#think of violet from 'the incredibles'...

[theseinfernalangels]

Love Letters — Garrick Tavis

Synopsis: Recovered Correspondence between Lieutenant Garrick Tavis and Lieutenant Cosette Camden, Princess of Navarre.

 Takes place over the course of the first part of Iron Flame and is for Day 3 of Garrick Week: Distance.

The contents of this recovered correspondence are not dated, but are believed to have been sent between the timeframe of July 29th and December 3rd, 634 AU. This is not a completely recovered set of writing. Whilst included missives were found in the ruins of the Samara and Montserrat outposts, other letters are actively being sought after by scribe and rider alike for insight on personal relations within harsh military structures. Just for studying. Totally just for studying.

— A personal addendum from Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant of Basgiath War College

Princess,

Fuck. It’s not even been a week without you, and I can already feel myself coming apart (No — not like that. I wish.). Everything would be so much easier with you here, but at the same time, I’m glad you’re in Monserrat rather than Samara. This place is not for the faint of heart, and while you are the most capable woman I know, I can already tell that riders are eaten alive here. Especially when you’re me. I have to start from ground zero all over again to make people trust me, fight twice as hard for all the same privileges that others are handed so easily.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for you. Have people started suspecting about you yet? I doubt anything would happen — you’re an active service member with incredible skills — but a part of me worries that someone will be there to snitch you out. Stand your ground, beautiful. You’re more than any of these people can claim to be, anyway.

I’ll try to keep my missives as brief as possible, although I’d try to write whole tomes for you if I had the time. I love you in ways that consume me wholly. Please stay as safe as you can.

Yours forever, 

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Garrick,

I can say with upmost certainty that no one here knows a thing, besides that we are together. Seriously — the amount of times I’ve been referred to as “Tavis’s Girl” rather than my own name is appalling. I don’t know many people here besides this one girl from my wing, who decided upon meeting that we are friends. I quite like her. She makes for good company.

I’ll be honest with you, my love; I’m lonely. I miss you more than I miss the sun in a hurricane. Sometimes, I wake at night reaching for you, only to be met with nothing but sheets. Disappointing, but fine.

I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you. Had I known that you’d be sent to Samara, I would have requested to be there, too. I don’t care if it’s dangerous — you cannot convince me that there is a place safer on this Continent than being by your side. Even surrounded by hundreds of infantrymen and dragons, I would still feel better if I could see you. Oh, well. I can be patient, I suppose. 

I send you all the love from my place here. Rest assured I am safe and sound, despite the constant conflict. Send Xaden my best, too — I can’t imagine he has it any easier, especially with his Violet ordeal.

Thoroughly and utterly yours,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Princess,

I’m glad you’re at least making connections with people — but who am I kidding? That’s what you do best. If your jackass brother weren’t the crown prince, you’d make the fairest queen of all.

You want to know what’s funny? Second to being classified as a traitor, people know me as yours, too. I guess sticking to one another like glue for three years paid off. 

Xaden wishes you well. The lucky bastard gets a couple of days every two weeks to go see Violet. I’d say I’m jealous, but I think Chradh would choke at the thought of being mates with Seachran. Correction — he just yelled at me extensively.

I would try and tell you about my days, but I’m afraid there’s not much to talk about right now. All we do is train and fight, with some recreational fighting on the side. Gambling is a big deal here, apparently. I bet I could cheat my way into getting the weekend off to see you, but I know you prefer honesty over everything. You’ve always been better than me, you righteous little light.

I heard that there was an attack near you recently. I imagine you are perfectly fine, but quick correspondance would be much appreciated.

Still terribly lovesick,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

Rest assured that I am okay. That "attack" was nothing more than a drift of gryphons gone astray. They were taken out quickly, with an efficiency that…Well, I’ll be honest. It scared the shit out of me. I forget sometimes that we’re actually in the service and not students anymore. 

Physically, I am fine. Emotionally? Drained. There is only so much time some can go without seeing the one they love, and despite what you may think, I am a woman of very weak willpower. Perhaps we spent a little too much time together back in Basgiath, because I find myself watching for you around every corner and through every door. It saddened me at first, but now it’s pretty funny. No one here even looks like you, yet I still was hopeful anyway. Perhaps that is foolish. I find it comedic. I think I have to — or else I’ll find myself succumbing to the things that haunt me otherwise. 

Don’t ask. It is best to leave it at that.

Tell me everything and anything you want. I would gladly listen to hours of strategizing and arguments just to hear your voice. You wouldn’t have to cheat, either. We both know that you’re the best of the best, and anyone who thinks they can one-up you just because of a damned relic can kiss my ass.

Always, always, always,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My darling,

Nothing in that beautiful mind of yours could ever be foolish. On the contrary, the same is happening to me. Riorson tried to assure me that it was fine, since some of the women here, “look like you, anyway,” but I disagree. None of them have your smile. They don’t have the freckles that only show themselves in the summer. They don’t have your inclination to take others under their wings, and they certainly don’t have your eyes. I don’t think anyone does.

Oh, yeah. They don’t have Seachran, either. I think we’d know if they did.  

I think you’ve boosted my ego tenfold, but that’s not much of a change, as far as I’m concerned. No time for being humble when I’ve got a lovely woman waiting for me and a bunch of dark wielders ready to hunt me down.

Call me a dreamer, but I can’t wait until this is over. I have so many things I want to show you. To share with you. To be with you. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, and perhaps you’ll think I’m a sap, but that’s alright. You could call me a traitor straight to my face, and I’d just appreciate how it sounds on your tongue.

Still drowning within you,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

 Firstly, I would never entertain the thought of calling you anything like that. You deserve only the sweetest of words from me, and that’s all you’ll get — unless you decide to be a dumbass.

Maybe you are a dreamer. Maybe it is wishful thinking. The thing about being a light-wielder, though, is that you learn to wish on stars frequently. I am a dreamer, too. Let me share a piece of my dreams with you.

When this war ends — because we will end it — all I want is you. I don’t care where we go, whether it be Aretia or someplace else. Just us and our friends for a while, taking chances and getting to take a moment to breathe air that isn’t tainted with blood. I see the sun, and that river you’ve told me so much about, and waking up to fresh sheets and warm touches. We can be soft and keep it that way,  just you and me, and then…I’m not quite sure. I have thoughts, but I don’t like being too forward. 

Fuck that. Never mind. I want a life with you. A family — a real one, where we never question if someone loves another or if their presence is wanted in the first place. I’ll give as much as you will, because I know you will without asking. That is why I want it in the first place; there is no one else I’d share the sentiment with.

So call yourself a dreamer and a sap. Just know that I am ten times more delusional than you are.

Dreaming of you,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My brightest light,

You can’t just say things like that and expect me to be normal about it. No, I am not crying; it is just exceptionally hot sharing a room with three other riders.

You want my dreams? I’ll give them all to you. I want it all. All of it. The sun, the river, the sheets, the touches, the family. I will give it all to you if you do the same for me. Actually, I’d give it all to you, regardless. You deserve every fucking moment of it for everything you’ve given me. 

Will we have any idea of what we’re doing? Probably not. Neither of us have parents to consult, and I don’t quite understand children, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try. How many do you want? We’ll go from there.

Chradh says he’ll give us parenting advice. I’d sooner let him barrel-roll me into the side of the outpost.

Shit. He’s taking it personally now.

As I was saying, I want to give it all to you. The moment I have the chance, I’ll come to you and we’ll talk it out. I have something to ask of you, anyway. Tell me when it’s best for you, and I’ll fight like hell to get my forty-eight hours, and I’m not sharing. I know it’s not much, but it’s what I can manage without getting my ass kicked — even though, between you and me, I couldn’t care less if Command got mad at me. They’d have to find me to execute me, and fortunately for the both of us, I’m pretty fast.

I’ll be in your arms soon,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

I also have my forty-eight hours for you. I wasn’t even aware we could do that, but according to command, I’ve been out fighting so frequently that they’ve decided to give me a break of my choosing. Part of me wants to be offended and wonders if they think I’m delicate; the other part couldn’t care less. I haven’t had a break since the moment I slid from my mother’s womb on to her bedroom floor. I think I deserve it.

The end of November or beginning of December would suffice, I think. Since they won’t consider rotating stations until April, the halfway point is probably the best option — for both convenience’s sake, as well as my sanity.

I cannot wait to see you! I have not slept very well since the night before Reunification Day — the last night we had together. Where you should be laying, I have only sheets to cling to. If they smelled like you, maybe I would complain less, but no. I probably average a good four hours, but I know I’ll get at least six with you.

To put it bluntly, I need you here. Desperately. The end of November, at the earliest, please. Ask any question. Request anything of me. I don’t care. Please, just come home to me.

Don’t keep me waiting,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

“I miss you.”

His words are mumbled into your hairline, his lips brushing against your skin like a midnight prayer. It may as well be; the moon, bright and swelling, paints his skin white as milk against the stone alcove you rest under. Despite his softness, his word choice has you frowning and tilting your head up.

“But I’m right here,” you reply, one brow furrowing in confusion.

Garrick just smiles. “I know,” he says. “But I still miss you. I miss you when I’m at Samara. I miss you when I’m on the battlefield. I miss you when you’re three inches away from me.” He presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. “No matter where I am, I miss you.”

“Ah.” Has Garrick always been so poetic? Or is this just another change made by the distance and the four months that have separated the two of you?

You could barely go four months without him. You’re not sure if it’s romantic or pathetic. 

“Something on your mind, lovely?” Garrick asks, slipping a finger under your chin to pull your eyes to his. His eyes, wonderfully hazel, search yours carefully. It’s no secret to him that you’ve been struggling without him there beside you, and it’s not like he can say any different.

“No.” You tuck your head into his shoulder and sigh. “I just can’t wait for the next few months to be over. They’re talking about transferring some people out, so I’m hoping luck will be on our side and I’ll get sent to Samara.”

A low chuckle leaves him. “I’m not sure you’d enjoy it there. Unless you’re into watching two sweaty, shirtless men go at each other while everyone else drinks.”

That puts a mischievous smile on your face. “Does one of those sweaty, shirtless men happen to be mine? Because I’d totally be into that.”

That painfully adorable dimple flashes on Garrick’s cheek. “Pervert.”

You shove him playfully, although he doesn’t budge a bit. “Don’t act like you would pass up the opportunity to see me fight someone in just my bindings. I’m surprised you haven’t campaigned for it yet.”

“Well…” He glances around before snaking his hands around your hips and pulling, trapping you further into his embrace as you let out a little squeak of laughter. “I’m definitely not against the idea.“

You lean in and press a light kiss to the hollow of his throat. “You wouldn’t get jealous of other men seeing me without my leathers?”

Garrick scoffs, but the cocky grin is too obvious in his voice. “Wear whatever you want in front of any man. At the end of the day, you’ll end up with me, anyway.”

You snort but shake your head fondly. It’s been three years since the two of you started going out, ever since that terrifying October of your first year. For every day since then, you’ve gone back for Garrick, and he’s always come for you. You didn’t even mean to propose the jealousy scenario, but grateful satisfaction blooms in your gut. Garrick is a lot of things, but he’s certainly not insecure.

“Alright, wise guy,” you joke, poking him in the ribs and receiving a mocking pout in return. “You wanted to ask me something. Talk.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, stretching the scar on his face a little like he didn’t expect your demand. “Someone’s eager.”

“Of course I am,” you shoot back. “I haven’t seen you in months. Haven’t heard you in months. Ask me everything so your voice sticks with me better.”

He just shakes his head, relaxing against the wall and reaching for the ends of your now-loosened hair. “You missed me, too?”

Your lips purse as you flick him in the chest, your eyes softening as he catches your hand to bring it to his mouth. “Of course I did, idiot. And I’ll miss you in forty-eight hours. Now, spill.”

His lips tense in the way you know is him holding back a dirty joke, and then he just smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist to anchor your body to his.

“…I’ve been thinking,” he says quietly, after a few heartbeats. “About us.”

Oh? You tilt your head. It doesn’t surprise you, given how often you’re thinking of him, but it’s definitely not something you think he’d need to ask about.

“These past few months…” He sighs roughly. “They’ve been painful without you. Really fucking painful. I never imagined how often I’d go to bed and not be able to sleep without your head tucked into my shoulder, or how pissed off I’d get when you’re not there to keep my head set.” 

Your gaze softens, a hand coming up to brush against his unscarred cheek lightly. “Gare…”

He brushes his thumb against your lower lip, shushing you gently. “No, listen. Let me say my piece.”

Your lips seal almost instantly.

He starts again. “You’ve always been right there, you know? Even before Threshing, before we even properly met, you were there. Defending Freya from those assholes. Defending mefrom your brother, even though you knew fully that he wanted both of us dead. I thought you were insane back then.”

A wry smile cuts across your face. “Not now?”

His fingers glide across your jaw. “I digress. And even after that…you never left. Never. Not when you knew we were hiding something. Not when I had to lie. Not even after War Games, and I knew you wanted to scream at me.”

His eyes find yours. “Somehow, despite everything, you’ve never left. Do you know how many people in my life get to say that? It’s not many.”

“Like that’s hard?” you reply quietly, tracing up his relic with your pinkie. “You never gave me a reason to leave. In fact, you’ve only ever given me reasons to stay. I’ve never had that before, either — a reason to stay where I am, perfectly content with what I have.”

“I want you to have that.” Garrick reaches down into the pocket by his thigh, but it’s out of your line of sight. “Always. A reason to stay. A life that you want that wasn’t just thrown your way for the sake of convenience. A place where you’re truly happy, like we talked about. The sun. The river. A family.”

For reasons you can’t quite comprehend, your heart starts racing, knocking your breath from your lungs. Sure, Garrick’s always been a sweet-talker when it comes to you, but this? This is nothing short of a confession. 

But he didn’t say he had a confession. He said he had a request.

You search his eyes, the hazel glow growing brighter in the starlight. “…I don’t understand what you’re trying to ask of me.”

He just smiles. Not cocky. Not cheeky. Just gently. Wanting. Earnest. 

It sets your heart ablaze.

“Lovely.” He shifts a little, adjusting his grip on your face so his thumb can trail over your cheekbone — no doubt re-memorizing the pattern of your freckles. “I can’t do it without you. Anything, really. Sleep, walk, fight the war, live. At the end of the day, I’m just a man, and I never want to have to let you go.”

The cool skin of his fingers brushes against yours as he laces your palms together, pressing something small and cold in between your hands. You watch him quizzically before you bring your hand away from his, flipping your palm towards you and choking once you catch sight of what he’s places in it.

It’s…a ring.

Relatively small, it is. A silver band, patterned in small designs that spread across the surface. The gem lays carefully within the widest spot, golden yellow and glinting in the light. Smaller, matching gems dot against the band. Citrine. They’re beautiful, just like sunlight.

No. Not just sunlight. Your light.

Your breath catches. Oh, gods. 

It’s not just a ring. It’s a ring.

Your head snaps up, meeting his eyes that are lit with pure, unadulterated adoration.

“Say you won’t let go of me, Princess?” he asks, cupping your cheek in his palm.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

You blink once. Twice. A third time, just out of habit. You open your mouth and then close it, your voice stolen away from pure disbelief.

He wants to marry you. To stay with you.

It’s enough to make you start crying like an infant.

“Fuck.” You press your face into his chest, not caring that your hot tears are soaking into his tunic with every shaky breath that leaves you. “Oh, gods.”

A hand ghosts up your spine, cradling you carefully. That’s when you feel it — the gently weight of something pressing into your spine. Cold. Heavier. 

Another ring. His. When did he slip it on?

“Lovely?” he prompts, dragging his lips against your forehead. “Are you—“

You cut him off by tearing yourself away from his chest, meeting his confusion-filled gaze with your own, packed with every thing, every feeling, every moment you share with him. Your eyes drop to his lips, and then trail back up shakily. Watching. Waiting.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Thoroughly and utterly. Yes. Please. Stay with me, forever. Please.”

His lips are on yours before he can even agree, sealing the promise into your mouth.

Searing. Binding. Filled with every ounce of joy and love and light and longing and want.

You’ll never have to let him go.

And, as if in response, the moon starts to glow a little brighter.

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[thinkblotted]

Building a Better Star (aka, the Star Essay)

I like Star. I’m getting that shit out of the way right here at the beginning, just in case. I like Star, I like what she is, I think she deserves better writing. 

Also - these are my takes. These takes may not be your takes. We can have different takes.

Okay? Okay. Let’s go. 

For the purposes of this analysis and suggestion, I’m only going to be going off of movie canon Star, rather than book canon Star, because while they’re basically the same, there are a few background elements in the book that expand  on Star’s internal thoughts and relationships with the boys that you could only get from exposition in the book, and that’s not as available a source as the movie, so. 

Since I’m either posting this on tumblr for the four people who will read it, or filming myself talking about this like a normal person with normal hobbies, I won’t explain who canonically she is because that’s unnecessary for this audience of me and a discord server, but rather who she is as a character as presented.

The thing about The Lost Boys is that it exists as a double edged sword of characterization for all its characters. They’re all incredibly simple, and in that white space that’s left behind where deeper characterization would be put in other movies, here there’s just a void, leaving the audience to fill in the gaps however they see fit with whatever they can glean from the surrounding world. 

The vampires are the prime example of this - of all the characters, they get the least amount of dialogue and have the most void to fill in who they are as characters. Star is the runner up, having more character, but the same amount of void in her backstory. 

So who is Star? 

Star is The Girl of the group, a trope wherein you have a group of characters who make up the core of your main cast and usually they’re all male, with one or occasionally two exceptions being girls - if it’s two, one will be the ‘nerdy’ or otherwise ‘not strictly desirable by main male cast’ role, and the other will be The Girl, who is almost always the love interest of the main male, who, even though she’s more of a main character then the secondary girl, typically does less than them. As presented, Star fits this trope easily, as well as filling out the subtropes that it consists of. 

She’s soft-spoken, pretty, demure, stays out of most of the fights in the story, offers the protagonist advice but never tells him directly how to face the conflict of the story, offers support but never directly physically supports the protagonist. She’s an inciting incident all to herself, but never actually drives the plot forward except to be a shining prize on the mountaintop of the narrative that the protagonist must climb in order to claim. 

After being in the Lost Boys fandom for about two and a half-ish years now, there are some take-aways specific to Star that the fandom tends to play on the most. 

And I want to add in here, I do not have a problem with these traits being assigned to her. Star, like the rest of the cast, is a very malleable character. The void around her is just as vast as the other vampires, and this is fandom - we play with blorbos from our media like dolls. This entire thing is purely based on what I personally would like to see Star become, and since I’m a freak, I don’t just write fanfic, I also do this. Apparently. So take everything I’m saying with a giant grain of salt.

The traits that I most see attributed to Star are:

-She’s a shrinking violet, either unwilling or unable to interact directly with the conflict of the story

-She’s being held against her will to the point that leaving in any capacity is not only not an option, but would lead to physical harm/possibly death if she tried (ie, she’s an abused captive) 

-She cannot be held responsible for any bad decisions she’s made in the past or makes in the current story, or any bad turns the plot takes 

The first assertion is held up pretty well by the canon of the movie, and most of the fandom also agrees that it would have been nice if the movie actually did make Star a little less soft. There have been several outcries for Star to ‘vamp out’ like the Boys did, to at the very least give her a scary vampire face! Her tiny confrontation with Max at the end of the movie would have been a perfect space for that, but unfortunately, the movie has 80s-itis and being the female love interest and a victim in the plot, Star isn’t allowed to be aggressive in such a blatant manner. 

Star also hangs back whenever the Boys have presence on the screen. She’s never in the forefront, sharing the space, she’s in the background, watching them, only observing. The one time she directly contradicts them, ‘Leave him alone’ she’s told straight up to ‘chill out, girl’, and she doesn’t continue the conflict. When she does decide to try and be more forward with Michael, directly affecting things, she waits until there is no other persons of consequence around in order to do so. 

The second assertion of her being held against her will is a little trickier to pin down as a trait, but evidence of this is implied with how she contributes to the narrative - mainly, in asking Michael directly to save Laddie and her from the Boys, or at the very least, the situation she’s in. Though, it should be noted, that Star never makes a direct statement of what that situation is. She hedges that it’s being being driven to kill to sate the vampiric nature, but when taking scenes like David simply saying her name to get her to come to him, being told indirectly to back off when the Boys are hazing Michael, and backing away in a fearful manner when Michael is drinking the blood wine into consideration, there’s the darker notion that she’s being abused in other ways. 

Because the movie is meant to be a lighter flick, full of scary-yet-alluring vampire punk boys and over the top monster-hunting gore, billing it as a ‘horror-comedy’ excludes any deeper exploration or more explicit on-screen showing of verbal, emotional, or physical harm that Star may be experiencing. Doing so would take away from the fantastical and darkly whimsical nature of the story, grounding it too much, and making the Boys, though they be villains, into villains we wouldn’t love to hate.

Thus, the darker implications of what Star might be facing behind the scenes, when Michael isn’t around and before he came along, is left to the audience’s interpretation, as well as any ability Star has to struggle against them. The fandom frequently interprets as none, thanks to the plot of the movie being what it is. 

The third major assertion that the fandom tends to adopt is that Star is largely if not completely irresponsible for the missteps of other characters and for her own predicament. 

This given trait is the most difficult to back up with evidence directly from the canon as it relies heavily on filling in the blank spaces of Star and the other character’s backstories. Star is not responsible for Michael spotting her in the crowd at the concert or deciding to follow after her. Star technically didn’t tell Michael to accept David’s goading to race. Star told Michael she both didn’t know how to help him, and couldn’t explain it. Star is not responsible for Michael’s induction into the Boy’s gang because, well, she told him what he was drinking was blood. Star never directly acts to drive the plot forward until the beginning of the third act when she does admit to Michael that she needs his help, thus, cannot be held responsible even in part to Michael’s involvement. 

Lack or acceptance of Star’s responsibility for her own inability to leave the Boys is even harder to pin down, as we have no movie canon for what her life was like before meeting the Boys. The implication from the world around them is that Star is a runaway kid like many of the people seen in the opening sweep of Santa Carla, likely from a crappy home and was taken in by the Boys but soon got in over her head, but this is never directly confirmed. 

The idea that Star made a bad choice, and was not just manipulated and coerced after the ‘honeymoon’ period with the Boys is somewhat controversial as it paints Star in a less favorable light. She isn’t an innocent victim, but rather someone who made a bad call and refuses to acknowledge her own agency in that decision, instead placing any and all blame on the Boys. 

‘But what if she’s tried that already?’ Unfortunately, that lies entirely in the realm of off-screen possibilities that are not support by any canon. Star in the movie is never shown or implied to have tried escaping before, and in the book she merely has internal monologues about wanting to leave, not that she’s ever attempted it. 

Giving Star any one of these traits on their own isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Star is very much helpless in this situation - she’s in a den of immortal man-eating monsters while only being barely half of one herself, and refusing to take the option that would grant her more physical power to assert control in the situation, because the act required would be a shattering of her moral compass. Regardless of her involvement in how she got here, she deserves to be able to leave and make better choices. 

But giving Star all of these traits at once with nothing else to her flattens her completely. It does her, in my opinion, an incredible amount of injustice to absolve her of any kind of responsibility in her own problems and then rob her of any bravery to take a risk and change it herself.

And that’s not a good character. 

In order to build a better Star, we need to first accept a truth that might be a slightly hard pill to swallow: 

A good Star is not necessarily a protagonist. 

At least, not in the same way that Michael or Sam can be. Michael and Sam are protagonists in that they’re the heroes of the story. They face the main conflict head on and drive the plot forward with their actions, and are who we’re rooting for to win. We see them and their actions as ‘good’. They are absolved by the framing of blame in what is done to them. (Michael in getting in over his head with the Boys by ignoring the reservations and loose warnings of others, and Sam of murder with the fact that the Boys are man-eating monsters bent on getting back at them when one of their own is killed.)

If you make Star a protagonist in the same way, with her needing to be framed as ‘good’ in the story, but only keeping the character traits previously listed, then she’s a boring character. She becomes only nebulously ‘good’ just by virtue of not technically having done anything that could be considered ‘bad.’ Being counted as a heroine only by default. 

And that sucks. That puts her simultaneously on a pedestal where she can do no wrong, but is an empty shell that’s there to smile or cry and do nothing else. 

Often, when talking about female protagonists, antagonists, anti-heros and characters with grey morality or amorality, the added layer of them being women forces ten times the scrutiny on not just how they’re built as a character, but on their creators and why they’re choosing to build the character in the way they are. Any mistakes plot-pushing decisions made by the character aren’t as likely to be accepted as just the character acting in the story, but get traced back to the author. The audience constantly asks the question, ‘if it was a male character, would there be consequences for this act, or are you treating this character special because they’re a woman?’ 

In this case, it’s ‘Michael also fucks up, and yet is treated as a victim, deserving of sympathy and being saved by his brother rather than having to fight all on his own. Their situations are the same. Why not Star? The only difference between them is gender.’ 

This essay is not about whether or not Star is deserving of being saved, nor is it saying that she deserves being trapped in the situation that she’s in. But much like how Star reminds Michael that she did indeed tell him that it was blood in the bottle and he scoffed at her, Star deserves not to be a lifeless doll being acted upon, and a good female character deserves to not be a pretty, perfect Barbie doll that does no wrong and always looks pretty. 

So with the knowledge that a better Star cannot be purely a protagonist, how do we lower her from the boring pedestal? 

My suggestion: by inverting her three main traits

The first: If she’s billed as meek and demure and soft, then make her more aggressive and vulgar 

The second: If she seems to be kept at silent gunpoint, then give her more freedom to act

The third: Make her at least partly responsible for her own situation, regardless of whether or not she thinks she is 

The first revised trait is the most important in my opinion to building a better Star, as it will help direct and reinforce the second two. 

A large part of Star’s lack of presence in the movie is quite literally, a lack of physical presence. Star seems to hate even being near the vampires, and depending on what kind of story you wish to show her in, it could make sense. But chances are, if she’s given the shrinking violet trait, she’s been given the other two as well, and that makes a bad Star. She must be allowed to speak, and more than that - she must be allowed to show emotion. 

Let Star be angry. Let her be hurt in a way that’s not beautiful and languorous, a wilting agony of suffering in silence. And I’ll say it: Let Star say the Fuck word. As silly and simple as it may seem, such a small detail can transform a character. Star deserves to be as rough-edged and imperfect in her words and attitude as any of the rest of the Boys, possibly more if she’s in a situation that she hates! If she had the bravery to run away from home, then she should be afforded the bravery to be more than a pretty, silent, pure woman who doesn’t know what a cigarette is. 

The second revised trait is going to be the most fluid in interpretation because it relies the most on the author or artist or fan’s personal interpretation of what the relationship between Star and the Boys is really like. 

In the movie, Star seems to move with the Boys. She’s usually near them enough that they can keep an eye on her, as we see with David watching Star talking to Michael before the beach race. The only times we see Star distance herself physically is right after the bonfire, where she comes to the Emerson cabin to convince Michael to save her, or when she and Michael have sex. The first time, she seems desperate, like she may not have much time, and the second, she’s been left there on her own while the Boys go out and cavort, likely with the implication that she should stay where they can find her when they get back. 

Again, this is the trait that can be toyed with the most, but a good way to combat the feeling that she’s being held against her will is to give the notion that there are parts of being around the vampires that she likes. There are tiny hints of this in the movie, and the book expands on this. In the movie, there’s a moment during the race where Star seems to be enjoying herself while riding with David - at the very least, she’s enjoying the speed and thrill, if not the person she’s with. In the book, Star and Paul have the best relationship of any of the boys, with Paul trying to cheer her up and promising a ‘happily ever after’. To keep it from feeling like a full captive situation, give Star a reason to feel a bit conflicted over the pack. She’s there in the first place, after all. 

The third revised trait is going to be the most controversial, as it’s a hard thing to admit when people in real life do it. 

Admitting that sometimes, the problems we find ourselves dealing with, are our own fault. We make a bad call, we make a poorly informed decision or decide in the heat of the moment. Sometimes, we are lied to, but the lie is flimsy and we chose to swallow it because it’s what we wanted to hear at the time. I like to ask authors writing villains this - what’s worse and more compelling; a villain who lies, or a villain who tells the protagonist a truth they don’t want to hear? 

And, as backwards as it sounds, making Star partially responsible for her situation is giving her more agency in her story. It gives her a reasonable character flaw that she has to confront and defeat. 

Here is where I’m going to throw in an interesting observation about a specific scene that I think helps lend itself to this particular revised trait: the scene where she asks Michael for help directly. In canon, the scene goes about like this - Star comes to the cabin, Michael tells her that he knows about the vampires, and when he expresses that he thinks it’s basically done for him, Star tells him that it’s not, he’s not fully gone, and that she needs his help to save all three of them. Now, there’s something really, really interesting to me about this scene: Star is NOT a reliable narrator during it. At all. 

To say that she’s lying outright about everything would be untrue, but when you examine it, you realize that she’s being untruthful all the same. When Michael gets upset, accusing her of not caring about him because in his eyes she let this happen, she says that she DOES care about him, using physical touch to reinforce this. When she’s soundly rejected, by Michel slapping her hand away and demanding to know why she REALLY came, she very reluctantly tells him that she was hoping he’d help them. It’s her last answer, the last thing she wanted to say. Obviously hoping that the emotions would be enough to persuade him, rather than just saying that she needed help outright, which would be easier to say no to. 

Secondly, the WHY. Star states that Michael was ‘supposed to be her first, because it’s what David wanted’. When watching the scene, the delivery, the body language, and given the full context of the plot and how we’ve seen Star behave? We can only come to the conclusion that Star. Doesn’t. Know. That. 

Max’s ultimate goal is to get Lucy, and to get Lucy, he needs Michael and Sam to be on board, or at least BE vampires. Killing one of her children would hardly serve that goal. Given the ending fight, Max doesn’t give a dead rat’s ass about Star. And Star? She doesn’t even know Max exists. David telling Star to kill Michael to turn her into a vampire is not only pointless, but going expressly against Max’s wishes. We don’t know how much of Max’s plan David and the Boys know about, or given their personalities and implied relationship with him, even care about, but defying him in this instance doesn’t seem like the smartest thing to do. 

Not to mention - Star does like Michael. She hugs him at the end, she does give him a warning about the blood, albeit a weak one. She does attempt to fight Max in the end, even if she fails. As for her thoughts on David, those are more complicated. Whether the relationship is real, coerced, that she’s simply a pawn being used to tug Michael around or whether she and David did like each other at one time, is unknown, but it is clear that Star knows that David is interested in Michael, and doesn’t like it. So it would then be logical to assume, given this, that Star would assume, based on what she knows and has been able to observe, that she’d pain David in a worse light. Insinuating that it’s HIM who’s pulling the string, assuming what he wants and what his intentions are, even if she DOESN’T. KNOW. 

All this to conclude: Star is an unreliable narrator taking actions based on her own flawed assumptions. Which means she’s going to make mistakes, and miscalculate her position. She’s going to cast herself in a certain light, and like anyone, maybe not want to admit when that light is suddenly not a reflection of her best. 

So, how do I conclude this. 

Star is an interesting character, and I do enjoy her. If you managed to sit through this to get to here, and if there’s anything to take away from this, it’s that I enjoy Star and I want her to be a better…her. She deserves to cuss and spit, she deserves to be angry and sad at her predicament, she deserves to be loved as a whole person and not some untouchable angel. Let her fight. Let her bite. Let her bleed for her freedom and personhood.

Most importantly, if you allow the Boys room to be more than they are presented as on screen, then you can afford to give that to Star. 

Thank you for reading, if you did. 

@misslavenderlady (I almost forgot!)

[finalgirlwillbyers]

Heyyy

I trust your judgment when it comes to proper characterization of Will and want to ask the following if you don’t mind 🎄

What are the chances that Will is going to start the season with a “love interest” already? I mean kind of like Steve was introduced to the audience - making out in school’s bathroom? I guess I am mainly curious if Will as a character could get with some random boy (let’s say from the basketball team) during the time skip? Let’s say someone attractive and relatively nice hits on him, would he get involved with the guy? Also, would he start some secret relationship with someone he does not feel emotionally connected to?

Thanks.

There is a 0% chance of Will starting the season with a new love interest (who I call Random Guy #9). There is a 0% chance of Will entertaining another guy, outside of it being a 10 second gag. There is a 0% chance of Will considering requited romance as a real possibility for himself.

Will entering a romantic relationship is payoff for his growth. Said growth isn't "complete" yet. Not only is Will introverted and shy, Will is also closed-off. You need to be open to be in a relationship.

When S4 ended, Will--

1. was in love with Mike and unable to articulate his feelings in a way Mike understood. Plot line unresolved.

2. shared that he felt like a mistake. Self-loathing has never been addressed in show. Plot line unresolved.

3. was called out for talking to Jonathan less. Will is still hiding and isolating. Plot line unresolved.

4. was unable to communicate his sexuality, fearing rejection. Plot line unresolved.

5. was burdened by his connection to the Upside Down and Vecna, left vulnerable to evil. Plot line unresolved.

He's a Byers, the show's masochists. They love pining when there's "no hope" and self-flagellation. No wonder Hopper is marrying in /j.

I like the idea of Will trying to "move on," taking chances, and exploring his sexuality beyond Mike. But, I also understand that this isn't possible with how the show is written. This is why fanfic exists.

Will is the character having extreme difficulty moving on from previous events. His supernatural trauma has compounded with his real world struggles. He hates himself, and he blames himself (for real or imagined and supernatural or natural reasons).

He isn't in a good place. Quite frankly, he needs to be in a bad place in order to follow in the footsteps of his predecessors. That's not just Billy and Vecna but also El and Max.

The Duffers need to write Will overcoming a myriad of emotional, psychological, and physical obstacles for a relationship with another person to be possible, even if it's Random Guy #9. It gets more complicated with Mike, but I digress.

Will is a lonely figure. He struggles to be seen truly by those around him. This isn't just because he's hiding but also because those around him are preoccupied with their own problems. With that in mind, it doesn't make sense that Random Guy #9 sees Will or that Will allows himself to be seen (prior to his coming-of-age).

[elizabeth-mitchells]

STATISTICAL "WHICH CHARACTER" PERSONALITY QUIZ

tagged by @natscatorrcio thank you i love you!

rules: take this test and present who you got as the characters most similar to you

okay idk these people so i'm only sharing the ones i know lmao

Violet Parr (The Incredibles): 80%

Amy Antsler (Booksmart): 79%

Chidi Anagonye (The Good Place): 76%

Ben Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy): 74%

Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire): 74%

Viktor (Arcane): 73%

Anita 'Needy' Lesnicki (Jennifer's Body): 72%

tagging: @antlerdyke @yee-hawlw @misfittq @lottieurl @deankarolina (if u want to share and haven't done this already!)

[shaakyhaands]

wait a goddamn second…

you know the short stories? the ones you get with the Draw Points?

You know the one short stories collection, “Moments of Bliss”? The collection with all the consorts being sweet/romantic/paramours with you?

You know how Aquia was added as a consort option on the Japanese server?

Check this shit out.

Listen:

All the other stories in this collection feature sweet, romantic moments with the consorts (Except for the one with Robin).

Aquia may seem like an exception to this rule, until you recall that he has been added to the game as a consort option— on the Japanese server. He has only one short story, and it is the latest edition to the collection, no. 240. This tracks with him being a later, more recent addition to the consort cast.

… Sherry and Violet are there, as well.

Put on your tinfoil hats, my guys.

Hypothesis: Aquia’s short story being added to the moments of bliss collection is a result of Aquia being made a consort option.

The implications of this hypothesis?

Sherry and Violet’s short stories have also been added to the moments of bliss collection, because they are going to be made consort options.

Y’all— if any of y’all have gotten Sherry or Violet’s short stories in the Moments of Bliss collection, PLEASE tell me if it’s platonic or not. I feel like I’m most likely tripping, but I also might be onto something…

Other potential options:

Situation One: Robin, Sherry, Violet, and Aquia’s stories are all grouped together at the end of the collection because they feature platonic relationships, as opposed to romantic relationships with the consorts.

Counter argument to this theory: Aquia’s short story can reasonably be read as romantic. It wouldn’t make sense to have all of the romantic stories featuring consorts be grouped first, throw in three stories featuring platonic friendships, and then pick up the theme of “romantic moments with consort” again for one more story— except in Situation Two:

Situation Two: Robin, Sherry, and Violet’s stories were all grouped together at the end of the collection because they featured platonic relationships, as opposed to romantic relationships with the consorts. Aquia’s story was added to the collection when he became a consort option, and is meant to be interpreted as romantic.

Counter argument to this theory: Look at the titles of Sherry and Violet’s stories. “Love Spell” and “Together”. One could reasonably believe, based off the titles alone, that these stories may be romantic in nature. It’s still possible that these stories could be platonic, of course, but come on— if you saw a story called “Love Spell” with Fenn’s image next to it, would you doubt that story’s potential romantic nature? If any of the established consorts had a story with these titles, you would not bat an eye. Such titles would not be out of place for them— if Sherry and Violet were to be consorts, their stories would also fall under such romantic titles.

Let me know what you think!!

[infizero]

grgrhgahahh i wanna read more pokespe but i cant do it on my phone and im not unpacking my stuff until the morning

[ranger-kellyn]

finished the scarlet dlc epilogue :)

it was. without exaggeration. Horrible :)

[ikyw-t]

I do relate to olivia rodrigo in some ways for example I did have nightmares each week (every day for months) after that phone call in may (march). I fantasize (once every other blue moon) about a time where you're a little fucking sorry. except I do not hold my undying love (there is not even an iota of love, if there ever was) like a grudge and also I will never ever forgive bc you were indeed filled with vitriol. and unfortunately I also cannot let it go. it was six months (three years) of torture. I did NOT love you truly and I cannot laugh at the stupidity. I may have made some real big mistakes but you do indeed make the worst one look fine. like..............

[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

[hail-dondus]

Pixar did not have to go as hard as they did with the Kronos Unveiled scene in The Incredibles (2004), yet they did anyway and gave us one of the best scenes in modern cinema. Literally cannot stop thinking about how good this scene is, from the animation to the build up to the soundtrack.

I don’t think I truly understood how dark this scene - and this film - was a child: Syndrome is systematically and strategically luring in superheroes and killing them off in order to test and improve his Omnidroid design… these people were not only supers but they also had family and loved ones too, just like Bob, and one day they would have just disappeared because chances are they weren’t telling people where they were going because it was "top secret" and against the law. They thought they were doing something good, like helping the people in the island, while also getting to relive their glory days, perhaps even paving the way for superheroes to make a proper comeback… only for Syndrome to kill them in cold blood.

Most of these people can actually be seen at Bob and Helen’s wedding in the beginning of the film - they weren’t just random supers, they were their friends, people they worked alongside and cared about. It’s even worse when you realise that Bob probably blames himself because, after all, Buddy/Syndrome was his biggest fan and he dismissed him by not letting him help.

The relief on Bob’s face when he realises Syndrome doesn’t know where Helen is - meaning he also doesn’t know where their children are because he didn’t realise they were married at this point - is so realistic and gut wrenching to see. The relief contrasting with the anguish of knowing how much danger they and their entire family could have been in the entire time without even knowing...it's so well-done, you can literally feel it.

It’s also worth noting that originally the next target wasn’t Mr Incredible but Frozone - that was who Mirage was trailing, hence why his location is “known”. Imagine if she/Syndrome hadn’t realised that Mr Incredible was with him and they’d lured Frozone in instead as planned; he would have gone to the island to fight the Omnidroid 8 in a volcano setting. We saw how being in the burning building dehydrated Frozone and made it impossible to use his ice powers - presumably it would have been the same in the middle of a lava filled volcano, and he’d have been slaughtered just like the other superheroes before him.

This scene shows an entire generation of superheroes - Bob, Helen and Lucius’ generation - wiped out all because Syndrome felt slighted by his hero as a child, because he internalised that slight and let it drive him to revenge. And, if we take into account the deleted alternate opening scene, it’s mentioned that superheroes "aren't supposed to breed” - meaning there’s a likelihood that Violet, Dash and Jack-Jack are among the very few supers of the next generation. I know that it's deleted and so not really canon, but it's definitely a concept to consider, I think.

Then there's the fact Syndrome named the project "Kronos" - Kronos was a God who overthrew his own father in order to take over his rule, and then he ate his own children to prevent them doing the same thing to him. It feels like it reflects Syndrome once looking up to Mr Incredible and even saying "I could be your ward!", meaning Mr Incredible adopting or fostering him - the project name is a metaphor for Syndrome destroying the Supers, especially Mr Incredible, who he viewed as a father figure. The Omnidroids he built killed two birds with one stone: not only was he able to acquire the data to upgrade the robot to its final design, but it also eliminated the real super heroes and so left him as the last remaining "superhero", even though his powers are man-made, not something he was born with.

Not only did he want to become the only remaining superhero by killing the real ones in revenge, he also planned to sell his inventions at some point so everyone can be super - because "when everyone is super, nobody is". It's like a final blow to the memory of the superheroes he had killed.

I've talked too much about this scene but God... I love it so much more as an adult because it's just so chilling to think about. I'm sure other people can put it much more articulately than I just tried to, but I just really wanted to appreciate this scene.

[incognit0slut]

Angel

PART 5 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Single Dad!Spencer x Nanny!Reader Spencer likes having you around to look after his daughter, in fact, he likes you a bit too much.

content: (18+) 5.4k, breeding kink, fingering, fem oral, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, d/s dynamic but he still tries to be a gentleman although reader doesn’t want him to, mutual pining, body worship with slight religious metaphors bc he’s down so bad, and of course sweet aftercare a/n: 1) i know the gif isn’t spencer but i just had to; 2) i changed the title from the original plan bc i was listening to angel baby while writing this; 3) if i have the chance to describe his happy trail and tummy i will in a heartbeat; 4) this fic is basically the epitome of D-I-L-F!

“I want you to understand,” he mutters against your skin, kissing the sensitive spot just below your ear, “that I’m not trying to take advantage of you.”

A hand creeps up the back of his neck. “What if I want you to?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am serious. I’m not the one hesitating.”

His hand glides slowly up your side, fingertips barely ghosting over your skin, and a soft, shaky breath escapes his lips. “I’m trying to be responsible."

“I think we’re past being responsible,” you counter as his fingers trace your waist. “What are you so worried about, anyway? You’re not forcing me into anything.”

“I want to make sure you don’t feel like—” his fingers twitch, lingering over your bare skin, “—like I’m taking advantage of the situation.”

“I’m literally naked under you,” you remind him. “If anyone’s taking advantage here, it’s me.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he exhales. “You’re making this really hard, you know that?”

“That’s kind of the point.”

And it’s true, Spencer realizes with a rush of heat, because he’s incredibly hard, the heavy length of his cock pressed against your stomach while he braces his weight above you. His lungs tighten, squeezing around breaths that feel too thick to swallow as his teeth graze his lower lip. It takes everything in him to keep from losing himself when his mind is already slipping.

How could he have ever imagined it would go this far?

Spencer can’t quite make sense of how this quiet, unassuming crush that crept in the first time he saw you with his daughter has led to this. It wasn’t anything grand or sudden, just this slow bloom that unfurled every time he caught you reading to Violet or laughing with her over some little joke in the living room. There was just something about the way you slipped so easily into his life, fitting into the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty until you filled them.

He’d never let himself imagine it would go beyond that. He’d convinced himself those feelings for you were just something he’d have to live with quietly, a small ache that would fade with time. But somehow, despite his best efforts to keep it hidden, you’d found your way to him. And against all his expectations, you liked him back. You like him enough that you’re now wearing nothing but a smile.

Flushed skin kissed by the moonlight spilling through the window.

Innocent eyes touched with a hint temptation.

It all feels like some sort of surreal dream.

The moment that led to this replays in his mind, clear as daylight even if it happened well past midnight. He’d gotten home somewhere between too late and way too late, running on nothing but caffeine and sugar, and there you were, leaning casually against the kitchen counter like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You started talking about your day with Violet, recounting how you’d taken her to the park, read her favorite book before bed, and how she’d peppered you with endless questions about why the sky changes colors when the day changes into night. But something was different in your voice, a softness to the way you said his name, and your gaze lingered on him just a beat longer than usual. It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing he could point to and say that’s it, but he felt it. An almost imperceptible shift in the air.

Before he knew it, he had crossed the room and kissed you. He should’ve thought it through or paused to consider the consequences, but the way you responded made it clear you’d been waiting just as long for his attention.

His shoulders fall with a quiet exhale.

“This could get complicated,” he continues, as if reminding you (and maybe himself) that there’s a line between employee and employer that he’s about to cross. A line that could change everything between you both once it’s blurred. “We should think about what this means.”

“We’ve had plenty of time to think. If you wanted to stop, you would’ve done it already.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Then please enlighten me.”

Instead of answering right away, he leans in, his lips finding the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and then he’s gently pulling the tender flesh between his lips that draws a sudden moan from your throat. The sound seems to fuel him, and before you can even register what’s happening, his fingers are already slipping lower, exploring the soft space between your thighs.

“What if I want more than this?” His fingers inch closer, teasingly brushing against your heat with a slowness that borders on torment. “What if I want everything?”

Your hips buck against his hand. “Everything?”

“Everything,” he confirms. “Not just tonight.”

The words send a ripple of electricity that blooms deep in your core. When his fingers finally slip between your folds, a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

“You… you mean you want… more than this? More than just us… here?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice catching like gravel in his throat as his fingers trace over the slickness he’s found. “Does that scare you?”

For a moment, words fail you. The slow, coaxing rhythm of his fingers pulls you deeper into a haze where coherent thoughts are hard to grasp. There’s a pause, a heartbeat where he stops. Waiting.

“No,” you confess, the truth slipping out more easily than you expected. “It doesn’t.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “It doesn’t?”

Your lungs expand, filling with a rush of oxygen and a nervous flutter that lands somewhere in the pit of your stomach. “I think this is the right time to tell you I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

Spencer stays motionless for a beat. Then something shifts—his gaze softens, and a small, almost incredulous smile curves his lips. “You have a crush on me?”

“Yeah.”

“As in… you have feelings for me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“So you’re not just… turned on right now?”

“Well, that too,” you admit with a grin, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. “But it’s more than that. I really like you.”

His smile widens, and his fingers begin to move again, circling your clit with just the right pressure to pull a sharp intake of breath from you. It’s as though your confession is a final green light he’d been waiting for. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Your teeth catch your lip, struggling to hold back fragments of breath. “I thought it was obvious,” you manage between heavy exhales. “Why do you think I always stay late?"

"To avoid traffic?"

You huff. "I tried to be around you as much as possible, Spencer."

His fingers toy at the edge of your entrance, tracing the slick, warm wetness that clings to his skin as a quiet hum rumbles in his chest. “You know I’m not always the best at picking up social cues.”

“You’re a profiler.” Your breath catches halfway between a gasp and a sigh when he slides a finger in. “You're supposed to notice everything."

He lets your words settle, eyes narrowing slightly as he turns them over in his mind.

“I guess I was too focused on trying not to cross any lines to see the ones you were trying to draw."

A soft moan escapes your lips as another finger slides in.

“I'm… glad you finally caught on."

"I'm catching on now.”

His eyes drop to the way your body greedily takes his fingers. The sight alone sends a rush of heat straight to his gut like a line of fire winding up through his chest and spreading into his limbs. You’re dripping, the slick sound of your arousal nearly derails him as he continues to watch the wetness coat his fingers with every slow thrust.

“Since when have you had this crush?” He asks curiously.

There’s a beat of silence, only punctuated by the soft, breathy noises escaping you. When he finally looks up, he catches the way your face scrunches in pleasure, brows furrowed and eyes barely open, and he can’t help but find it almost unbearably adorable. The corners of his lips twitch with a quiet laugh before he leans in, pressing the softest it’s okay, you can tell me kiss against your lips.

“Since when?”

You blink your eyes open at his question, and there’s a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks.

“Since—” you start, but your voice catches when he curls his fingers slightly, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a barely-contained grin.

“Since?” he prompts again.

You swallow the lump tightening in your throat. “Since you interviewed me for the job."

He absorbs your words. "That’s… more than a while."

"It was innocent at the time," you confess, trying to regain some control over your thoughts. "Just a silly little crush."

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, and whatever sense of composure you had left is slipping away piece by piece. “What changed?”

Desperation claws at you with every passing second, your hips moving against his hand as you scramble to gather your thoughts. But the way his fingers are mapping every sensitive spot makes it nearly impossible to articulate anything coherent. He doesn’t miss the way your breath stutters, or how your words break apart into fragmented attempts to answer.

“I-I—” you stammer, wincing as the words catch in your throat before you finally manage to continue, “I probably shouldn’t say…”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing."

He lets out a soft laugh. “Tell me anyway,” he urges. “I want to hear it.”

You fall quiet again, and the only sounds that fill the space between you is the ragged pull of your breaths and the slick rhythm of his fingers pumping lazily inside you. The words sit heavy on your tongue, threatening to disappear if you don’t say them quickly enough.

"Remember when… you taught Violet how to… ride her bike?”

He tilts his head slightly. There’s a furrow in his brow as he searches your face. “You’re going to have to be more specific, there were a lot of lessons.”

“The very first time.”

“Ah,” he muses. “Around June, then.”

You nod. “When I… saw you with her that day, I-I… I got curious.”

His fingers falter, just slightly, the subtle pause enough to show that you’ve grabbed his attention. “Curious?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You were so adorable with her… and I started thinking about what it would be like… to have your kids.”

If there was ever a moment to leave him utterly speechless, this was it. His brain seems to stall, the gears grinding to a halt as the reality of what you’ve said settles in. He’s spent so much time trying to be the one holding it all together, but now? Now all he could picture was you holding a baby—his baby—and the thought sent his mind reeling, knocking him off balance in a way he didn’t expect.

“You… thought about that?”

Your fingers trails his shoulder before slipping up into his hair, curling gently at the nape of his neck. “It crossed my mind more than once.”

“That’s—” wow. He leans his forehead against yours. “Not embarrassing. At all.”

“Really?”

“That’s probably the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life.”

You let out a soft chuckle, gently pulling on his curls before drawing his bottom lip into a gentle suck. “It’s never been innocent since then.”

Goosebumps rises along his skin, and the heat pooling low in his stomach tightens as he grows impossibly harder. “Yeah?”

“I’ve wanted you to fuck me for a long time.”

His jaw clenches.

He’s so close to completely losing it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he mutters, pressing his fingers deeper inside you.

“Why.. why not?”

“Because I might give you exactly what you want.” When he feels you clench around him, he huffs in amusement. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

There’s a tender spot he finds deep inside, one that feels achingly sensitive, and your mouth falls open, a soundless gasp escaping before you can catch it.

“You really mean it,” he says, more a realization than a question, as he watches your body go pliant beneath his touch.

“I do,” you manage to say.

“You want me that way?”

You nod frantically. “Want your cum in me.”

The second those words leave your lips, his groan rumbles through his chest, and you swallow it down as his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling in a chaotic rhythm that’s both desperate and needy. When he finally pulls away, you’re left panting, your lips swollen, his forehead resting against yours.

“Never would’ve guessed you had such a dirty mouth."

"There's a lot of thing you don't know about me."

His breath brushes against your lips as he whispers, “I’m starting to figure that out.”

When he slowly withdraws his fingers, you can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your throat. Your eyes follow his every move as he sits up and settles between your thighs. You’ve always thought Spencer was an attractive man, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t admired the way his shirts fit just snug enough to hint at what was underneath. But seeing him naked like this? That was a whole new level of breathtaking.

Your gaze trails down his frame, landing on the soft curve of his stomach, something you'd secretly adored every time it pressed against his dress shirts. It was even more captivating without anything hiding it now, especially with the trail of dark hair leading down. Soft, scattered strands, drawing your eyes right to the place where you can’t help but stare.

He gives himself a slow pump. Once. Twice. And then, finally, you feel the firm pressure of his tip pressing between your folds.

“Are you sure?” he asks, the head of his cock sliding over your sensitive skin. “There's a condom in my drawer."

Your body tenses at the thought of him pulling back, and without thinking, your hand reaches between the two of you, wrapping around his cock before he can pull away. “When was the last time you got tested?”

He exhales sharply. “A few months ago,” he mutters, hips twitching against your grip despite himself. “If there was any risk, I wouldn’t even consider this without telling you.”

“I got tested last month,” you assure him quickly. “We’re both safe.”

He nods absentmindedly. “We can… still grab the condom if you want…”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, gently brushing the bead of precum that had formed at his tip. “I thought I made it clear I want you to cum inside me.”

He can only stare as your delicate finger trails along the thick vein. It feels like all the oxygen he’s desperately clinging to has been sucked from his lungs.

“I know you said you don’t want to take advantage of me…” you continue, guiding him right to your entrance. “But I really want you to.”

He finally lets out a low, gruff sound, something between a growl and a sigh as he slowly pushes himself in. His eyes are locked on the sight of your walls stretching to accommodate his size, watching as your body struggles to take him.

"You should stop talking like that," he rasps through gritted teeth. "I’m barely holding it together."

"Here's another thing you should know about me.”

He ruts gently into you. A push. A pull.

A heartbeat in between.

“I really like it rough."

That’s all it takes.

He slams his hips into yours.

Intense doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels. It’s more like a surge, a rush of heat and desperation that floods every inch of him the same time you cry out. His throat tightens, constricting around breaths he can’t seem to catch as he resorts to inhaling sharply through his nose.

“Jesus… you feel so—” His words falter, his voice rough and breathless as his fingers figs into your skin. His chest rises and falls with each labored breaths, and his eyes squeezes shut for a moment.

Tight. Warm. Wet. That’s exactly how you feel.

"Perfect." His large hands grips your waist. “You’re perfect.”

You mewl at his words, the sound spilling from your lips before you can stop it, and the soft, needy noise is enough to make his eyes flicker open. He begins to pull back, just enough to make you whimper from the sudden loss of contact, but before you can catch your breath, he snaps his hips forward with a rough, powerful thrust.

Your hands fly to his arms, holding onto him tightly. "Spencer… Please…”

He lets out a sigh.

No man is immune to that tone of desperation, least of all Spencer. Not when you’re offering yourself to him like something out of a dream. Not when your eyes lock onto his with a look that belongs more to an angel—if angels could be so helpless and desperate. Because what angel pleads with every breath for more?

What angel cries out as he holds your hips firmly in place and thrusts with a force that drives you to the brink of sanity?

He’s mesmerized. His eyes track the way your breasts bounce with each snap of his hips. There’s something almost greedy in the way his gaze roams over you, but it’s when he locks onto where your bodies meet that he really loses himself. A glossy ring coats his cock each time he pulls out, and when he pushes back in, the friction between your bodies creates a lewd, wet sound that fills the room.

He laughs. Not out of mockery, but out of sheer delight.

You’re an angel wrapped in sin.

“I can’t—oh god, right there—” Your nails leave little crescents moon on his skin. “You’re so… so deep.”

You’re really testing his limits, and Spencer knows he’s very far from a violent man, but right now, the temptation to cover your mouth with his hand is becoming dangerously real. Although with the way you’re writhing beneath him, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts, he’s sure you’d probably enjoy it.

“Spencer…”

His balls slaps your ass as he slams into you.

“O-Oh—fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He squeezes your waist tightly. “Already?”

“Ngh.”

Your grip loosens on his arm, and before he can fully process what’s happening, your fingers dance along your clit. It takes all his willpower not to spill into you right then and there when he feels you tighten around him in response. But he holds on, because he needs you to cum first. He needs to feel your velvety walls flutter along the rigid veins of his cock, needs to watch the way your body tenses with pleasure.

He needs to feel it more than once.

He lets you have your first orgasm. Although letting seems like the wrong word. There’s nothing passive about it. He’s making you cum, driving you to it with each calculated thrust. You’re toying with your clit, rubbing in frantic circles just like you do whenever you touch yourself with the thought of him, but this time, it’s even more intense. This time, he’s inside you. And this time, it takes only a few moments for the tension to snap.

You clamp down on him. Hard. So hard that his movement falters for a second, but he quickly recovers, thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm. Just as you start to catch your breath, he pulls out, and you’re left in that delicious, dizzy haze, but your mind is even more disoriented when his face suddenly lowers between your thighs.

“Oh, you’re gonna—” you moan as his shoulders nudge your legs apart, opening you wider for him. “Spencer, you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, before you even take another breath, the tip of his tongue flicks out.

“I want to.”

And he means it. He dives in with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt. His tongue starts firm and flat, pressing against you before dragging slowly upward, gathering your slickness in one deliberate sweep. Then he changes rhythm, the broad strokes shifting into something more focused, alternating between gentle flicks and deep, hungry pulls, and it’s doing things to you that no amount of late-night fantasies could have prepared you for.

Your head is all over the place that you reach out blindly, trying to find something solid, but the air merely glides over your skin. You stretch for the edge of the bed, fingertips just skimming the surface before your arms flail helplessly in the empty space. He notices your struggle almost immediately, and without missing a beat, he pulls back, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Here,” he says, reaching out his arms toward you. “Give me your hands.”

Gladly. The second your fingers lock with his, a sense of grounding floods you, though it does nothing to ease the intensity of what he’s doing. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders flex under your thighs as he positions himself. And sure, your legs somehow feel weightless, like they’re floating in the air, but the rest of you?

You’re a mess of nerve endings on fire.

It’s impossible to think clearly when every cell in your body is buzzing. Your thoughts scatter the second his mouth moves in that devastating way, driving you out of your mind. You try to hold on to some semblance of control, but who are you kidding? He has officially turned you into a puddle of desperate, needy nerves, and you don’t even care.

It doesn’t take long before that coil snaps, and when it does, your entire body trembles. It’s always the second orgasm. The first is a tease, a little warm-up. The second one is the worst—or the best, depending on how you look at it. It doesn’t just tug at your edges, it tears right through, leaving you gasping and shaking and completely undone like every part of you has been pulled apart and put back together very wrong.

His mouth is glazed with your slick when he finally pulls away. “Good?”

You can barely feel your legs.

“Speechless,” is your answer.

His nose twitches in amusement as his hand leaves yours only for them to slide down your body, gently coaxing your legs to wrap around his waist. “Continue?”

“Please.”

A palm slips down your thigh. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as he hovers above you. “About what?”

“About taking advantage of you.”

You huff out a sigh. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Say it again,” he urges, guiding his cock smoothly along your folds before your whines travel into his ears. Ah, there it is. This is the sound that would greet him in heaven, if such a place existed for someone like him. Men who’ve taken lives to save others. Men who carry too many regrets to count. Spencer knows he’s not the kind of person heaven was built for, but if it were, he’s certain it would sound exactly like the breathy moan that escapes your lips.

And he’s tasted the afterlife, once, when he was younger—drifting somewhere between consciousness and oblivion with a ghost of a needle stuck in his arm. But nothing about that brush with death was like this. This feels like he’s been pulled back into something he didn’t believe he deserved.

“Say it again.”

He’s pleading now. It sounds awfully like a prayer.

“I want you to take advantage of me,” you say, the words spilling from your lips like a soft, sinful confession, music to his ears. An angel. “I want all of it.”

He takes your hands again. “So you won’t be mad if I get a little rough?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

That’s all he needs. He gently pushes your hands above your head, pinning them to the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours as his weight presses you into the bed. There’s a sudden rush—like a switch has flipped that it knocks the breath out of you. Your heart skips a beat, but not from nerves. No, this is anticipation, excitement.

You test his hold on you, just to see what happens, but his grip stays firm, almost daring you to resist.

“You asked for this,” he warns as he shifts his hips, aligning himself right to your entrance.

You shake your head. “I begged for this.”

He laughs, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “Yeah,” he breathes, his grip tightening as he presses deeper, “you did.”

A breathless whine escapes your lips as he fills you.

Angel, angel, angel.

He looks at you with a kind of reverence that borders on worship, though his movements are anything but saintly. There’s nothing gentle or innocent about the way he’s taking you, and there’s a quiet madness in the way you respond. Making love would be too tame, too soft for what this is. But fucking seems too crude, too disconnected for the way your eyes meet his, for the way you say his name like a prayer and a demand all at once.

The moment your voice breaks, breathless and needy, something inside him snaps. He feels the tightness coiling in his gut, and once it starts, there’s no stopping it. The pressure is mounting, and with every hard thrust it becomes harder to hold back. He knows he should slow down, give you a moment to catch your breath, but he can’t—his body won’t let him.

His fingers tighten around yours. He’s moving with a single-minded intensity now, pushing you flat against the mattress, your body pliant beneath him. The bed creaks every time he moves and your legs wrap tighter around his hips as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Spencer leans down, brushing his lips against yours, so close but never quite closing the distance, like even the simplest kiss would shatter him too soon. Instead, he rests his forehead on top of yours and whispers, “l’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, like he’s stuck on some endless loop. It’s not a real apology, not for anything he’s done, but for how much he needs you and how he’s afraid of breaking you with how much he can’t hold back.

He’s so close and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“I’m—” He groans as he feels the tension in his body snap, the wave building up in his spine and crashing down with brutal intensity. “I—fuck—I can’t hold it—”

You’re barely coherent yourself, but your voice comes out strong. A little breathless.

“Inside,” you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. “I want it inside.”

Your words push him over the edge. He shudders, hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as he can the moment the last thread of his restraint snaps. He can feel it, the way he pulses inside you, filling you completely. Every thrust is accompanied by a harsh groan as his release paints your walls, and the sound of your soft, desperate whines only pushes him deeper into the overwhelming pleasure.

When it finally becomes too much, he carefully pulls out. But the intensity is still coursing through his veins, and he’s too addicted to the sound of your sound, too drawn to the way your body trembles beneath him.

His hand drifts from your wrist almost on instinct, tracing its way down between your legs. He doesn’t need to see the mess he’s made—he can feel it. There’s a fleeting moment where he pauses, almost in awe, before his fingers brush over your clit, and your hips jerk in response. He’s not even sure if he’s teasing you or himself at this point, but he’s too far gone to care.

He slides two fingers inside you.

Your back arches instantly, your nipples brushing against his chest, and you gasp, fully aware of what he’s trying to do. “Oh… I—I can’t…”

He shakes his head. “You can,” he reassures you, watching in fascination as he pushes the white liquid of his release deeper into you. His gaze snaps back to yours. “I think you can give me one more.”

Your body trembles, and you can’t hold back the soft, broken cry that escapes your lips.

“Spencer…”

He loosens his grip on your hand, guiding it gently to rest around his neck. “Please,” he begs, his lips brushing your skin, “for me?”

The way he says it makes it impossible for you to deny him. And he knows it. He feels it in the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the tension inside you builds again. His fingers work faster, more desperate now, curling inside you just the way you like.

He’s watching, waiting, and when you finally cum again, it’s like witnessing something so divine. Your body shakes beneath him, a violent, beautiful quake that feels like it’s pulling him into its orbit. He’s unable to tear his eyes away as your head tilts back, lips parting with a choked moan that’s as delicate as it is devastating like an angel’s breath caught on the edge of rapture.

If angels looked this breathtaking in heaven, no wonder people were willing to risk damnation.

Spencer smiles wryly to himself.

Since when did he become so religious?

Another strangled moan escapes your lips. When your orgasm finally subsides, your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, and with what little strength you have left, you reach up and yank weakly at his mop of brown curls.

“…no more.”

He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “No more,” he agrees, pulling his fingers from you carefully.

Without saying a word, he slips off the bed and disappears from the room, only to come back with a damp towel in his hand. You expect him to hand it over to you, but you’re surprised when he kneels at the edge of the bed, gently spreading your legs apart.

Your skin tingles under his gaze as he stares at the mess between your thighs.

“That was…” he starts as he begins to wipe the towel over you. “…very reckless of us.”

With a small, tired smile, you mutter, “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

He glances up at you. “I’m not,” he admits, finishing his cleanup and setting the towel aside. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least pretend to be responsible.”

You reach for him as he climbs back into bed. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m on birth control?”

He exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, his body visibly relaxing as he lets out a quiet laugh. “It definitely helps,” he says, tucking you under his chin, “but I’m still going to try to be more careful next time.”

Your grin is as wide as the warmth spreading through your chest. “Next time?”

He smiles softly. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“Which part? You said a lot of things.”

“You know what I mean,” he insists.

“I know. But I want to hear it again.”

The tip of his nose brushes yours. “I want everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every single part of you.”

You take a deep breath. A whiff of his sweat and the faintest trace of soap clings around your senses until you release a happy sigh. “Do you think Violet will be okay with this? With us?”

His hand slips to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilts his head to look at you. “She already loves you,” he reassures you. “She’s more adaptable than you think. And she trusts you.”

“But... what if it changes things for her?”

“It will change things,” he admits. “But all the changes will be good ones."

You mull over his words. “You think so?”

“I know so, because you make her happy. You make both of us happy, an—”

He stops, his lips just barely parted as he catches himself.

He almost said it. He almost called you angel.

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly, a faint embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I’m just really happy,” he explains, his fingers absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. There’s a curious look in your eyes, but instead of pressing him, you bury yourself into his neck, which he’s quietly grateful for because he’s not sure he could have explained himself without sounding like a total sap.

And maybe he is a sap, but even he’s aware that words like that shouldn’t be thrown around too soon, especially after just one night. Not before things settle in, before everything feels a little less like a dream and more like reality.

But he thinks about it. Oh, he thinks about it. The word stubbornly lingers at the edge of his mind he’s keeping for another time. He imagines letting it slip on some quiet morning, when you’re half-asleep and bundled in his shirt, golden sunlight filtering through the window to cast a warm glow across your skin. Or maybe when you meet him at the door after a long day, and Violet runs up, chattering away while you smile at him with that look that feels like coming home.

He can picture it falling easily from his lips someday, maybe even in a future where you’re holding the baby you had wondered about having with him and he’s standing there, watching you like someone who can’t quite believe his luck.

He’ll say it with a kind of certainty then. Not as a prayer, not as some lofty declaration of divine grace.

And when that moment comes, without hesitation, he’ll finally call you his angel.

[princesssmars]

baby girl, im finna rock your shit!

a sequel to this vi x reader. p.iii

wc : 1.735

contains : fxf relationship and sex. some romantic fluff. rough sex. penetrative sex (r!receiving). some dom!vi i think. lowkey highkey jealous/possesive vi.

a/n : greatest writing motivation is being horny as fuck. enjoy.

for better or worse, violet could not keep her hands off of you.

when you first glanced at her you did not take her for the type to be so affectionate - dyed black hair, smudged eyeshadow, not to mention the abundance of leather she was wearing as she celebrated knocking her opponent out cold. that mixed with her playboy reputation with some of her more desperate fans? let’s say you weren’t expecting nightly shoulder rubs and playful smushing of cheeks when you got home.

but when you finally gave her a chance to worm her way into your heart you were gladly surprised to see just how much of a sweetheart the boxer could really be. she texted you every day and constantly made sure you were taking care of your physical and mental well-being.

and of course, once you gave her the go-ahead she was so physically affectionate. she always had a hand on your hip when walking in public, gently moving you to avoid a small obstacle or to show you a small place she wanted to treat you to. at your shared apartments she would follow you around almost akin to a puppy, a big dopey smile on her face as she stood behind you while you were grabbing some chips from the kitchen.

“uhh…do you need something?”

“nope.”

“…are you sure?”

“yup.”

and every time you couldn’t help but roll your eyes and smile at her before putting a kiss on her cheek.

and while you noticed it beforehand, after you slept together for the first time you saw just how…depraved her affection could get.

from your experience, the first few days after the first time with a partner could be strange, with neither partner knowing when it would be right to initiate the next time without seeming too distant or too desperate. but gods were you glad you and vi were on the same wavelength. it was only the morning after that you were ready to go at her again, nearly embarrassingly desperate to feel the ache she left between your legs again.

but you were feeling just the slightest bit of self-conscious over how eager you were with her last night, so you decided to do something nice to show your appreciation by making her and you a nice breakfast. even though your legs felt the slightest bit wobbly as you made your way to the kitchen.

in the middle of you poking at the eggs to check their progress when you feel a pair of strong arms encircle your waist and a towering body press into your back. you try to keep focusing on the cooking but it becomes impossible when vi starts to playfully bite and kiss at the skin of your neck, forcing you to giggle as the feeling of it combined with her hair getting in your face.

your giggle turns into an airy gasp when her palms grasp your hips and she brashly thrusts her crotch into your backside, moving your body over to the side so you can grip the counter. a deep groan escapes from her throat when your hand travels up to grip her hair. another moan leaves your throat when she lets one of her hands travel down beneath her your sleepshirt.

so you were both equally desperate. and it was amazing.

now her quick kisses before boxing matches had a fair chance of turning into heated make-out sessions and quickies, her scarred lips smiling as she whispered how she needed to complete her ‘winning ritual’ before she goes out to fight, which usually consists of her getting on her knees and eating you out until you’re dizzy. she also loved downright groping you whenever she got the chance when you slept over at her apartment. you could be mopping the floors and she wouldn’t hesitate to reach down and squeeze or slap your ass before walking off like nothing happened.

and though you initially didn't suspect it, you find out she can be incredibly possessive. and again, it was amazing.

once you started to become more official vi made sure you had a front-row ticket to her matches so she could turn her head and spot you whenever she was in the ring. she was scheduled to fight some up-and-coming boxer who was known for her big mouth, and after shit-talking vi one too many times in the press your girlfriend was more than eager to step into the ring. you just didn't expect the woman to have an apparent death wish as she openly flirted with you before the match started, blowing you a kiss and a wink before coming face to face with an uncommonly calm violet.

it was one of the faster knockouts she'd gotten in her career.

as soon as the press and her team were done talking to her she gave you a look. a look that said “get your ass in the car because you are so getting messed up when we get home,,”

and so, you get your ass in the car. and not even an hour later, she makes good on her silent words.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“thats it, take it baby. just fucking take it.”

when you had called vi depraved you truly meant it, as there was no other way to describe the provocative posiiton she had you in - your body pliant and settled on top of hers as her arms wrapped under your kneed and locked behind your head.

all of it was just so deliciously disorienting. the way her feet planted on to the mattress so that she could use her core to thrust her hot pink strap inside of your cunt, the frequent growls and grunts she let fly right next to your ear, how her clasped hands kept forcing your head from rolling back to looking down-

you let out a pitifully desperate whine when your eyesight locks onto the sight of your body from the mirror she dragged over to the front of the bed. youd felt a zap go through your body as she was doing so, and it was only increased ten fold as you saw the creamy mess between your thighs, strings of your slick expanding and contracting each time she pounded herself into you.

“god, i can feel you clenching around me. you like looking at how fucking messy i make you?” violet sneers before delivering a random harsh thrust inside you, laughing nearly cruelly when an odd squeaking comes from your throat.

“aw don't worry baby, i love it too. sounds so fucking good, should've set up a god damn camera-”

it is definitely not embarrassing how loudly you moan at that. you aren't allowed to be bashful when violet giggles into your shoulder. she brings one of her hands to wrap around your throat while the other travels downwards. she brushes over your breasts and stomach, reveling in the ripple it causes when you take a shaky inhale at the feeling.

you’re so caught up in the contradictory softness of her touch and the roughness of her hips movements that you’re more than shocked when she raises her hand and brings it down in a hard slap against your thigh. your hips involuntarily move up into her palm while down towards the strap, conflicted on which pleasure you want to overwhelm you.

“come on, don't run from it. we know you can take it.” she groaned, bringing her hand down in another rough slap against your thigh. she was never the most jealous person. she was never in a relationship long enough to be jealous. but seeing you fall apart for her so desperately after that bitch had the nerve to hit on you in front of her put a sick feeling of satisfaction in the pit of her chest.

your whines start to take on a higher pitch that reveals to her you’re closer than ever to your orgasm. high off of the win and the euphoria of fucking you and feeling the base of her dick bumping into her clit with each thrust, she decides to take a gamble and do something that she knows will make you make a mess for her.

there are no words to describe the full-body feeling you have at her rough palm smacking down on your clit, or the way your orgasm rips out of you like a bullet train. it’s so powerful it nearly hurts, and no matter how much you try to arch away from her she uses her grip to hold you down and follows you up with her hips.

“nuh uh, don't fucking run from me, baby. just feel it, god take it, bet you look so fucking pretty.”

the pleasure feels like it lasts for hours, and its only halfway through that you realize you’re leaking all over both of you and the sheets. you also realize that the experience has brought violet to a fiery orgasm herself, her body pushing through the pleasure as she uses shaky thrusts to help the both of you ride through your orgasms.

with how much she loves being affectionate, it's no surprise that vi is a god at aftercare. once it's clear your high has passed and you’re teasing the edge of sleep she immediately gets to work by slowly slipping the strap out of you and pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek when you whimper at the object leaving your warmth. ever so gently she handles your body to slip off of hers and rest on the bed and on shaky legs walks to get a rag from the bathroom.

after cleaning both of you off she tosses the strap to the floor to be cleaned later and flops in bed next to you. as she lays on her stomach she rests her arm over your body, pulling you in ever closer to her.

“y’know i think that reaction gives me permission to start calling you jealous.” your voice is quiet but hoarse and gives her just the littlest bit of pride.

“’m not jealous. maybe i just can’t get enough of you.”

god, you hope you get flirted with more often.

[nightingale-prompts]

Worship Me- DCxDP prompt

Yes, it's slightly horny. Sue me!

Was there anyone in this family that didn't attract crazy? Tim would like to say that it was some more than others but the track record is horrendous for each of them.

Don't ask him how he got here. It was a blur. Mission. Altar. Cursed Mirror.

But all that doesn't matter anymore because currently in what could only be described as an obsidian palace.

The palace floats in the void like a jagged crown. Its structure defies logic—spires twist and spiral in impossible geometries, as though grown rather than built. Every surface is carved from seamless black obsidian that drinks in the light of distant stars, causing the palace to shimmer with eerie inner reflections, like shadows trapped beneath glass.

The entrance is a colossal gate shaped like an open eye, rimmed with glowing runes that pulse with alien intent. Inside, the vast halls echo with silence too deep to be natural. The floors gleam with a mirror-sheen, reflecting not just one's image, but fragments of memories, glimpses of alternate selves, or ghostly figures passing just out of reach.

Chambers are suspended in open vacuum, tethered by bridges of crystalline light or magnetic arcs. Gravity bends strangely; a single step can carry you across entire rooms or into hidden dimensions nested within the architecture.

Tim had memorized every detail of this place in the days since he arrived. Most of the time he was allowed to go about his day staying and learning about this place. He wasn't imprisoned, he had to wait for the portal to open again in a few weeks. But Tim had caught the interest of the ruler of the palace.

Now Tim sat on the edge of the floating bed. It's heaped with a sea of plush pillows in shades of midnight blue, silver, and deep violet, each embroidered with celestial patterns.

How he got to this point—he may have...had a few conversations with who he assumed was the prince. The person who he thought was the king was actually his guardian. Tim just...flirted a little to get a bit of information on this place. Danny—the prince—had been more than receptive.

It might have gone too far but here we are.

Now he was in the bedroom of who he still assumed was the crown prince with said prince currently on his lap with his lips on Tim's neck. Tim is unable to move because he believes that if they get caught Tim might end up beheaded for putting his Richard where it does not belong. Hell, they probably already know with the all-seeing eyes everywhere and the fact that the beings in this dimension phase through walls so using the door was just a polite formality.

"Stop thinking. I can practically hear your thoughts." Danny growled nipping at Tim's neck between kisses.

"Then you can te—ll, haa. Fuck! Your hand. Too fast." Tim gasped.

Danny pulled away as he grabbed Tim by the chin and made him look into his eyes. Those hypnotizing green eyes.

"Do you want this?" Danny asked his eyes narrowed.

"...Yes," Tim couldn't lie.

"What do you want?" Danny smiled his sharp elongated incisors showing.

Tim remained silent his hand pressed against the small of the princes back.

"Good, you don't have to say a word. Focus on me. Think of me. Nothing else." His hand wrapped around Tim's throat. "Worship me as your new god."

Prince—king—these words where actually meaningless titles for Danny. He was not these petty and lowly things. He was a god and he craved worship. Even if it came in the form of a single human devoted to him. How incredibly lucky that a suitable human came here. Clockwork says it was best to let the human go back to his dimension and hopefully share his experience so that others will worship Danny. He had no interest in letting his new priest go so easily, not without a parting gift.

"I wonder how it must feel to bed your new master."

[venusbyline]

Hard to please — Cregan Stark.

— summary: Although the Faith of the Seven had never been a problem for him until then, your devout ways were irritating him. He respected the differences between the two of you, the main problem was your point of view on the meaning of sex. People all over Westeros talked about how Targaryen women were uninhibited, fiery and hungry for sexual fun. You did not fit that type.

— pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen!reader

— type: smut, dark

— word count: 6.5k

— tags/warnings: wife!reader, dark!Cregan, dubcon, breeding kink, corruption kink, rough vaginal sex, doggy style position, forced female masturbation, oral sex (male receiving & female receiving), handjob, blowjob, cunnilingus, rimming/anilingus, fingering, creampie, degradation, size kink, implied breastfeeding kink, gaslighting, possessive behaviour, jealously, sexual inexperience, light subspace, light sadism, reader is Alicent and Viserys' second daughter, hopeful ending, canon divergence (No The Dance of the Dragons). no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes: For a long time I've been wanting to write some dark!Cregan fic but I wasn't having any ideas, until I received that amazing ask 💕💕 tysmm sweetie, I loved writing this!!!

— tagging list: @targaryenprincess1 @sylasthegrim

❥ Cregan masterlist • HOTD masterlist

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • main masterlist

"She must be hard to please."

Lord Cregan Stark was with some friends at the Great Hall. Wine goblets filled to the brim in the hands of all those men who were sharing random stories to amuse themselves and to stay away from political matters for a few hours.

He was sitting in the largest chair, his back supported in a slouched position due to the effects of the alcohol.

"Who?" Cregan asked the older man, more focused on continuing to drink. He had already lost count of how many goblets he already had, the servants around them seeming a little surprised by his unusual behavior.

Cregan's men shared a unison laugh, gesturing to the corridor where you had passed a few hours before, using your typical good manners to greet them. "Your Lady Wife."

Absorbing those words, Cregan choked slightly on his wine, straightening in his chair and placing the goblet back on the table. His fist slammed into the chest twice, not too hard, to get rid of the choking sensation in his throat.

Had he heard that right?

"What was that supposed to mean?" Cregan asked, his voice turning kind of tense. He did not like talking about you with his friends, nor did he like you interacting with men who were not servants or guards of Winterfell.

Not because he felt embarrassed about the marriage, but because he felt... irritated.

Irritated by the possibility of other men thinking about you, regardless of the types of thoughts.

"You know what I mean. They say that southerners women are incredible in bed, especially those of House Targaryen."

The Great Hall filled with laughters again, his men giving unnecessary opinions and asking a lot of indecent questions, curious about such details involving the sexual routine between the Warden of the North and his sweet wife.

To be honest, Cregan was not having as good a married life as he imagined when he first laid eyes on you. That long silver hair, violet eyes, green silk dress... You looked delightful. Although his visit to King's Landing had been only to discuss political matters with Queen Rhaenyra, he was immediately attracted to you.

The third daughter of the late King Viserys, half-sister of the Queen and only four years younger than him. You were still untouchable, according to what Rhaenyra told him after noticing the northerner's sudden interest. Your mother, the Dowager Queen, was looking for a promising betrothal for you. Her eldest children, Aegon and Helaena, had been married for years. Aemond, the second son, was betrothed to one of Lord Borros Baratheon's daughters. Daeron was still single, as were you, though Alicent had considered betrothing her youngest child to some Lady Lannister.

Worst case scenario, if things did not work out so well, she would marry you with your younger brother.

Cregan spoke to Rhaenyra about the proposed betrothal to her half-sister. During the following morning, she had already informed Alicent. Obviously, the Dowager Queen did not take long to accept Cregan's idea, knowing very well how a marriage with the Lord of Winterfell was a unique and excellent opportunity. She did not even notice Cregan's urgency to take you to Winterfell as soon as possible, not wanting to postpone the inevitable for too long, claiming his need to have a first child.

However, a month had passed since the wedding ceremony and your womb remained empty, which frustrated him a little.

Cregan was not blaming you, of course. He was blaming your damn faith.

Although the Faith of the Seven had never been a problem for him until then, your devout ways were irritating him. He respected the differences between the two of you, the main problem was your point of view on the meaning of sex. People all over Westeros talked about how Targaryen women were uninhibited, fiery and hungry for sexual fun. You did not fit that type.

As much as he had not decided to marry you because of that possibility — after all, he was too jealous to like the idea of you wanting another man before him —, Cregan was stressed out by witnessing you treat your nights together as a mere duty to produce heirs.

Fucking you should not be treated as just a way to try to have children. He wanted to fuck you into oblivion, he wanted to teach you every possible position, fuck you in every corner of the castle. Fuck… He could even build a small Sept inside Winterfell if he could fuck you while you prayed to the Seven.

He just wanted you to want to be fucked.

“Did you request my presence here, husband?”

Cregan was sitting in an armchair in the corner of his private chambers, the back of the hand under his chin and pondering something. You were not usually called to that room this late at night, because the duties as a couple were always done earlier so like that both of you had enough time to sleep and prepare yourselves for the next day.

When your maid told you about Lord Stark's request, you thought something serious might have happened — which seemed to be the case, considering his stoic expression upon seeing you.

"Come in and close the door, wife."

Shoulders tensed at Cregan's command. He was not usually rude, at least not to you. Despite his cold exterior, Cregan was an excellent husband, better than you could have imagined. When you were informed by your mother and your half-sister about the sudden betrothal with the Lord of Winterfell, your first reaction was shock and concern was the second one. The northmen did not usually like southerners, especially Targaryens. In that entire century, there had never been any love union between a Stark and a Targaryen, and the thought of being the first in an entire family to experience something like that made you tense.

However, Cregan proved he could be a very kind husband, who respected you and seemed to like you in his own way. He was not romantic like girls read in fictional books, no roses or loving declarations. He showed his affection with subtle acts, like letting you help him with some political matters, walking with you, listening to you tell stories about your childhood.

You did not know if he loved you yet, but you knew he appreciated your existence at least. And that was already much more than most women received from their arranged alliances.

In all the time together, you had never seen him so harsh with you until now.

"Come closer." Cregan gave a second order after you closed the door and then gestured to where he was sitting. As you approached with slow steps, Cregan looked you up and down, observing the clothes you were wearing. In addition to the long-sleeved white woolen nightgown, there was a dark gray fur coat. That was not exactly a cold night for the North's standards, your body was still accustomed to the warmer temperatures of King's Landing. "Were you already asleep, wife?"

You shook the head. "Not yet. I was concentrating myself on the reading of a book."

"A book?" Cregan raised an eyebrow, not quite believing that explanation. "Your maid told me you were busy praying before bed."

Shifting uncomfortably in front of him, you bit the lower lip and took a deep breath. "Well, I did it... I stopped reading so I could pray, as I always do most nights."

Despite not liking that the fact his own woman dared to lie to him, no matter how harmless the lie might be, Cregan chose to focus on the main issue, the reason that made him demand your presence there. "I assume you know why I called you here."

You nodded, not hesitating in the slightest, knowing those responsibilities to him. "To fulfill our marital duties."

A frustrated grimace appeared on Cregan's face, hating how you insisted on treating the situation like this. Why the hells did you act like being married to him felt like a sacrifice?

"To fuck." The correction caught you off guard, wide eyes and cheeks flushed like a virgin little girl. Cregan took that reaction as a good sign, a part of him feeling amused at being able to corrupt a bit of your typical innocence. "You have not given me an heir yet."

Your heart skipped a beat. The pressure to provide an heir was high for any lady... But for a wife of a lord like Cregan Stark? The pressure on you was ten times higher.

You felt quite useless, since Cregan never pressured you about that until then. The shock over his crude words eventually subsided, now focused on asking for forgiveness. "I-I am sorry, husband. I do not know why this is taking so long, I know how much we need an heir and I apologize for disappointing you."

Cregan's heart sank, hearing your sadness and self-deprecation. It was obvious how much you blamed yourself for all of this, and he was not really proud of himself about taking advantage of that, acting as if he was angry with you for not getting pregnant yet — the birth of a male heir was something that could not take long to happen. However, Cregan was more excited about the process of making the heir. The two of you should be trying often... And if he had to lie about being angry so he could have you in bed with the wished intensity, mayhaps this would be worth it.

"Is this how you want to make your husband proud, make the North proud? Is this how you show respect to my people?" He stood up, towering over you and acting as if he were facing a scared lamb. “You are bringing shame upon me and yourself. To your House."

You did not want to act like a whiny, pathetic little girl, you knew how weak it would make you look. Any brave reaction was impossible to fake now, though. Your hands shook and your lower lip too. Was he so frustrated and disappointed that he could look so aggressive?

"I just..."

"You spend all your time praying to the Gods, praying to the Mother. Do you really think they would grace you with fertility if you do not even sleep with your own husband?"

"I sleep with you."

He snorted at the predictable defense. Yes, you slept with him... As a duty, not as a Lady Wife should do. Not as someone who felt true lust for him should do.

He moved a little closer to you, rising higher and higher until he was looking down at you with a jaw clenched. "You are sleeping with me, wife. And you do not fuck with me, you do not act like a woman should with her wife."

That word again. Fuck. Why the hells did he want to fuck you? Why the hells was he acting like you were a mere whore from the Street of Silk, a mere woman whose only concerns were their sexual performances?

You were a wife... You were supposed to bear children for him, just as your mother Alicent had done for your father Viserys, just as Helaena had done for Aegon. That was what your mother had taught you about marriage. What happened in bed was supposed to benefit the men. To give them what they wished the most: many heirs.

"My duty is–"

"Yes, I know that your duty is to be a perfect wife and to bear me children. And yet, that duty should also be repeated more often than we are doing it. This should be... Intense, enjoyed by both of us. Pleasurable."

That was not something you heard so much in your upbringing. There was no connection between duty and pleasure, as far as you knew. Alicent never talked about enjoying what she had to do with your father, they had sex only when more children were needed — Daeron was an exception, since his birth had not been planned—. Helaena had slept with Aegon very few times throughout their marriage, and neither of them were very enthusiastic about it.

Rhaenyra, your half-sister and the Queen, was one of the few exceptions. Her sexual experiences were a controversial topic for the entire Kingdom.

In any case, sex was not seen as something pleasurable and carnal in the Faith of the Seven.

"I do not know if I like this, Cregan."

His name slipped out before you could control your tongue, and the man immediately narrowed his eyes, incredulous at that sudden lack of manners. "Cregan?"

If this were a normal day, he would not mind hearing you say his first name so intimately — especially if you were moaning it —. Hearing you call him by name during a scolding was a different thing. It was almost an affront, a way of showing that you did not agree with what he was saying.

"Cregan?" He repeated, continuing to tower over you, continuing to act as if he was about to hunt you down like a big wolf.

Your heart skipped a beat and the body froze, not knowing what to say, understanding that there were not many good explanations to excuse what you had just done. "I just... the Faith of the Seven says–"

"I do not care what your Faith says, wife." His large hand closed around your neck with such absurd speed, not giving you the slightest chance to react in advance. The gasp you let out brought him a dark satisfaction that was unusual, never felt until now. "Do you want to kneel before the Gods and beg them to grant you a decent fertility? Great... Then kneel before your husband and suck my cock first. Show the Seven how willing you are to receive my seed inside your cunt."

Cregan took his hand from your throat and brought it to the back of your neck, pulling you to the ground right in front of him. His eyes darkened, seeing you so scared, just like a small animal about to be captured and devoured, your face so pale it looked like you wanted to cry and run away.

And you really wanted to be able to do that... Cry in panic, get up and run far away from your own husband, far away from whatever impure thing he was about to do.

"H-Husband..."

"No, no... Do not give me that sad puppy look. You were so insulting saying you did not agree with what I said before, calling me Cregan..." He mocked, patting his wife's head. "Come on, princess. You are already on your knees, just undo the ties of my pants. You can do that, cannot you?"

This was not right, you thought. This was not what you were taught, this was not what your mother told you about what the life of a worthy wife should be. This was something that happened in the brothels, the dirty and depraved places where your older brother spent most of his time drinking and having fun.

It seemed so wrong.

And yet, what else could you do? One of a woman's duties was to obey her husband, no matter the circumstances. There was no alternative of this situation. The husband gave the orders and the wife was expected to obey without hesitation or complaint.

With trembling arms, you broke the eye contact with Cregan and began to fiddle the ties — the ones that were a little bit harder to undo when you were so nervous.

Cregan watched you with a slight smirk on his face, enjoying the sight of his sweet, innocent woman about to see his cock. You had seen it during the times you had sex, of course, but nothing this intimate. Most of the time, you immediately turned the face away as soon as he pulled down his pants, being too embarrassed to admire how big he was down there.

But now, you were finally going to see it up close to your face, feel it inside your throat...

"That's it, very good..." He whispered the mocking compliment as you pulled down his clothes, coming face to face with his thick member. It looked even more intimidating than the other times you had seen it. "Use your hands right now. Wrap them around it."

Taking a deep breath, your heart racing so fast it made you feel nauseous. Nodding hesitantly, you placed a hand there, staring at Cregan with wide eyes when he throbbed. He was not all hard, just enough to worry you and make you want to beg the Seven for mercy.

Your other palm also closed around Cregan's cock, listening to the instruction he gave right after about making slow movements.

It was not exactly the most arousing thing he had felt in the entire life, so he sighed a little frustrated; ever since he had heard those stupid words from his friends, questioning what you were like in bed... That had made his blood boil.

The lack of patience was clear in Cregan's expression and he cleared his throat, giving you a light push to keep you away from him — at least it should have been a light push, which did not work very well due to Cregan's natural strength.

He stared at you with guilt when he saw your eyes fill with tears as your ass hit the floor, the humiliation saddening you more than the sharp pain. "Get up. And take off those clothes to lie on my bed while I undress too." He struggled to keep the severity of his voice.

Nodding and pouting, you got up from the ground and did not turn around, already understanding that he did not want you to hide anymore. You took off the fur coat, exposing the white nightgown that highlighted your form, not too tight and not too loose — just the right amount of perfect.

Taking a quick glance at your husband, you immediately caught your breath. He was already naked, his broad, strong shoulders catching your attention... You were always too shy to admit even to yourself that you felt aroused when Cregan was on top of you, when his large body covered yours during his thrusts...

"Do you need help?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, not even hiding the sideways smirk, noticing how hypnotized you were.

"W-What? Oh, yes..." You stumbled over the words, flushed cheeks and heart racing. "I mean... I would love that, please"

Letting out a soft chuckle, Cregan shook his head and gestured to the bed. "The rule is clear, princess. Take off all your clothes on your own and lie down there then."

You had to control the urge to whimper, undoing the tie of your nightgown and feeling the woolen fabric fall to your feet. The windows were closed and the flames in the fireplace were still burning high... And somehow your nipples perked, a chill running down your spine and sending goosebumps up your arms.

Before you could lay your head back on the pillow, Cregan stopped you with one more order. "Stand closer to the edge of the bed and spread your legs."

"H-Husband..." Your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest, the tear ducts of your eyes starting to get wet.

Cregan did not change his mind, staring at you with such an explicit severity until you forced yourself to nod reluctantly. Your spread legs revealed the most precious treasure to him, a pretty and cute cunt, all plump, waiting to be truly appreciated, to be worshipped...

There were not many signs of arousal other than a few glistening drops on the golden pubic hairs. Either way, it made Cregan's mouth water. Fuck, he wanted to kneel on the floor and start devouring you like a starving man.

That desire would have to wait a few days, though. First he would make you crave it... Beg for a good fuck.

"Take a hand to your little bud." He chose not to tell you to spit first, knowing he would enjoy watching you feel a little uncomfortable at first. "Hmm, that's it, wife..." The praise warmed your cheeks as you moved the palm closer to your own core, close to the spot right where you would find the expected pleasure. “Now rub two fingers on it, slowly for a while.”

With gentle movements, you brushed your index and middle fingers right on that spot, frowning at the familiar sensation. The memory of Cregan doing the same thing on you during the consummations remained fresh in your mind... He always rubbed that bud to make your entrance wetter and easier to thrust there.

Doing that to yourself was not so good, though. The sensation was dry, as if you were rubbing yourself on some thing that would cause you discomfort in a few minutes if you kept doing it.

But Cregan did not minimize your suffering. You had been so devoted to the Faith, and so devoted to the Gods that you did not even know how to fingering. No knowledge about your own body. That was an absurd to him, it was an absurd to realize that his sweet wife was so naive to that point. "Harder, wife. Rub your fingers harder and faster."

"It hurts..."

"Do not you want to please your husband? Do not you want to be blessed with our future baby?" His tone was so serious that your movements speeded up out of reflex to prevent his frustration from increasing. "This will help your womb prepare itself even more to be filled with my seed."

Whether that was true or not, you did not ask anymore, closing eyelids at the feeling of your dry fingers against the bundle of nerves. It was kind of uncomfortable and embarrassing. It made your lower abdomen twist in a strange, different way...

"O-Oh!" Your moan echoed through the chambers, the mix of new sensations and confused thoughts making you take the hand away from between your legs. That was different, it was not as good as when Cregan did it, but it was something else, something interesting. "H-Husband..."

"You can do better than that." Cregan sat back in the armchair, pleasuring himself. He massaged his balls before closing a hand around his shaft, which was getting harder and harder by the second as your cunt started to get all wet. The soft noises of your arousal could be heard by both of you, and you went back to the rubbing just like you should, harder and faster.

You tried to remember what it was like when he did that to you, trying to remember the pace he used. The focus of those thoughts lost all meaning a few seconds later, your mind focused on how Cregan always looked so gorgeous while he took you. Even though you tried hard not to revel in those memories, it was almost impossible. All you could remember was about his lips on yours, his tongue circling your nipples, his cock inside you...

All you could think about and desire was Cregan.

"S-Seven hells..." You arched your head back, barely noticing how your body writhed and the moisture dripped down your inner thighs.

Cregan had to hold back an amused scoff at the silly curse that escaped your lips — even at the haze of pleasure, those good manners remained intact. Which was not a bad thing for him, the idea of corrupting you little by little set him on fire.

He stopped following your pace as the pleasure consumed you and you began to lose yourself in that haze. Slowing his fist until he stopped jerking off, Cregan hummed hoarsely, "Enough."

No. No, no, no... This could not be true.

Your eyes widened in panic, lifting your head to look at him, searching for some justification for that unexpected command. The moment you started to feel good about what you were doing, he forced you to stop, without further ado. The discomfort in your stomach had diminished, so had the pleasure that was building there. All your efforts to adapt to that situation had been in vain...

With a stern face, Cregan gestured to the floor, right in front of the armchair where he was resting. The meaning behind that gesture was no longer difficult to understand. You stood up, legs trembling and sticky thighs touching each other.

There were several brown hairs on Cregan's chest that matched the color of the ones he had on his groin. He did not bother to trim them, and now he assumed you would be a little bothered by the next task.

"What now, husband?" Kneeling naked in front of him and with your cheeks so flushed, you were as beautiful as a goddess.

"You are going to suck on my cock. Open wide your pretty mouth and let me fuck it until I am satisfied."

Watching you swallow hard and prepare yourself, Cregan grabbed the base of his fat cock and waited for you to part your lips wide so he could insert it inside, after whispering to you to be careful with the teeth.

Your mouth was warm, tight and velvety just the way he liked it, but so much better than the whores or naughty ladies who entertained him with a good fuck when he was still a single man. Oh, he had experienced many women over the years, and none of them made him feel so horny, so hungry to devour you whole, to breed you...

Pushing his free arm away from the chair, Lord Stark led it to your long hair. At first, he dedicated himself to just stroking the silver strands, a silent encouragement about how good you were being. When you choked the first time and your throat tightened around him, his self-control dissipated. The sound of gagging, the tears wetting your cheeks, the vibration it caused in his shaft...

Without thinking twice, he grabbed your scalp, keeping your head in that position and began to fuck your mouth, as if he were fucking the most luscious cunt. Low groans and the jaw clenching with each deep thrust.

You felt like a low-value whore, as dirty as those Aegon frequently visited on the streets. In addition to the thick cock inside your mouth, your senses were confused by the mix of other stimuli together: the grip on your hair, the sounds of contained pleasure your husband made, the tears blurring your vision, drool dripping down to the floor...

"F-Fuck... This is much better than praying to your Gods, is not it? Using your brain and your pretty mouth for something actually useful, making your husband feel so fucking good..." He said between loud sighs, hips tilting forward until he reached the bottom of your throat, withdrawing just enough to give you a chance to breathe. "This is what you were made for, princess. This is why you became my wife. To feel pleasure with me. Also to be my little whore, not just to be the mother of my children."

Increasing the roughness of his grip, Cregan held your head still, making you swallow every inch of that shaft, its veins vibrating on your tongue before he pulled it out, not willing to waste a single drop until he was deep inside your cunt.

"So fucking good..." He did not care about giving you a second of rest or let you catch the breath. Cregan got up from the chair and grabbed you under both of his arms, catching you off guard and lifting you up, holding your back from behind while you wrapped the legs around his waist, your body acting on pure instinct.

Grabbing your waist with one hand and the other still on your back, Cregan walked to the bed, placing you on the mattress and climbing on top of you. His mouth soon found its way to your neck, licking and nibbling the soft skin, leaving marks that would need to be hidden by fur coats the next day, to avoid the curious and amused gazes of the servants.

Your whines were soft, but trembling. Each time Cregan sank his teeth into random parts of your neck, he also ran his tongue over the sore spot, hands running over the bare curves of your figure, going up to your breasts and then going down to your folds. "Do you feel that? Do you feel how wet that pretty little cunt is? Dripping for me..."

"I do... I do." You gripped his shoulders, burying your head in the crook of his neck, feeling his fingertips tease the outer lips of your core.

Stopping biting your skin, Cregan grabbed your chin, focusing on caressing you with his other palm. "Do you want this? Tell me, wife. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need."

You wanted to be obedient, you wanted to do your duty, to be a good wife. Wanted to make your family proud, to honor your mother's religious teachings, to be a good Lady of Winterfell...

No. That was not what you wanted anymore — at least not only those things.

You needed more. You needed to feel. You longed to feel all that and more.

That was exactly what you had needed all that long time, that was what Cregan had waited for... You wanting. You desiring.

No longer out of duty, it was not out of blind obedience... It was out of desire. Out of lust. You wanted to feel Cregan's cock stretching you. You wanted him to teach you everything. You wanted to see stars when he finally spilled the cum that would breed you very soon.

You desired Cregan fucking you so good, like Viserys never fucked Alicent and like Aegon never fucked Helaena.

"I need your cock, Cregan..." You whispered with wide eyes, begging like a puppy, pupils dilated and eyelashes fluttering. "I want you to fuck me. I need this."

A small, dark smile appeared on Cregan's face, his cock throbbing at hearing those words spoken with such submission and intensity at the same time. He did not wait a second longer, pulling your chin closer to his, crashing his lips against yours.

The taste of your spit was still strong during the kiss, tongues wet and tangling with each other without any exact coordination, as sloppy as your blowjob had been — not that Cregan really minded that...

"Mmm, Gods..." You pulled away from his mouth so you could whimper in pain mixed with pleasure when Cregan shoved two fingers inside you at once. Luckily, your folds were wet enough to make the stretching less painful than it might have been if you had not been well prepared.

“Did you like that?” Cregan whispered softly, arching his fingers upward to hit the right spot inside your walls, those thick fingers pressing and prodding it with their tips. “So soft inside… And all mine."

You just bit your lower lip and nodded, the typical innocent face now looking so naughty. It was quite a sight, the way you were melting for him made him feel even more hot.

The sound of your startled little cry when he suddenly turned you around was like music to his ears. You had been caught off guard, heart skipping a beat as he placed a hand under your stomach to try to put you in a position that could be similar to that of some four-legged animal. "Get on all fours."

In terms of real practices, that was new to you. During all the nights of sex the two of you had together, Cregan was the one who got on top while you faced him, legs open to accommodate him there without either of you having to put any more effort than necessary.

In theoretical terms, though, that was not unknown. The countless tapestries of the Red Keep sometimes contained inappropriate embroidery, showing intense acts between men and women. In some of those tapestries, you had already seen some different sexual positions, which at the time did not cause you interesting reactions other than a simple frown.

However, at this point, you were more than willing to experience whatever was coming your way, lust already speaking louder than your shame and prudishness.

Straightening up into the position, you held a breath as Cregan positioned himself behind your back, both large palms cupping your ass cheeks to spread them and expose both of your holes.

Your cunt clenched around nothing, all wet and dripping onto the bedsheets. He focused on licking it first, sticking his tongue out and running it from your clit to your entrance. The sweet juices wet his entire face while he grabbed the ass cheeks wide open, caressing and bouncing them, delighting listening to your loud moans.

The feeling of his tongue was perfect, licks so sloppy and delicious, teasing your swollen clit and then bringing his face closer to your puckered hole, spitting on it and licking it with great delicacy and concentration.

As you were already becoming a whiny mess and your arousal began to drip down your thighs, Cregan lifted his upper body, getting on his knees on the mattress and rubbing his own cock. You did not need more stimulations, already finding yourself wet enough, although Cregan did not mind spitting on your ass, the saliva running from there until it reached your clit and getting your skin sticky.

Sighing in anticipation and gripping the bedsheets tightly while Cregan lined himself up at your entrance. His fat cock brushed there a few times, teasing it before pushing inside and hitting you hard.

"C-Cregan!" The violent intrusion hurt more than expected, your knuckles now white from gripping the fabric of the sheets.

Meanwhile, Cregan rolled his eyes back in his head, growling lowly and gripping your hips. Your tight cunt tightening around him felt so overwhelming, turning his brain almost into a mess. It was so warm, so tight, so wonderful...

His grip on your waist tightened as he began the thrusts. They were deep and rough, hitting the bottom non stop. "Fuck... That little cunt feels so good. You take me so well, princess."

The guilty conscience you carried every time you even caught yourself thinking about your husband was completely gone. Gone for good in the moment Cregan's movements intensified, hard and slow just the way he liked it. Just the way he knew you would like it too and that would make you feel like you were in the Heavens.

If you wanted so badly to beg for the mercy of the Seven, to beg them to grant you the gift of pregnancy... Then he would prove to you that there was nothing better than spending most of the free time fucking with him, letting him fill your womb with his seed until you got pregnant — and even when you were already carrying his heir.

"Gods, Cregan..." You pressed your face into the pillow and moaned loudly, your cries matching Cregan's groans and the sounds of his balls slapping against your thighs. "It is s-so g-good..."

Cregan's grip loosened for a moment so he could give you a hard slap to your ass followed by more two, a small smirk on his lips as you cried out louder, your ass bouncing with the impacts. Your cunt tighten and clenching, practically sucking on his cock and driving him crazy, consumed by lust and possessive thoughts.

Those damn friends of his would soon know that you were pregnant with his child, they would see your hips get wider and your tits get heavier. Damn, imagining them bigger and full of breast milk was such a temptation... He could not wait to see you riding on his lap, your breasts right next to his mouth. He could suck their milk and squeeze them, drops splashing on his face...

And your belly swelling, living proof that you had received a great amount of his cum very well.

"You will be fucked by me every night. I will cum inside that pretty cunt until my cum is dripping down your legs and dirtying the castle corridors." Cregan leaned his own body down until your back was against his chest, the intense pace of his thrusts not wavering for a second. "Is that what you want, princess? To be fucked by me all the time? To be your husband's little whore?"

Although the question was rhetorical and he did not expect a concrete answer, you moaned desperately, your core starting to spasm when Cregan pulled your hair and slapped your ass again. "Yeah! Please, Cregan!"

Reaching down to the swollen bud and rubbing his rough fingers against it, Cregan pushed you over the edge, your loud, shaky moan echoing through the room and startling the servants who were passing by in that hallway.

Tears streamed down your face and your mind turned empty of any real thoughts, already in disarray and focused only on cumming on him.

It did not take so long for Cregan to reach his climax as well, keeping stroking your clit and moaning, his hips stuttering until he finally filled you with thick loads of the white liquid. "Fuck..." He sighed, giving three final thrusts and only stopping after the overstimulation.

Pulling out of your hole, Cregan lifted himself up enough to see your ass sticking up in the air. He spread both of its cheeks, just like he had done earlier, licking his lips at your cunt, all swollen and sticky with his cum. Using two fingers and thrusting them inside you, he pushed his own seed deeper, wanting to make sure none of it went to waste.

Your whimper caught him off guard, a pang of guilt aching in his heart at seeing you all trembling and weak. You looked a beautiful little thing, but he also knew that you were not used to such intensity.

"Hey... it's alright, princess." Cregan assured, laying down next to you and carefully turning you over. As soon as he snuggled you against his large chest, he left a kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the natural scent mixed with the smell of sweat and the one of the after sex. "You were so good, sweet wife. So good for me..."

You nodded, not knowing what else to say. Your body was too trembling to even try to ask your husband any questions. Despite the fact that you saw yourself very dirty and unworthy in the eyes of the Seven right now, all you wanted to do was get some rest, cuddling in Cregan's strong arms and wondering how your mother would feel if she knew about the depravities that had happened during that night.

Anyway, anything about that was a concern for the next morning. At that moment, you just wanted to sleep and pray in silence for the Gods to postpone the future pregnancy a little bit longer, a part of you wishing to fuck like that with Cregan over and over again before you were bred.

[bronzealchemy]

just keep falling, part 4

⋆. 𐙚˚ you dream of caleb and the two of you fuck talk it out

you were dreaming. because only in your dream you could see him again. his violet expressive eyes. the freckles on his nose. his smell like home. your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when you saw him.

„caleb“, you breathed. your throat felt sore.  

„pipsqueak.“ it was the only thing he said, before you pulled your arms around his neck and held him close, inhaling deeply. this dream was so fucking realistic. he smelled just like he had in reality. he felt like that, too. the hard planes of his chest. the soft skin of his neck. his broad shoulders under your fingertips. 

„why did you leave me?“, you whispered, tears prickling in your eyes. you didn’t want to let them run, but it was unstoppable. you shook in his arms, while your cheeks got wet. slowly you released your grip on his neck to look into his face. and what you found, let your heart skip a beat. 

his eyes were empty. as if there was a trigger pulled that switched everything off.

„it didn’t take you long to forget me“, he said flatly. his voice was like his eyes – devoid of any feeling. 

„that’s not true!“ you grabbed his face, getting on your knees on the bed to directly look into them, to find that spark that was just caleb. „I almost died with you that day. don’t ever think I forgot you. don’t you ever think that there was a day my soul didn’t break, because you weren’t there.“ 

he lifted his eyes, a dark and glooming look took over them. „you let him in.“

your throat felt suddenly dry. „I …“ you couldn’t finish the sentence. because what were you going to say? that you didn’t let somebody else in your life? you both knew that that was a lie. because gideon was there. you let him into your life and into your bed. the two of you only survived the last year, because you had each other. but you also couldn’t tell caleb that. besides … what kind of stupid dream was this? 

why were you wasting your time talking about another man, when caleb was right here?

you didn’t hesitate a second longer. „I don’t want to talk about him“, you said, leaning your forehead against his, closing your eyes. „I only want you right now.“

calebs breath hitched. when you came closer, he grabbed your arms. hard. „you let him in. you let him touch you.“

„yes I did“, you shot back. „because you weren’t fucking there!“ 

he blinked. slowly, the life returned to his expression. a muscle in his jaw twitched. next thing you knew, he buried his hand in your hair and pulled your head back. „fuck this“, he said. then his mouth collided with yours.

you couldn’t breathe. you couldn’t grasp a single thought.

calebs mouth was on yours. dream or not – his body was on yours, his tongue danced with yours, and your body was in complete harmony with his. 

„I missed this“, you whispered into his mouth. 

he bit your lip hard enough to almost draw blood. „didn’t look like it.“ he licked the place he had bitten into and the sweet pain subsided.

„let me feel you“, you begged, when he put his knee between your legs and hit the exact spot that was aching. 

„I don’t think you have been a good enough girl for that.“ his words danced over the skin of your neck, then he bit you again and you moaned when his tongue was on your skin again, while his knee stopped the movement. 

„don’t stop“, you whined.

he looked up at you through thick lashes, slowly shaking his head. „only good girls get rewards, pipsqueak.“ 

this dream version of caleb was so incredibly different from the man you lost all those months ago. he was harsh, almost brutal in the way he withheld you the pleasure you so desperately needed. 

„what do I need to do?“, you inquired, raising yourself up on your elbows. „do you want me to get to my knees? to beg for it?“

his cheeks were flushed, but he nodded. „yes.“

at first you thought he was joking. caleb never was the kind of man who made you beg for anything. but maybe your subconscious wanted to tell you something.

„fine“, you said, your voice sounding slightly out of breath. then you got up from the bed and on your knees, looking up at him. „please, caleb“, you whispered. 

he raised his hand, slowly grazing your bottom lip with his thumb. your breathing hitched at the deliberate touch. „again.“

„I need you. please, caleb.“

„tell me exactly what you need.“ he tilted his head, his gaze unyielding.

your cheeks were feeling hot. „I need you inside me.“

„me? inside you?“, he repeated and you nodded, still on your knees. „what exactly do you need, honey? my fingers? my tongue?“

„your cock.“ the words came out raspy and out of breath. he was still hovering over you, grazing your lip so soft you wished for him to bite you again.

you put your hands on his thighs, slowly stroking them up and down. his adams apple bobbed. that was the first real reaction he showed. 

„you want my cock?“

you nodded frantically. „yes. and if you make me beg one more time, I’ll hurt you.“ 

the corners of his mouth went up a little. „if you want my cock – take it.“

you blinked. he stayed in the exact same position, his gaze almost challenging. and you always were up for a challenge. in the blink of an eye, you tore at his belt, opening his black pants, freeing his length, greedily taking it into your hands. 

„can I?“, you asked hoarse. one nod was the only thing you needed. with your eyes still on caleb, you licked a trail over his hard length. again. and a third time, even slower, more deliberate than before.

„stop teasing me“, he snarled. 

„why?“, you shot back. „that’s exactly what you just did.“

„pipsqueak.“ there was a warning in his voice. „if you keep doing that, I’ll …“

you sucked him so deeply into your mouth, his tip hit the back of your throat while you kept looking up at him. he pulled his head back and let out a curse under his breath. then you really started working him with your mouth and both your hands, and it didn’t take long for his hard demeanor to dissolve and make way for a whimper. fuck, how you missed that sound and the feeling of him inside you. you sucked on the soft spot just under his tip and caleb cursed once more.

„don’t do that again, or it’ll be over sooner than we both want.“ 

you always loved teasing him, so you did exactly that.

before you knew what was happening, he was on you, in the middle of the bedroom floor, ripping your panties to shreds. when he touched you down there, you moaned. he pulled his fingers to his mouth and licked the wetness from them. „I think you’re wet enough. don’t you?“ 

„fuck, yes.“ you pulled him closer.

he entered you slowly, only giving you his tip. you tried to pull him closer, but he was stronger than you. „nuh uh, honey.“ 

„more“, you whined. 

„why?“ he pulled out of you, then entered back inside, again with only his tip. „is this not enough?“

„this is torture.“

he let out a breathy laugh. „you know nothing about torture.“ then, without a warning, he pressed himself inside you to the hilt. you let out a scream. „torture is“, he said through gritted teeth, accentuating his words with hard thrusts. „to see“, another thrust, „the woman you love“, he hit your sweet spot and you panted, „fuck your best friend.“

he was punishing you with his cock, fucking you with hard, controlled thrusts that made you see stars. 

„I’m sorry“, you whined. „I’m so sorry, caleb.“

„I“, thrust, „won’t“, thrust, „accept“, thrust „your“, thrust, „excuses.“ 

you clawed at his back, arching your own, and taking this punishment with everything you had. you were so near to your release, you could almost taste it. 

„I belong to you“, you screamed.

„good.“ caleb gripped your hair again, forcing you to look inside his eyes full of desperation. „because my soul is eternally yours. and when you fucked him, you broke something inside me.“ he was still going in his rapid pace, but you saw the shimmer in his eyes. you stroked his cheek, pushed the hair out of his forehead. 

„I only ever belonged to you“, you whispered, while tears fell – from your eyes and his. 

caleb closed his eyes, took one of your legs and gripped it hard, while he pounded into you. „again, pipsqueak.“

„I belong to you. always“, you repeated, your voice laced with lust. the tension rose to unknown heights, and you let out a scream, when the orgasm washed over you. caleb followed you shortly after, biting down on the crook of your neck, then cursing and then moaning your name. you held him while he was still pulsing inside you. 

this was a dream. it just had to be. you couldn’t imagine what you would do if it weren’t. 

because for a split second, when you swore to caleb you belonged to him, your mind had wandered to gideon. 

[snail-day]

Suguru doesn’t really do video games. He’ll indulge when you beg him with big, starry eyes, smirking all the while at Mario Party listening to your triumphant giggles when you steal his stars. He’ll take you to arcades, win you plushies and destroy you at rhythm games. It's all in the flick of the wrist. Then carries all your loot home like the proud husband he is. But he’s never been one to sit down and play for hours. He tried once, years ago, first-person shooters, of course. Everyone did. But the sounds, the sharp cracks of gunfire, left him cold and a little too quiet. Memories resurfaced, memories he'd rather forget.

So he gave it up.

Still, he doesn’t mind if you play. In fact, he likes it. Passing by the living room and see you curled up in blankets, your nose scrunched in concentration as you plant digital potatoes or chase random residents with so called gifts of diamonds and sashmi. Stardew Valley, you call it.

Suguru doesn’t quite get it. Bought you the switch to keep you at home a little more. Keeps you occupied when the twins are at school.

“You know,” he says once, teasing, “we have an entire greenhouse and a team of followers who would happily build you a chicken coop.”

You just hum, half-listening as you arrange little wooden fences on your screen. He smiles and leaves you be.

But then - then - he hears it. It’s a quiet little exclamation, nothing unusual. “Oh! I got the marriage achievement!” you cheer, completely oblivious to the shift in the air behind you.

Suguru, leaning in the doorway with a soft smile, slowly blinks. A furrow in the brow.

“…You got what now?”

You don’t even glance up. “I married Sebastian. He likes the rain. Kinda emo.”

His brow lifts, a dark arch, and he moves with feline grace, silent, slow, and now just a little too close.

“I see,” he murmurs, sliding onto the couch beside you, an arm wraps around you, violet eyes narrowing at the switch screen. “And tell me, love… who exactly is this Sebastian?”

You glance at him, suddenly wary of the dangerous lilt in his voice. “He’s just a character! In the game. He lives in a basement and hates socializing.”

A thoughtful hum before reaching out to gently tilt your chin toward him with two fingers. A smile full of warmth graces his lips, voice teasing at the edges. “So you’re telling me… you left me? Your loyal, doting, incredibly handsome real-life husband - for an unemployed basement-dweller who thinks brooding under clouds is a personality?”

You burst out laughing. “You’re being ridiculous, Suguru!”

He leans in, scent inxoticating from the incense, brushing his lips against your cheek, your jaw, voice low and honeyed. “You wound me. Truly. I thought we had something special. I remember our wedding so vividly. You, in white, glowing like the sun itself. Me, trying not to cry. Everyone watching us say forever.” He sighs, dramatic and dreamy, a pout adorning his lips. “And now you’ve run off with a depressed unemployed man named Sebastian.”

You wheeze. “Oh my god - ”

But he’s not done. He gently plucks the Switch from your hands and sets it aside. “No offense to the worm, of course. I’m sure he’s charming in a… rainy-day, ‘don’t talk to me’ sort of way. But I can offer something he never could.”

You blink up at him. Softly biting your lip to suppress the giggles. “And what’s that?”

Suguru leans in, eyes glittering, and says with a smile that could melt gold:

“Me. All of me. In the flesh. With actual muscles. And a bank account.”

You shriek with laughter, burying your face in his chest as he kisses the top of your head and cradles you close.

For the rest of the day, he keeps you snug in his lap while you try (and fail) to keep playing. Every time Sebastian appears, Suguru tuts softly and says, “Poor boy. Doesn’t even know he lost to a cult leader.”

And that night, when he’s curled around you in bed, he whispers, “You’re mine, you know. In every timeline. Even the pixelated ones.”

Though what you don't know is that he did secretly buy Stardew Valley on his own switch so he can marry you in game as well.