight. His gloved hands rest at his sides, but he squeezes them in and out of fists, clicking his tongue. You hear the leather of them move.

You have never spoken to him before. You've never heard him speak. You wonder if he really knows how to; you wonder if he has a voice or if he's been whittled down to nothing but the sounds that a loyal mutt makes. You know why he's here, you know why he's come. You can't tell him no, you don't think, but he doesn't move from his place, so you aren't completely sure of what he wants.

But you have an idea.

"Y'abhor me," he says finally. He speaks. You swallow. At least he isn't stupid. It's rare that you see a brute with brains. Although, with all the battles he has won, you know he doesn't lack intelligence. He is seasoned, worldly, knows how to convince the politicians and to rile up the uneducated men that kill for him. He must have a quick tongue and a strong vocabulary. A leader bred for killing, a man taught to know his audience and how to deliver a persuasive message.

But has he been taught to tame a cat? How to please a woman? How to love her, how to have her?

Love. What a silly dream.

"Not as much as I fear you," you admit. He hums, his eyes crinkling a little, as if he's smiling. You watch him carefully as he finally moves, rounding the bed before he stands in front of you.

"Wot is it y'r afraid of?" he asks. His voice comes low, from the bottom of his chest. You tilt your head up to look at him.

"That you'll hurt me," you whisper. He shrugs, shaking his head.

"A beaten wife is no good t'me," he tells you, very matter-of-fact. "Need strong heirs. Which means I need y'fed and happy."

"I'll never be happy."

He grips your chin, shutting you up. A part of you wishes he would be meaner. That he would be the angry, possessive Ghost that he truly is and show the kingdom that there is no part of him redeemable or salvageable. You want to sport his bruises and tell the queen he is an animal, but his touch is firm and nothing more. If anything, he's gentler than you expected him to be.

"We'll see about tha'."

Your eyes water, and you stiffen at his touch.

"I know who you are," your voice cracks. "I know what you do. You're a pillager. You take women, and you kill men."

He tilts his head to the side, smoothing his thumb along your bottom lip. You aren't wrong. Since he was small, most of what he has known has been the smell of blood in the air and the sound of screams when he shows up at their doors. He's never been particularly gentle when he ravages. He takes, takes, takes–it tastes good and strengthens his bones. It puts medals on his chest and pretty, thick women in his bed.

But you are no village in an unfortunate land. You are the gift that his king has given him. The forbidden treasure that he had his eye on since he saw you standing there beside his queen. Poised, elegant, graceful, timid, untouched, perfectly soft. Ghost has never known this kind of thing, and if you had been any other lady, he would have married you long ago, but he had to wait. He had to be patient, win and kill enough that his king could not refuse his request–no, his demand–to have you.

He did not do the king's bidding for the glory or for the honor. He did it so he could bite into you, so that even if you screamed, you belonged, and no one would care.

"Just a matter of war, dear wife. They matter little," Ghost mutters. "Let me look at ya..." he tilts your head side to side, observing you. He guides his hand down your throat, arching you back so he could trace his fingers along the swell of your breasts. He hums with approval, reaching lower and squeezing the fat of one breast with one big hand. His eyes flash, and he fondles the other.

You are surprised by the sensation. No one has ever touched you this way before. It feels...good. His hands are warm, even under all of that leather, and you find yourself feeling rather sensitive. You lean back a little on the palms of your hands, looking down. You watch as he traces a finger around your nipple, and you bite your lip when it pebbles under his touch. He uses both hands now, cupping both of them, growling. Ohhh–it feels so nice.

"Gonna be so nice when they're full," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "All for our babe."

You don't know what comes over you. You don't know why you do it, but you do. You lift your hand, gripping the edge of the laces that tie the front of your dress closed, and you pull. The weight of your breasts unravel the ribbons, and Ghost groans audibly when they spill out of your corset. There is a tickle that you feel, some sort of sick satisfaction, knowing that you've pleased him in some way.

"Tha'sit...My beautiful bride..." he smacks his lips together under his mask, as if he's hungry, "Tits of a fuckin' angel."

You squeeze your legs together. You know what it is to feel aroused, but this is different. You feel wet, so wet, as if it's wetting the skirt of your dress. You've never felt it this strong. You whimper a little, and he chuckles, so mean.

"Y'like tha', my bride?" he asks. He reaches up and cups your cheek, bringing your soft eyes to his. The praise, it itches you nicely. "Y'r m'prize, swee'eart. I killed over a thousand men, and y'are what m'reward is, did y'know tha'?" he hisses. "Cut the heart out of a man's chest, like a fuckin' pig, just to 'ave this cunt."

Why does it feel so good? Why are you getting wetter and wetter, why are you whining, why are you giving into it? Why do you want it so bad, why do you ache?

It hurts, it hurts–

"'s olright," he coos, so condescending. "Shhhh..." he puts a palm on your chest and pushes, making you lay back. You swallow, letting him put a finger between the laces of your corset and tug. It barely budges, fastened so carefully, and you gasp sharply when he uses two big hands and grunts, ripping your corset apart. You hear the crack of the whale bone give away under the strength of him, and it's a reminder of just how dangerous he is, how strong, and you know when he looks between your thighs, he'll find you wet and needy and captivated.

The corset comes loose, and he tugs, taking your skirts with it until you're naked underneath him. You want to feel shame, but you can't. You're so desperate, for whatever he will give you, and instead of covering yourself, you let your knees fall open. The groan he lets out makes you leak even more, and he watches with awe as your puffy hole pulses. He moves to shove his trousers down, but you stop him, putting a hand on the chest of his leather armor.

"Wait–" you meet his eyes. Your eyes flutter. "B-but...But I want..."

He eyes you curiously, narrowing them.

"Want wot?"

You swallow.

"I-I..." you reach down and slip your fingers gently through your folds. The squelch makes his eyes widen, and he's mesmerized by what he sees. "I want...Your mouth..."

He snickers, "Y'think a man will eat it so easy?" he raises a brow. "Doesn't work tha' way. Besides..." he shrugs. "I don't reveal m'face."

You sit up, blinking, smoothing your hands down his chest and tracing them along the hem of his trousers. His dark eyes follow you, and you realize he doesn't really say no. You need to remind him that you are not one of his men. You need to be kept happy, and he needs to give in, even if it hurts his fucking ego.

"Please?" you whisper, taking his hand and putting it back on your face, kissing the palm of his glove. Killed a thousand men to have me, so show me–show me, show me, show me. You nuzzle into it, giving him those eyes, and he stares for a long few moments. "Please..."

He sinks to his knees almost immediately. His armor stretches a little, the leather and metal moving rigidly with him. Your eyes widen a little at the position–the thing that he is knelt down in front of his wife, an act of submission.

"Turn around," he snaps. "On y'r knees."

You do as he says. You turn on the bed, your face squished against the cushions, and he yanks you back by your hips. You fist the sheets, sucking in a shaky breath, and your eyes squeeze shut when he puts two hands on your ass and spreads you wide. He plants a kiss on your folds from over the mask, and then you hear the shuffle of fabric before his warm tongue prods at your entrance.

He eats slow at first. Just drags his tongue through the slick there. He's exploring you, learning you. But then he is all-consuming. He hisses, gripping you by the thighs and suckling at your clit before tracing his name into the folds of your cunt. You can't help how wet you are–drooling, wetting his mask, crying so soft as he bobs his head and eats you, starving. He did not expect you to be so sweet, so soft. Every part of you is soft, and he associates the taste of you with the sound of your pleasure, and it's like a trigger. His brain ticks just the right way when he hears you moan for the first time. Not even battle quiets the tinnitus, but the ringing is nearly gone now.

He wonders if you're sent from heaven, even though he doesn't believe in it. But something had to have sent you, something had to have given you to him, because it's too much, it's too good, it's too real.

What he wants is in his hands, cumming on his tongue, crying because of his touch. Too real, too real, too real.

He pulls away. He smacks his lips gently, smirking, and then he pulls his mask back down. He stands up straight, watching you, still on your knees, squirming. He tuts, turning you onto your back easily. You're languid and a little breathless, and you giggle a little when you realize how easy it is for him to manhandle you, for him to move you. You've never felt very small, but he doesn't even strain, not even a little.

He's so scary, it makes you sick, but you can make this your own–you could make him love you, couldn't you? Someone this twisted, someone this insane, you could make him obsessed, you could drive him crazy, you could have the loyal dog you have always been yourself.

Killed a thousand men to have me, so I'll put you on your fucking knees.

It's what you're owed. For all the years of serving, for all the years of submission and pain and kneeling and curtsying, you're allowed to have something, you can have something, even if it's this monster of a man. He may have paid for you, but you won't let a thousand men die for nothing.

You will make him love you. You will make him love you. You will make him love you.

You sit up, a bit dazed. You're swimming in your own head, a little insane from the orgasm. You know what a man like him wants. You have doted on men like him all your life. You know what it is that arrogant people crave, what it is they desire, the things that keep them up at night, you know because you've soothed those fears all your life.

You just need to know how to make him purr. You need to know what clears the thoughts in his head.

"My husband," you whisper, meeting his eyes, and there's a little twitch in his eyes. He likes that title. "I–"

"Did y'like that, my bride?" he murmurs. "Your husband's mouth on y'r cunt, 'n now y'r singin' for me, eh?"

You bat your lashes, sliding your hands up his forearms. You drag your fingers over the sleeves of his armor, whimpering. The smell of leather is overwhelming, but you suppose you must get used to it. You have a feeling you'll be polishing it for the rest of your life.

"I've always been...Terrified of you," you whisper. "The way you come into court...The way you fight...Seeing you in all those places, you have always scared me..." he hums, his eyes intrigued. He smooths his hands up your thighs, gripping onto your waist as he tugs you closer to him. "But, I..." you reach for his shoulders, pulling on him until he bends, leans over you, crowds your space and shadows you like the eclipse he truly is. "I-I want more..."

He chuckles, "I know y'do," he echos. "Could see it in y'r eyes, darling girl," he sighs. "A pretty face like this one...Wasted on her majesty."

"I don't think we're allowed to say that."

"I deliver entire countries at john's feet, I'll say wot I bloody please," he snaps. You just blink up at him, before smiling a little.

This disgusting, murderous, possessive, immoral, treacherous piece of shit that is your husband is really the most beautiful man you've ever set your eyes on. Strong, resilient, unable to be killed, adored by his king and his men alike. He is everything a man is supposed to be, but nothing like how a gentleman should behave. He is built for war, built to take, so how can you get this nasty thing to love you?

Ghost does not seem the kind of man to bend to the desires of ordinary men. He may want to fuck you, but he has self-control. He may enjoy the praise of his men, but he doesn't require it. He may ache for the soft press of a woman, but he is self-sufficient and easily deterred.

So you do what servant women do best. You appease, because at the end of the day, Ghost is still a man, and men are all the same.

"A baby..." you whisper, holding onto the backs of his hands firmly. You dig your nails into the skin there, arching your back to get closer to him. He growls under the mask, metal biting into your soft skin as he grips you even tighter. "Want a baby..."

He cackles, so mean, and he leans down to kiss along your ear, down your throat, biting at the supple skin through the mask. He's still got all of his armor on, he hasn't shed one lick of his gear, but you cling to it like a parasite. He is one with it, and you realize this now, his second skin made of durable steel and patent animal skin, singed at the edges. He's such a fine soldier, too strong for his own good, too rough around all his edges to be anything but a masochist, but he's yours. He belongs to you as much as you belong to him, and it isn't until he slides the warmth of his length through your folds that you realize this, too.

You reach up with trembling hands, high enough to cup his masked face. He flinches, nearly throwing you off, but you shush him gently, cooing softly as you nuzzle your nose against his.

"I'm sorry," you whisper there. It's so intimate, this position, and you know that he has never let anyone touch him this way by the feeling of his body under your hands, stiff and unable to move. You roll your hips gently, up against his, and you let out a soft keen at the squelch of your slick against his cock. "It's...It's everything I didn't know I wanted..."

He grunts, metal creaking as his nostrils flare.

"I don't understand," he murmurs. Affection, it's so unfamiliar that it startles him. That someone can be kind to him, something other than a hard hand and an impossible order, it's not something he knows, and he's not sure how he feels about it. His instinct tells him to distance himself, but his cock guides him closer.

"You," you whine. "So big–" you reach down between your bodies, pumping his cock gently. Your fingers barely meet around his girth, a true testament to his size, he lacks this largeness nowhere. "–there's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

Ghost snarls a little, gripping your thighs tight and securing them around his waist. You lock your ankles around his hips, pulling, and he hums as the head of his cock sinks into you easily.

"Naughty lil' girl," he laughs, standing straight as his thighs meet your ass. You whine, your back bowing like a taut string, and he slides his tongue over his teeth with a menacing click. "Not a virgin, are ya?"

"I-I am," you gasp, clawing at his forearms, and he hisses when you clench.

"Mm. Not a stranger t'this feelin' then, aye?"

You shake your head, and he nods, hoisting your legs up and over his shoulders as he gives you a firm thrust.

"Good," he mutters. "Don't much feel like pettin' ya."

And he doesn't. He's a menace. He snarls like a beast under his armor, his gloves squeezing your plush thighs as he pounds into you with no words to soften the blow. He isn't gentle by any means–he gives, and he expects you to take, and your legs shake as you try and crawl away from him. He doesn't let you–his fingers spread around your waist and he tugs, spearing you back onto his cock before he leans over you and starts putting his back into it.

Despite the roughness, he looks down at you, eyes focused on yours, and he doesn't look away. Your arms flail a little until you reach up and wrap them around his neck for stability, but it only draws his face close to yours. Your hand falls to grip his jaw, and he leans into it just enough that you know you have him.

"You'll make such a good little babe," he grunts, groaning when you tighten just that much. He's securing his place, making room inside of you so you can take even more. "Cunt was made to bear m'children, m'lady..."

"That so?" you squeak, and he smiles under the mask–you're falling apart on his cock, a good girl, just for him, just like you always are. "Have to finish what you started for that to happen, don't you?"

"Fuckin' brat–" Ghost snaps, but he presses his face to yours, needing to be closer, needing to have you, needing to make you his from the inside-out. A ring is not enough, no, he has to bind you to him forever by making you bear his kin. He will give you many, he's going to keep you fat and beautiful and pregnant, and his children will know that their father hungered for their mother so much that he destroyed a generation of men to covet one of his own.

Ghost has known since the first moment he laid his eyes on you that you would be it. You had to be his wife, no one else would suffice, because no one else could bear the weight of his name the way you would be able to. No one else would be able to carry his babies without dying, no one else could make the sun fall and the moon rise and the fire wane just long enough for him to feel human again, no one.

You start to think the same. You've never felt this way, so out of your body and so aware of it all at once. You're floating–you're somewhere else, you think. There's a pleasure so searing, that you can barely breathe. His cock is deep, touching places inside of you your fingers could never dream to reach, and there's a place that he touches sometimes that makes your eyes blur and your mouth make the most pathetic whining sound. You're crying, begging, asking him for more, please–! Nnghh–please!

He's never had a woman so wet. He has always had them for his own pleasure. He has never paid attention to what they feel or tried to make it nice for anyone but himself, but he knows he will never want it the same ever again. There's something so satisfying about the heavy plat, plat, plat that his cock makes every time his hips meet yours. He can feel his trousers sticking to his thick thighs, knows that there must be some thick, creamy slick coating his length and sticking to your skin that he suddenly wants to scoop up with his tongue and savor the tang of his bride, his wife, his pretty, pretty girl–tha's it, just right, like tha'–

"I...I-I–!" it's more intense than you've ever felt it. A crescendo of pleasure that is starting to grow in your belly, an unwavering warmth that he keeps flooding you with, so good that you can't stop crying for it. You're sputtering, drooling, clawing at the hood around his back because it's so fucking close, it's right there, it's mine, you're mine, mine, mine–

"Fuckin' hell–" Ghost groans, cradling your head against his chest as he stills his hips against yours and fills you nice and warm. You go cross-eyed, you think, shaking as you latch your mouth onto his masked jaw and suck. You need to put your mouth around something, need to fill it with the taste of him. He doesn't move, body heavy and suffocating over you, but you don't tell him to move and make no effort to push him off.

You think you want this. You think you want him to keep you here, just like this, underneath him, full of him, drooling from more than just your mouth from a fucking too good and the promise of something more.

He moves to take a seat on the bed, and you chase after him. You keep your arms around his neck, shuffle into his lap, and he chuckles under his breath as he wraps one big arm around you and tugs you close to him.

Maybe it isn't so bad to be bound to someone like this. Maybe it isn't so bad to belong, maybe it isn't so bad to be wanted this way, maybe it isn't the most unfortunate thing to not have the autonomy of yourself anymore in favor of being this thing's wife.

You slide your hand down his chest before smoothing it over one masked cheek. His eyes close for a moment, and he leans into it for just long enough that you recognize the gesture as one of need. Ghost aches, too–maybe not for the same thing you ache for, but he aches, and maybe it's for this.

Something gentle. Something soft. Something to bury himself into because the flames have burnt too hot for too long, and the voices in his head give him no reprieve. His hands are too dirty, too unclean, and you think maybe that's why he doesn't take his gloves off anymore–there is no cleaning agent enough for the blood caked under his fingernails.

He's more human this way. Less beast, more man, but you see that flicker of humanity disappear entirely when he sees the trickle of his cum slipping onto the fine sheets of your bed.

What a waste. What a loss. He has to fuck you again.

He will never be bored of me, I don't think. Ghost will want me forever–even when we are dead, because he cannot die, because he's already rotting inside.

You don't seem to mind your new position. No kneeling, no curtsying–your duty is on your back and on your side and on your stomach, presented for your husband, just for his pleasure, just for your own.

In all your life, you have never wanted this. You endured the burden of serving because you were at least needed this way. Marriage to you looked akin to death; when the veils fell over girl's faces, you never saw them again. They would be confined to their houses, made to spread their legs, forced to carry children they didn't want and die the slow death of giving their husbands everything they wanted while their dreams were buried alongside them.

Your dream is freedom. It always has been. Your dream is to do as you please, to go where you want to go, to say the things you want to say. There is an understanding here that you have, an opportunity that you could not see before. Before you had Ghost, you saw him as the thing in your way. He was the quicksand that would pull you under, the tide that sunk the earth, the dog that guarded his bone. But you know now, you understand, that Ghost doesn't have to be the wall in your way.

He is more animal than man, and in that fact alone, you feel power in your toes and something hungry knocking at the bone of your ribs, just waiting to come out.

Ghost will hold the sword. And you will hold the leash.

NEXT

[mask-of-anubis]

100% thought this was talking about when he accidentally kissed Piper and not when Patricia was a whole ass sinner lol

“eddie should have noticed that wasn’t patricia!!!” the same eddie who saw jerome on the verge of a panic attack being dragged out of the kitchen by a man claiming to be his uncle, and decided that it was just a ‘brit’ thing?

[genshin-impact-updates]

Clouds of doubt depart, moonlight amidst dreams unveiled, to grace dreamers' hearts.

"Hmm, how to describe this old friend of mine... Well, she's an intriguing one, but 'cute' isn't exactly the word I'd go for. Being the finest clinical psychologist in all of Inazuma, she has a remarkable talent for reading others' minds. Yet when it comes to her own, she keeps it so tightly sealed that even I struggle to fathom what she's thinking. If you ever have the pleasure of meeting her, why don't you try guessing for yourself?"

— Yae Miko

◆ Name: Yumemizuki Mizuki

◆ Title: Embrace of Enchanting Dreams

◆ Clinical Psychologist and Major Shareholder of Aisa Bathhouse

◆ Vision: Anemo

◆ Constellation: Tapirus Somniator

According to ancient Inazuman folk tales, as the day wanes and eyelids grow heavy, if you're very lucky, you might just catch a glimpse of a yumekui-baku — a kind of youkai that can slip into your dreams and devour the nightmares that prey upon your slumber.

Household figures from the world of lore and legend, these youkai gradually sought to carve out a place for themselves within human society. When the Aisa Bathhouse reopened with fresh funding, a group of yumekui-baku — having taken on the form of human girls — stepped forth into the public eye as clinical psychologists.

Yet without a shadow of a doubt, there is one who stands out above all the rest, and her name is Yumemizuki Mizuki. Somehow, even when treating the most despondent of clients, she always manages to help them discover a newfound sense of happiness. Within just a few short months of business, a veritable torrent of positive reviews had solidified her reputation as an invaluable asset to the Aisa Bathhouse.

Some have surmised that the success of such therapy must have something to do with their ability to consume nightmares as yumekui-baku; but confronted with such speculations, Mizuki responds with naught but a knowing smile. Only a handful of people ever sense a hint of the faint weariness hidden beneath her calm demeanor...

[moonlight-joy]

The Rogue’s Flower

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: Betrothed to the fiery and unpredictable Daemon Targaryen, you navigate the jealousy of Rhaenyra and the scrutiny of the court, emerging as the only one who can match Daemon’s fire with unwavering grace, solidifying a love and union that even the Rogue Prince vows to protect at any cost.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

The halls of the Red Keep buzzed with whispers, and you were at their center. Wherever you walked, the courtiers turned to watch, their gazes following you with awe, envy, and curiosity. They called you Westeros’ Flower, the most beautiful woman in the realm, a title that seemed almost too small to contain the presence you carried. But it wasn’t just your beauty that captivated the court—it was your grace, your strength, and your betrothal to none other than Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince.

Daemon had always been a man who bent the world to his will, a force of nature who answered to no one. His engagement to you had shocked many, for he was a man of fire and fury, and you were the embodiment of serenity and elegance. Yet beneath your composed exterior lay a spirit as unyielding as the man you were to marry. It was this balance that had drawn Daemon to you, though not everyone saw it so clearly.

No one struggled more with your presence than Rhaenyra Targaryen. Her bond with Daemon had always been close, their shared dragonfire a connection few could rival. But your arrival had shifted the dynamics, and Rhaenyra found herself watching from the sidelines as Daemon’s attention, once hers to command, was entirely consumed by you.

Rhaenyra’s jealousy simmered quietly, though it was impossible for her to fully mask. At a feast held in your honor, she approached you with a wine cup in hand, her expression poised but her violet eyes betraying the storm beneath. “You must find this overwhelming,” she said, her tone polite yet laced with an undercurrent of challenge. “The court, the whispers… my uncle’s affections.”

You tilted your head, meeting her gaze with a calm that belied the tension in the air. “Overwhelming?” you repeated, your voice soft yet unshakable. “No, Your Grace. I have always understood the weight of responsibility.”

Her smile tightened. “And my uncle’s… reputation? Does that not concern you?”

You held her gaze, unflinching. “It does not. Daemon may be many things, but above all, he is loyal. When he loves, he does so fiercely. I trust him.”

Before Rhaenyra could respond, Daemon’s voice cut through the tension. “Rhaenyra.” His tone was firm but not unkind, though his focus was entirely on you. He moved to your side, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back. “I trust you’re making my betrothed feel welcome?”

Rhaenyra faltered, the fire in her gaze dimming as she realized she could not compete with the unwavering way Daemon looked at you. “Of course, Uncle,” she said, her voice clipped. “It was only a friendly conversation.”

Daemon’s smirk was faint but unmistakable. “Good,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Because she is my future.”

Rhaenyra excused herself soon after, and the air felt lighter without the weight of her envy. Daemon turned to you, his violet eyes softening as he reached for your hand. “She’ll come to accept it in time,” he murmured. “But I don’t care if she doesn’t. My heart belongs to you, not her.”

His words sent warmth blooming in your chest, and you squeezed his hand gently. “Let her think what she will,” you said. “As long as you are mine, nothing else matters.”

Daemon’s devotion to you was not hidden—it was as fiery and open as the dragons that soared above the Red Keep. He spoke your name with reverence, defended you fiercely in court, and looked at you as though you were the only thing worth conquering. His reputation as a rogue melted away in your presence, leaving behind a man who was utterly and unapologetically yours.

One evening, as you walked together through the gardens of the Red Keep, he pulled you aside, away from the prying eyes of courtiers. The moonlight bathed the world in silver, and the faint scent of blooming roses lingered in the air. Daemon cupped your face in his hands, his gaze intense yet tender. “Do you know why I chose you?” he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.

“Perhaps for the alliance,” you teased lightly, though your heart raced at the sincerity in his tone.

He shook his head, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “No. The alliance was a convenience. I chose you because you are the only person who sees me as I am and does not flinch. You do not fear the fire in me. Instead, you stoke it.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded. “And you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, “are the only one who makes me feel as though I am more than just beauty. You see the woman behind the title.”

He kissed you then, his lips fierce and unrelenting, as though he was claiming you all over again. When he pulled back, his smirk returned, tinged with mischief. “The court can call you Westeros’ Flower,” he said, his thumb brushing your cheek. “But you are my queen, and that is all that matters.”

The day of your wedding arrived with the sound of dragons roaring overhead, their cries echoing through the Red Keep. The Great Hall was transformed into a spectacle of splendor, the air thick with the scent of flowers and dragonfire. As you walked down the aisle, every eye was on you, but yours were fixed solely on Daemon. He stood at the altar, resplendent in black and red, his silver hair gleaming in the light of the chandeliers. His gaze was unyielding, drinking in the sight of you as though nothing else in the world existed.

“You are mine,” he said softly, his voice meant only for you. “And I am yours. Forever.”

As the High Septon performed the rites, Daemon’s eyes never left yours. When the ceremony was complete, and the court erupted into cheers, he kissed you with a fervor that left no doubt in anyone’s mind where his heart lay. The feast that followed was filled with songs of your beauty and your union, but it was the way Daemon never left your side that spoke volumes. He danced with you, toasted to your happiness, and defended you from even the faintest whisper of doubt.

Rhaenyra watched from her seat, her hands clenched tightly in her lap as the reality of your bond with Daemon became undeniable. For all her fire and ambition, she knew she could never rival the love he bore for you. You were not just the most beautiful woman in Westeros—you were the woman who had tamed the Rogue Prince without ever needing to clip his wings.

As the night wore on and the court began to fade into the background, Daemon pulled you close, his voice a soft murmur in your ear. “Let them whisper, let them envy,” he said. “You are mine, my flower, and I will burn the world for you if I must.”

And in that moment, you knew there was no force in the realm—no jealousy, no ambition, no fire—that could ever come between you. Bound by love, fire, and blood, you and Daemon were unbreakable.

Please support my work with like and comment

[snapscube]

I FINISHED TURNABOUT BIG TOP! Which means here is my updated autopsy report ranking for cases and characters!

Both have actually shifted around quite a bit so you may find it an interesting update. I'll explain some of my current thoughts on the new placements as well as my thoughts on 2-3 in general below a break if ur curious.

Okay so first thing let's just address the elephant in the room: We have an all new category on the character ranking!! One that I sure wish I didn't have to include but unfortunately Big Top made some... very Interesting decisions with specific characters. It would be one thing if this content was featured and then addressed, but it was particularly off-putting and frustrating to me that everything was played entirely straight?? So yeah. New lowest of the low category for a couple freaks who are actively courting a 16 year old!!!! yayyyyyy

OTHERWISE, I do have to say.... I was really pleasantly surprised at 2-3 as a case. I can say now I completely understand people having a distaste for it especially in regards to the unsavory age gaps, but literally..... almost everything else in this case was well put together and generally on-par with the quality of the rest of the series? As an overall package I actually still find Turnabout Samurai infinitely more dull. Like, maybe it's just because the lead-up to actually playing it was so uniquely frustrating for me and forcibly lowered my expectations by a ton, but there was so much good shit in Big Top. Maya, in particular, is in top form during this case. She is so fucking funny. I loved almost every word that came out of her mouth and it really solidified her top spot in the character ranking for me at present. But past that, I think the second half of this case is EXTREMELY strong compared to its opening half. I'll admit during the first trial section I was getting kinda tired with it and finding it hard to care given how much I just do not root for Max, so I had tentatively placed it at bottom of C tier. But then once von Karma arrives in the investigation section and then Acro's storyline enters the equation I really think it finds its footing. I actually found the last few scenes of the trial very emotionally effective, especially Acro's breakdown at the witness stand and mentioning how he couldn't follow through with taking his own life to escape his crime due to his desire to see his brother wake up. Like... I legitimately teared up.

And FURTHERMORE.... von Karma. Oh my god. I don't know if I'm picking up on anything here, nor do I want to know until I maybe see it for myself, but something about her conduct in the final trial really spoke to me. I feel like a surface read makes it apparent that she's just as frustrated as she is because she's losing the case to Wright again, and I do think that's a huge factor still to her reaction... but I don't know, I felt something else with her. Particularly when it came to her reaction towards Acro's attempted murder of Regina. I felt like she came across as PARTICULARLY disgusted towards that revelation and towards her own client in a way that subtly humanized her and had me just CHUCKLING AND CHORTLING in evil anticipation towards potential character arcs. I really hope I've grasped onto something here because... I love her so much. I love the idea that in spite of her reputation we're still gonna get to see this spark of humanity light up. AHHHHH.

Okay. Anyway. In summary:

I understand why people have a distaste for Big Top now, but it does not change the fact that I desperately wish I had been given the chance to experience the story myself going into it without that baggage. It genuinely did not help my experience in the slightest to just have that cloud of expectation over it and it is generally irritating that I couldn't even bring up that I was playing it without people jokingly apologizing to me or telling me that I wouldn't be able to handle it or whatever. Really not a great vibe.

As a case, it has a couple MAJOR, GLARING points of discomfort but I'm still really glad I gave it a chance and was able to find a lot of good in it anyway. It inspired me to unfortunately lower some of my other rankings because this is what I kind of consider a more middle-of-the-road quality for the series now. Solid B tier. I have played much worse.

Maya Fey is a god damn treasure.

As for some of the other character shifts, particularly in relation to some of the characters who got bumped from S to A rank, that's less because I decided I like them less now than I did when I first ranked them and more that I decided my initial interpretation of my feelings was incongruent in some cases. Like, for example I LOVE Mia I really do she's great, but in no way at this current time is she on the same level as Maya or Lana for me. So I just needed to adjust the ratios a bit.

Anyway, I'll be back eventually with posts about the next case and the last one of AA2! :3 I hear it's pretttyyy long but pretttyyy damn GOOD. Can't wait.

[miueo]

𐙚 my little idol ♥︎．。．:*･° chap ii ✿

ᰔᩚ      ︶ྀི    debut ; salty & sweet .

summary : you're currently in a new girl group underneath jyp entertainment ! your group is performing well on charts, you have a stable fanbase, and many bops to listen to! you try your best to avoid dating scandals for the sake of your reputation and status but it's all ruined by a very popular group of boys.

pairings : ot8!skz ♡ femidol!reader !

warnings : heavy on smut, sexualization & objectification, perversion, obsession, taboo / dark concepts (for some members, not all !) , mental physical / health issues (depression, anxiety, etc.), coercion, unsolicited pictures, more to be announced.

notes : i am having so much fun writing this and creating ideas for this. you have no fucking idea.

taglist : @p0eticjust1c3 @yunjinswifee @sky00ung @pinkdranks @bloominhos @mi-mi-mu @nasiaisan @kitkat1sstuff @hyunjinhoexxx @theinsanebish

selected song for fic : chapter playlist ✿ !!

the day of 4ura’s debut had finally arrived, a culmination of years of hard work, dreams, and relentless dedication. the air buzzed with excitement as fans gathered, eagerly anticipating the first glimpse of jyp entertainment’s newest girl group. their debut album, “feel,” promised a unique blend of songs that showcased their diverse talents, with the title track “salty & sweet” leading the charge.

the album, a carefully curated collection, included tracks like “nobody knows”, “underwater”, “diorama”, “colouring”, “candy crush”, “bamboleo”, “rewind”, and “perfect 10”. each song was chosen to highlight the group’s vocal prowess, dynamic choreography, and unique charm.

❁

as the lights dimmed and the intro to “salty & sweet” began, y/n, olivia, minjeong, and autumn took their places on stage. the music pulsed through the speakers, and the girls moved with a synchronicity that spoke of countless hours spent perfecting their performance. y/n’s voice soared, carrying the emotional weight of the song, while olivia’s electrifying dance moves captivated the audience. minjeong’s presence was mesmerizing, her visual appeal enhancing the performance, and autumn’s powerful rap delivery added an edge that completed the group’s dynamic sound.

throughout the performance, the emotions were palpable. y/n’s eyes shone with determination and a touch of nervous excitement, while olivia’s energy was infectious, drawing the audience into the performance. minjeong’s grace and confidence radiated, and autumn’s intensity underscored the group’s commitment to making a lasting impression.

as the final notes of “salty & sweet” echoed in the venue, the audience erupted into applause. the girls exchanged relieved and elated glances, the weight of their debut moment lifting as they soaked in the adoration of their new fans. backstage, the atmosphere was electric with celebration and a sense of accomplishment.

❁

while they were catching their breath and reveling in the afterglow of their successful debut, they ran into the members of stray kids. bang chan, the leader of stray kids, approached y/n with a warm smile.

“hey, y/n!! you guys did fucking insane. this is probably one of the best debut stages of our generation..” bang chan said, his voice full of genuine admiration.

y/n, still slightly breathless, smiled back as her cheeks heated up slightly. “thank you so much, chan! it means a lot coming from you.”

bang chan nodded, his eyes reflecting his sincerity. “you all really brought the energy and emotion to the stage. i could tell how much heart you put into it.”

y/n felt a surge of pride and gratitude. “we really wanted to make a strong impression. it’s been a long journey to get here.”

bang chan chuckled. “trust me, i know the feeling. but you guys nailed it. welcome to the family, 4ura.”

with that, the stray kids members offered their congratulations and words of encouragement, further solidifying the camaraderie within the jyp family. as y/n and her groupmates basked in the support of their peers, they knew this was just the beginning of an incredible journey. with their debut performance behind them and the world at their feet, 4ura was ready to take on the k-pop world, one stage at a time.

as the initial excitement of their debut began to settle, y/n found herself lingering on bang chan’s words of encouragement. she had always admired stray kids for their relentless work ethic, musical versatility, and the genuine camaraderie they shared both on and off stage. bang chan, in particular, stood out to her as a figure of leadership and creativity, someone she deeply respected.

as the group continued mingling with the stray kids members, y/n couldn’t help but feel a growing desire to get to know them better. she admired their ability to stay grounded despite their success and often looked to them as role models during her trainee days. now, standing in the same room, she felt an opportunity to bridge the gap between admiration and friendship.

gathering her courage, y/n approached bang chan once more. “chan, i wanted to say again how much your support means to me and the group. i’ve been a huge fan of stray kids since my trainee days. your music and the way you lead the group… it’s really inspiring.”

bang chan smiled, clearly touched by her words. “thank you, y/n. that means a lot. we all started somewhere, and seeing new groups like 4ura debut with such passion is a reminder of why we do what we do.”

feeling a surge of confidence, y/n took a deep breath and continued, “i was wondering, since we’re labelmates and all, if you’d be interested in hanging out sometime? maybe we could grab coffee or something in the building? i’d love to learn more about your experiences and get to know you and the other members better.”

bang chan’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “that sounds great! i’m sure the other guys would love to join too. we could definitely use a break and some good company. how about tomorrow afternoon? there’s a great café in the building that we often hang out at.”

y/n’s heart raced with excitement and relief. “tomorrow afternoon sounds perfect. I’ll let the girls know too. thanks, chan!”

as they wrapped up their conversation, y/n felt a renewed sense of anticipation. the chance to bond with bang chan and the other stray kids members was an unexpected but welcome opportunity. she hoped that these small moments of connection would pave the way for lasting friendships within the jyp family.

with a successful debut and the promise of new friendships on the horizon, y/n felt ready to take on whatever challenges and adventures lay ahead. the support and camaraderie within jyp entertainment were already proving to be invaluable, and she looked forward to growing not just as an artist, but as part of a larger, supportive community.

❁

the next afternoon, the jyp building buzzed with its usual energy, but for y/n, the anticipation of meeting stray kids for coffee added an extra layer of excitement. as she and her groupmates, olivia, minjeong, and autumn, made their way to the café, they chatted about the debut and the positive feedback they had received.

when they arrived, they saw bang chan and a few stray kids members already seated, waving them over with welcoming smiles. y/n’s heart skipped a beat as she spotted chan, his easygoing demeanor putting her at ease.

“hey, guys!” chan greeted them warmly. “glad you could make it. these are han, felix, and changbin.”

after exchanging introductions and settling into their seats, the conversation flowed naturally. they discussed everything from their training days to favorite foods, laughing and sharing stories. as the afternoon progressed, y/n found herself drawn to chan’s infectious energy and genuine interest in their debut experience.

at one point, as the others were engaged in a lively discussion about dance routines, chan turned to y/n. “so, y/n, how are you feeling after the debut? must be quite a whirlwind, huh?”

y/n nodded, her eyes sparkling. “it’s been amazing, but also overwhelming. there’s so much to take in. but having supportive colleagues like you makes it all feel a bit easier.”

chan’s gaze softened. “i’m glad to hear that. You did an incredible job. your vocals were just… wow.”

y/n felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. “thank you, chan. that means a lot coming from you.”

chan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “you know, i was really impressed with how you handled the stage. it’s not easy to command an audience like that on your first try.”

their eyes locked, and y/n felt a flutter in her stomach. “thanks, chan. i’ve always looked up to you and the guys. your performances are always so captivating.”

a mischievous glint appeared in chan’s eyes. “well, if you ever want some tips or just hang out more, you’re always welcome to drop by my studio. in fact, i was planning to work on some new music later tonight. want to join me?”

y/n’s heart raced at the invitation. “i’d love that. what time?”

chan smiled, a hint of playfulness in his expression. “how about 9 pm? i’ll be there. we can grab some snacks and see where the night takes us.”

“sounds perfect,” y/n replied, her voice steady despite the excitement bubbling within her.

the rest of the coffee meet-up continued with lighthearted banter and shared laughter, but y/n’s thoughts kept drifting to the upcoming studio session. as they parted ways, chan gave her a quick, reassuring wink, solidifying the connection they had made.

❁

later that night, y/n arrived at the studio at 9 PM sharp. the building was quieter now, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by a serene stillness. she knocked softly on the studio door, and it opened to reveal chan, who greeted her with a warm smile.

“hey, y/n. come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let her enter. the studio was cozy, filled with various instruments, sound equipment, and a few personal touches that made it uniquely Chan’s space.

“wow, this place is amazing,” y/n said, looking around in awe.

“thanks,” Chan replied, his eyes crinkling with his smile. “it’s my little creative haven. make yourself comfortable.”

they settled in, and chan began showing y/n some of the tracks he was working on. as they chatted about music and life, the atmosphere grew more relaxed and intimate.

“you know, i’ve always wanted to collaborate with someone as talented as you,” chan said, his tone sincere.

y/n felt a warmth spread through her. “that means a lot, chan. i’ve always admired your work. this feels like a dream.”

“well, let’s make it a reality,” chan replied, his eyes twinkling. “how about we start with some melodies and see where it takes us?”

they spent the next few hours lost in music, their creative energies blending seamlessly. between takes and discussions, their conversations grew more personal, filled with laughter and shared stories.

❁

as the night deepened, the cozy ambiance of chan’s studio, coupled with the soothing melodies they were creating, began to take its toll on y/n. she stifled a yawn, trying to stay focused on the lyrics they were working on. chan noticed and chuckled softly.

“feeling tired?” he asked gently, his voice a comforting murmur.

y/n shook her head slightly, trying to shake off the drowsiness. “a little. it’s been a long day, but i don’t want to stop just yet.”

chan smiled, appreciating her determination. “how about we take a short break? i can make us some coffee.”

“that sounds great,” y/n replied, grateful for the suggestion.

as chan moved to the small kitchenette in the corner of the studio, y/n leaned back on the plush couch, closing her eyes for just a moment. the soft hum of the equipment and the faint melodies still playing lulled her into a state of relaxation.

by the time chan returned with two steaming mugs of coffee, he found y/n fast asleep, her head resting against the back of the couch, her breathing steady and peaceful. he set the mugs down quietly, a soft smile spreading across his face as he watched her.

“guess you really were tired,” he whispered to himself, not wanting to wake her.

❁

in the darkness of the space, y/n fluttered her eyes open, the clock saying 4 am. still feeling drowsy and exhausted from being constantly occupied with her group’s debut, she looked over at chan’s sleeping body and a sudden flare of lust gleamed in her large seraphic eyes.

quietly, y/n slinked at the foot of the couch, biting her bottom lip while pulling down chan’s pants and trunks altogether. the mere view made the y/n’s mouth water as her body shook in anticipation.

with quivering lips, y/n started licking and coating the chan’s length with her saliva, getting themselves excited as well. her eyes peered up as they carefully engulfed chan’s hardening member and started to bob their head slowly.

feeling already wet, y/n started to touch herself, emitting some feeble moans against the shaft. soon out of breath and yearning for something more, y/n panted as quietly as possible with their head resting on chan’s thigh.

“who told you to stop?” y/n, the girl who froze like a deer in headlights and then looked up at chan’s smirking face. “you wanted to ride my cock like a slut, didn't you. you couldn't even wait for me to wake up, huh. or maybe you find my sleeping face hot?”

gulping at chan’s harsh, husky voice, y/n then started licking the tip of the throbbing length. a yelp escaped their lips when the dom suddenly pushed their head down till the shaft reached the back of their throat. “now you finish what you started.”

y/n gagged softly around chan’s cock, pulling away swiftly before stroking his length up and down with her delicate hands.

“ugh.. i need you in me so bad!!” y/n cried out as she got back up, sitting herself down on his lap before pulling her skirt up, moving her cotton white panties aside exposing her soaked cunt.

chan chuckles maliciously, grabbing his phone and hitting the record button on his phone.

“show the people how much of a fucking slut you are. your fans could never imagine how much of a whore you are for attention like this..” he breathes out behind the camera.

y/n slowly sat herself down on his cock. he had the perfect amount of girth and length, it felt so delicious in her little tummy.

chan grabs her body and slams her back against the leather couch, he kept his phone in his hand as he thrusts into her slippery cunt at an animalistic pace.

a little y/n, fucked dumb laid beneath her senior almost like a doll. high pitched screams and whimpers escaped her mouth as she arched her back against the couch; and seeing them as such was pure achievement for chan.

their hips slammed forward consistently, rough thrusts unstopping despite y/n’s state — in fact, the very view only encouraged chan to treat them more belligerently.

chan watched how the female idol’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, almost as if she was lifeless. she was in euphoria. she had been dreaming about this moment.

it was utter entertainment for chan knowing his admirer was too immersed in their pleasure and too dumb to talk back, taking the very opportunity to spit on them and degrade them while filming every moment.

“i can’t wait to see what more you have in that little pretty mind of yours, my little idol.”

[luvst4rc0r3]

"You're Unfixable"

Sevika x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of murder

WC:2637

Note: I'll probably write more of like kinda domainat reader.

The Undercity was your domain. Not in the way Silco owned it, nor in the way Sevika enforced it, but in the way the people breathed your name with respect. You were the one who smoothed conflicts, negotiated between the chem-barons, and ensured that Zaun’s businesses thrived without unnecessary bloodshed. Your reputation preceded you, and when you started dating Sevika, it only solidified your status. People admired the way you handled her—how the feared Silco right hand woman softened in your presence, how her rough edges smoothed when your hands found hers.

For years, it was you and Sevika against the world, a love written in steel and smoke, carved into the bones of the Undercity. Until the fight.

It had started with another one of her injuries. Another night where she stumbled into your shared space, blood staining her vest, the acrid smell of smoke and whiskey clinging to her like a second skin. You had tried to clean her wounds, but she pushed you away, snapping at you with a venom she usually reserved for her enemies.

"I can take care of myself," she growled, wrenching her arm out of your grasp.

"Really? Because it doesn’t fucking look like it," you shot back, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Every night, Sevika. Every goddamn night you come home looking like you just fought half of Zaun. When is it going to be enough?"

She scoffed, throwing her jacket onto the floor. "This is what I do. You knew that when you got with me. You think you can change me now?"

"I’m not trying to change you," you said, voice tight with barely restrained anger. "I’m trying to keep you alive. But you don’t care about that, do you? You just keep throwing yourself into fights like you have nothing to lose."

Her expression darkened, something unreadable flashing behind her eyes. "Maybe I don’t."

The words hit like a slap to the face. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her. "That’s bullshit. You have me."

Sevika looked away, jaw tightening. "Maybe that’s the problem."

Silence. Heavy and suffocating. The weight of her words settled in your chest like a stone.

"What the hell does that mean?" your voice was quieter now, but no less sharp.

She ran a hand down her face, exhaling sharply. "It means I can’t do this. I can’t—" She gestured vaguely, frustration evident in every motion. "I can’t be who you want me to be. I can’t be someone who comes home every night and lets you clean me up like some wounded dog. I don’t want to be your fucking project."

Your heart clenched, anger and hurt intertwining. "That’s not what this is. I love you, Sevika. But I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself."

"Then maybe you shouldn’t watch," she said, voice rough, final.

That was the moment it broke. You stared at her, waiting for her to take it back, to say something—anything—that would fix it. But she didn’t. She just stood there, arms crossed, breathing hard.

So you nodded, stepping back. "Fine. If that’s what you want."

You turned before she could see the tears threatening to spill over, grabbing your coat and walking out the door.

It should have ended there.

⊹────⊹꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The Last Drop was alive with the usual chaos—smoke curling into the air, the clinking of glasses, the low murmur of voices thick with rumors. But something was different tonight. There was a weight in the air, a tension so palpable that even the usual rowdy crowd was subdued.

Because you were here.

And because she was, too.

Sevika sat slouched at her usual table, a bottle half-empty beside her, playing a slow, methodical game of cards. She had the same casual arrogance, the same aura of untouchable strength. And yet, she looked different. Worn down.

You’d heard the stories.

“She’s been taking fights she doesn’t need to.” “She nearly killed a guy the other night.” “The businesses are scared—she’s reckless now.”

Sevika was spiraling. She was more violent, more reckless. She started throwing punches when words would have sufficed, collecting debts in blood rather than coin. The Last Drop was quieter when she was around—patrons watching her warily, businesses whispering their fears behind closed doors. And when word finally reached you that some were considering taking their business elsewhere to avoid her wrath.

You hadn’t wanted to care. Not after everything that happened. Not after the fight—the one that ended it all.

But then, people started coming to you.

Shopkeepers, gang leaders, even those who normally wouldn’t dare speak your name with anything but reverence. They weren’t just concerned. They were afraid.

And Sevika? She was still acting like none of it mattered.

You strode across the room, not bothering to hide your presence. The moment you stepped forward, the bar quieted. Conversations dulled, glances were exchanged.

She had to have heard the shift in the room. Had to have felt the way the air turned electric with something old, something unfinished.

But she didn’t acknowledge it. Didn’t acknowledge you.

She only took a slow drink from her glass, her other hand lazily rolling a poker chip between her fingers.

You reached the table. Stopped. Stared.

Still, she ignored you.

Fine.

You grabbed the chair opposite her and turned it around, straddling it as you leaned forward, elbows on the backrest. "Heard you’ve been causing trouble."

A flicker of something passed through her expression, but she didn’t look up. "Heard you’ve been busy," she muttered. "Didn’t think you gave a shit about what I do anymore."

Your fingers curled into the wood of the chair. "I don’t. But the people in Zaun do."

Sevika exhaled through her nose, finally setting her cards down in a slow, deliberate movement. When she lifted her gaze, it was as sharp as a blade. "The people in Zaun are cowards."

"They’re scared," you corrected. "And you’re giving them a damn good reason to be."

Something in her jaw tightened. She grabbed her drink and downed the rest of it before slamming the glass on the table.

"Why are you really here?" she asked, voice low.

Your throat tightened.

Because I still care. Because I can’t stand watching you fall apart. Because, despite everything, I still—

You forced your voice to stay level. "Because you’re making a mess, Sevika. And it’s my mess to clean up, too, whether I like it or not."

A humorless chuckle left her lips.

"You always did love trying to fix me," she murmured.

"Yeah?" you shot back, voice sharp. "Well, turns out you’re unfixable."

Silence.

The words sat between you, raw and ugly, scraping against the unspoken things you never dared say out loud.

Her fingers flexed, the metal of her prosthetic clicking. "I never asked you to fix me."

"No," you agreed. "But you liked it when I tried."

The room around you was silent now, the entire bar watching, waiting.

Sevika leaned back in her chair, exhaling sharply as she raked a hand through her hair. "You think I’m reckless?" she muttered. "You don’t know the half of it."

"Then tell me."

Her eyes darkened. "Why would I?"

"Because I’m the only one here who actually gives a shit."

A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then, suddenly, she was pushing to her feet. The motion was abrupt enough to send her chair scraping back, the sound splitting through the silence like a gunshot.

"If you cared so much," she murmured, voice dangerously quiet, "you wouldn’t have left."

You clenched your fists.

"And if you cared," you shot back, "you wouldn’t have given me a reason to."

The words cracked like a whip.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then Sevika let out a breath, shaking her head. "I can’t do this."

"You don’t have a choice."

That was the final straw.

In the blink of an eye, she was right in front of you, close enough that you could see the faint scar over her lip, the way her pulse hammered against her throat.

"You think you can just walk back in here and tell me how to act?" she growled.

"You think I want to be here?" you shot back, standing up to meet her glare head-on.

"Then leave."

"Then stop giving me a reason to stay!"

The air between you was thick, charged. Her breath was ragged, her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

You hated this. Hated the way she still got under your skin, the way she made you feel like you were standing at the edge of a cliff, seconds away from falling.

And then—

She laughed. A low, bitter sound.

"You want me to stop?" she murmured, voice dropping into something slow and dangerous. "Make me."

A challenge.

A dare.

Something in your chest snapped.

Before you could think better of it, your hands fisted into the collar of her shirt, yanking her forward.

The kiss was brutal.

Teeth. Tongue. Desperation.

A gasp rippled through the bar, but you didn’t care.

Because Sevika was grabbing you, pulling you closer like she couldn’t stand the space between you, her grip firm and demanding.

You weren’t sure if it was love or hate that drove you back into her arms. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

But for now, it was something.

And something was enough.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Weeks Later

It didn’t happen all at once.

The morning after the fight at The Last Drop, you half-expected Sevika to go back to her old ways—to keep spiraling, keep breaking everything in her path. But something had shifted that night.

She stopped picking unnecessary fights. Stopped tearing through the undercity like she had nothing left to lose.

And yet, she didn’t come to you, either.

Not at first.

Instead, she lingered in the spaces between—silent acknowledgments, brief glances when you crossed paths in the streets, a cigarette burning between her fingers outside the places she knew you’d pass by. She was waiting. Waiting for a sign that she hadn’t fucked things up beyond repair.

You gave her nothing.

Because for all the years you had spent loving her, you weren’t sure you could let yourself do it again.

Not yet.

But the city had a way of bringing you back together.

The first time you spoke again after that night, it wasn’t planned. You had been walking home when you saw her standing outside one of the local businesses—a small apothecary, one of the few places in Zaun that still tried to heal instead of harm.

Sevika was talking to the owner. Not threatening, not demanding—just talking. Her posture was stiff, like she was forcing herself to be something she wasn’t used to being.

You didn’t say anything as you approached, but the moment she saw you, something flickered across her face. A hesitation. A question.

You ignored it. Kept walking.

It became a pattern.

A week later, she showed up at a bar you frequented—nowhere near The Last Drop, just some quiet place in the back alleys of Zaun. She didn’t sit with you, didn’t talk to you. Just sat a few seats away, nursing a drink and letting you be the one to decide if you wanted to close the distance.

You didn’t.

The next time, she did speak.

“You still hate me?” she asked, voice rough, like the words didn’t fit right in her mouth.

You exhaled, staring at the glass in your hand. “Hating you would be easier.”

Sevika didn’t say anything to that. Just nodded, like she understood.

And maybe she did.

Because she knew better than anyone that love was never the problem between you. It was everything else. The recklessness. The pride. The way you both dug knives into old wounds when the fighting got bad.

But something was different now.

She was trying. Really trying. And for Sevika, that meant something.

So, after weeks of silence, of dancing around each other like two planets caught in the same orbit, you made a choice.

One night, you found her in the same bar she had been haunting. You sat next to her without a word, grabbed the cigarette from between her fingers, and took a drag like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sevika froze.

You let the silence stretch before finally saying, “You buying the next round or what?”

For a second, she just looked at you, eyes sharp, guarded. And then, slowly, she smirked.

That night, you talked. Not about the past—not yet—but about other things. Business. The state of Zaun. Little things that didn’t matter but made all the difference.

And little by little, the space between you closed.

Some nights, she walked you home. She never asked to come inside, just stood outside your door, hands shoved in her pockets like she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

One night, you lingered in the doorway, watching the way the streetlights cast shadows across her face.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmured.

“Do what?”

“Pretend you’re different.”

Something in her gaze darkened. “I’m not pretending.”

You swallowed. “Then why now?”

She hesitated. Then, quietly—so quietly you almost didn’t hear it—she said, “Because losing you was the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

You inhaled sharply.

For once, you had no sharp retort. No clever response. Just the sound of your heartbeat, too loud in your ears.

Sevika exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “Forget it.”

She turned to leave.

And before you could stop yourself, your fingers curled around her wrist.

She stilled.

The weight of years settled between you.

“…Don’t go,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Sevika turned back toward you, searching your face for something—permission, forgiveness, maybe even hope.

You didn’t know what she found, but when she stepped closer, when she reached up to brush her fingers against your jaw, you didn’t stop her.

It wasn’t perfect.

There were still fights. Still nights when old scars reopened and words turned into weapons.

But then there were the quiet moments.

The mornings where Sevika stayed in bed longer than she used to, arm slung over your waist, her face buried in your neck like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

The nights where she let you trace the scars across her back, fingers gentle against old wounds.

The moments where she looked at you like you were something holy—like she was still trying to believe she had been given a second chance.

The nights where Sevika sat beside you on the couch, her arm slung across the backrest in a way that left just enough space between you for her to pretend like she wasn’t waiting for you to close it.

The mornings where she let you run your fingers over the rough edges of her prosthetic, watching you with something unreadable in her gaze.

The nights where, half-asleep and tangled together in the dark, she murmured things she’d never dare say aloud in the daylight.

“You’re the only thing that ever made sense to me.”

“I don’t know how to be anything other than this.”

“I wanted to be better for you. I still do.”

And maybe that was enough.

Maybe love didn’t have to be perfect to be worth fighting for.

Maybe it was enough to choose each other.

Maybe you didn’t have to fix each other—maybe it was enough just to be there, to try.

So, when she pulled you in one night—arms wrapped tight around you like she was afraid you’d slip away again—you let yourself sink into it.

Because for all the chaos, for all the hurt and history and the bruises love had left on both of you—

Sevika had always been home.

And this time, neither of you were walking away.

This story is kinda nice

[folkloresthings]

TOLERATE IT / FA14.

in which the older sister of lando norris finds herself teetering dangerously towards the precipice of her brother’s, significantly older, colleague.

( fernando alonso x norris!reader )

track one: gold rush. track two: delicate. track three: labyrinth. track four: false god. track five: happiness. track six: the 1. track seven: daylight. track eight: lover.

✩⡱ warnings: age gap! reader is 25, fernando is 41.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by lance_stroll, f1, and 682,947 others

lando.jpg day 41. dinner with the drivers and a special guest.

view all 300,923 comments

lewishamilton nice

yourusername i’m an honorary f1 driver now

⤷ mclaren you can replace lando

⤷ lando.jpg hello????

user not y/n sitting between alonso and carlos instead of next to lando 😭😭😭😭

⤷ yourusername they smell nicer

fernandoalo_official great pics! saving them now

TWITTER.

IMESSAGE.

the screen goes black as you lock your phone, a sigh settling in your chest at your little brother’s overprotectiveness. when you tuck it back in your bag, your gaze flickers up to fernando’s. he’s hovering with a knowing sort of smile, making you laugh bashfully. you were just outside of your apartment block, his car parked on the street. he’d insisted on walking you to the door, and since the street was quiet there was no fear of being caught, not like you were at your departure in the restaurant. in fact, the midnight quiet was peaceful, the sky dark and the air cold.

“thank you for driving me home,” your voice carries quietly, hands knitting by your side. despite the heels that were irritating your ankles, you felt awfully small under his warm eyes. you knew of his reputation with women, his ability to flirt and wrap a girl around his finger. you weren’t the kind to fall for such actions, but when he smiled at you, you empathised with every woman before you.

“you’re welcome,” his smooth spanish accent warmed the shivers along your bare shoulders. fernando obviously noticed, gaze flickering to the bare skin. “you looked very beautiful tonight.”

biting back a smile, your head dips to look at your feet, hoping to hide the blush that spread across your cheeks. but before you could melt into a puddle on the step, fernando’s thumb and finger caught your chin. freezing, you let his delicate touch raise your head up again, until your sights met and the breath was knocked from your chest.

you thought he was going to kiss you. he’d been flirting all night long, sitting next to you at dinner and brushing his hand over your arm everytime he turned towards you. but he didn’t — not yet, anyway. he only held you there, the rough pad of his thumb carressing your cheek, letting himself look at you for as long as he needed.

but you were sure you would pass out if you let him do so any longer, clearing your throat and stepping away from such an intoxicating touch. “goodnight, fernando.”

he stared at you, somehow more handsome in the shadowed light. he wanted more, you could see it in his eyes, but whether that more was of good intentions, you couldn’t tell. “goodnight, pretty girl.”

he turned on his heel, descending the step towards the street, and you suddenly felt yourself turn cold. the air nipped at your skin again, without him near to keep you warm. the battle inside your head was raging, pulling between sense and feeling.

“wait,” you called feebly, and he was turned around before you could even finish the word. you rocked a little on your heels, fiddling with the keys in your hands. his hopeful eyes only solidified your decision, a coy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “do you, maybe, want to come up for a drink?”

INSTAGRAM.

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yourusername home is where the heart is ❤️‍🩹

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carlossainz55 loved seeing my favourite norris 🤩

carmenmmundt mojito date again soon!!!

⤷ yourusername YES!

user y/n giving us the lando content we deserve

fernandoalo_official london 🤍

⤷ user a wild nando appears

landonorris since when do you drink red wine???

writers note: london boy but it’s london girl and it’s fernando singing it

[bluebasie]

Giyuu Tomioka's kindness deserves some more recognition!!

Am I the only one who hates when people interpret Giyuu Tomioka from KNY as some kind of unfeeling and mean person with the personality of a rock when so many scenes with him clearly show how much of a thoughtful, kind, and empathetic character he is??

His introduction scene is already an example of this when he (a person who has been slaying demons for 8 years and has a deep hatred for them) decides to spare a demon just because he saw Tanjiro and Nezuko’s bond and decided to give them a chance. I’m sure most everyone in the KNY fandom recognizes this, but I don’t think some people REALLY understand the implications of this action. The moment he decides to spare Nezuko he essentially becomes a traitor to the demon slayer corps which, by the rules or the corps, qualifies him for execution. Tomioka quite literally gave up his life and pride to spare a pair of siblings he didn't know just to give them a fair chance in a world that is clearly unfair. There's also the fact that after knocking Nezuko out in the first episode, even though he didn't have to, he put Nezuko’s robe back on to keep her warm, wiped the blood off of her face, and gave her a muzzle. Keep in mind though that demons can't get sick from the cold or anything and the cut would have healed itself. Tomioka put the robe on and wiped the blood purely for her comfort. 

Going back to the fact that Tomioka put his whole life on the line for these siblings, It’s not like he just abandoned them when they got caught. He fully stood with them when the Kamado siblings were brought before the hashira. Again this moment was actually HUGE even though his status as a ‘traitor’ lasted only two episodes. In the moment of the trial he essentially knew there was a good chance he would be executed but also, he knew that his pride/reputation was gone from his peers. (Pride was very important in Japan during this time period) One could argue that Tomioka already wasn't regarded well among the hashira but at least he was at least a little respected, but, as a traitor, you lose ALL respect. One could also argue that Tomioka didn't really care about his life and honestly, I could agree to that statement but there is one thing that overrules both of these points. His loyalty towards Ubuyashiki. It's well known that the Master is well regarded among the hashira and even the master being disappointed in one of them would be terrible for them. Imagine how bad it must be for one of the Hashira if Ubuyashiki had a full on disdain towards one of them. Tomioka was fully ready to take the chance of being deemed a traitor by Ubuyashiki by coming to the Hashira meeting to vouch for Tanjiro instead of running away or something. 

Then there is how Tomioka acted as a child. There isn't much shown about how he was before spiraling into a more isolated lifestyle after sabito’s death but from what we can see, His parents died when he was really young and he grew up with his older sister, Tsukato. His sister hid him from a demon when they were attacked to spare him and overcome by guilt, he blamed himself for her death and believed he should have died. This is one of the first examples of his self-deprecating thoughts after losing a person close to him and we can see them again when Sabito dies and also when Tanjirou ‘dies’. This shows how hard losses hit him to the point of causing himself to devoid himself of emotion because of the sheer amount of sadness his relationship's deaths brought him. The fact that he still wears Sabito and Tsukato’s haoris together as a memento for 8 years just solidifies it for me

There's also a few scenes post war that i’d like to mention such as the scene where Tomioka openly cries over Tanjiros death and exclaims that he’s failed him before apologizing to Nezuko. This scene also shows his tendency to put burdens unto himself in order to let others be happy. He also rejects help from the kakushi to sit beside Tanjiro and only after he confirms Tanjiro is alright does he allow himself to relax. Then there is the mention from the fan book that while Giyuu was in a coma after the war Nezuko fixed Tomioka’s haori that was previously shred to pieces during the war because she knew his haori meant a lot to him. Once he woke up and found out that she had fixed his haori and visited him every night, he was so moved that he sent a large multitude of gifts to her. It is also shown that after the war he allows himself to be happier and smile more. He is VERY clearly not emotionless.

The last thing I want to mention is his relationships over the manga with his fellow hashira. His friendship with shinobu may seem one-sided, Tomioka definitely cares for her wellbeing which can be seen when he asks Tanjiro about her during the Soba scene and in the fanbook where the hashira opinions of each other shows that he notices her fake smile. Tomioka knew shinobu’s sister Kanae so I’m sure he relates to shinobu about their common grief towards their deceased older sisters. Then There is the Uzui family which befriended Tomioka after the war and after Uzui’s first child was born, Giyuu was allowed to hold them. This could mean that after the war Tomioka opened up more, so the Uzui’s were able to notice Tomioka’s thoughtfulness. Then of course there are the Shinazugawa scenes. The infamous ohagi scene, where Giyuu gets so happy that he knows Sanemi’s favorite food so then he can like him rather than hate him that he flashes one of the three smiles he ever shows in the manga. There’s also the small speech he gives Kiriya at the final pillar meeting where he talks about how his father would be proud of him and how grateful they are to the Ubuyashiki family which ended up bringing Kiriya to tears before sharing another smile with Sanemi.

It is very clear that Giyuu Tomioka cares heavily for Justice and for those he is close to the point where his main character story is about his guilt to those he failed and about his feelings and connections with others so please please please stop portraying him as insensitive, mean, and emotionless!!!

Tanjiro, Nezuko, and Giyuu are Siblings fr

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk :)

Had to add this pic lol

[perfectsunlight]

[30] I, CARRION (ICARIAN)

warnings: heavy themes (depression, suicidal thoughts, emotional distress, family conflict, intense feelings of isolation) and public scrutiny.

DO NOT READ IF THESE THEMES ARE TRIGGERING FOR YOU.

jennie had always been afraid of falling. nothing good came from such an act. falling in love, falling out with friends, falling from fame. it was an act that symbolized the moment one became weak, vulnerable, and at the mercy of the world around them. and jennie kim had always prided herself on being anything but weak.

she had built her life, her career, and her reputation by standing firm. she had learned how to hold herself together when everyone else was falling apart. she knew how to stay on top—how to be untouchable. her world was one of carefully managed control, where every detail was scrutinized, planned, and executed to perfection. but the truth was, beneath that polished exterior, jennie was terrified of the one thing she couldn’t control: losing the people she loved.

falling, to jennie, wasn’t just a physical act. it was emotional, mental—it was the slow, creeping descent into something deeper and darker than she could manage. she had seen it happen too many times, to too many people. friends who had lost themselves in the chaos of fame. relationships that had crumbled under the weight of expectation. but nothing scared jennie more than the idea of falling away from the one person who mattered most.

ivory.

if the wind turns, if i hit a squall

allow the ground to find its brutal way to me

becoming a mother had changed everything for jennie. it wasn’t a decision she had made lightly. in fact, when she first found out she was pregnant, fear had consumed her like nothing she had ever known. she could handle the demands of being an idol, the grueling schedules, the intense scrutiny, the endless pressure to be perfect. but being a mother? that felt like a fall she wasn’t prepared for.

and yet, when ivory was born, it wasn’t fear that overwhelmed jennie—it was love. a love so intense, so consuming, that it redefined everything she thought she knew about herself. ivory became the center of jennie’s universe, the only person who could truly make her feel both grounded and weightless at the same time.

but with that love came a new kind of fear. 

jennie knew the demands of her life—the constant traveling, the public persona, the secrecy—would one day take its toll. ivory wouldn’t always be a child, oblivious to the world outside their small, hidden bubble. eventually, she would ask questions. she would want to know why jennie had kept their life a secret. she would wonder about her father, about the world jennie had shielded her from. and jennie feared that when that day came, ivory wouldn’t understand. she would see jennie not as a protective mother, but as someone who had kept her in the dark, someone who had hidden too much for too long.

i feel lighter than i have in so much time

i've crossed the border line of weightless

the more jennie thinks back, the more she concluded that this burning bridge started when her daughter was just a child. it started when jane would hide from her mother, the small habit becoming a sort of game between the two.

it began with those playful moments of hide-and-seek, when little ivory would giggle, darting away to find the best hiding spots—behind the sofa, beneath the dining room table, or even in the small space behind the curtain, her laughter ringing like chimes in the air. for jennie, it was a cherished game, one that solidified their bond and filled their home with warmth and joy.

“you know i’ll always catch you,” the idol had whispered to her daughter, her voice a playful mix of mock seriousness and warmth as she tried to pull a squirming toddler closer to her. the corners of her lips curled up in a smile, an expression of love that glimmered in her eyes like the soft glow of a sunset. ivory’s innocent laughter was a melody that echoed through the house, drowning out the worries of the outside world, the pressures of fame, and the relentless pace of her career.

in those moments, time felt suspended, and the burdens of life faded into the background. jennie had reveled in their little universe, a sanctuary built on shared secrets and unbreakable trust. they were a team, navigating the unpredictable waters of life together, her daughter’s tiny hand always reaching for hers, trusting that jennie would guide her through every storm.

but as the years slipped by, that innocence began to wane, replaced by the turbulent tides of adolescence. the once-cherished game transformed into a battleground of wills, where jennie found herself no longer seeking out her daughter’s hiding spots, but instead chasing shadows. each giggle that faded into the distance now felt like a reminder of what was lost, a haunting echo of the connection they once shared.

the playful laughter turned into hesitant sighs, and the hide-and-seek evolved into secrets tucked away in the corners of her daughter’s heart. where once she had run to jennie with open arms, she now retreated into her own world, a realm filled with friendships and experiences that jennie could only glimpse from afar. 

but jennie knew she had to be an idol first, she always had to be. but her heart ached to simply just be a mother.

one deep breath out from the sky

i've reached a rarer height now that i can confirm

all our weight is just a burden offered to us by the world

ivory was the perfect baby girl. she always had been, even when she cried and kept jieun and jennie up for hours.

those late nights, filled with the sounds of wailing, never diminished the beauty of her daughter. each cry was a reminder of ivory’s fierce spirit, a testament to the life she brought into their home. the way she scrunched her little nose in displeasure or how her tiny fists waved in frustration were moments that painted a picture of pure innocence.

jennie often found herself mesmerized by the sight of ivory’s delicate fingers wrapping around her own, as if they were meant to fit together. even during the toughest nights, when exhaustion clawed at her, jennie would look down at her daughter and see perfection—the way ivory’s lashes fluttered softly as she finally drifted to sleep, or the gentle rise and fall of her tiny chest, filling jennie’s heart with a warmth that made every sleepless night worth it.

yet, amidst the laughter and joy, there lingered an undeniable weight in jennie's heart. she missed so much—missed first steps and the excitement of new words, the way ivory would proudly show her the drawings made in preschool, her fingers smudged with paint. with every missed moment, a piece of jennie’s soul felt like it was slipping away, replaced by guilt and longing.

but every time ivory saw her, she would run with open arms, too innocent to understand the world of obligations and the pressures that pulled her mother away. “mommy!” ivory would cry out, her voice bright as sunlight, wrapping her little arms around jennie’s waist. those moments made jennie’s heart swell, yet the ache of missed opportunities would linger like a shadow. 

how could her little girl forgive her for being absent during so many pivotal moments? how could she bear the thought of her daughter feeling alone when all she wanted was her mother close by? would she hate her when she was older?

however, despite it all, jennie would never forget the way ivory had changed her, even if she couldn't see it yet for herself. because it wasn’t just her experience and the industry that shaped her.

it was also ivory.

and though i burn how could i fall?

when i am lifted by every word you say to me

jennie remembered the day her daughter saved her life. 

it was the darkest time of her life, the media tearing every piece of her limb from limb. she had done her best, she had tried to kill them with kindness, but her mind had suffered far too much.  each headline was a knife, each article a reminder of her failures, her struggles, the weight of expectations pressing down on her.

it was late one evening, and the rain had poured down in sheets, mirroring the turmoil in her heart. she had found herself standing on the edge of the balcony, feeling the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. the city sprawled beneath her, a maze of lights that felt as distant as her hopes. the thought of jumping had crossed her mind—a moment of reckless abandon that almost felt liberating.

she hated falling, but maybe this time it would be freeing.

droplets of water soaked through her clothes, clinging to her shivering body. whether she shook from fear, the cold, or from crying, she couldn't tell. all she knew was that she was exhausted. she was tired of feeling like this. it would be so easy, so quick to just end it all. her members would be fine, the company wouldn’t suffer much of a loss. her mother would grieve and move on, and her daughter would be taken care of regardless. jennie was a bad idol, a bad person, and a bad mother. there was nothing left for her to try and be good at anymore. a lull of thunder groaned in the distance, the rain not letting up one bit. jennie’s clothes still hung off her form like wet rags, her body just as numb as her mind. with a deep breath, she made her decision. she took one step forward, than another, and then she was at the edge of the railing. her hands gripped the wet metal bar, feeling how easy her grip slipped. they could make it look like an accident. it would be a bit easier to digest for people that way.

but just as jennie prepared to let go of her anguish, a bright, cheerful voice broke through the raging storm outside and inside her mind.

“found you!”

startled, jennie turned slowly, her heart racing as she caught sight of a small figure emerging from the curtains of the doorway leading to the balcony. ivory, only five years old, stood there, beginning to become wet from the rain, her cheeks flushed with excitement. she was soaking wet but beaming, her eyes the same as her mother’s beaming with innocence.

“ivory,” jennie’s voice trembled as she stepped away from the edge, her heart pounding not just from fear but perhaps relief as well. “what are you doing out here?” she whispered, trying to comprehend how her daughter had found her. jieun had been sending the small girl home from school with a personal driver.

but this was jennie’s house, not her mother’s. that could only mean ivory had asked the driver to take her home to her, not to jieun.

jennie’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at ivory, the little girl’s presence pulling her back from the precipice of despair. the warmth radiating from her daughter felt like a lifeline, grounding her in the chaotic storm of her emotions.

“i found you!” the girl repeated with glee, the innocence in her tone cutting through the weight of jennie’s sorrow. in that moment, the world outside faded, and all she could see was her daughter—the embodiment of everything she loved, everything worth fighting for.

but as the reality of the situation settled in, so did the crushing weight of jennie’s anguish. tears brimmed in her eyes, spilling over as she dropped to her knees, unable to hold back the flood any longer. the sheer relief of seeing ivory, of having her here and safe, overwhelmed her senses.

“valentine,” jennie choked out, her voice trembling as she fell to her knees and pulled her daughter into a fierce embrace. she clutched the small girl tightly, burying her face in the soft fabric of her daughter’s damp clothes, feeling the warmth of her small body against her own. “oh, my sweet girl,” she sobbed, the tears flowing freely now, each one a testament to the fear she had felt just moments before.

jane wrapped her tiny arms around jennie’s neck, the innocence in her embrace radiating a comfort that began to mend the pieces of jennie’s shattered heart. “i thought you were hiding from me!” ivory exclaimed, her voice still light, filled with the joy of the game. 

“i’m here, sweetheart,” the idol admitted, her heart aching as she held her daughter closer. the weight of the world seemed to lift just a little, but the fear remained, echoing in the back of her mind. “i didn’t mean to worry you.”

ivory tilted her head, her brows furrowing with confusion. “why are you crying, mommy?” the young girl asked, her dark pigtails soaking with water and her face covered in droplets that reflected light like diamonds.

jennie felt a rush of conflicting emotions. her heart swelled with love, yet the fear of losing her daughter loomed like a dark cloud. “i’m just scared,” she whispered in reply, doing her best to try and not cry even more in front of her daughter.

but all the little girl did was smile up at her mother, the rain not causing her emotions to falter. “but i'm here, you don't have to be scared.” she pulled the idol in closer, and jennie never cried harder in her life.

if anything could fall at all, it's the world

that falls away from me

it had been two weeks since the incident happened and jennie had been fighting tooth and nail with her lawyers to sue those who dragged her daughter in the headlines. she didn’t care what they said about her. the idol didn’t care what they called her, or what they thought of her. all that mattered was ivory—all that had ever mattered was ivory. 

the thought of her daughter’s name being dragged through the mud ignited a fire within jennie, one that eclipsed her own anguish. she was ready to battle, ready to shield her child from the cruel world outside, a world that had become increasingly invasive and toxic. the whispers of judgment and disdain only fueled her determination.

no amount of scrutiny or scandal could diminish her devotion as a mother.

at night, she would lie awake, her mind racing with the words she would throw at the media, the statements her lawyers would issue. she replayed the interviews, the snippets of hurtful commentary, the careless remarks that had turned ivory into fodder for sensational headlines. it made her sick to think that people could be so cruel, so callous about a child who hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

during the days, she stayed busy, ensuring that every detail was managed, every angle covered. meetings, phone calls, legal documents—they all became her lifeline, a distraction from the gnawing worry that threatened to consume her. she felt like a warrior, fighting against an army of nameless faces and faceless voices, all bent on destroying the one thing that mattered most to her.

but in the quiet moments, when the chaos of the day settled, the weight of it all would come crashing down. in those stillness-filled nights, she couldn’t help but wonder how ivory was coping with the backlash. was she scared? confused? had she eaten?

“we need a statement from you,” her manager hesitantly brought up during their next meeting. “you haven’t confirmed your relationship to her yet. i think it is best if you say something officially.”

jennie felt a surge of frustration rise within her, an emotion too powerful to suppress. she stood in the dimly lit conference room, the soft hum of fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare on the glossy table that reflected her tense expression. dressed in a tailored black blazer that hugged her form and paired with fitted trousers, she exuded an air of professionalism, yet the sharp edges of her attire did little to mask the storm brewing within her.

“no.” the word sliced through the air, sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. “this isn’t about me. it’s about ivory. i won’t put her in front of cameras until she’s ready. if she wants to make a statement, that’s her call.”

her manager frowned, shifting uneasily in his chair, the weight of their conversation heavy between them. he adjusted his tie, a nervous habit she’d come to recognize. “but the media won’t wait. the speculation is damaging. we need to control the narrative.”

“control?” she scoffed, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. the room felt constricting, the walls closing in as she thought about the tabloids ripping apart her daughter's innocence. “what control do we really have? we’re dealing with people who don’t care about the truth—only the drama. i won’t pressure her into speaking before she’s ready.”

she took a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the floor-to-ceiling windows, where rain streaked down like tears on glass. the dreary weather outside matched her mood, but she steeled herself, focusing on the task at hand. “i want to protect her innocence. if the girl chooses to speak, i’ll support her. but this decision has to come from her—not us. i won’t let them twist her words.”

silence enveloped the room, heavy with tension, as her manager hesitated, contemplating the implications of her words. “but jennie—”

“no,” she interrupted, her voice firm and unwavering, echoing off the stark walls. “i won’t make a statement without her consent. she’s been through enough. i want her to know she controls her narrative.”

her manager sighed, recognizing the resolve in her eyes—the fierce determination that set her apart from the fleeting glances of the world outside. “alright, but we need to prepare for the backlash.”

“let them come,” the idol replied without missing a beat, her voice steadying as a flicker of maternal instinct surged within her. “i’ll take whatever hits they throw. as long as none of them hit ivory.”

you have me floatin' like a feather on the sea

while you're as heavy as the world that you hold your hands beneath

jane had always been jennie’s strength. in her highest highs and her lowest lows, her daughter was always her anchor. each milestone in her career, every award and fashion show, was often celebrated with ivory in mind. every time jennie was whisked away for a new brand ambassadorship or invited to walk the runway, she meticulously picked out souvenirs that reminded her of the little girl waiting at home.

the delicate silk scarves from paris, the glittering hairpins from milan, the brightly colored baubles from tokyo—each item was a token of love, meant to fill the void of her absence. but soon, jennie started to notice a disheartening change. the excitement in ivory’s eyes dulled with each new gift, her small hands less eager to unwrap the carefully packaged tokens.

when the idol had moved into her own house, the distance between them became painfully clear. the new home was supposed to be a fresh start, a sanctuary filled with light and dreams. yet, as she unpacked boxes in the empty living room, reality settled heavily on her chest—ivory wasn’t going to be coming with her. her daughter would remain with jieun, it was safer that way. but even she knew it wasn’t just about safety, she had used that excuse too many times to believe it.

the day she officially moved out was the day everything changed. 

as she stood in her new kitchen, surrounded by gleaming appliances and fresh paint, the echo of ivory’s sharp voice felt like a distant memory. that morning, jennie had sat down and explained to her daughter what was going to happen. jane was only 8 at the time, and she was already becoming extremely aware of the absence of her mother.

it was also when the small girl began to stop calling her “mom.”

“why don’t you want to be with me?” jane had asked bluntly, small hands balled into fists as she watched her mother taping another box shut. the innocence in her eyes pierced through jennie’s heart like a dagger. it was a simple question, but the weight of it felt insurmountable.

“i do want to be with you, sweetheart,” the idol replied, forcing a smile that felt strained and hollow. “but this is what’s best for both of us right now. you’ll be safe with grandma, and i’ll be here working hard so i can give you all the nice things you deserve.”

“but i don’t want things,” the small brunette insisted, her voice rising with frustration. “i want you.”

the sharpness of the truth stung like cold water, and in that moment, jennie felt the walls she had built around herself begin to crack. she wanted to scream that she wished she could be with her every moment, but the words died on her lips. instead, she knelt down to her daughter’s level, trying to steady her trembling hands as she brushed a few loose strands of hair away from her forehead.

“i know it’s hard, but i promise, we’ll make this work. i’ll visit you all the time, and we can have fun together. we can make new memories.” the rehearsed phrases felt empty in the air between them, but she hoped they would comfort the little girl.

but even jennie knew her daughter had heard those empty promises too many times.

ivory’s eyes, devoid of any real emotion, searched her mother’s face for reassurance, but instead, they found uncertainty. the moment hung heavy, and as ivory blinked back her tears, jennie realized just how fragile their bond had become.

“i don’t believe you,” ivory finally whispered, her voice small but fierce. but as jennie watched her turn away, something deep within her cracked open, and the reality of her choices loomed larger than ever.

and she finally realized that her daughter was slowly slipping away from her.

once i had wondered what was holdin' up the ground

but i can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down

each of the pinks had taken turns coming over, but tonight, it was just rosé sitting across from jennie. the glow of the candles flickered softly on the coffee table, casting dancing shadows against the walls of the stylish parisian apartment. the faint scent of vanilla wafted through the air, mingling with the sounds of the bustling city outside, a stark reminder of the world that felt both close and distant.

“what’s she like?” rosie asked gently, her tone laced with genuine curiosity as she observed jennie’s hunched figure on the plush couch, wrapped in an oversized hoodie that swallowed her whole. it was a cozy look, a comforting barrier against the chill of the night.

jennie’s gaze drifted to the candles, the flames reflecting the turmoil in her heart. there were so many words to describe her, and yet none of them were fitting enough. ivory was and always would be indescribable. “she’s everything.” the older girl whispered, trying to piece together her words. “she’s like poetry i’ll never fully understand. sometimes she’s the softest verse, the kind that makes you feel warm without realizing it, and other times she’s like the sharpest line, the one that cuts right through you.”

ivory had always been a melody jennie couldn’t stop humming. even when the world was too loud, when the pressures of fame felt like they were closing in, it was her daughter who reminded her what really mattered. how ironic was it? that the person who was her entire world was also the one holding it up. jennie had always known that getting to the top came at the expense of being there for ivory. she had built her empire on sacrifices, and the largest one was her absence from the moments that should have mattered most. each red carpet, each endorsement, each sold-out arena—they were the milestones of her career, but they were also the milestones of ivory’s quiet solitude.

it was upon her daughter’s small, unsteady shoulders that jennie’s world sat. the weight of it all pressed down on the girl, and jennie had given her the world and left ivory alone to hold it up.

leave it now, i am sky-bound

if you need to, darling, lean your weight to me

jennie didn’t know how many times she had called her daughter over the past weeks. ivory was eighteen now, legally an adult, but she would always be jennie’s little girl, no matter how much time passed. and that made it worse—because jennie knew her daughter was still too young to bear the weight of everything being thrown at her.

every unanswered call felt like another crack in the fragile bond between them. she had seen her daughter grow into this fiercely independent young woman, strong and capable, but jennie couldn’t shake the sense that she was crumbling beneath the pressure. the media, relentless as always, had turned their full attention to ivory. speculation, rumors, accusations—all aimed at her daughter, dissecting her life in the cruelest of ways.

jennie had faced that kind of scrutiny before; it came with the territory of being a global icon. but this was different. this was ivory, and jennie had no control over it. no way to protect her. all she could do was wait, hoping—praying—that her daughter would reach out.

the silence was suffocating. she had sent dozens of messages, her fingers flying across the screen in moments of desperation. ivory didn’t respond. not to her, not to jieun. her daughter was mia—not physically, they knew she was safe somewhere—but emotionally, she was unreachable. the longer the silence stretched on, the more jennie’s worry turned to fear.

what was she thinking? how was she handling the constant barrage of headlines, the ruthless commentary from strangers who had no idea what her life was really like? was she struggling alone, feeling abandoned? the thought of her daughter enduring all of this on her own made jennie feel physically sick. she had built her career on being strong, untouchable, but nothing could prepare her for the helplessness she felt now.

late at night, the older woman would find herself staring at her phone, willing it to light up with a message from ivory. she couldn’t sleep, her mind running through all the worst-case scenarios. what if ivory didn’t want to speak to her anymore? what if this silence was her way of pushing jennie out for good? it was a thought that haunted her, even though she didn’t want to believe it.

jennie had always been the one in control—the one with the answers, the one who made decisions. but now, she was at the mercy of her daughter’s silence. all she could do was wait, and it was tearing her apart.

we'll float away, but if we fall

i only pray, don't fall away from me

“have you talked to her?” the idol whispered aimlessly, leaning against the sofa cushion with her head propped on her elbow. jieun glanced over her shoulder, staring at her daughter. the older woman’s gaze softened as she took in jennie’s tired form, slouched on the sofa, her face half-hidden in the dim light. jennie looked like a shadow of herself—hollow-eyed, her usual resilience cracked and exposed, like glass splintered under the weight of her worry. she wasn’t the jennie kim that everyone knew—the one who faced cameras with a certain glint in her eye, who made the world bend to her will. 

no, this was someone far different—this was a mother, unraveling at the seams of her sanity.

jieun sighed softly, crossing the room with measured steps, each footfall silent against the plush carpet. she’d watched jennie navigate the peaks and valleys of fame, but never had she seen her like this. this wasn’t the guarded idol, the woman who could withstand scrutiny and judgment with a steely front. jennie was exposed, raw, with her vulnerability wrapped around her like a second skin.

“she’s safe,” jieun said gently, kneeling down beside the sofa, her voice as calm as she could manage. “you know she’s safe.”

jennie’s lips tightened as she looked away, her eyes lingering on her phone as if expecting it to vibrate at any second. she lost count of how many times she had kept checking her phone throughout the days. it was not completely out of her daughter’s character to be radio silent, but this type of silence felt far more dangerous. it was the kind of quiet that echoed loudly in her maternal mind, amplifying every worry and fear she tried to suppress.

“but she’s alone,” she murmured, voice thin and cracked. “again.” her biggest regret as a mother was being absent for so long in her daughter’s life. it was a regret that gnawed at her like a relentless hunger, an ache that twisted and turned, reminding her of every moment lost. 

the idol knew her mother would only understand somewhat, given she did help raise the girl in her absence. but jennie was her mother. ivory was hers. what if this silence meant something more? what if it signified that jane was falling away from her, slipping through her fingers like sand?

the rain pounded against the window, a steady rhythm that mirrored jennie’s racing heartbeat. outside, the world was drenched, streets shimmering with reflections of streetlights and the distant glow of the city. it was beautiful but also haunting, reminding her of every moment she had taken for granted—every hug, every laugh, every late-night conversation that now felt like a lifetime ago.

jennie’s voice was barely a whisper, more to herself than to her mother. 

“i just wish she would come home.”

i do not have wings, love, i never will

soarin' over a world you are carryin'

jennie remembered the last time her daughter called her “mom.”

she was in la for a quick trip with her members, the sun dipping low in the sky and painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink. laughter echoed around her as they wandered through the bustling streets of venice beach, the salty air mingling with the scent of fried food from nearby stands. she and her members were meant to be celebrating, living in the moment, but all jennie could think about was how far she was from her daughter.

as they strolled along the boardwalk, her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her from the moment. she pulled it out, her heart racing at the sight of ivory’s name flashing on the screen. but just as quickly, the excitement turned to dread; she hesitated, caught between the urge to answer and the noise of her friends. the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—it all felt so vibrant, so alive, and yet, it felt hollow without her daughter accompanying it.

finally, she silenced the phone, promising herself she would call her back in a minute. yet, in that minute, the moment turned into hours. the sun sank beneath the horizon, and by the time jennie returned to her hotel room, the buzzing of her phone had stopped. she pulled it out again, her heart heavy, and saw a voicemail notification blinking at her. she didn’t need to listen to know what it was—a stab of guilt pierced her heart.

after she settled onto the plush hotel bed, she pressed play, her stomach twisting as ivory’s familiar voice filled the room.

“hi,” ivory’s tone was soft, almost shy, like she was uncertain of how to navigate this unspoken chasm that had grown between them. “i don’t really know why i’m calling.” jennie felt a lump in her throat as she listened. this wasn’t the vibrant teenager she usually heard, full of life and excitement; this was a girl grappling with the shadows of her mother’s absence. there was a pause, the silence on the line heavy and stretching on as if ivory was wrestling with words that refused to come. 

 ivory spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she feared saying it too loudly might shatter whatever fragile hope she held.

“i miss you,” she murmured. “i mean, i know you’re busy. and i know it’s important… but i just” her words trailed off, dissolving into silence once more. there was a rawness in her voice, a longing that felt like it had been buried for too long, like it had clawed its way up from deep inside her, desperate to be heard. “i did something today. um…”

another beat of silence passed by before the younger girl let out a muffled chuckle, and the unmistakable sound of a sniffle.

“i don’t know what i’m saying.” jane added, her vulnerability in her voice hitting jennie like a punch to the gut. “i’m sorry for bothering you. have fun, mom.” the voicemail ended with a soft click, leaving jennie sitting in stunned silence, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on her. 

later on, she would find out from jieun that was the day her daughter had gotten into hybe. and once again, jennie was halfway across the world for it.

jennie remembered the way she went to the bathroom and sobbed on the edge of the tub, fighting the urge to throw up. everything she had worked for, everything she’d sacrificed—it all felt so hollow in that moment, sitting on the cold tile floor of some high rise hotel in the city of angels.

what kind of mother was she? 

the thought echoed in her mind, relentless and unyielding. jennie gripped the edge of the tub as if it could anchor her, her fingers shades of her daughter’s name with the effort to keep herself steady. she had spent years building an image, carving a path to success and fame, but now, all of it felt like dust slipping through her fingers. she was idolized by millions, praised for her talent, but in the one role that mattered most, she felt like a stranger.

her daughter had achieved something extraordinary, something she would have been so proud of—and jennie hadn’t even been there to pick up the phone, let alone celebrate. she could only imagine ivory standing alone, phone pressed to her ear, hoping to hear her mother’s voice, only to be met with silence.

she’d missed it. she’d missed everything.

jennie’s vision blurred with fresh tears, and she buried her face in her hands, biting back a sob. she could picture every missed moment, every time she’d told ivory she’d make it up to her, every night she’d kissed her through a screen, promising it was only temporary. but her baby girl had grown up in the gaps jennie had left, filling in the spaces with memories jennie would never share. 

if these heights should bring my fall

let me be your own

icarian carrion

part of jennie always knew she wasn’t invincible. she could conquer stages, face the world’s scrutiny, but when it came to protecting jane, she felt utterly powerless. it was a thought that twisted in her gut, reminding her that no matter how much she wanted to shield her daughter from the storm, she was just one woman against an unforgiving world. still, the fierce love she held for ivory ignited a fire within her. 

she would die trying to keep her daughter safe, even if it meant battling the very system that had once elevated her to the highest heights.

the idol leaned back in the plush leather seat of the car, her eyes vacant as she stared out at the blurred lights of the city. the soft hum of the engine was drowned out by the relentless patter of the rain, but it was a comfort compared to the storm brewing in her heart. just as she closed her eyes to escape her thoughts, her phone buzzed insistently in her lap.

she glanced down, the dim light illuminating the screen, and her breath hitched in her throat. the headlines pierced through the fog of her despair.

"IVORY DENIES ANY RELATION TO RUMORED MOTHER, JENNIE."

“LE SSEREAFIM MEMBER IVORY DENIES FAMILY TIES WITH BLACKPINK’S JENNIE.”

“JENNIE KIM—NOT A MOTHER AFTER ALL?”

jennie couldn’t believe the words she was reading. she read the different headlines over and over, trying to understand what was happening right now. her heart sank even further as she read the quote beneath one of them:

“in a recent statement, ivory kim has publicly denied any familial ties to the renowned idol jennie, stating, ‘i am my own person and have nothing to do with her public image or lifestyle.’”

a bitter chill coursed through her veins as the weight of those words settled in. the world was watching, and her daughter was choosing to distance herself from her mother. it felt like an emotional dagger, the kind that twisted and turned, severing the bonds they had fought so hard to forge.

if the wind turns, if i hit a squall

allow the ground to find its brutal way to me

“why would you say that?” she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling. the denial felt like a rejection of everything they had built together, a painful erasure of their connection. she quickly checked her recent call history, tapping on her daughter’s name once again for the nth time. the idol fought the urge to scream when she heard the dial tone go immediately to voicemail. just then, the driver turned onto a familiar street, the sleek glass building of her office looming ahead. the car slowed, and jennie blinked back the tears that threatened to spill, her heart racing with a mix of anxiety and determination. the sleek façade of her workplace, usually a source of pride, now felt like a battleground, a place where she would have to face the raging storm outside.

as the car came to a stop, she could hear the distant shouts and the clicking of cameras, the cacophony of the paparazzi waiting to pounce on her the moment she stepped outside. she felt sick. she wanted to tell the driver to turn around and drive straight to the hybe building. but she couldn’t. 

with a heavy sigh, she adjusted her sunglasses, the dark designer lenses serving as a shield against the world. she took a moment to gather her thoughts, feeling the weight of her daughter’s words pressing down on her chest. she quickly wiped the corners of her eyes with the ends of her sleeves before steeling herself for the hell awaiting her.

taking a deep breath, she opened the car door and stepped out into the pouring rain. the cold droplets hit her like a thousand tiny needles, but she welcomed the sensation, using it to mask the tears threatening to escape. she could feel the cameras flashing, the questions being shouted, but all she could think about was ivory.

“jennie! what do you have to say about ivory’s statement?” one reporter shouted, shoving a microphone in her direction.

"did you pay her to say that?” another voice rang out, sharper than the rest, slicing through the crowd's cacophony and echoing in jennie's mind like a jagged wound being reopened. "where is your official statement?" someone else demanded, and the barrage of voices grew relentless, questions stabbing through the heavy rain, flashes sparking like bursts of lightning even through her tinted lenses.

the idol’s fingers curled into fists as she fought back the impulse to scream, to plead with them to understand that this was more than just a story to her. her skin felt raw, scraped by the flashing cameras and the biting cold, as if each shout and accusation stripped another layer from her, laying bare the ache she tried so hard to hide. but she couldn’t break down here—not in front of the world, not with ivory's fragile truth hanging between them, vulnerable to this voracious hunger for scandal.

she swallowed hard, pushing the tears down, forcing herself to lift her chin. each step she took toward the building was heavy, as though she were dragging the weight of her guilt and grief alongside her. it felt like walking through a storm without shelter, the rain mingling with her tears, each ounce of water a reminder of the distance that had grown between her and her daughter—a distance she’d allowed to widen.

ivory’s innocence, her future, was on the line, and jennie would do whatever it took to protect her, even if it meant facing this battle alone. she could bear the cruelty, the invasion, the unyielding scrutiny if it meant her daughter didn’t have to. this was her responsibility. her burden. and if it came to it, jennie would willingly take every accusation, every whispered insult, if it meant jane could live without this shadow hanging over her.

she had no delusions about the battle ahead, but she would face it—she would endure every cost, every scar, if it meant shielding ivory from this storm. even if it destroyed her, jennie would be her daughter’s armor, her shield.

even if it meant her daughter denied her as a mother, the same way jennie had done for years, she would still keep trying. she would always be a mother, no matter what.

and if that meant she had to fight until there was nothing left of her, then so be it. she’d die trying.

if i should fall, on that day

i only pray, don't fall away from me

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CLOSED.

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (the flight)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the promise

- Next part: eyes of the realm

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

Excerpts from Fire and Blood: The Life of Y/N Targaryen

The Courtship of Jason Lannister and Princess Y/N

Grand Maester Mellos records:

"In the weeks following the royal family’s departure from Casterly Rock, the bond between Princess Y/N Targaryen and Lord Jason Lannister did not wane but instead grew stronger, despite the distance that separated them. Jason, ever attentive, continued to send tokens of his affection—thoughtfully chosen gifts that spoke to the Princess’s unique circumstances and tastes.

Among these were vials of rare perfumes from the Reach, their scents carefully described by the accompanying notes, and fine silks that she could feel and appreciate through touch. Most notably, Jason sent fresh bundles of the same flowers he had gifted her during the gardens at The Red Keep, their fragrance a clear reminder of his devotion. The court took notice of these gestures, murmuring among themselves about the persistence of the Lord of Casterly Rock and his unusual attentiveness to the blind princess.

Though Jason’s letters were undoubtedly written with care, he refrained from addressing the Princess directly in writing, knowing she could not read them herself. Instead, he wrote to King Viserys and Princess Rhaenyra, formally reiterating his proposal and pledging his loyalty to the Targaryen crown."

Mushroom recounts:

"I swear on my hump, Jason Lannister is a man who knows how to woo a woman! Not with empty words, mind you, but with gifts so thoughtful they’d melt even the coldest of hearts. The perfumes! The silks! The flowers! Oh, how the court buzzed with gossip about each new delivery.

One day, I saw the Princess herself, seated in the gardens with her Septa and her sworn shield, holding a freshly arrived bundle of flowers. She lifted them to her nose, a small smile gracing her lips, and said, ‘He remembers.’ I tell you, her words set the court ablaze! Some said she was smitten; others claimed she was merely being polite. But I knew better. That smile spoke volumes, my friends—more than any letter could.

And when the news broke that the Princess had accepted Jason’s proposal, the realm went wild! It was as if a dragon had taken flight over the Seven Kingdoms. Every lord and lady from Dorne to the Wall had something to say about it, most of it envious whispers or loud complaints about Jason’s audacity to charm not one, but two Targaryen princesses."

The Wedding Announcement

Septa Rhaedis writes:

"After much deliberation and consultation with his council, King Viserys I decreed that the weddings of his daughters—Princess Rhaenyra to Ser Laenor Velaryon and Princess Y/N to Lord Jason Lannister—would take place on the same day. The decision, though controversial, was made to solidify alliances across the realm and to celebrate the unity of House Targaryen with its strongest vassals.

This announcement, while met with joy in some quarters, sparked widespread debate. The idea of the younger Princess marrying a man of Jason Lannister’s reputation unsettled many, particularly among the court in King’s Landing. Queen Alicent, though ever the picture of decorum, was said to have privately expressed concern about the pairing, particularly given the political implications.

Nevertheless, the King’s will was final, and preparations for the joint wedding began in earnest. The date was pushed back by one moon’s turn to allow for the grandeur such an event demanded. The court buzzed with excitement, and whispers of the festivities reached even the farthest corners of the realm."

Mushroom’s version:

"Now, here’s where it gets interesting, dear readers! Jason Lannister, sitting pretty at his golden Rock, didn’t wait for a raven from King’s Landing to hear the news. Oh no, the whispers of his betrothal to Princess Y/N reached him long before that, carried by merchants, minstrels, and meddling lords who couldn’t keep their tongues still.

I imagine Jason sitting there, smug as a lion with a fresh kill, grinning ear to ear as his bannermen scrambled to offer their congratulations. ‘The Princess is mine,’ he must’ve thought. And who could blame him? The man had secured not only a match with the most unique and beloved of the Targaryen sisters but also the King’s blessing to boot!

Of course, some claim he celebrated the news with a grand feast, while others insist he sent gifts to King Viserys and Princess Y/N immediately, reaffirming his gratitude and devotion. Whatever the truth, one thing was clear: Jason Lannister had won a prize few would ever dare to dream of, and he knew it."

Grand Maester Mellos concludes:

"Thus, the stage was set for a union that would reshape the political landscape of the realm. The joint weddings of Rhaenyra and Y/N promised to be a spectacle unrivaled in the history of Westeros, a moment where love, duty, and ambition converged beneath the dragons’ wings. Whether this union would bring peace or further ignite the simmering tensions within the realm remained to be seen, but one thing was certain: the realm would never forget the day House Targaryen and House Lannister came together in such a grand display of power and unity."

The sun was high over the golden spires of Casterly Rock when the first whispers reached Jason Lannister. A merchant caravan had arrived from King’s Landing, its leader a boisterous man who carried tales of royal decrees and alliances forged. Jason had been in the solar, overseeing the accounts of his mines, when the steward knocked on the door with the news.

“My lord,” the steward began, his voice hesitant, “there are rumors—whispers, really—coming from King’s Landing.”

Jason looked up from the ledger, his green eyes narrowing. “Rumors are worth less than a clipped coin,” he replied sharply. “Speak plainly.”

The steward swallowed hard, stepping closer. “It is said, my lord, that the Princess Y/N has accepted your proposal and that the King has announced your betrothal to the court.”

Jason’s quill froze mid-stroke. He leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a smile he struggled to suppress. “Whispers, you say?” he mused, though the excitement in his voice betrayed him.

“Aye, my lord,” the steward confirmed. “And more. It is said the King plans to hold your wedding alongside that of Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor Velaryon. A grand event, they’re calling it.”

Jason stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. He strode to the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the sprawling Westerlands below. “And how credible are these whispers?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative.

“Credible enough that the lords of the West are already talking,” the steward admitted. “I thought it best you know before a raven arrives.”

Jason turned back to the steward, his smile now fully formed. “You’ve done well,” he said, his tone warm. “See to it that the merchants are rewarded for their news. Generously.”

The steward bowed quickly and left, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts. For a moment, he stood there, his gaze distant. Then, with a sharp exhale, he called for his personal attendant.

When the young man appeared, Jason was already pacing. “Prepare the hall for a feast tonight,” he ordered. “No, prepare the entire Rock. Wine, food, music—I want every corner of this castle celebrating before the sun sets.”

The attendant blinked, clearly startled. “A feast, my lord? May I ask what we are celebrating?”

Jason paused, his expression softening. “The future,” he said simply. “Now, go.”

As the day wore on, the whispers spread like wildfire through the castle. By the time the sun set below the horizon, every bannerman and servant within Casterly Rock knew the news: Jason Lannister was to marry Princess Y/N Targaryen. The great hall was alive with activity, its golden banners fluttering in the breeze as servants rushed to prepare the feast.

Jason entered the hall that evening dressed in his finest, his eyes bright with pride. The room erupted in cheers as he strode to the high table, his bannermen rising to toast him.

“Lord Lannister!” one of his knights bellowed, raising a goblet. “Soon to be husband to a dragon! The Seven smile upon you, my lord.”

Jason laughed, lifting his own goblet. “If the Seven have granted me this fortune,” he replied, “then I’ll toast to them every day for the rest of my life.”

As the night wore on, Jason found himself surrounded by well-wishers and sycophants, each eager to share in his triumph. Yet his thoughts kept returning to you, to the serene smile that had haunted his dreams since the moment he left King’s Landing. He could almost hear your voice, soft and steady, as you thanked him for the flowers and silks he had sent.

When the hall grew quieter, Jason leaned back in his chair, tracing the rim of his goblet with his thumb. His gaze drifted to the simple necklace hanging beneath his doublet—a token you had given him before he departed from the Red Keep. He smiled faintly, his mind already racing with plans for the days to come.

“Soon,” he murmured to himself. “Soon, you’ll be here, and this will be your home.”

For the first time in years, Jason felt truly content. The road ahead might be fraught with challenges, but for now, he allowed himself to bask in the victory he had so desperately sought—and the promise of a future that felt as golden as the halls of Casterly Rock.

The sun poured through the windows of the solar in Maegor’s Holdfast, casting light you felt on your skin and onto the embroidery frame set before you. Your fingers worked deftly, guiding the needle and thread with a precision that seemed almost magical to those who watched. The small, delicate shape of a dragonfly was beginning to take form—a gift for your younger half-sister, Helaena, whose fascination with all things that flutter and crawl was well known.

Seated nearby, Aegon and Aemond played with small wooden dragons, their laughter occasionally breaking the serene quiet of the room. Aemond, ever eager to win his brother’s approval, narrated an imaginary battle between their toys, his voice rising and falling with enthusiasm. Aegon, sprawled across a cushioned bench, seemed less interested in the game and more intent on watching you.

“You’re always making something for Helaena,” Aegon observed after a moment, his tone faintly accusatory.

You smiled softly, your fingers never faltering as you guided the needle. “Helaena loves dragonflies,” you said simply. “She’ll be happy when she sees it.”

Aemond looked up from his dragons, his violet eyes wide with curiosity. “Do you think she’ll wear it, Y/N?” he asked, his voice earnest.

“I hope so,” you replied, tilting your head slightly toward him. “But even if she doesn’t, I’ll be glad she has something made just for her.”

Aemond nodded solemnly, returning to his game. Aegon, however, continued to frown, his brow furrowed as he watched you work.

“Why do you care so much about making her happy?” he asked, his tone sharper now. “She doesn’t make things for you.”

You paused, your fingers stilling on the fabric for a brief moment before you turned your face toward him. “Because, Aegon, it’s not about what someone does for you. It’s about what you feel for them. Helaena is my sister, just as you and Aemond are my brothers. That’s reason enough.”

Aegon snorted, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “I still think it’s a waste of time,” he muttered, leaning back on the bench.

You resumed your work, your voice calm but firm as you said, “And I think you might feel differently if someone took the time to make something for you.”

Aegon opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by Aemond, who had grown bored of his dragons and now looked up at you with a bright smile. “Y/N,” he said eagerly, “will you make something for me, too? Maybe a dragon?”

You smiled warmly, nodding. “Of course, Aemond. I’ll make you the finest dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

Aemond beamed, clearly delighted, while Aegon rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. After a moment, however, his expression shifted, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied you.

“Do you want to marry him?” Aegon asked suddenly, his tone blunt.

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Marry who, Aegon?” you asked gently, though you already knew the answer.

“Jason Lannister,” he said, his voice tinged with distaste. “Everyone keeps talking about it like it’s already done.”

You set down your needle carefully, turning your full attention to him. “The King has given his blessing,” you said softly. “And I’ve accepted Lord Jason’s proposal. Yes, I will marry him.”

Aegon scowled, crossing his arms. “But why him? He’s—he’s so... proud. And loud. I don’t like him.”

You tilted your head slightly, your expression calm. “Have you talked to him, Aegon? Beyond casual greeting or a banter.” you asked gently.

“No,” he admitted, his scowl deepening. “But I’ve heard things.”

“What kind of things?” Aemond piped up, his eyes wide with curiosity.

“Bad things,” Aegon muttered, refusing to elaborate further.

You sighed softly, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Aegon’s arm. “Aegon,” you said quietly, “I know this is strange for you. It’s strange for me too. But Jason has been kind to me. He’s thoughtful and patient, and I believe he genuinely cares for me.”

Aegon frowned but said nothing, his gaze shifting to the floor. Aemond, however, looked up at you with a small smile. “If you like him, Y/N, then he must be good,” he said earnestly.

You smiled warmly, your fingers brushing lightly against Aemond’s cheek. “Thank you, Aemond,” you said softly. “That means a great deal to me.”

Aegon muttered something under his breath again, but he didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he leaned back on the bench, a sullen expression on his face as he watched you pick up your needle and thread once more.

The room fell quiet again, save for the soft hum of your voice as you began to hum a familiar lullaby. Aemond returned to his wooden dragons, and even Aegon seemed to relax slightly, though his gaze lingered on you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. For now, the matter was settled, but you couldn’t help but wonder how long it would remain so.

The familiar scent of the Dragonpit greeted you as you entered, the acrid tang of sulfur and aged stone mingling in the air. Your steps were light but sure, guided as always by Ser Lorent, who walked just ahead. His armor clinked softly with each movement, a comforting sound that steadied you as the Dragonkeepers approached.

“Princess,” one of them greeted, his voice low and reverent. “Silverwing awaits.”

You inclined your head slightly in acknowledgment. “Thank you. Please guide me to her.”

The Dragonkeeper stepped closer, his hand hovering just above your arm, ready to assist. You felt the faint change in the air as he led you further into the pit, the heat of the dragons’ breath brushing against your skin like a living thing. Silverwing’s presence loomed ahead, her steady breaths filling the vast space.

As you neared, a low, rumbling coo echoed from the great dragon, the sound resonating in your chest. You smiled softly, your voice warm as you called to her. “Silverwing, my dearest friend.”

The dragon’s reply was immediate—a soft growl of recognition that rumbled through the pit. You reached out instinctively, your hand finding the smooth, cool scales of her snout. Her warmth seeped into your skin, grounding you as you traced the familiar ridges with your fingertips.

“She’s always so gentle with you,” Ser Lorent observed, his voice tinged with admiration. “As if she understands.”

“She does,” you said simply, your tone steady. “She’s my eyes in the sky.”

Silverwing shifted slightly, her great body moving with care as the Dragonkeepers guided you to her side. The ladder to the saddle was secured, and one of them murmured, “She’s steady, Your Grace. She’ll wait for you.”

You nodded, your hand trailing along Silverwing’s flank as you found the ladder. “Thank you,” you said quietly, feeling for the first rung.

Ser Lorent stepped closer, his voice calm but firm. “I’ll be here, Princess. Should you need anything.”

You smiled faintly, your confidence unwavering as you began to climb. The leather of the ladder was warm beneath your hands, and you counted each rung as you ascended, your movements practiced and deliberate. Silverwing remained perfectly still, her massive form as unmoving as the stone around you.

When you reached the saddle, you settled yourself with care, your hands instinctively finding the reins. The familiar weight of the straps and buckles reassured you, and you took a deep breath, the scent of dragonhide and ash filling your lungs.

“Ready, Your Grace?” one of the Dragonkeepers called from below.

You nodded, your voice clear. “Ready.”

Silverwing shifted beneath you, her muscles coiling with restrained power. You leaned forward slightly, your hand brushing the smooth scales of her neck. “Take us up, my friend,” you murmured in High Valyrian. “Guide me.”

With a powerful beat of her wings, Silverwing launched herself into the sky, the rush of wind and heat enveloping you as the ground fell away. You held tight to the reins, trusting her completely as she climbed higher and higher, the city below shrinking into a patchwork of rooftops and winding streets.

The wind whipped through your hair, carrying with it the faint cries of gulls and the distant hum of life in King’s Landing. You tilted your head slightly, feeling the cool air shift around you as Silverwing leveled out, her flight smooth and steady. She moved with purpose, her instincts guiding her through the skies as if she knew exactly where you wished to go.

For a moment, you closed your eyes, letting the sensation of the flight wash over you. The rhythmic beat of Silverwing’s wings, the steady rise and fall of her body beneath you—it was as if you were one with her, seeing the world through her strength and grace.

“Take me to the cliffs,” you murmured softly, trusting Silverwing to understand.

The dragon responded with a subtle shift, her flight turning toward the coastline where the waves crashed against the rocky shore. You smiled, your heart lifting as you felt the freedom of the skies, a world without walls or limitations. Silverwing was your guide, your eyes, your companion—and with her, you were limitless.

Silverwing descended gracefully, her massive wings stirring the salty sea air as she landed on the wide, flat expanse of the cliff. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks below filled the air, mingling with the soft rumble of the dragon’s breath. As she came to a halt, you felt the shift in her weight beneath you, her body settling with careful precision.

The Dragonkeepers had taught you how to dismount safely even in the wildest of locations, and you did so now with the same practiced ease. Your hand brushed along Silverwing’s flank as you slid to the ground, the cool stone beneath your boots grounding you. You stood for a moment, taking in the sounds around you—the distant cries of gulls, the steady rhythm of the waves, the soft exhale of Silverwing’s breath.

“Thank you, my friend,” you said softly in High Valyrian, your voice carrying a warmth reserved only for her. Silverwing responded with a low rumble, the sound reverberating through your chest.

You walked a few steps away, your hand trailing along the rocky surface of the cliff until you reached the edge. The wind whipped past you, carrying the scent of salt and distant greenery. You tilted your head slightly, your unseeing eyes gazing toward the horizon as your mind drifted.

The events of the past year swirled in your thoughts like leaves caught in a tempest. So much had changed—your sister Rhaenyra’s betrothal, your own engagement to Jason, the endless whispers of court and the weight of your father’s decisions. Jason’s presence lingered most vividly in your mind, his deep voice and steady hand a constant source of intrigue and comfort. He had been patient, thoughtful, and kind, yet his ambition was unmistakable. You wondered if you could ever truly understand him, or if he could understand you.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as your thoughts deepened. Am I doing the right thing? The question echoed in your mind, unbidden but insistent. Marriage to Jason felt like stepping into the unknown, a leap of faith without the certainty of sight. Yet there was something about him—his steadiness, his sincerity—that gave you hope.

As the wind swirled around you, a sudden flash of light danced across your thoughts, an image so fleeting it left you questioning if it had been real. You saw—or perhaps felt—a great shadow looming over the land, its wings spreading wide as fire rained down below. A figure stood at its center, but their face was obscured, their form wreathed in flame and smoke.

The vision was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving you breathless. Your hand reached instinctively for the edge of the cliff, grounding yourself as you tried to make sense of what you had experienced. The air seemed heavier now, the cries of the gulls distant and muffled.

Silverwing let out a soft, questioning growl, her keen senses picking up on your unease. You turned back to her, your hand brushing over your temple as if to banish the lingering haze. “It’s nothing,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. “Just… a passing thought.”

You approached her slowly, your fingers finding the familiar ridges of her scales. She shifted slightly, lowering her great head to your level, her presence both grounding and reassuring.

“I should return,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. “The skies are calling again.”

Silverwing let out a low rumble of agreement, and you climbed back into the saddle with a practiced grace. The cliffs fell away beneath you as she launched into the air once more, the wind carrying away your thoughts as you soared above the waves. Whatever the vision had been, it could wait—for now, you had the freedom of the skies and the strength of your dragon to guide you.

The courtyard of Casterly Rock was alive with activity as Jason Lannister prepared to depart for King’s Landing. Horses were being saddled, wagons loaded with supplies, and banners bearing the golden lion of House Lannister fluttered in the crisp morning air. The journey ahead was a long one, but Jason’s spirits were high, his mind focused on the days to come.

Jason stood beside his horse, adjusting the straps of his saddle. His eyes scanned the bustling scene before him, every detail meticulously arranged under his direction. The significance of this journey was not lost on anyone—this was no mere visit to the capital; it was the journey toward his wedding, a union that would elevate the name of House Lannister to new heights.

As he placed his hand on the reins, a familiar voice called out from behind him. “Jason, a moment before you ride off to claim your dragon bride.”

Jason turned to see his uncle, Lord Damon Lannister, approaching. Damon was a man well into his fifties, his once-blond hair now streaked with silver, but his eyes were sharp, and his presence commanded respect. He was dressed in riding leathers, his sword strapped to his hip, a reminder of the battles he had once fought in service to his house.

“Uncle,” Jason greeted, inclining his head. “Come to wish me well?”

Damon chuckled, stopping beside Jason’s horse. “Something like that. Though I must say, this whole affair has me… intrigued.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, his hand still resting on the saddle. “Intrigued how?”

Damon leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “It’s not every day a Lannister weds a Targaryen. A blind princess, no less. You’ve done what many would consider impossible.”

Jason smirked, his green eyes gleaming. “Impossible is a matter of perspective, Uncle. She is a woman of strength and grace, and I am fortunate to have earned her favor.”

Damon nodded slowly, his gaze assessing. “And yet, the court will scrutinize every move you make. They’ll whisper about your ambitions, your intentions. Are you prepared for that?”

Jason straightened, his expression hardening. “Let them whisper. I have nothing to hide. My intentions toward Y/N are sincere, and I will prove my worth to her and to the crown.”

Damon’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Spoken like a true lion. But remember, Jason, the Red Keep is a den of intrigue. Tread carefully, or you may find yourself ensnared.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jason replied, his tone firm. “And I appreciate your concern, Uncle.”

Damon clapped a hand on Jason’s shoulder, his grip firm. “Then go, nephew. Ride to King’s Landing and show them the strength of House Lannister. And for what it’s worth, I believe you’ve chosen well.”

Jason’s smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Thank you, Uncle. Your faith means more than you know.”

With that, Damon stepped back, allowing Jason to mount his horse. The lion banners were raised high as the Lannister procession began to move, their departure marked by the steady rhythm of hooves against stone. Jason glanced back once, his gaze lingering on the towering spires of Casterly Rock before turning forward, his thoughts already on the woman who awaited him in King’s Landing.

As they rode, his uncle’s words echoed in his mind. The Red Keep was indeed a den of intrigue, but Jason was ready. He was no mere suitor chasing a dream—he was a lion, and he was riding to claim his destiny.

[daisyswift3]

A Summary of the 🎃 Messages--The Overarching Story

So I just realized sth abt the 🎃 messages while listening to ttpd—they’re in chronological order!! I am going to try to give a summary of these messages and explain why I believe this. This album has made 99% of her songs, mvs, metaphors, and symbols make perfect sense. There were always some things like getaway car, cruel summer, and the palm trees in rep era that I could never quite figure out but now it's all crystal clear. It's like ttpd is the last piece of the puzzle needed to make everything fall right into place and to see the whole messy complicated story. One thing I want you to take note of as you read this summary is how incredibly consistent Taylor is w her use of metaphors and symbols. This makes solving the puzzle that is her music more like solving a cypher that you can know you solved correctly bc all the symbols will fit together perfectly just like a secret code. Once you understand what one symbol represents you now know what it means every time you see it. Every word or phrase she uses is intentional and there's not a single easter egg that's out of place. You'll notice in ttpd there are several words and phrases that are repeated bc she wants us to know that certain songs are related. 🎃 anon said there would be many connections and foretellings in the messages that we could find if we held them to the light in the coming unfoldings, and boy they were not wrong. So w/out further ado let's get into it (just a warning though this will be pretty lengthy so grab your favorite drink, some snacks, and get comfy).

1st message: The first one starts right before rep era when her rep started going down and she started feuding w her record label. These are the obstacles she didn’t see coming that made her slam on the (getaway bike) brakes (which were cut so she had to use her foot to slow down) and not come out. The "heel damaged" could be a reference to Achilles' heel since this was a weak spot she didn't see or it could be a reference to Jesus' heel being bruised in the 1st ever biblical prophecy (see this post for more on that). This was her first big pivot and change of plans. Many ppl have theorized that TS6 was originally going to be a different album--perhaps lover/daylight--but kimye and BMR got in the way of that. This would explain why she wears an outfit w palm trees on it while cutting the wings off her TS6 jet. She spray paints "reputation" on it which seems to indicate it was a haphazard last minute change of plans (x). Plus the endgame mv has palm trees and shows Miami, Florida (which I think is related to Florida!!! but I'll have to get to that another time) connecting it to "Island breeze and lights down low, no one has to know...In the middle of the night in my dreams I know I'm gonna be with you so I take my time." Miami is the paradise where her endgame happens. This all seems to indicate she was ready for "daylight" or "paradise" during rep era but had to pivot.

The Prophecy: “Hand on the throttle, thought I caught lightning in a bottle, Oh but it’s gone again"

2nd message: This is abt the lover rollout that started in spring of 2019 -> "The time draws near, springtime sunshine causing small drips and fractures." The ice castle likely represents the lover house (her music empire, past eras, and closet) since she burns it down w a match just like she does in the eras tour visuals and midnights -> "You strike a match and blow the smoke toward the structure that shelters and protects you. Suddenly, you hear a crack, a crunch, a whoosh. There is a sudden give beneath you, and you tumble through the broken, melting hole in your palace." The ivy reference (spring breaks loose, the time is near) just solidifies my theory that ivy is a song abt an eventual kaylor reunion that will happen before she burns all the files and deserts all her past lives (eras).

Lover era was her second big pivot. I believe she knew there was a very good chance Scott B would sell her masters all the way back in rep era hence why she says "I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone, devils roll the dice" (see this post for more on that). "However, in this suddenness you find yourself still somehow underprepared, kicking yourself for the time you squandered by wallowing in the seeming endlessness of your predicament" -> Her being unprepared to come out along w the mastersheist is what caused her to miss her 2nd opportunity to come out. She was so caught off guard that it made her indecisive. And so she played it safe and stayed in the closet -> "Our coming of age has come and gone, suddenly this summer it's clear I never had the courage of my convictions as long as danger is near." Remember how I said Taylor is very consistent w her use of metaphors? Well I made a post a while back explaining how folkmore represents the seasons bc summer = daylight and winter = closeting and folkmore was Taylor trying to come to terms w her 2nd failed coming out hence the grey and beige ("I'm just a paperweight in shades of greige"); so that means the ice castle = winter = closeting and springtime sunshine = almost daylight = almost being out of the closet (and spring was also the time when the lover rollout started so it has a more literal 2nd meaning to it as well).

The Albatross: "So I crossed my thoughtless heart spread my wings like a parachute, I'm the albatross, I swept in at the rescue." [I think there's a good chance this song is abt Scoots so it makes sense the parachute metaphor, which relates to her masters and failed coming out, would be used in this song]

The Bolter: "By all accounts, she almost drowned when she was 6 in frigid water...It feels like the time she fell through the ice then came out alive." ['Long story short I survived']

3rd message: This is abt the mastersheist (diamond heist) during the summer of 2019. It parallels the I Can See You mv exactly (see this post). In hindsight it now makes perfect sense why 1989 tv didn't have any mvs--bc the Fortnight mv is a direct continuation of the ICSY mv! Before the Fortnight mv, the ICSY mv was the most recent one. She didn't want anything between those 2 mvs so that it was obvious they were directly related. Her losing her masters and her 2nd opportunity at daylight is what drove her to insanity and caused her to end up in the asylum -> "I find the artifacts, cried over a hat...I trace the evidence" // "And so I enter into evidence my tarnished coat of arms, etc" | "Is it okay? Is it you? Or have they come to take me away?"

"Mere feet away from the light of freedom...Your getaway bike begins to leave without you, sparks flying as the tires try and fail to slow down for you. You have frozen in this moment of indecision" // "It was the great escape, the prison break, the light of freedom on my face...he was runnin' after us, I was screamin', 'Go, go, go!'" -> There are 2 getaway car mentions in this message which emphasizes its importance. This is likely for a few reasons: 1) To explain what the song getaway car was actually abt--her feud w BMR, not the beards 2) To show that message 1 and 3 are related; the getaway bike is mentioned in both since both are abt her masters 3) To show that the lover era pivot was actually just history repeating itself; this is what Cassandra and the Prophecy are abt.

Cassandra (notice the piano melody from mad woman): “So they set my life in flames, I regret to say do you believe me now? ['If I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes too']…They knew, they knew, they knew the whole time that I was onto somethin', [She knew there was a good chance her masters would be sold as shown in cruel summer] The family, the pure greed, the Christian chorus line" ['Now he sits on his thrown in his palace of bones praying to his greed']

Fortnight: "I was supposed to be sent away But they forgot to come and get me I was a functioning alcoholic 'Til nobody noticed my new aesthetic [Her fans didn't notice the shift from rainbows and pastels to black mourning clothes during the lover era] All of this to say I hope you're okay But you're the reason [The you in the song is Taylor; she's the reason she decided to stay in the closet] And no one here's to blame But what about your quiet treason?" [Taylor's indecisiveness is what led her to not come out the 2nd time]

loml (This is from Karlie's pov): "Mr. Steal Your Girl, then make her cry...You shit-talked me under the table talking rings [Paper Rings] and talking cradles, [Lover mv] I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all, [They were so close to daylight]...It was legendary, It was momentary ['I touch you (daylight/sunshine) for only a fortnight']...Our field of dreams engulfed in fire" ['So they set my life in flames']

Florida!!!: "Little did you know your home's really only a town you're just a guest in, ['I touch you (daylight/sunshine) for only a fortnight'; 'And so a touch that was my birthright became foreign'] So you work your life away just to pay for a timeshare down in Destin" [Taylor did all this masterminding and planning just to end up still stuck in the closet and bearding and only being able to see her lover in stolen private moments]

Fresh Out the Slammer: "Another [cruel] summer, taking cover, rolling thunder, he don't understand me"

The Bolter: "But it always ends up with a town car speeding" [getaway car]

Peter: "Forgive me Peter, my lost fearless leader, in closets like cedar preserved from when we were just kids, Is it something I did?" [Peter is herself; 'I'd be a fearless leader' and the fearless album; 'closets' is obvious]

How Did It End?: "We were blind to unforeseen circumstances, We learned the right steps to different dances, and fell victim to interlopers' glances, Lost the game of chance, what are the chances?...It's happening again" [This is the 2nd time she's lost the opportunity to come out]

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart: "I'm so obsessed with him but he avoids me like the plague" [They're in love w each other but can't be together in public; 'Break my soul in 2 looking for you but you're right here']

Down Bad: "For a moment [a fortnight] I knew cosmic love, now I'm down bad crying at the gym...'Fuck it if I can't have him I might just die it would make no difference'" ['You (Taylor) told Lucy you'd kill yourself if I (Karlie) ever leave']

5th message: Out of all the messages this is the one I'm the most uncertain abt. But I think it is possibly about JA leaving before his contract was up. "You are in a kitchen. Not your kitchen, of course. Your kitchen is soft and cozy and sacred. THIS kitchen is hard and cold and purely functional" -> This is not the sacred kitchen from Cornelia Street that she shares w her lover, this is a PR stunting kitchen that's a false imitation of the real domestic bliss she has. A few yrs ago kaylors were talking abt how Karlie has a kitchen that she only uses for PR/social media purposes so pumpkin anon could've been trying to remind us of that. These 3 messages from flag 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 anon make me think the breakup happened sooner than planned.

The July 29 message wasn’t meant to be posted until Oct 8 since it was hinting at the Toe breakup happening 5 months later in mid March, 2023.

The Nov 23 message mentions a “shift of footing” which we all agreed meant Toe 🦶 was over. The Dec 5 message w “the need to flex is sometimes necessary” directly following the Toe breakup message is what really makes me think it wasn’t planned. They had to pivot/flex but “other milestones are resolute” meaning the endgame is still the same—K and T will still reunite and both will be out of the closet at a certain time. Plus there’s the “…” at the end of the Nov 23 message which also indicates the Dec 5 one is a direct continuation of that message.

To add more credibility to this theory, RFI and SIG also have ellipses. RFI always seemed like it was supposed to be a direct continuation of SIG bc SIG sets up the “chess game” w her and her lover doing magic and pulling the wool over everyone's eyes, and RFI is when this chess game officially begins, "baby let the games begin."

Some other kaylors said they thought “the need to flex” meant that she wanted to give anti hero more time on the charts so she was flexing or showing off. But I think it makes more sense for it to be related to London Boy himself and not having him as a beard since that’s the whole purpose of having the 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 flag. I could be wrong though.

So Long, London: “Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away…Holding tight to your quiet resentment…Every breath feels like rarest air when you’re not sure if he wants to be there” [This may mean that JA kept trying to break free from the contract and Taylor kept trying to convince him to stay but it didn’t work]. "My spine split from carrying us up the hill, Wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill" ['They are bowing out, leaving you with double the workload, now half burnt and smoking. Their duties weren’t finished, and yet there is nothing you can do to make them stay. Shaken by this loss, chaos descends upon the team. Most roll up their sleeves to work harder']. "And my friends said it isn't right to be scared, every day of a love affair" [There were several blind items talking abt how JA was hooking up w men in a very unsubtle way; this could be what the 'cheating husband' mentions in ttpd are abt]. “Two graves, one gun” [Makes me think of a smoking gun which could be what the 'smell of smoke' in the message was alluding to. Maybe JA threatened to reveal her secrets if she didn't let him go and he had the smoking gun evidence to do so which was the recipe card. 'This time is different. Because you know this person actually has the means to share the secret menu, and that they have enough proof to make the waiting guests believe them.' -> I mean if anyone could convince the general public it would be the man who was supposed to be her boyfriend for 6 yrs]. “And you say I abandoned the ship but I was going down w it, my white knuckle dying grip” ['But you have never been one to lay your armor down. When you fail, you fail gloriously. When you go, you go kicking and screaming']. "I didn't opt in to be your odd man out" [She didn't want to be his beard just like he didn't want to be hers; and odd man out is a game that's played w 3 ppl where the odd man is the loser who's eliminated bc he didn't have a match]. "I founded the club she's heard great things about" [The Tortured Man Club -> The Tortured Poets Department that she's chairman of]

7th message: This message is all abt the domestic bliss she has away from the public eye. She has worked so hard to make sure her secrets are safe by building a tall impenetrable fence. However, she chooses to intentionally blow a dandelion full of secrets--perhaps ttpd is the dandelion w all the songs being the florets or secrets. There is one floret in particular that she’s worried abt—my guess is it’s Robin since it’s so damning if you know what to look for. Plus the song Robin parallels this message perfectly and evokes the same imagery. And to add even more credibility to this theory, the lyric vid for Robin has dandelion florets in the background. See these posts: (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x). "You are walking through your yard. It's one of your favorite places, all sprawling garden rows" -> Betty's garden; "your wife waters flowers," etc. "There are daisies - so many daisies - in every shade of your rainbow"--I don't think I even need to explain this. "Your lover and your fresh baked buns are safe. (The buns, of course, are in the oven turning golden as you speak. It's an old family recipe, jotted lovingly on a recipe card.)" -> The recipe card is perhaps a picture or some other sort of smoking gun evidence of Taylor's family and it connects the 5th and 7th messages together. And the meaning of "buns in the oven" is pretty obvious. "Golden" refers to Karlie.

Robin: "Higher and higher, wilder and lighter" [This may be a double entendre--not only is she encouraging this child to bounce higher on his trampoline or swing higher, she is also encouraging the dandelion floret (the song Robin) to fly higher and go out into the world after she blows on it]

The Albatross: "Wild winds are death to the candle...One bad seed kills the garden" [This may be connected to the dandelion metaphor and I believe there are many layers to these lyrics; wild winds can carry the dandelion seeds into other ppl's yards; if Taylor's secret gets out this can destroy the domestic bliss she has i.e. kill her metaphorical garden or candle; 'love's a fragile little flame it can burn out']

I Hate It Here: "I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind people need a key to get to, the only one is mine" [There is only one way to get into this garden since a tall impenetrable fence surrounds it; there are other layers in these lyrics as well like the escapism aspect of it]

But Daddy I Love Him: "I'm having his baby, no I'm not but you should see your faces" [Bc it's Karlie that had the babies]

8th message: This entire message parallels the Bolter. I believe this is abt Taylor finally choosing her lover over her reputation and choosing to intentionally destroy it in order to meet her lover down at the bottom like 🌋 anon mentioned. This may be the purpose of the whole Ratty debacle—to tarnish her image (by jumping into shark infested waters) so that when kaylor are together in public again her fans won’t be able to hate on KK w/out being hypocrites bc Taylor has already done all the things she knows they’ll accuse KK of, like being connected to someone who’s quite problematic. I believe this takes place from May 2023-now since this is when MH and her started “dating.” The use of all lowercase in the 🌋 messages may be a reference to the reputation album title to indicate that this is going to be a repeat of rep era but this time the damage to her rep will be intentional. I find it very interesting that the Feb 20th 🌋 message is the only one that has a word capitalized and the word that's capitalized is "Gold." This is in contrast to "fools gold" which is not capitalized or colored.

The self-loathing is palpable in Taylor's music (x) and it is displayed heavily in this message as well. I think it's possible the "enemy" is actually just Taylor herself or her public persona to be more exact. She is her own worst enemy; the Anti Hero mv illustrates this. She's the one that spreads the dandelions in message 7 which is what the enemy does in this message; she's the bear, and in the Bolter she (real Taylor) tames the bear (Taylor the brand). I believe TSMWEL could possibly be abt herself as well. I mean TSMWEL literally has "TS" in the track title. The clean version of the Bolter has the line "Then she'll call him a bore" which parallels TSMWEL, "You said normal girls were boring." It's as if real Taylor is doing an UNO reverse on Taylor the brand by treating her public persona the same way she treated real Taylor for years. This is very reminiscent of the Archer, "I've been the archer I've been the prey." I think TSMWEL, while it is abt herself, is simultaneously abt Scott B. And the reason for this relates back to what I said abt the 2nd and 3rd 🎃 messages--she blames both Scott AND herself for her failed coming out. The mastersheist threw her for a loop, yes, but she could've still come out anyway were it not for her indecisiveness. And I haven't have time to fully analyze MBOBHFT yet but I think it's similar where it can either be read from Karlie's perspective to Taylor after the 2019 failed coming out or from Taylor's perspective to Scott B/the industry.

The Bolter: "But as she was leaving, it felt like breathing, ['When I was drowning that's when I could finally breathe'] All her fuckin' lives flashed before her eyes...He [the 'enemy'] was a cad, wanted her bad just like any good trophy hunter and she liked the way it tastes taming a bear, making him care watching him jump then pulling him under" [This connects to the 10th message: 'You limp over uneven ground, smiling at the pain of the shark bite with each excruciating step - replaying the satisfying splash as you finally chose her over the world. As you grabbed the enemy and dove into the infested waters']

loml: "The coward claimed he was a lion" ['You’re a selfish asshole. So much of your fear is your own. You wince at your cowardice like it is a gaping wound. You so often find yourself unable to meet your own eyes. You scramble into shadows like a black cat. Scared, even, of being scared...You are a coward, but you are not a fool']

I Hate It Here: "I was a debutant in another life but now I seem to be scared to go outside" [In another life she already came out but in this one she's too scared to even leave her house let alone come out]

The Tortured Poets Department (This is from Karlie's pov): "You're in self-sabotage mode throwing spikes down on the road"

9th message: This message is abt her finishing her 11th album, the last chapter of her 11 part story, and then sending it out into the world like a message in a bottle (the Manuscript). So I'm assuming this would take place on April 19, 2024, the release date of ttpd. "You are sitting on a beach, cold and windswept. The sea is dark and angry before you." -> This may be the same beach and sea from the folkmore era. "The sun sets in muted colors." -> Describing the sunset colors as muted is quite interesting since sunsets typically have very vivid colors; this makes me think it's related to the eras tour visuals during the transition from august to illicit affairs (which I explained the meaning of in this post), and the folkmore color palette was mainly muted colors. "You finish scrawling on the parchment. Your pen dries up as you reach the end of a story in 11 parts." // "Feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen," "my veins of pitch black ink." She is sick of having to dilute her truth through metaphors and allegories which is why she is a tortured poet -> "Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die." Plus there's the "parchment" which she mentioned many times during her eras tour speeches which relates it to the folkmore era (x)(x)(x). "And now it is just a matter of time. The dripping of candle wax. The ticking of a clock." -> (x).

I recommend reading this post which explains how the Manuscript, ATW short film, message in a bottle, the story of us, and 4th, 9th, and 10th 🎃 messages are related. Many ppl pointed out that the Manuscript lyric vid looks like a movie script, and she's been referencing films and books a lot recently which makes me think there's a good chance she's going to release a film and book abt her coming out story. The 9th message and the lyrics in the Manuscript make it clear that Taylor's discography as a whole IS the manuscript i.e. it's the author's (Taylor's) draft of her story that is getting ready to be published. In academia, a manuscript is a draft of your research that you send in to be peer reviewed and if it's accepted it then becomes a published academic article.

The Manuscript: "And the years passed like scenes of a show, the professor said to write what you know, [She's equating her life to a story w the different eras being different scenes or chapters] The only thing that's left is the manuscript, one last souvenir from my trip to your shores, [message in a bottle; 'It may wash up on a sunny beach in Florida, or a rocky shore in the northwest'] Now and then I reread the manuscript but the story isn't mine anymore" ['Once you blow a dandelion, you never get it back. It isn’t yours anymore']

The Bolter: "But she's got the best stories"

10th message: This is a direct continuation of the 8th message and takes place right before she comes out of the closet (the wooden door in the woods). So this would take place after her rep has already been destroyed which I don’t think we’ve gotten to yet. My guess is that things will start ramping up in the next few months. She may start being papped w all her previous beards looking happy w them or sth similar which is all she’d need to do to show that the relationships were all fake and she’s been lying this whole time. This may be the “chaos” that 🫚 anon was referring to (see this post). This lines up with the blood moon glitch vinyl, representing chaos and disruption, being the 2nd quarter of the yr according to the midnights clock (4-6 or April-June, 2024). Plus many ppl think BDILH is abt MH--and Taylor meant for this to happen bc this album is full of red herrings--and in that song she says "He (MH) was chaos" so this might be a hint that the bearding shenanigans are gonna ramp up. Of course things are already plenty chaotic now w everyone thinking ttpd is abt 3 different men, one of which is pretty problematic, so perhaps this is all ginger was referring to. Taylor calling herself "the Bolter" has 2 meanings: 1) She is a coward who often runs away from danger 2) The 2nd more positive interpretation is that she knows "when it's time to go." I think it's very telling that ITTG is the last track on the deluxe edition of evermore and comes right after RWYLM, a song abt being stuck in the closet after the 2019 failed coming out. She's saying that she's not going to stay there forever(more).

The Bolter: "But none of it is changing that the chariot is waiting, ['The story of 2 princesses. No place for a prince'; the Cinderella metaphor (x)] Hearts are hers for the breaking, There's escape in escaping...Ended with the slam of a [closet] door but she's got the best stories, You can be sure that as she was leaving it felt like freedom" [The 6/21/2020 ♠️ riddle spells out 'They Are Free']

11th message: This message takes place after midnight at 3am on Nov 1 after she’s gone through the wooden door. In this post I explain how 3am connects to the witching hr or devil's hr. The fact that this takes place right after Halloween is quite significant since it is a day dedicated to remembering the dead, and death and ghosts are a big theme in ttpd. This symbolizes how after Taylor kills her old self (by dragging her into shark infested waters), she will resurrect as a new version of herself and leave the past behind her. And in doing these things, she will finally be able to go back to her figurative home, her cabin, that she was exiled from. -> "I think I've seen this film before so I'm leaving out the side door," "And I was catching my breath, floors of a cabin creaking under my step...I had a feeling so peculiar this pain wouldn't be for evermore." "The flame🕯️ finally🕯️flickers🌬️OUT" -> The match that started the "goddamn blaze in the dark" is no longer needed now that the lover house (her closet) has burned down, so the flame flickers out. This metaphor shows up in Peter as well, "But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light," where the light dying represents the woman losing hope that a coming out will happen. Notice in this message from present anon that "Goodbye" has a capital letter G which I believe links it to "Gold" in the volcano message that was mentioned earlier. This may indicate that Karlie is the woman/neighbor holding the light and waiting for Taylor's return home. The Dec 26th 🌋 message is likely from Karlie's pov in this case.

Fresh Out the Slammer: "Now pretty baby I'm runnin back home to you, Fresh out the slammer I know who my first call will be to...But it's gonna be alright I did my time...Get the matches, toss the ashes off the ledge, [the burning of the lover house] As I said in my letters [the anon messages this corner of the internet has been receiving? Could also just represent her songs] now that I know better I will never lose my baby again...Swirled you into all of my poems ['My mind turns your life into folklore (literally and figuratively)']...To the house where you still wait up and that porch light [jack-o-lantern] gleams" [see this post abt the porch]

The Alchemy (This is from Karlie's pov): "What if I told you I'm back?...I haven't come around in so long, but I'm coming back so strong, ['But I come back stronger than a 90's trend'] Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me"

imgonnagetyouback: "Push the reset button we're becoming something new...Even if it's handcuffed I'm leaving here with you, Bygones will be bygone eras fading into gray, We broke all the pieces but still want to play the game...I'm gonna get you back"

[yourmomsawh0r3]

the garden

anthony bridgerton x female reader

The ballroom glittered with candlelight and the murmur of polite conversation filled the air. Y/N moved through the crowd with grace, a vision in her deep purple gown. Tonight's ball was one of the grandest of the season, hosted by the Bridgertons themselves, and every eligible lady and gentleman of the ton was in attendance. The eldest Bridgerton, Anthony, had a reputation that preceded him a rake through and through, with a notorious string of mistresses, the latest being the opera singer, Sienna Rosso.

Anthony Bridgerton stood near the entrance, greeting guests with practiced charm. As he glanced across the room, his eyes landed on Y/N. She walked in with an air of confidence, her gown a striking shade of deep purple that accentuated her every feature. His heart skipped a beat, an unusual reaction for a man known for his composure.

He found himself wondering what she might smell like tonight. Lilacs, perhaps, he mused. It seemed to suit her, a delicate yet captivating fragrance. As she moved through the crowd, her eyes caught his, and he felt a strange pull, as if the room had suddenly become smaller and she was the only one in it.

Y/N found herself in the company of her friends, who were eagerly discussing the night's prospects. Despite the glittering environment and charming faces, Y/N’s thoughts were clouded. She had seen Anthony Bridgerton earlier in the evening, his eyes lingering a bit too long on several ladies. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her a few nights ago, and she had followed him, only to see him disappearing into a house that was clearly not his own. The scandalous whispers about Sienna Rosso had turned out to be true, and it only solidified Y/N's opinion of him as a rake.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Anthony Bridgerton appeared at her side, bowing with impeccable manners. "Miss Y/N," he greeted, his eyes warm but guarded.

"Lord Bridgerton," she replied coolly, offering him the barest of curtsies.

"May I have the pleasure of this dance?" he asked, his tone smooth.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. "Of course."

As they moved to the dance floor and began to waltz, Anthony’s grip was firm but not overbearing. "I believe we have not had the pleasure of a conversation before tonight, Miss Y/N."

"That is correct," she said, her eyes not meeting his. "Though one hears enough in the drawing rooms of the ton."

Anthony raised an eyebrow, clearly catching her meaning. "One must not believe everything one hears," he said lightly, though his eyes sharpened.

"Indeed," Y/N replied, not bothering to mask her sarcasm.

The dance passed with strained civility, and when it ended, they parted with polite nods. But throughout the evening, Y/N found her gaze drifting towards Anthony, and more often than not, he was watching her too. She told herself it was merely curiosity.

The weeks that followed were filled with similar encounters. They argued over trivial matters at every gathering, each encounter leaving Y/N more convinced of Anthony’s rakish nature and Anthony more intrigued by the spirited woman who seemed immune to his charms.

One evening, Y/N was standing alone on the terrace, enjoying a moment of solitude, when she heard footsteps. She turned to see Anthony approaching. "Miss Y/N," he said, his voice softer than usual.

"Lord Bridgerton," she acknowledged, her tone guarded.

"Why do you despise me so?" he asked bluntly, stepping closer.

Y/N’s eyes flashed. "You think very highly of yourself if you believe I spend my time despising you, my lord."

Anthony’s mouth twitched. "I think you are avoiding the question."

Y/N took a deep breath. "I saw you. With Sienna Rosso. Late at night."

Anthony’s expression hardened. "You were following me?"

"Purely by chance," she lied. "And what I saw only confirmed what I had heard."

"Perhaps you did not see the entire story," he said, his voice tight. "Sienna and I are no longer... involved."

"Oh, how convenient," she said, turning away.

Anthony stepped in front of her, forcing her to look at him. "Believe what you will, Miss Y/N. But I assure you, I am not the man you think I am."

She wanted to argue, but the intensity in his eyes made her pause. Before she could find her words, she turned and fled into the garden, needing space to clear her tumultuous thoughts.

The night air was cool and the garden was quiet, a stark contrast to the noisy ballroom. She wandered deeper into the maze of hedges and flowers, her anger and confusion bubbling to the surface. When she heard footsteps behind her, she spun around, ready to berate whoever had followed her.

Anthony stood there, breathing heavily as if he had run. "Y/N," he said, his voice raw. "Please, listen to me."

She shook her head, tears of frustration prickling her eyes. "Why do you care what I think?"

"Because I care about you," he said, stepping closer. "More than I can explain."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then, driven by a force neither of them could control, Anthony closed the distance between them and kissed her.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was fueled by weeks of frustration, misunderstandings, and an undeniable attraction. Y/N’s hands found their way to his shoulders, and she kissed him back with equal fervor.

The world seemed to fall away as they lost themselves in each other. Anthony’s hands were in her hair, pulling her closer, and Y/N felt a fire ignite within her. They stumbled backwards until Y/N’s back hit a tree, and Anthony’s lips moved to her neck, trailing kisses that made her shiver.

Their breathing was heavy, and for a moment, they simply held each other, the intensity of their emotions leaving them both stunned. Anthony pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers. "Y/N," he whispered, his voice rough. "I want you to know, I am serious about you. I want more than just this."

Y/N’s heart raced as she looked into his eyes, seeing sincerity and vulnerability that she had never expected. "I... I believe you," she whispered back, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He kissed her again, softer this time, and she felt herself melt into him. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other’s arms under the starlit sky, knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

The garden became their refuge, a place where arguments turned to understanding, and dislike blossomed into a love neither had anticipated. And when they returned to the ballroom, hand in hand, it was clear to everyone that Anthony Bridgerton had finally met his match.

As they made their way through the crowd, Anthony pulled Y/N close and whispered in her ear, "We need to talk to my mother."

Her eyes widened, but she nodded. They found Violet Bridgerton near the refreshment table, her eyes lighting up as she saw them together.

"Mother," Anthony began, his voice steady. "I have an announcement to make."

Violet turned, her eyes widening in surprise as she took in the sight of her son and Y/N together. "Anthony, what is it?"

Anthony squeezed Y/N’s hand and looked at his mother with a proud smile. "Miss Y/N has agreed to become my wife. We are engaged."

For a moment, there was silence as the words sank in. Then Violet’s face broke into a delighted smile, and she embraced them both. "Oh, Anthony! Y/N! This is wonderful news! I am so thrilled for you both."

The room erupted in applause as word of their engagement spread. Friends and family came forward to offer their congratulations, and Y/N felt overwhelmed by the warmth and acceptance she received from the Bridgerton family.

As the night wore on, Anthony and Y/N found themselves alone again, standing at the edge of the ballroom. He looked at her with a mixture of love and amazement. "I never thought I would find someone like you, Y/N. You have changed my life in ways I cannot even begin to describe."

She smiled, her heart full. "And you have changed mine, Anthony. I cannot wait to start our life together."

After the party, they went to Bridgerton House to formally announce their engagement to the rest of the family. The Bridgertons welcomed Y/N with open arms, and the house was filled with laughter and joy as they celebrated the upcoming union.

Violet took Y/N aside at one point, her eyes shining with happiness. "You are going to make a wonderful addition to this family, Y/N. I can see how much you and Anthony love each other, and I am so happy for you both."

Y/N felt tears of gratitude prick her eyes as she hugged Violet. "Thank you, Lady Bridgerton. Your support means the world to me."

As the night drew to a close, Anthony and Y/N found a quiet moment together, looking out over the grounds of Bridgerton House. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "This is just the beginning, Y/N. We have a lifetime of adventures ahead of us."

She leaned into him, feeling a profound sense of peace and contentment. "I wouldn’t want to share it with anyone else, Anthony."

With the moonlight casting a gentle glow over them, they stood together, knowing that they had found something truly special. Their journey had been unexpected and filled with challenges, but it had led them to a love

[gingernut1314]

Confidence: Zoro

Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader

Summary: You have never been defeated. No man or woman to have ever partaken in your challenge have come out victorious, only further solidifying your reputation. That is, until Zoro comes wandering into the bar you have set up your latest challenge in. You're confidence and his inability to back down from a challenge has Zoro feeling rather--weird toward you. A weird feeling that has him staying around you longer than he knows he should.

Warnings: tiny bit of angst, heavy alcohol use, mild talk of age difference (everyone in this fic is 18+), smut (dom x dom, p in v, hand job, fingering), very, very mild anime spoilers, Zoro not knowing what emotions he's feeling for 6K+ words

Word Count: 6.9K (Oops--my hand slipped)

A/N: This is my first time writing for Zoro soooo please be nice to me 🫣 I tried my best lol. And you already know I'm sorry about the word count--this whole mini-series was born from an inability to control the word vomit I type down, so the same thing happened here 😬 This is the 2nd part in the requested 'Confidence' series and I hope you all enjoy!!!

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“She has never been defeated. No man or woman alive can best her.”

“She’s as strong as a man.”

“No--as strong as ten men.”

“Ten--” A scoff, “try a hundred men.” 

These were the whispered and bewildered words of the patrons of the bar Zoro had wondered his way into. Words that piqued his interest as he made his way towards the bar, eyeing the gathered crowd of men just off to the side. An interest that was stifled when a mug of beer was placed in front of him--beer he’d been itching to have since he hoped off the Merry and onto the docks

Just when he had taken that first, refreshing sip of the wheaty drink, his name floated amongst the whispering. His name, his recent bounty, and his skill--skill they bet would take down whoever you were.

And Zoro was completely uninterested, a deep sigh huffing through his nose as he took another large, gulping drink. This would mean he would have to leave the bar he had just found. Leave because his name would only gather unwanted attention to him and his crew who had been trying to avoid attention of any sort.

You tucked a handful of berries into your pocket as the man before you cradled his arm, which you had so unfortunately snapped. Had just readied yourself to take on the next man who sat eagerly down in front of you when you caught a flash of green hair--of three swords strapped safely to a hip.

Roronoa Zoro.

He was a man you had heard rumors of throughout your travels through the Blue Seas. For an ex-bounty hunter, alleged demon, and holder of a hefty bounty he looked awfully--young to have gained all those titles and glory. Titles and glory that come with hard work--years of training. Years after tortuous years you had undergone to get to the level of skill you had achieved. 

You were proud of your achievements and no man, young or old, would make you feel any less…but it didn’t stop you from needing to challenge him. To test your power against his and see if he could finally beat you after all these years.

“A man carrying that many swords,” You called, silencing the crowd who gasped collectively, parting to allow you a better view of the pirate who was making his way out of the bar, “must be making up for something rather…small--weak.” 

Zoro stopped in his retreat, unwittingly taking the bait you had thrown at him

He turned his eyes, which were as dark as the night sea, onto you, looking like your remark hadn’t affected him--a remark you’ve known to throw many a man into a wild rage.

“Hardly.” He huffed on a blink. He watched you grab the man who sat before you by the scruff of his shirt and throw him out of his chair, sending him rolling onto the floor and nearly knocking over another who got in his way. Watched you gesture toward the now-empty seat before you.

“Then prove it, pretty boy.” You said, confidence and ego dripping from your every word. Dripping from the way you held yourself to the way you kept your features in that of cool, collected, confidence. It was a confidence and ego that called to Zoro’s own--called to it in a way he could not ignore as he usually would.

You smirked as he made his way over, sitting down in his seat--sitting down in his seat in a proficient way that anyone else in this room would have thought normal. But it was far from normal. You saw it for what it was--a call to his true abilities.

“How will I do that?” He asked you dryly. You placed your elbow on the worn, wooden table and raised your hand to silently let him know to take it. The famed swordsmen did no such thing, only eyeing it. “An arm wrestle? That is hardly a challenge.” He all but scoffed at you. 

“Oh? Scared?” You teased, making the man narrow his eyes the slightest bit at you. “Thought you weren’t making up for something?” Zoro grasped your hand in his, steadying his elbow just a little ways before your own. 

Zoro noted your hand was strong and calloused just any decent sword wields would be--but it also sported elaborately painted nails in a beautiful shade of purple with gold detailing. 

He liked those colors was the next thought that crossed his mind before he could shut it down.

“If I win?” He asked, knowing better than to take your bait twice. Your eyes lit with excitement as a chuckle spilled from your lips. A chuckle that took him utterly off guard.

“If you win, I’ll buy you a drink and let you do as you wish to me. Whether that be death, a task needing to be fulfilled, berry, or a quick fuck in the alley. You’re choice.” Zoro’s gaze fluttered over you again. Confidence--such confidence that had their hooks buried deep in his flesh. Hooks he knew he needed to rid himself of before something bad came his way. 

“You buy me a drink and show me to the docks.” You nodded at the fair wager. “And if you win?” You let your eyes wander over the swordsman’s body--over his strong stronger, calm features, and lips that you could tell were just full enough to be perfectly kissable. 

“If I win, you buy me a drink and give me one of your earrings.” You said eyeing the three, golden earrings dangling from his ear. Ones that had hardly moved as he walked over to you. Hardly moved as he sat and took your hand in his own. It was all call to the skill you were about to pit yourself against. 

Your response surprised Zoro. He’d taken on many challenges and won many duels, but never once had someone asked him such a thing. Such a strange request.

It only made those hooks dig deeper.

“I agree to your terms.” He said, readying himself to take you on.

“And I do yours.” You spoke on honey-dripped tones that had few men around the room huffing in flusteredness. 

Berry was passed around as bets were made. Whispered words laid just under the surface of the silence which had fallen over the bar. Whisper about who would win, how they would win, and what in all the gods’ names was Zoro thinking for just asking you for directions and a drink.

Zoro and you gave each other a brief nod before your challenge began.

You knew in an instant he had earned his bounty as such power bore down onto your arm--power that had your excitement whirl around in your chest, a laugh you couldn’t control spilling from your lips.

Zoro knew just as quickly that you had earned the reputation he had heard whispered around the bar. Knew that you weren’t worth ten men--not even a hundred. You were worth a thousand. 

But Zoro was, unfortunately for you, worth two thousand men. 

Arms shook, sweat pooled and dripped down brows, the wooden table whined and shook until--

Your arm budged. Budged and struggled to regain what little space you had lost. Another cheerful laugh flew from your breathy lips. 

A laugh that had Zoro’s chest feeling all--weird. 

Why were you laughing? You were losing?

Another inch was lost to you. And then another and-- 

The table snapped in two beneath the power roaring around the two of you. You were pulled from your seat and all but into the lap of the man you had nearly lost to.

You cursed, angered at the cut-off challenge only to find a deep, rumbling chuckle spill from Zoro’s lips. A chuckle you instantly liked and wanted to hear more of. A chuckle that rumbled through you as Zoro leaned in close, his breath brushing against your cheeks in a way that had your body heating.

“Let's get that drink.”

You both ordered a round for the other. A round that turned into two, then three, then four, until it was turning into another full-on challenge. One the patrons around the bar fed into by buying you both shots and drinks. 

Berry once again flowed. Bets were made and whispering dealings on who would win floated around the now music-filled bar. 

Zoro finished his eighth beer when he turned to find you finishing off your own eighth, flashing him a smug grin that had that strange feeling stirring in his gut.

“Slowing down?” You teased him, grabbing for your fourth shot given to you by one of the men sitting closest to you. 

“Hardly.” Zoro scoffed, ordering himself the same shot you had been given. “Just let me know when you need a break, princess.” He said in that dry wit he teased you with. 

“Princess--I like that. I think if I win, instead of buying me a drink, you’ll have to only refer to me as a princess.” Zoro raised his shot glass for you to click yours against. The liquid warmed your throat as it flowed downward, a warmth that spread through your body again when your eyes caught sight of the swordman’s strong throat bob on his swallow. 

“Fine. I still want a drink. But you’ll buy me a bottle of sake instead. A nice bottle of sake. Top shelf.” You nodded, pushing your empty shot glass away and replacing it with your ninth beer. Zoro was quick to follow. 

“Of course. Only the best for the great Roronoa Zoro.” 

You two had five more beers, two more shots, and a tiny cup of cheap sake before most of the partons left for the night, defeated. The bar closed soon after the last handful left and you two were kicked out, ending your second challenge before it truly began. 

“What bar closes before one?” Zoro gruffed as you two walked through the all-but-deserted streets of the port town. Only a few drunken men stumbled home, singing off-tune shanties and relieving themselves against the sides of buildings. 

“The kind whose clientele should have gone home an hour ago.” You huffed, placing a hand on the sword at your side absentmindedly. “I will show you to the docks. I assume your captain is waiting for you.” Zoro eyed you again like he wasn’t sure what to make of you. “Tell me…how did the mighty hunter become the prey?” 

“I am still plenty the hunter.” He said with that smugness that mirrored your own.

“Oh of course. A 60 million berry bounty doesn’t come from just laying down and being complicated.” You said, all but purring his way. It had that feeling in Zoro’s gut fizzing again. Made him want to challenge you again--over and over until a victor was found. 

“You tell me since you seem to know so much about me already.” You huffed, turning your face away from Zoro. He watched the moonlight make your eyes sparkle--watched your painted fingernails tap over the hilt of the sword at your side. One he could tell from the hilt was of strange make and good caliber. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Roronoa Zoro. Your name has been whispered in the wind for a long time now. Your face now posted everywhere one can find space.” You said pointing towards the nearest building, where a few wanted posters had been plastered onto. 

Sure enough, there was Zoro’s face and bounty just next to Luffy’s goofy grin. 

“Stories of what you did in Alabasta are told in many a bar I’ve conducted my challenges in. I have good ears. Nothing more.” He almost would have believed you had the corner of your mouth not twitched. Had your painted nails not tapped over the hilt of your sword again.

“Who are you then? Bounty hunter? Marine? Pirate?” Zoro’s gut clenched as you turned your gaze back onto him. A gaze that pierced through him like a dagger. You chuckled. A chuckle that tickled at Zoro’s ears in a pleasant way that had his gut unclenching, only to clench up again like some fist. 

“I am merely looking for the one who will finally win my challenge.” Zoro wanted to know more. It was almost like a need to know who you were. Had you been a pirate once? A bounty hunter, just as he had? Who had trained you and how long would you be able to hold out against Zoro’s own blades? 

And it was all very--weird. Weird that you were making him feel all strange inside--making him want more of that feeling. 

You came to a stop at the entrance to the docks, Zoro stopping with you, his eyes hardly leaving your features. 

“I am sure you will be able to find your way back to your ship from here?” Zoro huffed, scanning over the docks, easily spotting the ram's head of the Merry just a little ways away. “Then it has been an honor to challenge you. May our paths cross again.” You said with a small bow of your head before starting off in the opposite direction of the Merry. 

“We haven’t finished the challenge yet.” You paused, looking back to Zoro with a small smirk.

“I have more sake on my ship if you wish to continue there. I doubt any bar for miles will be open.” Zoro scanned over your features once more. Over your body which you held so confidently.

He shouldn’t. Not when everyone in this town and the next knew what his face looked like--what Luffy’s face looked like. 

He needed to get his crew out of here before the Marines came sniffing around…but your smugness and ego and confidence were pulling at Zoro in a way he had only felt once before towards Dracule Mihawk, but this--you were different than the great swordsmen. You with your shining eyes and painted nails adorning his favorite colors of purple and gold. 

He should go. Leave you and your challenge…but Zoro had never been known to make good decisions before.

And he never backed down from a challenge. 

“Sake it is.” 

Your ship was tiny compared to the Merry, but seeing as it was a vessel manned by one person, it made sense. It was cozy and filled with trinket after trinket. Swords, daggers, and all sorts of weapons hung on the walls. Rings, necklaces, and all sorts of treasure sat on shelves blocked off by glass--and was that a finger bone sitting next to a golden goblet? 

Zoro came to realize these were trophies from your wins. Trophies his earring would surely join if you won against him--which he thoroughly doubted. 

You requested that he remove his boots before fully entering the inner workings of your vessel, just as you had. He obeyed the request without questions, not wanting to disrespect your hospitality. 

He watched you move around the small kitchen area, pulling two, wooden o-choko cups from the cabinet and then grabbing a bottle of sake from the fridge. 

“Let’s make this fun.” You said, sitting down at the kitchen table, gesturing with your hand holding the sake bottle for him to join you. “I have three more bottles after this one. Every time we finish a bottle and a victor hasn’t been granted, then we get to ask the other a question and you have to answer.” 

Zoro hesitated at your request. He knew better than to share details of his life with anyone. Hell, his own crew hardly knew much about his past…but he came this far. Had already boarded your ship and accepted your hospitality, he couldn’t leave now. 

And he couldn’t refuse the offer of free sake. 

“Only four bottles? Please, that’s nothing.” Zoro said sitting down across from you, taking one of the wooden cups and holding it out in sign to fill it. You poured the liquid into Zoro’s cup before passing the bottle to him, repeating the process but with your own cup. When both cups were filled, you lightly touched your cups together before taking that first sip of the fruity, apple-hinted sake you had purchased just the other day. 

“If you're that eager for me to ask you a question, then might as well just skip right to the chase.” Zoro huffed in something like mock amusement.

“Get to drinking, princess.” 

You both sat, sipping on your sake and passing the bottle back and forth to refill each other's cups. You both made idle, yet engrossing chit-chat about different types of swords and their capabilities before you finished that first bottle of sake. 

“Tell me your name.” Zoro requested as his first question.

“I feel like that is a waste of a perfectly good question.” You mused, rising from your seat to grab the second bottle of sake stored in your fridge. 

“You have to answer, remember? Your rules.” You chuckled, filling Zoro’s cup with the freshly open bottle of sake. But you told him, family name and all. A name Zoro repeated low and slow, rolling it over his tongue as his brow furrowed in thought. 

“Sounds familiar.” 

“I can assure you, it’s not.” Zoro let it go with a casual shrug as he took the sake from you and filled your cup. You both clicked glasses and took your first sip. Your eyes scanned over his chest, which his shirt hung open to expose. “How did you get that scar? Pretty nasty.” 

Zoro took another sip from his glass, watching you closely. Scars were seen by most as failures--as defeats. Gods’ know how many times you had scarred one of the men who had challenged you just to see the devatated look on their faces. 

“I challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel. Lost.” He said simply like it was hardly a big deal. He said it simply even when that name shot through you like a hot iron. A name that had your anger rising in your chest.

Zoro took note of the anger that flashed through you at the mention of Mihawk. An anger that looked more like wrath than mere anger. He wondered what that was for? What had happened to make you hate the man so much…maybe that would be one of his questions. 

“Why--” Zoro cut you off with a shake of his head. 

“Keep drinking, Y/N, and if you make it, you can ask.” You huffed and continued to sip on your sake. 

The second bottle was finished much quicker than the first, mainly because you had been chugging your cups like an utter fool so you could ask your question. 

“Sake is meant to be enjoyed you know.” Zoro gruffed at you as you stood. 

“Ask your question.” You commanded. Zoro blinked his eyes at you, amusement flashing in them as you opened the fridge door. 

He liked your anger. It was fun to tease out of you.

“What’s with the finger?” He asked, shoving a thumb over his shoulder. That seriousness and anger that had overcome you banked the slightest bit at his question. You’re shining eyes gleamed in excitement at its mention. 

“My first trophy. He lost his challenge to me and instead of paying up the berry I had asked for, he tried to kill me. Took his hands for it.” You mused, eyes unfocusing as you remembered back. “Lost them both along my travels. His pinky is the only thing that remains.” You said, wiggling your pinkie at Zoro who laughed. A laugh that was hardly above a chuckle, but a laugh all the same.

It was--stunning. And hardy and fit him so well. One you wanted to hear again and again.

“What a pity.” You shrugged as you sat back down across from the swordsmen. 

“Why challenge Mihawk?” You asked, pouring Zoro more sake. He found that seriousness began to seep back into your features. “That man walks with death herself. She shadows him--sponsors him like some god would their chosen champion.” Zoro took the bottle from you and returned the favor. 

“Because I made a promise to someone a long time ago that I would become the world’s greatest swordsman. Mihawk is the holder of that title. I thought I would win. I was wrong.” He said simply yet again. 

Said it so simply--too simply, like he hadn’t gone up against Dracule Mihawk and left the encounter alive. Went up against the hawk-eyed Warlord, who had hadn’t always been as such. Who had once hunted those very marines he now served. Marines he had slaughtered regardless of who their deaths might hurt. Zoro had walked away from that true demon alive and was playing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. 

“I do enjoy myself a man with a vow,” You said, trying to lighten your mood, before clinking your cup with Zoro’s. “And a death wish.” Zoro held your eyes as you took a sip of your sake and he a sip from his. Eyes that dug into him deeper than any had before. 

“Any swordsman worth their weight in the steal they carry has one.” 

“I’ll keep drinking to that.” 

You both finished the third bottle in the span of half an hour. A bottle that merely had you feeling full rather than anything more fun. You found you were able to withstand the effects of alcohol the more you learned how to control your body in ways others never would. Ways Zoro seemed to understand as well. 

“What are you? Truly.” Zoro asked as you pulled the last chilled bottle of sake from the fridge. 

“I am nothing now but a lone traveler…” You said shutting the fridge door with your hip. A movement you saw Zoro track with those deep, dark eyes of his. “but in a past life one might have found me selling teas in my mother's shop.” 

Zoro watched closely as you sat down before him, something like pain flashing through your eyes. A pain he himself had felt once before. “Until death knocked on my door and changed that.” Your voice dipped dangerously low as you poured sake into Zoro’s cup before passing the bottle to him. “Then I did a quick stint as a pirate.” Zoro filled your cup, placing the bottle in the middle of the table.

“That’s how I know you. You had a bounty.” You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Had. A long time ago.” You huffed, “Why the three swords?” You asked, changing the topic and pulling that calm and collected mask back on. Zoro’s hand came to rest on the three swords at his side when brought to their attention once more.

“My vow--I made it to a friend.” He said, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to tell you of his childhood friend. At least just vaguely. It wouldn’t hurt when you had told him just as vaguely of your pain. “When she died I was gifted her sword. I then crafted the Three Sword Style which I have been perfecting ever since.”

The fourth bottle was finished off just as you two had gotten halfway through discussing the ways you both had trained in swordplay, which took a pause as you poured the last half of the sake into Zoro’s cup.

“Why seek out defeat?” He asked, taking the bottle from your hand. His fingers curled around yours, holding them there as he leaned forward. Fingers that all but made your skin sizzle like you were touching fire. You slide your hand out from under his, trying to forget about the feeling of it against yours. “You are the strongest woman I have ever come across. Why look for your skills to be diminished?”

“Why seek out fame?” You asked back on a near snap, which the pirate hardly seemed to pay mind to your tone. “Why seek out titles that are only words to be spoken? Why seek out a title that will only have silly little boys, like yourself, hunt after you and inevitably kill you?” 

Zoro blinked at you. He ignored your jab at him once again. A jab that was only meant to rile him to anger. He was collected enough to not take your bait for a third time that night.

“I have a death wish, remember.” He said, taking his cup in his hand, leaning in closer than he needed to fill your cup. “Your turn.” He said with that gruffing voice. A voice that had your body growing warm. A warmth completely unrelated to all the alcohol you had drank. 

“Because I’m tired of winning.” Zoro watched you raise your cup for it to be filled. He watched your eyes as he filled your cup. Eyes that shined brightly yet held a dullness to them that called to that exhaustion you claimed. He placed the sake bottle down and raised his cup for the last cheers of the night.

“Are you sure you’re not ready to tap out?” Zoro asked, keeping his cup just out of reach of yours. Asked in that dry humor of his that had you narrowing your eyes at him.

“Hardly. Are you?” Zoro chuckled. A chuckle you paused your riling emotions to listen to. To memorize dispute only having just met the man. 

A man who could beat you despite your continued challenges. You knew he could--had felt it during your first challenge. You were big enough to admit defeat when it came time for it. When someone truly earned it. And Zoro had earned it…but you couldn’t help but want to keep his company a little while longer. 

“Hardly.” And your cups met each other in a gentle kiss before you both took that first, last sip. “What now?” He asked, leaning back in his seat heavily.

“I don’t know.” You said on a shrug, taking another sip as you leaned your forearms on the table. “A drawl?” The room fell quiet--a quiet that lasted all of two seconds before the both of you were laughing at such an absurd idea. 

“I didn’t know you to make jokes,” Zoro said as his laughter evened out. 

“Oh, I’m sure I have pulled a chuckle or two from you tonight,” Zoro smirked, sipping his sake. “This table is sturdy enough. We could try arm wrestling once more?” He eyed you long and slow. Eyes that danced over your face and down your neck. 

“Finish your drink and then we can resume your first challenge.” You smiled, excited as you set on sipping your sake faster than you knew it should be sipped. But you couldn’t help it. Not when you were eager to get back under that power that rolled off him in waves. To press your own power against it and feel it wane against his fire. 

 You both slammed your cups to the table and had your hands clasped together hardly a minute later. It seemed you both were eager to complete this challenge. 

Zoro gazed into your eyes and you gazed into his on a pause. A pause and a nod of the head before the challenge resumed. 

Once again, you were reminded of his power. Of how good it felt to feel your strength weaken against his. 

Arms shook, brows beaded with sweat, and heat pooled in your abdomen. A heat no man had been able to stir for a long, long time. No man had been worth its sizzling flames. 

A little noise spilled from your lips. A noise that had Zoro’s attention pulling from your shining eyes to your lips. Lips that hung parted on that small noise that had that weird feeling grow and thrash about in his abdomen. 

“Fuck.” He cursed on a deep rumble that had you clenching your thighs together against the frustration building in you. 

“Fuck, Zoro--win.” You all but begged the swordsmen, whose teeth were clenched so tight you thought they might fracture under the pressure. “Win, win, please.” You continued. 

Despite your pleas for him to win against you, you hardly gave up your hold on his hand. Hardly gave into his power. You fought against it, just as he fought against yours. A fight that your arm had just begun to yield under when Zoro cursed yet again. 

Zoro couldn’t focus. Not when you were making those little noises and begging him to dominate you. Couldn’t focus when you looked just as bright as your eyes--when your painted nails were pressed flush against the back of his hand. Not when that weird feeling wanted him to win against you in another way. 

The alcohol. It was the alcohol making him feel this--needful for you. 

He knew that wasn’t it. Knew he was hardly even tipsy. He knew he had felt this way as he had drunk his first beer. 

“Fuck it.” He hissed, reaching across the table to grab your cheeks in his free hand. You sucked in a breath as he all but pulled you across the table, lips pressing harshly against yours. You fought back against his lips in a fiery kiss that any outside might have thought looked more like two dogs mauling at each other's faces than any true kiss. 

But it was a kiss you felt your body ignite against--that you could taste the sweet, fruity sake you had drank on his tongue and lips. One that made your pussy throb and your limbs grow fuzzy as you climbed onto the table, knocking over the empty sake bottle as you crawled over it. 

He all but pulled you off the table into his lap where you moved so you could straddle his waist and press your kiss down onto him. 

Hands grabbed at clothes and relieved the other of their shirts, which were tossed to the ground before lips were rapidly moving against the others. Your hands smoothed over his hard-earned, muscle-lined chest, feeling the slight raise of the scar Mihawk had given him.  

Zoro’s calloused hands moved from where they grasped your hips upwards, sending goosebumps rising along your skin. 

He felt a scar along your hip bone, one that cut up your side, and another he felt just under the edge of your bra. But never once did he feel a scar on your back. 

You were a true swordsman. A true warrior. 

It had him grabbing you tighter. Had him hosting you up as he stood before pinning you on the table, fingers unbuckling your belt and unbuttoning your pants.

Zoro yanked your pants down your legs, trailing hot, opened-mouth kisses along your scarred skin making a huffing moan escape your lips. You ran your fingers through his green hair before grabbing for your pants which he wasn’t pulling off fast enough. 

You yanked them off, grabbing him back against you and claiming his lips harshly as you rose off the table onto your feet. 

Zoro’s back hit the wall, making the swords and other various weapons rattle upon impact. You wasted no time in going for his belt, which fell away from his hips under the weight of his three swords. 

They had just fallen to the floor with a dulled clatter when Zoro was turning you so that he could slam you against the wall, throwing his skillful power into you which had you moaning in gleeful pleasure. A throwing star, which had been hanging just beside your head, fell to the ground and embedded itself in the wood there. 

You wanted him to do that again. To move you despite your own power fighting against him. 

Your hands grabbed for Zoro’s pants again as his hands grabbed for the clasp of your bra, which he fumbled with and found he couldn’t figure out the mechanics of. One last harsh kiss was given to Zoro before you pushed him away, going for the clasp behind your back. 

“Pants.” You grit at him. He huffed at your commanding tone, but did so regardless of his want to ignore it. 

His breath hitched in his throat as you threw your bra off, your breasts falling from their confines and making his mouth water at their heft. You yanked your underwear off just as Zoro had finished pulling his pants off, leaving you both bare to one another. 

Your eyes scanned over his body shamelessly. Scanned over the scars he bore--the large one cutting across his chest, another smaller one on his shoulder, and two more rounding his ankles. Scanned over the sheer amount of strength that radiated off him that you needed to grab and feel against you all over again. Scanned over his cock, which twitched in the open air, precome already spilling for its tip.

Zoro looked over your body just as you did. A body that was strong--well-honed muscles built throughout it from the years of training he knew you had gone through. Muscle that did nothing but enhance your utter femininity. From your hair to your shining eyes to that shade of purple he found your toenails were painted as well. 

Zoro thought you might have been the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on. 

You were grabbing at Zoro just as he was grabbing at you. Lips caressing in that harsh manner that had your abdomen burning. Bare bodies pushed and pulled and felted at the other in a way that had your head spinning. 

You slammed Zoro into the door that led to your chambers, his teeth finding your neck in a pinching bite that was sure to leave a bruise as your lips pulled away long enough to open it. You shoved Zoro through the open doorway, his hands grabbing for your arms to pull you with him. 

He used the momentum of your shove to switch positions with you, lips claiming yours as he guided you back toward your bed. When the backs of your legs hit the frame, you climbed onto the plush mattress before he could shove you down, not wanting to give your position up quite yet. A position you wanted him to fight you for. He climbed in after you, lips hardly leaving the others.

That push and pull began again. You tugged at Zoro who tugged right back. It was a continuation of the challenge you had been waging to see who would come out on top--literally now. 

Your fingers brushed down his strong stomach before wrapping around his hard cock, pumping him nice and slow in a way that had him hissing out a breath. You watched his brows furrow under your admissions--watched as the corner of his lip twitched in a near snarl as your thumb passed over his dripping head. Your touch spurred his hips into motion--thrusting into your hand with each pass of your thumb. 

“I think I like this type of wrestling much better, don’t you?” You teased, tightening your grip just that much more around him. His fingers dug into your skin. Dug hard enough you were sure it would leave a mark. You wanted it to leave a mark. “I think I like the idea of having you come all undone first, looking so, so pretty.”  

His hips halted their mindless thrust, eyes narrowing down at the smugness that had filtered into your bright gaze. 

“Is that--” He hissed, finding your hand stilling working him in a way that was tortuous. “Is that a challenge?” You smirked. 

“Should it be?” You continued to tease, eyes fluttered to look at his parted lips which huffing breaths floated out of. 

“Same rewards?” He asked, making you nod.

“If that’s all you still wish for, then yes.” You lulled, leaning up to brush your lips against his. “But I think you’ll find it a harder challenge to win then--” You sucked in a shaky breath when a finger dipped into your needy folds. A finger that had found your clit in seconds and was applying just the right amount of pressure and type of touch to have your hips moving to get closer to such pleasure.

“I’m sorry,” He huffingly teased back, pressing your chest flush against his as a shit-eating grin plastered itself onto his kiss-puffed lips. Your hand paused its working of Zoro’s cock at the sudden sparks he sent shooting through you. “What were you saying?” 

“How--how did you--fuck,” You cursed, grabbing hold of his shoulder for balance. Jolt after jolt of pleasure rushes up your body. Pleasure you had only even been able to fully give yourself. 

“I think,” He gruffed brushing his lips against your ear, making a shiver rush up your spine. “That I’m going to have you coming all undone for me, Y/N, and then enjoy myself the best sake this little island has to offer.” His gruffing voice rang in your ear.

“In your dreams.” You huffed, swallowing a moan that wanted to escape. 

Zoro grunted as you resumed moving your hand up and down the length of his velvety cock. A movement that had Zoro stopping the circling of your clit only so he could shove your thighs open wider, all so he could sink a finger into your dripping pussy--and then another. He curled and pressed them into that spongy spot up in you that had stars flying across your vision--stars that grew in number when his thumb found your clit once more. 

Huffs and pants and grunts and cut-off moans between near-violent kisses filled the space as you fought to get each other off--to get the other to lose the challenge you had been trying to finish the whole night. 

You pulled away once more when Zoro gave a deep-chested moan. A moan that had his brows knitting together and his hips jerking against your hand as if to pull away because--oh yes.

“It’s okay, pretty boy. It’s okay. You can come for me. Yes, yes, please come for me.” You comforted, placing a gentle kiss on his flushed cheek and picking your pace up just that much faster. “So strong. So powerful. Come on my hand and let me taste just how--” Your words were cut off as Zoro pulled his fingers out of you only for them to wrap around your throat in a tight hold. A hold that nearly had you coming right then and there. 

He pinned you to the bed, your hand slipping from his cock in the process. But it didn’t stop you from wrapping your legs around his waist and rubbing your dripping, needy pussy against his twitching and as equally needy cock. 

“You talk too much.” He hissed, the hand not pinning you to the bed running down your body so that he could reach for his swollen cock. “I’m gonna make you come so hard around me you won’t remember how to speak.”

“Yes--please.” You panted out as he pressed the tip of his cock against your fluttering entrance. A pant that turned into your own deep-chested moan as he sunk himself into you, inch by glorious inch. A moan was met with Zoro’s grunts as he bottomed out in you, your pussy flexing around him as it worked to accommodate his size. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up enough to claim his rough kiss once more as his hips began to move his cock within you. 

His pace gradually began to quicken. A pace that grew so brutal, that tears brimmed in your eyes at the pleasure he pounded into you. And when his thumb found your clit again--oh gods you knew you might not win out against him. 

And as lust and pleasure fogged your brain, you found you wanted him to win. Just as you had wanted him to win against every other challenge you threw his way that night. 

“Zoro--oh fuck, Zoro keep going. Please, please, please.” You begged against his panting mouth. He kept up his wicked pace, the sinfully wet sounds of your pussy getting utterly destroyed filling your ears and adding to the pleasure that was rolling through you. 

Sweat slicked over skin, bodies buzzed and shook, lips moved frantically and hungrily. And that release your body begged for built and built and built and you had just began to tip over the edge. Your finish just a breath away--hot ribbons of come shot into you.

Zoro had come just seconds before your pussy was clenching around his twitching cock. Just seconds before you were moaning his name and holding him close as you’re finish rushed through you. His solid body fell on top of yours, chests full of uneven and choppy breath. 

“You win.” He huffed into your neck. You sighed deeply, running your fingers through his green hair. 

“I was only teasing--” Zoro pulled his face away so he could look into your eyes. Deep, dark eyes that never looked away from your face as he unhooked an earring from his ear lobe, holding it out for you to take. 

“You win, princess. Fair is fair.” You gently took the gold earring from his hand, brushing your knuckles over his cheek. A touch the swordsmen leaned into, his lips leaving a burning kiss to your writs. “Put it next to the finger.” You laughed, leaning forward and placing the softest kiss of the night to those lips of his. Lips that kissed you back just as soft--slow. A kiss that had your heart beating against your ribs.

“Just for you, pretty boy.”

Tags: @lostfirefly