❝BLACKSMITH❞ ⁝ Tower of God
𝕯.avid Hockney × Female! 𝕽.eader
╰─►⚠️ In this book there will be scenes of death, depression, smoking, alcohol, and body insecurity.
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▬▬ 𝕷ike, they are smiths; they aren't UFC fighters that are going against each other! Hell! What do the rumors of you being a coward have to do with the quality of your craftsmanship?
And here you thought Victor was the idiot... the 40th floor has made it apparent that there were more idiots out there besides that blundering idiot with dyed red hair named Victor.
Moving on, the horned girl recalled that fiasco from earlier. Since it was probably, I don't know a gazillion times Mahalia requested for your service; you were planning to give her a discount but that walking tree fucker (Vihaan, aka, your Boss) overheard then threatened you on the spot for your job.
The girl rolled her eyes in annoyance, recalling that stupid argument. "I still can't believe I almost got fired because of that little shit wanting a discount."
"I mean, I rarely offer discounts to customers then that asshat suddenly fires me, LIKE EXCUSE ME!?" The blacksmith released an exasperated sigh.
Once the girl finished screaming to the void of cool colors before her. She was glad that she finally got her frustration out of the system, but at what cost?
"Who the hell am I even talking to?" A wave of loneliness washed over her exhausted body once she voiced her thoughts and not receiving a response from the other end.
Silence has been your old friend, Y/N has gotten used to it but sometimes she wished it would speak to her and reassure the girl will get over shitty times, but silence doesn't do that.
It only watches you at your worst. Can you even consider silence as your old friend?
"I need something to clear my mind."
The horned girl looked down to see the cigarette box within her hold. Good thing it didn't get crushed while you were venting to no one.
A solemn smile settled on your face, feeding your habits once again.
"Luckily, I have just the thing."
She was about to choose a random cigarette from the box. The taste of the smoke that usually filled her lungs was on the tip of her fingers.
