too many people have the idea that racism is a nothingburger thing. like. people die from that. it’s not “cancel culture” to call out racism. and if you’re white and you say anything close to that you have some serious self-reflecting to do. idc if you’re a content creator. idc if “it could happen to you.” having a platform on the internet and saying stupid bullshit doesn’t make you more oppressed than the marginalized groups you’re criticizing for being upset
happy women’s day to all my ladies! and a reminder - if your feminism isn’t intersectional, it isn’t feminism.
please consider donating to one of the many organizations offering aid to palestinian women in need. i’ve recently discovered pious projects, who have donated hygiene products for palestinian women and girls, among other vital humanitarian aid. find their donations page here.
wc: 968; 18+, mdni. suggestive tones. bartender!reader. mentions of alcohol and sex. flirty!vi.
You’re not supposed to be behind the bar, but your friend needed an extra pair of hands for the night. Pouring drinks at a private event couldn’t be that hard, right?
You take a quick look around, trying to piece it together— the white florals, the half-drunk champagne glasses, too many candles and happy tears. A wedding, maybe? Or an engagement. Either way, everyone seems to be having the night of their lives.
“Hey.”
You look up and immediately forget what you were just doing.
A girl stands in front of you with a stupidly charming grin that makes your brain stutter. She’s got pink hair, broad shoulders, and light blue eyes that are staring straight into yours, leaving you painfully aware of your own shaking hands, your posture, the fact that you are suddenly very bad at standing normally.
She’s wearing a black suit, the blazer hanging open over her bare skin. The fabric clings to her shoulders, the open front drawing your eyes somewhere you absolutely should not be staring, except you very much are.
“Hi,” you blurt out, clearing your throat as you grab a glass just to give your hands —and eyes— something to do. “Um, how can I help you?”
She tilts her head, smile soft but unmistakably smug. “Y’know, most people try to be a bit more subtle.”
You can feel the heat creep up your neck, mentally cursing yourself. Great, she noticed. And, judging by that grin on her face, she’s enjoying it far more than she should.
“I’m sorry,” you can’t even bring yourself to look at her face now, so you try to act as professionally as possible. “So, what it’ll be?”
She hums, pretending to think. “I dunno. What do you recommend?”
Well, I’d recommend we both go to the back and I get on my knees while you—
You set the glass down. “Uh, depends. Are you celebrating? Is it for yourself or a partner or something?”
Your eyes flick up just in time to see the girl’s grin widen, and she crosses her arms over her chest. The temptation to follow the motion is huge, but you stay focused on her bright, blue eyes.
“It’s for someone else.”
Of course. You reach for a small menu, taking a quick look at the options and their recipes, before settling it on the table and pointing at one of the cocktails names.
“Definitely a Sex on the beach. Vodka, orange and cranberry juice, peach schnapps… can’t go wrong.”
“Uh huh,” the girl steps closer, leaning her elbow against the counter, “That your favorite?”
“Maybe,” you admit, a flutter in your stomach thanks to the small distance between you.
“Great. I’ll take one Sex on the beach, please,” she says as she slides on a stool.
Sex on the beach, on the couch, on the bed, on the bathroom, wherever you’d like.
You start mixing, doing your best to shove the very inappropriate thoughts out of your head, but you can feel her gaze on your hands as you work. The awareness makes you nervous, and suddenly you’re filling the air with words.
“Big night?”
“My sister and her girlfriend got engaged,” she sighs dramatically. “Makes me wonder if I should try and settle down, too.”
“Oh, where’s your partner?”
Her laugh snaps your gaze toward her, and you can’t help but admire the view. The sound is low and warm, the kind that starts in her chest and spills out easy and unguarded. She tilts her head back slightly, the blazer shifting as her shoulders rise and fall. When she looks back at you, there’s a spark there, bright and playful.
“Partner?” she repeats, amused. “Bold of you to assume I’ve got one.”
“Oh. Oh, ‘m sorry, I—”
“Relax,” she says, holding up her hands. “I’m single. Tragically so. I’m just trying to impress someone.”
You let out a quiet breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
“I’m still trying to figure out what to say.”
“Don’t overthink it,” you mumble, resuming your work. “You’re hot and charming, they’re definitely saying yes.”
She raises a brow, clearly entertained. “Yeah? You think so?”
The words register a second too late. Oh… oh no.
You wince inwardly, fingers tightening around the shaker. Maybe complimenting a stranger you’re actively failing to flirt with while you’re fake bartending as a favor to a friend is not the smartest move.
You hesitate, but it’s too late to take it back now.
“Well, yeah,” you shift your focus back to your hands, as if not looking at her made it any better. “You’ve got that effortless confidence thing going on. People notice.”
Her smile softens, losing some of its teasing edge. “Good to know.”
A minute later, you slide the finished drink toward her.
“Here you go,” you say, finally meeting her eyes again. “Good luck.”
Her fingers close around the glass, and she pushes herself off the stool, smiling widely at you. “Thanks.”
She takes a few steps, and you can’t pull your eyes off her. Whoever it was she was asking out, it must be a very special person to get her attention. Just as you tell yourself to stop watching, you see her turn back around and walk toward the bar again.
“Forgot something?” you ask as soon as she’s close again.
The grin is back on her face, and she sets the glass back on the counter. Just as you’re about to ask if everything is alright with the drink, she slides it toward you.
“Actually, this was always meant for you.”
Your breath catches, and every clever thought you might have had disappears on the spot. Heat blooms across your cheeks, your heart hammers quickly against your chest.
“Hi,” she adds, bright eyes never leaving yours. “I’m Vi.”
thinking about going on a fancy dinner date with vi…you two have been so busy with work, not able to really spend time with each other for some time, so vi makes a reservation at a fancy restaurant, buys fresh red roses, the whole thing. except there’s one problem, and it’s that darn suit she’s wearing. it’s warm in the restaurant, so she’s taken off her jacket, rolled up the cuffs of her shirt sleeves so you can see the last bits of her tattoo peeking out. her hair is perfectly tousled and her gray eyes look at you with such intensity as you talk, and giggle, and eat. by the time you’re done, you’re a bit tipsy, and the subtle touches, a hand on your back as you leave the restaurant, on your thigh as she drives you both home, the way she looks up at you as she kneels to help you take your heels off, and that. fucking. suit.
her jacket is off and her tie is loose and the sleeves are rolled up and a button or two is undone and it’s been so long. you can see the hunger in her eyes when she looks at you. vi stays on her knees and she places a kiss on your ankle. then on your calf. then she raises the skirt of your mini dress to kiss up your thigh. your heartbeat quickens, and so does your breath. she knows exactly what you want, mouthing at your panties and groaning as she realises just how wet you are. but vi is patient. oh so very patient. she wants to worship you and savor your skin so she drags it out and her mouth is everywhere except where you need it to be until you’re looking at her with tears in your eyes, begging for her to give you what you need, chanting “thank you thank you thank you” when she does. your knees threaten to buckle as you cum with a sob, unable to say, or even think, of anything other than her name. “one more for me baby, one more, you can do it” vi says, desire laced throughout her voice, this time pumping two fingers in and out of you while her mouth is unrelenting. you whimper and weakly try to push her away, but she holds your hips firmly, reminding you of just how strong she is. before long, you feel yourself on the edge of orgasm once again, legs shaking, mind melting, and then you snap, vi moaning into your pussy as your juices coat her mouth and chin. she’s always been a messy eater. she waits for you to ride it out and then picks you up bridal style, like she knows you have no business using your legs after that, gently laying you on your shared bed and cleaning you up. she gets into bed beside you and you tuck yourself under her chin without even thinking about it, and in turn, her hand automatically comes up to stroke your back. she places a chaste peck on your forehead, “are you satisfied? was i okay?” she asks. “you were perfect” you whisper back, and it’s your turn to kiss her, peppering kisses along her jaw before capturing her lips with yours. you curl yourself into her warmth, and the last thing you remember before falling asleep is an “i love you” whispered into your skin.
limerlove presents. college!violet x comphet!reader
sum, little love is lost between you and violet vanderson. slowly, but surely, orbiting each others existence due to circumstance. but what happens when it becomes more than just mutual friends pulling you together?
content warning. eighteen+, wc 5k. internalized homophobia, comphet, mentions of reader have a boyfriend, y'all know i couldn't resist some good 'ole angst (let’s remember who is writing), smut, fingering, mentions of oral.
this fic truly got away from me. it was just supposed to be a cute little blurb. ummmm.....sorry! thanks for the request plu, you always knock it out of the park. hope y'all enjoy the build up to the smut because i'm such a little tease. but who doesn’t like a little edging? ♡ ‘nd and special thank you for the prompt @meganegatari, i had entirely too much fun with this.
“I can see you staring at my tits.” Vi teases you, the tape doing nothing to pull your gaze from her. Even with her nipples concealed, she still manages to steal your attention. Eyes lingering a beat too long, the defined line sculpted down her chest — clearly not missing a single morning at the gym.
Deep and wondrous Violet, slightly freckled, a fragment of constellations kiss her collarbones and round about the rest of her otherwise bare chest. The chiseled abs she has no qualms showing off. If you put in half the amount of time she did in her workouts, you would too.
The expanse of broad, tattooed back exposed. Defined muscles in her back contracting with her subtle movements, and it traps you, like a fish caught at the shore. No one on earth should look like this, so beautiful, a daunting kind of ethereal making you believe greek goddesses exist.
Does she even care how confused she makes you feel?
From the first moment you met, a friend of a friend, you’ve always been curious about the way she holds herself. Nothing ever seems to bother her, fearless as can be, and you’re standing here with jealousy sprouting an envious green. The truth is, you try not to look too often, but in these small moments — you inevitably slip.
Freshly showered with dripping wet hair, a pair of boxers you wished to be sweatpants instead. So much skin — muscle. You hated how natural she made it all seem. How she could make you question yourself so easily. Without even trying, she left an impression on your brain, leaving you bleeding as you try to carve out her deeply irritating smile.
A devastating feat, a beautiful expression— a crack in an otherwise delicate grin. Part of you couldn’t help but wonder if the scar on her lip felt as deep. The one she runs her tongue over when she thinks no one watches. Last Sunday, the blunt of her fingernail kept messing with it, a nervous habit — a tick. It isn’t until she glares back at you over the dining room table do you acknowledge the severity of your actions.
Vi never smirks at you like she does with the women she flirts with — or the ones who flirt with her — there’s hardly any recognition. Like a shooting star it’s fleeting. You only catch the upturn of her lips before Sevika asks her a question, her attention otherwise diverts into something of importance.
And it’s not you.
Even if only for a singular moment your brain clings onto a far out of reach fantasy. Completely unaware of how much Vi is dreaming about you in ways you deeply fantasize.
Violet — Vi — wishes to part you, a lily growing from the pavement. Pulling each petal until a makeshift bouquet is held in her calloused palms. Perfectly plucked, pressed into the weathered pages of her favorite novel. She wonders if you would enjoy the passages she highlights, the tabs she left in her favorite pages.
A secret to be hidden deep in Eve's garden, a serpent to the sinner she must watch you yield. Vi gazes on your saccharine sentimentality, head above in the clouds each time she’s like this.
You aren’t a lover she can afford. The price is too high and the river of your love could drown her with a splash.
Violet’s life has always thrived in private. It’s always been safer in a deluded light, lingering safely in the gleam of a purely white moon. It’s much more difficult to be painted in violet and blue-hued oils of admiration when you can’t see the muse. Even then, Vi can’t deny how much she enjoys you fumbling with a paintbrush, afraid to make your first stroke.
A newly born artist; trying to remember a pattern you’ve never felt before yet it warms your heart all the same. The habit still clutches onto Vi, connecting with her long line of relationships, never quite ending successfully. Going for people who don’t want her, who can’t love her, unattainable hearts sworn to love someone who looks nothing like her.
It’s easier. Better. Keeping those she loves at distance, flirting for fun, pretending like she doesn’t care. It’s what she was born to do. Love and lose. Instead of the ladder, the love impounds on her. Making the mark known, the way you keep staring at her imperfect lips, it burns her from the inside out.
Just like before, you’re doing it again. Her tattooed skin and your curious eyes gazing at her neck, her arms where the art spills — just ask — Vi thinks to herself. You’ve managed to weave yourself in her mind, vines with thorns pricking, threatening her to spill every drop of blood.
Your need to be seen causes Vi to sink into her fight or flight nature. Each time you speak with her, she never says the right thing. Each interaction she becomes tight-lipped, or she transforms herself into the player you believe her to be — the one she can’t even recognize.
Then you’re here in the confinements of her apartment, looking at her like she’s a ripe pomegranate you wish to split open. Blood fucking canines sinking into each crevice of her soul, the juncture where her spirt meets body, making her vividly survey a notion — this of all things couldn’t possibly ring cadence.
She wants to turn on her sharp edges, the ones that cut — create some distance — and she wants to be so pointed you eat the blade. Except she would cry knowing she hurt you, wounding you in any way would be Violet’s violent end.
So, she watches. She waits. She listens.
Wondering what it would feel to keep you so close. Would your heart flutter at one obscenely scandalous touch? The stray piece of hair you’re always tucking behind your ear — is it because she allows herself to get too close?
You’re off limits, unattainable— straight. Violet doesn’t know how to make friendships with beautiful women that don’t end up underneath her. She loves too much, too hard, and doesn’t let an ounce of her emotions show. Physically affectionate and emotionally walled off.
That’s Violet Vanderson.
Even if she keeps one evening secret, you seem keen to never speak of it again like you had agreed upon.
“Waiting for Mel.” It’s an effort you make but you’re still looking…shamelessly.
“Mhm, right, Mel. That’s why you’re here.”
“Of course she is. Mel and I have been best friends since grade school.” You do your best to defend her almost immediately, “My presence here has nothing to do with you.” Vi doesn’t know you’re trying to believe those words. The second you speak them, it feels much like a farce.
For a split second she believes them to be true, maybe a bit more if you weren’t so defensive. The both of you know it from the way your tone spits and slims. Immediately, your body slips into providing incite to your words. The emotion has already leaked. And you’re scrambling for plausible deniability.
Vi can’t deny how much she enjoys seeing you frazzled, grasping at straws trying to remain calm in her half-bare presence.
Over the years, Vi has always run in the same circles as you. Same friends, same groups, same monthly brunches but the two of you avoid each other at all costs. A ghost looming over you both, as if there was something to run from. You’re just…there. Vi does her best to ignore it.
Violet would never outwardly deny it, she is attracted to you. There had been no question about it, but you were caught up on your high school boyfriend, the supposed love of your life. Even a year after graduation, the highlight reels with him through the holidays made its way on her social feed. A strong couple and even adored by your friends as the relationship to have.
At times, Vi would even feel envious. The two of you seemed to be so in love, so enamored by each other’s presence. In secrecy, she always wanted the thing people always talk about. An unspoken feeling when you just know you’re with the right person.
Some search their whole life and still never find it.
But it wasn’t until three months ago when it all unfolded. A sacred evening left lurking in the shadows of a sinner’s end.
───
Your second year into college, there had been one happy hour you couldn’t make and suddenly you became the topic of conversation. Violet’s interest peaked. Powder, Mel, Jayce — even Sevika — chimed in about the catastrophic blow of your imploding relationship.
None of it made any sense really. Vi, just as everyone else in the group thought it was clear the two of you would naturally end up together — forever. High school sweethearts from freshman year, a man who actually was somewhat tolerable and loved you more than anything.
Everyone contemplated if he cheated, even though he really didn’t seem like the type, you never really did know how someone acted when no one was looking. Not a soul at the table believes you would have broken up with him unprovoked.
A month rolls by, and radio silence. Mel is the only one to have seen you, you’re safe, but not in good enough spirits to make your presence known within the group.
One night, Vi thought about reaching out. The two of you would talk in a group setting but territory together, alone, is certainly unheard of. Even if Vi couldn’t quite put her finger on it, something about the situation seemed a little unsettling to her and part of her bubbled with need to know you’re alright.
Before Vi gave herself time to wrestle with why she wants to help you, she opens the front door of her apartment and there you stood. A closed fist raised in the air as if you’re ready to knock on her door.
“How did you—” With ease, you ignore her questioning.
“Is Mel here?” There’s a certain type of anguish that ignites in your eyes, two more seconds and you might blow. It’s the one thing Vi can sympathize with.
“No, I can call her though. I really don’t—” The fear created a stench around the room, a demon's source of blood ready to feast on your distress.
“That’s alright. I actually want to speak with you.” You confess. Vi takes note of your tremors, how much they increase with every passing second.
Without thinking much of it, Vi cranes her body to the side, letting you in. Never have you been here to see her. Only her. Leaving nothing but a bile of uncertainty in the pit of her stomach.
“I have something to ask you. And I-I, well please don’t laugh at me.” Each word unraveled whispers of scribbled ink, desperate to get the sentence out. You compromise the stability of your lip as it quivers in what looks a lot like fear.
“Are you okay? Did he do something to you? Did he hurt you?” She oozes with sincerity and it makes your stomach twist in knots. “Say the word and I’ll beat his ass.”
Okay…what the fuck was that? Is she being protective? Over you?
“No, no, no — it’s actually the fucking opposite.” Vi’s powder-blue eyes are stunned watching as she takes you in, the way your eye drifts over her frame. Lingering longer than you normally would. “I—”
“You what?”
“Sevika says you sleep around a lot.” You blurt out before thinking, nearly slapping your hand over your mouth in the process. Vi is even more bewildered than before.
So, now you’re openly…slut shaming her?
“A-And, s-she says sometimes you h-help other girls, you know? The ones who are confused. The ones who aren’t sure what they like yet. The ones who break up with their sweet boyfriend because they can’t stop thinking about a girl — or girls — it’s not like it’s anyone specific….or anything.”
Violet stays silent. None of the secrets you’re spilling are about her and the best thing she can do is give you this moment to process out loud. It surprises her when words continue to tumble out of your mouth, petrified of your own mind. A new craving you might think is poison so you restrain from ingesting the smallest of bits.
It’s not something she can relate to. She’s always known it’s been women for her. Everyone’s journey is different. And you’re looking like you might blow at any given moment.
“This is crazy, right? I mean, it’s because he was going to propose and I’m freaking out about an unknown future, it isn’t because I’m—” You stop yourself, unable to say the words out loud. You can’t be. You would have known by now. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. This is stupid. I’m being unbelievably dumb.”
“Why’d you come here?” Vi pokes the bear, watching your failed confidence crash into the floor. “You have other friends. You’re closer to them than you are with me. If it’s because you wanted to talk to someone who is gay, that’s alright too. But why me?”
For a sinking moment, Vi watches as you retract into yourself. The grey-oak floors threaten to encompass you whole. The fear is written in the way your eyebrows furrow, creating a crease between them. Vi desperately wants to smooth each line out.
“I-I’m so-sorry. I should go.” You wipe a tear fighting to get away and you try to get past her but she gently grabs your hand, holding it in hers.
“Hey hey, look at me—” A soft please is murmured from Violet’s lips and you give into the gentle slope of her honey-dew voice that drips all over you like paint on an empty canvas. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you feel. This is a safe place, alright? With me, you don’t have to be scared about not knowing. It’s okay to not know but it’s also okay if you’d rather not talk about it.”
Vi treats you like a fawn gazing at her first pair of headlights. Only it’s the first girl you’ve ever had a thing for and you’re not sure what to do with yourself. She’s been there with other girls, their confusing gaze like the sun has been split open for the first time and their seeing the center of the brightest star. The origin of a feeling they didn’t know existed.
She watches as the tension in your body dissipates, your gorgeous eyes dropping to her warm hand holding yours. Protecting your own shadow from the fear of being let go of. You’ve never felt this safe, not in a way where it’s so vividly righteous.
“What if I feel something for you?”
“That’s okay too.” Warmly and with a whole heart, Violet smiles. “Is there anything else you want?”
She’s waiting for you to ask for it. There’s a relief flowing through your body — she won’t take it — and your heart stutters in your chest. She inches forward, she places your hands on the top of her chest, forehead pressing against hers. Violet’s giving you an out, letting you leave if you need to. It’s almost too tender, too sweet for you to stomach, and your breath hitches in your throat when she opens her eyes.
Locking in with yours before she lingers on glossy lips, “You can have anything you want but only if you’re brave enough to take it.” Violet’s always been quiet with her quips, never talks too much with the group around. But you’ve never had her in an environment where clouds wouldn’t even be soft enough to lie on. “Nothing has to happen. This is your choice and no one can take it away from you.”
This is your choice.
What once felt like a burden, an unbearable weight to carry is released with such simple, soft-spoken words. Lines of firmity laced in with any self-doubts lingering in your mind. Everything evolves into what it’s supposed to. Fine lines carved in the edge of her smile. The well runs so deep, a crack in the matrix splits your world open and paints every corner with the soft-blue of her eyes.
Violet lays her lips on top of yours, her bottom lip captured in both of yours. An essence of uncertainty blooms within you, scared it’ll move too fast, scared because it’s not your ex-boyfriend you won’t know how to please her.
A million thoughts swarm through your head but not one tells you to kiss her back and you don’t. Without a moment to process, Vi’s pulling away from you, giving you necessary room to breathe. One you weren’t quite sure you even needed but she seems to.
“How are you feeling?” She’s too soft for her own good.
“Like I freaked out.”
Vi chuckles but it’s not condescending. Like she knew the thoughts swarming through your head through the wavering uncertainty in your eyes. “Do you wanna try again? I can try something else but I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“Y-Yeah okay. I would like that.”
Not missing one beat, she surprises you. Practically jumping you with her lips provokes a knee-jerk reaction and you immediately give into her lips. A firm hand on your back pulls you closer, a knee placed in-between your thighs but Violet is careful enough to not push. Holding you like you’re a piece of glass that might shatter, stroking the edges of your jaw with a softness you melt into.
With a slight of tongue, she prys your mouth open with the velvet muscle, sinking herself into the moan you lay at the altar of her deepest needs. It feels different from the first one, her primal desire refines the ink in every love letter she’s ever been told. It’s different than what you expected, better than you knew it could be.
Vi’s the first to pull away but this time you chase her.
This is how it’s supposed to feel.
It’s more than terrifying. It’s life altering. A chill to your bones in the sweltering heat of July. Her lips jumpstart a heart you’ve been feeding with lifeless love but now have been renewed in all things named Violet.
Naturally you only have once choice, you run away. Slamming her apartment door so hard, Vi thinks all of this has been one god-awful nightmare.
───
What Violet kept to herself that night? She was just as affected by the kiss, maybe even more. Unlike you, it hadn’t been an experiment she needed to feel sure of herself. Vi knew how much she liked you and it burned twice as bad when you dashed away from her. A bloom fluttering against your ribcage when you kissed her back — she couldn’t think of it.
Not when you fled in fear.
Violet wouldn’t be the lesbian who cries over a bi-curious girl who never looks her way again, not in the way she needlessly craves. As the months wore on, Vi made it her mission to make sure any extra attention you gave her would be noted. Sometimes, she wonders how you really felt. You didn’t return to your boyfriend like Vi expected but you also didn’t date any other girls, boys — there didn’t seem to be anyone.
The past few weeks, your presence in her shared apartment with Mel seems to be increasingly frequent. Hints of your lavender and vanilla scented perfume follows her everywhere. Mel and you couldn’t be separated worth a damn. Vi would almost think it’s cute, the way you seemed to be skittish every time she was around, your eyes doing double-takes when she walked in the same room as you.
You always look like there’s something ready to drip off your tongue. The war raging on, pulling you back and forth, and you had no idea Violet knew something. A secret slipping from Sevika before she could recant it. Her patience had worn thin and she wants to ask you.
A stupid frat party. One Mel knew you would be at and happened to drop the details in Vi’s lap. It seems you had told someone about the kiss which did give her a little bit of hope. You were hiding from it, not directly, it mattered enough to tell your best friend.
And she was going to do something about it.
All night she has been waiting for you to be alone, hoping she could talk to you, and after hours of sulking with Sev — there’s an opening.
“I do have a shirt on this time so maybe you can do a better job at controlling yourself.” Vi shuts the door behind her, flipping the lock upwards.
Vi didn’t even want to come out tonight. Not before. But you, you, you.
This week has been brutal. The kink in her shoulder wouldn’t give, she missed two workouts this week, and she couldn’t get you off her mind. This needs to stop. Even if she’s rejected, at least she could have some peace in dismissal.
A bruise to her ego she could take. What she couldn’t accept is your avoidance. Three months and you still wouldn’t talk about it. So, she did something against her better intuition. Vi may have cornered you in the sorority bathroom ready to launch her incriminating information at full force.
“Violet! I could have been on the toilet. Are you kidding me—”
“Look, I waited until you flushed!” Vi scratched the back of her neck, watching you, wanting to see if you could piece the puzzle together. Shameless in the way she lets her eyes linger on your cleavage.
“You were following me?”
“I wanted to talk.” You look at her like she said the most vile statement in the world. You sound annoyed, even look a bit irritable, but you’re checking her out. Hard. “I went out drinking with Sevika. She’s always saying nonsense when she’s sipping on whiskey. Saying more than she should, some things are true, and some aren’t.”
“Okay?”
“Sevika said something — something I really want to be true.” Quietly, Vi whispers. A sincerity that leaves you shaking.
Violet presses against you, frame slipping behind you, looking at you through the mirror as you dry off your hands. Resting her chin on the slope of your shoulder, a light breath kissing your neck, “It’s really such a simple thing.”
“What is it, Violet? What couldn't wait?”
Ring clad fingers wrap around your waist, hanging loosely as her fingers ghost over the soft denim. Vi shouldn’t like the way you lean into her, the incredibly enticing sigh escaping from your lips, a soft whine of her name expelling her way. She pulls you in closer, waiting for you to crack.
“Three months is enough time. Don’t you think so?” Vi takes pleasure in how your eyes fall shut against her touch. Your weight falling slack against her, your hand gripping onto the sink in front you. In what Vi assumes is an attempt to center yourself. “You’re still checking me out, every chance you get but you could have more…so much more.”
“Weren’t you going to ask me something?”
You’re hanging on. Barely. Clinging onto the thread of a woman behind you threatening to pull until there’s nothing left, no end or beginning, there’s only her.
“Can you handle it?” A proposition to your question, lips ghosting of your neck as she meets your eyes for silent permission. With a poison she only has the antidote for, the taste of her nearly raspberry colored lips make home in the juncture of your neck. A slow and steady death is your conviction for three months of silence, one you would pay over for a singular moment of her devoted affection.
“Violet—” The whimper you release mellows her, fingers mindlessly tapping over your pelvis. “What are you—”
“Do you want me to touch you?” She already is but you know exactly what she means. The imposing question drifts from your mind and all you can focus on is the way her sultry whispers laces you in gold, melted by the excruciating heat of the sun.
“Yes— p-please.” Without realizing it, your ass grinds against Vi, your desperation leaks unknowable bounds when it comes to her greedy touch. You’re grateful she keeps reaching.
Blue-washed denim unravels with a pinch of her thumb to the bronze button, dragging the zipper down with one final drag. Vi looks in the mirror. Watching as you struggle to steady your breath — fuck — you can’t even keep your eyes open.
“I should make you wait for it. I’ve been so patient. Waiting for you to come to me—” Violet takes it slow at first, fingering over your incredibly thin black-laced panties. Even if she protrudes slightly, the fabric would pathetically rip. “I guess you’re eager to come for me now, aren’t you? Need my touch? That’s what you told Sevika.”
You’re dripping, the flimsy lace soaked through. Might as well be dripping over Vi’s nimble fingers. But the revealed secret makes you gasp, especially when she’s rubbing steady circles over your clothed clit. Fuck, she knows exactly what to do.
Vi can’t help but chuckle when let out a low groan, earthy and layered with rasp, as if it came from something so deep. A place you yourself haven’t allowed yourself to travel within. She needs to catch you off your guard, before the self-doubt crawls into your mind like a festering disease. Now, she knows you much you think about her —wishing for this — wishing for her.
Pushing the flexible material to the side, Vi runs two fingers along your slit. Her own clit throbbing as you release an even louder moan of her name.
Have you ever been touched like this? Did your boyfriend ever stop for a moment and think about your pleasure? Vi didn’t think so, not by your earthquake of a reaction from such a simple touch.
“So tell me—” Vi slips her ring finger inside, feeling you clench the second she’s giving you the slightest protrusion, “Do you think about me when touch yourself? Or is Sevika a fucking liar?”
“Y-Yeah, I do.” As if she’s into rewarding you for good behavior, Vi slips her middle finger within your warm walls, basking in how welcoming you invite her in. “Ever since we kissed I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Vi sinks her teeth into your neck, sucking slightly before her tongue soothes over the attack. It’s more than she expects you to admit. You do it so sweetly.
An angel ready to pay penance for her sins but Vi wants to give you more. Anything you want as long as she gets to have you in a way no one else does. Lighting ablaze to the deepest fantasies swarming around your mind, her fucking you at the center of them.
“Don’t be shy. Tell me more.” A command, a wish? It hardly matters. You want to give her…everything.
Vi fills you in a way you haven’t been before. Her pleasure seems to come from pulling you closer to the edge. Determination fixated in her gaze as she watches you threaten to spill. Stupidly perfect fingers knowing what you want before you do. The soft sounds of your slick entering the bathroom along with the thumping bass you hear coming from downstairs.
“I think about your head between my thighs, looking up at me with your pretty blue eyes, and me um — oh fuck—” Devious and true, a thumb returns back to your clit as you threaten to come from a touch so simple, quick and delicate. She applies more pressure, the pace in her effective thrust of your weeping cunt cries out for her. The object of all your affections fucking you into a numbness state of mine. “Violet, I’m—”
“Finish what you were telling me, sweet girl. I wanna hear you talk about how much you want my mouth while you come for me.” You can’t recall anything, not when the feeling pulls at your stomach. It’s close, as you finally bring yourself to look at her through the mirror.
Fucking hell, she’s been looking at you this whole time. Ready on a dime to split you entirely open.
“Vi please— I wanna come, please— I can’t, s’too much—” Her wrist slings forward, fucking a spot no one has reached especially not with this much precision.
“What would be too much? My mouth? My fingers? My tongue fucking your pretty little cunt? God, what I would give to feel your thighs squeezing every last breath out of me.”
The need. The want. It’s all too much.
“Isn’t that what you want? You fucking my face as you smother me with your pussy? My pretty girl can have whatever she wants.” Vi decides she’s done with being a little cruel. All she needs right now is to watch you cum as she curves her fingers into your cunt. “It’s okay baby, show me how beautiful you are who you come.”
She’s never seen anything like it. The twitching, the moans, the desperate cries of her name spilling like god’s most divine creation. Violet basks in the buck of your hips, like a wild bull she’s been tasked to tame. Falling apart, a fallen angel is placed in her lap, and Violet can’t wait to be tasked to find you a new pair of wings.
Once you’ve come down, you’re turned around lips attacking Vi’s. It’s the most confident you’ve been, unbuttoning her top so you can feel her tits, those pretty pierced nipples falling victim under your touch. Violet’s fingers sink into your hair, slightly pulling at the root as she growls with pure animosity.
A raging love, gutting and raw, you want all that it comes with.
Vi bites your bottom lip, pulling away from you as she breaks the nearly violent touch. But you seem insistent on playing with her breasts, kneading at the swell of them, tweaking her overly sensitive nipples.
“God, you….really love my tits.”
With a knowing smirk, you say nothing. For the first time, you’ve never been so sure about the future. It’s ground-breakingly bright, painted deeply in your favorite shade of Violet.
okayyyyyyyyy. hiiiiiii ♥︎ don’t know if i ate but i chewed a little bit here. every time i wrote for vi i fall a little bit more in love. she’s just so — muse type shit — yk? anyways, hope you liked it! lmk what you think!
cw # 18+ mdni, jock!vi x ballerina!reader, gay situationship, yearning, public sex, babyagnst, spit, fingering, oral sex, based on a nonnie ask, long headcannons? dont know what the hell this is. wc: 3k
jock!vi who's giving you hell of a rough time lately after she admitted the fact she's not ready for anything serious, making you cut any tie that linked you back to her cause a heartbreak is nothing but a pain in the ass. tossing yourself to an exhausting routine you've been following religiously.
jock!vi who spends the first two weeks — or is it a month? keeping herself busy, cause she cannot afford being sentimental, admit that she needs you back, that she's actually scared of feeling anything else more than this anger that dictates her movements, something that will get her away from her comfort life.
"practice is closed to public," she deserves the coldness in your voice, the way your gaze is so quick to find hers through the mirrors and look away, still in that fucking uniform she loves—. "you can't be here."
ballerina!reader who's always wrapped in pink. pink uniform. pink nails. pink ribbon holding your hair there in a bun as vi once again find herself looking after her boxing practice. matches so damn good with her own hair it's almost a joke to remember how devastating you are in her eyes.
how did she get there anyway? when did her mind played tricks on her long enough to make her change the path to her bike all the way up to the ballet studio? like she already belonged there after all the times sneaking out the weight room to see you practice. she made fun of you at first, but now? fuck, it's so hot when you mention some movement's name in remarkable italian, making her big hands hold your waist when you're spinning in one leg and vi's mesmerized by the grace of it, the delicacy, how you seem to be everything she's lacking.
"no, don't go" the pink haired begs as she notices how you were already gathering your stuff, tossing your shoes to the gym bag still in your pointe shoes "don't go. i need to talk to you... please."
her mind drift away as she speaks, can't help it cause see you again is much like breathing a deadly flower. you're so quick to settle back in her system, ready to live under her skin if asked. you're sweaty, heavy breathing cause hell, you always push yourself harder than the rest, you always stay there an hour of two cause you can't stand disappointment, being less than you force yourself to be even when vi's repeating again how good you are every single time she's there looking, on a sleek suit (and a huge bruise in the right eye) making everybody stand up when you're up on the stage, nervous as ever when you pick up her bouquet of flowers in the end, holding it tightly against your chest.
"five minutes. you just have five minutes and i’ll leave. got better things to do."
fine, whatever. she can actually do it in fucking three.
jock!vi who thinks she's not going to be that pathetic for the first fifty seconds until her tongue takes over and she's spitting truth after truth without any filter at all: maybe she's tired, maybe practice leaves her dry and unable to think for herself, maybe you're the one who has that crazy spell over her, wrapped around your finger even when she tried so hard to avoid it.
"i miss you so much," the words came out of her mouth since her brain can fuck off right now, her own body making decisions on its own — "i'm so tired of pushing you away, of trying to turn off my feelings for you cause i like to pretend i don't really understand them. and i'm so fucking sorry for it."
"no more bullshit, promise to me" you state, and vi can see the tension still lingering on your shoulders, making you stiff and constantly stressed. "if you make me mad i will dump you-"
jock!vi who takes your words as an invitation when she's pulling on that little transparent skirt wrapped around your waist she don't understand at all, one that covers nothing, but its enough to get you closer, to make you shut up, give you time even, to pull away if you wanted to.
and her kisses are messy like everything she does, cause vi has no control over her necessity over you, on how it makes her hands shake almost of the withdrawal of medication, her mouth's all over — invading like a battle of the middle age, your knight who’s taking until you're out of breath and she can see how swollen your lips are, how your gloss rest now in her skin too.
"don't get any weird ideas, vi. not here."
"yes, whatever you say. now come here you fucking tease," she tries to be funny for a damn second, tries to be cool even when her tone is fileld with desperation, tossing her boxing gloves and her own gym bag to the floor. "won't do nothing weird, just need a few kisses."
her arms wrap around you like you're something sacred, a victim of her good intentions overshadowed by a layer of bad behavior, can't think of consequences or anything else more than how good you fit against her, how you keep her warm, complete.
"i can't stop thinking about you," vi's breathing against your neck before pressing soft kisses against the side of it, gentle bites cause she lacks of force now that she's sore and tired after practice, letting her own desires speak for their own, her mouth betraying her own brain — "i can't stop thinking about this, about us and what we have."
"and what do we have huh? i'm not really aware."
"i dunno. you tell me."
ballerina!reader who stumbles over her own words, nervous as ever cause vi's too close, too cocky, too confident for her own good. her teeth pull on the skin of your neck, and you're openly whining about your next presentation being close to the weekend and how you cannot be suffering from her hungry hickies.
"behave," you almost beg her, but it's too late for that already when she's nodding at your words and you know how it works: when she's giving you the reason but she's not capable of stopping herself from taking what she wants, when you cant remove yourself from her either since you have poorer self control as well. that would've explain why she's all over you still, why her hands are so quickly to grab your ass in response, roughly squeezing both cheeks only to get you closer to her.
"i am behaving," vi replies convinced she has it under control—. "you'd be in much more trouble if i weren't behaving."
"vi-"
"please, don't you think i've suffered enough already? that i've missed you long enough?" it's almost a plea, ready to beg if you wanted so. "there's no one around but you and me- don't make me beg, practice's over, this is my time and you're taking it away from me..."
how can you ever deny her special needs?
jock!vi who's touch get more and more demanding by the seconds, almost forgetting where she is still, like the mirrors don't replicate the image of her groping on all the right places, touching and enjoying the curves of your body, the smell you've been reeking after been jumping around, twirling and dancing your guts out.
"it’s the damn uniform" the boxer admits, almost ashamed of having to admit her lack of jurisdiction— "the fucking uniform-- s'making me think a lot."
“i can't change it, pretty sure its mandatory.”
"i'm not complaining. the designers here- really onto something. makes me think pretty nasty stuff when i see you," its a new confession when she's making sure to coax as close as possible, until there’s no more space and she’s all you can breathe. "stuff that would make you remember me we're in public and not in my dorm room in that voice of yours when you're mad" — "pulling a restraining order on me."
jock!vi who has trouble in not messing with you: how is she supposed to not pull the soft ribbon holding your hair only to watch it fall against your shoulders? you're furrowing your brows together but you cannot be mad at her when she's stealing a new kiss in response, not like this anyway.
"don't give me that look, it was already falling. sides i'm keeping it" doesn't matter how sweaty you are, how you scrunch your nose when her fingers get under the tight grip of your leotard that got vi mentally thanking on how summer makes you not wear those sheer pantyhoses you use in winter, cause your underwear's thin enough to be good as damn nothing and it gives vi enough access to touch — "i missed you. shit- i missed you so much."
tightening the grip in your waist, she's cornering you against the wooden ballet barre, almost making you see the tattoos on her back since she's wearing this damn tank top and hell; the mirror gives access to every detail, every muscle: if she's doing that on purpose? her success is imminent.
jock!vi who's turned on by the adrenaline rush, who's muscles burn after a rough session of training, after eternal minutes of running under the sun. vocal already cause fuck: this is medicine for the soul.
"gonna fuck you here so everyone knows who you belong to" she states, making your head spin, "if someone comes in, well they better be thanking me for keeping their star dancer in peak cardio shape. you're damn welcome too."
"interesting. are you always this horny after practice?"
ballerina!reader who contrary to all beliefs, it's actually very bad at remembering why it's a bad idea all sudden, when the cold mirror makes you shiver at the unexpected contact, the perfect excuse on why you’re experiencing goosebumps everywhere the jock's touching.
"ten minutes," vi promises already fond of the mirrors, of both of your figures mixing up in the image that repeated all over again in a room with such a rich space, so much that made it felt crowded even when there’s only two people there. "i promise, just ten minutes. no one has to even know."
"if i don't cum in ten minutes, we are finishing this in my room."
"the showers."
"i said. my damn room, needy mess."
"well. ten minutes it's actually a lot in situations like this. generous even."
jock!vi who's dropping to her knees seconds after, not as sign submission but devotion, of the love that flourished when she's making you rest your leg right against her shoulder. her hand push your waist against the mirror, and you have to hold the barrer cause vi catches you flying low, hella low when it makes your legs shake in nothing but the expectancy of it.
"amazes me how you stand there and have the audacity to call me needy when i'm not even touching you," you'd reply, sassy, intelligent as ever cause even when you're turned on, you can think still, at least until she's using a hand to spread you open, using the wet of her mouth to lick over the fabric of your ballet uniform until it latches to your cunt after, make it stick to your skin like's not there and you're too invested into looking to say anything at all — on how you need that leotard for tomorrow, how you should've accept her shower idea.
"you're needier than me, if that doesn't made it clear" you're mumbling something about needing her to shut up, however, vi's not playing around when her spit mixes up with your own arousal, covering her chin, landing on her tongue when spreading you apart with the skilled muscle of her mouth. just a few touches and its enough to pay special attention to your clit, to make your hips move slowly against her face.
so good. she's making the fabric of the spandex to the side and before you can say something about how she's testing her limits, she's coating two fingers with your own need, lubricating them to push them against your entrance.
ballerina!reader who keeps eye contact like a damn champion when vi admitted one time how much it turns her on, how her blue orbs stare at yours while eating you, her fingers slowly pushing inside until she's knuckles deep. she’s kind, nice even giving you time to adjust, to savor the moment as you cunt seems to squeeze her digits as a warm welcome, as a way of driving them deeper, somehow rougher.
"oh good fuck," vi moans when she has the perfect look of your pussy opening up for her fingers "fuck- this is so hot. so hot sucking my fingers until there's no space.”
"no fucking-"
"no fucking" she promises, lies lies lies—. "i don't see how this could be considered fucking. we'd call it quick fun from now on."
and the boxer's entranced by the smell of you right over her nose, how you move right against her face, looking down, burning holes in her skin through the reflection. vi’s her knees are sore, puffy lips, she's always been messy in general, but today? today it takes the fucking cake when vi's unaware of her own shirt being stained but the combination of fluids, a testament to the comeback, to the need of being one.
jock!vi who likes to make you watch. makes you entranced to the way her arm flex every time she thrusted her fingers inside, how the flesh disappeared and the room's filled instead with a wet, lewd sound that seemed to travel in space. she's having no damn mercy when her digits curve all the way in, when she forgets about the barrier of layers of your leotard and she becomes pussydrunk instead, starved and hallucinating on whatever hallucinogen you carried on your sweat.
"do you see that?" vi asks, voice rough, strings of saliva still connecting her lips to your swollen cunt—. "gonna fuck you in front of mirrors all the time now. see those pretty tits bouncing, the dumb expression in your face- mhm we're definitely fucking in front of the mirror in your dorm."
jock!vi who's a pervert every single time. who's panties dampen while impatiently trying to rub her legs together, soothe the ache. she's such a visual learner she gets off at the sight of you, from your erratic movements, the way she's using actual force to keep you standing, leaning against the mirror and not crumbling in her arms.
you try to be silent and it's so damn nice to see you like this, to know how she's reducing you to pieces when your biting your lower lip hard to muffle the sound of your moans, how you cunt suck her fingers until they're fully in, open, warm and inviting, vi’s ready to cum from the sight only.
you're so in control all the time, snarky comments, sarcastic as fuck, you always have something to say until she's turning your world to misery, until she’s tormenting you, consuming every thought, every inch of your being, installed in your lungs.
"c'mon stay on your feet," vi says, blushing at her own words cause she's supposed to be the one who's able to carry you around, used to always move you around at her needs — "m'tired too baby. do it for me."
her words slur together, her mouth's getting tired, her muscles burn now as they keep moving, keep fucking you against the soreness installing on her body after the adrenaline's already settled.
"yes-" you reply trying to be of help, pulling on vi's hair cause it's so long now you can actually play with it, tug it and wrap it around your digits. “i’m trying i promise, i’m trying.”
good girl. she'd try to vocally praise you, but vi's too invested in making a feast out of you, on have you making the most delicious sounds as she's pulling the leotard entirely to the side and her tongue finally swipes from all the way to your abused hole back to your clit, face-deep in your folds cause no. it’s simply not enough.
ballerina!reader who can't help but be loud when peaking. who's clumsy when falling, unable to hold her weight anymore. who got vi closer than ever when you finally cum, pushing her closer, rougher than before. half lidded eyes, drool on the corners of your mouth: that's the look vi wants to see on your face every day, the look of being throughly spend, used.
she's working you through it like it wasn't already enough. like she isn't pushing on your boundaries enough as she overstimulates you. insatiable, ravenous, eternally greedy when it comes to you.
"sweet fuck," you breathe out, tangled limbs, sticky and damn dirty at this point—. "do you think anyone saw?"
"no" she replies, but in reality, vi doesn't care about been seen "we were quick. pretty sure it was less then ten minutes also."
both of you're unaware of the camera hidden in the right corner of the room at least until next practice when your soul's leaving your body:
camera. she ate you out in front of the security camera.
so vi heard it multiple times already when she’s wrapping the pink lace of your hair now in her favorite boxing gloves: she has such good intentions, but she's a victim, as usual, of her bad behavior.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 southern/cowgirl!vi x sweet little housewife reader
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 none
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 hey !! this is just a little drabble i wrote of southern!vi, i'm living for this concept, it's so cute !!
♡︎ 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ♡︎
The boys were all gathered ‘round the corral, elbows slung over the fence, taking a breather after a long, sweaty morning out in the fields. Dust clung to their boots, and the sun beat down with a lazy kind of persistence.
Vi leaned casually against the rail, one arm draped over the top, a piece of straw tucked between her teeth. Her grin was wide and uncontainable — the kind that stretched all the way to her eyes.
And you?
You were up on that horse.
A little unsteady, sure — the saddle creaked beneath you, your knees trembling ever so slightly — but you were up there. Your sundress was tied in knots at the sides to keep it out of the way, sunhat tilted and barely hanging on, wind tugging at your hair. But none of that mattered. Because on your face was the proudest damn smile Vi had ever seen.
“She’s doin’ it,” one of the guys chuckled, squinting into the sun, hand lifted to shade his eyes.
Vi didn’t so much as blink. “Damn right she is.”
With a breath and a little grit, you nudged the horse into a slow, careful walk. You gripped the reins like your life depended on it, your back straight as a board — maybe too straight — but you glowed. You were beaming. Radiant. Like sunlight had found a new favorite place to shine.
When you circled back around, you puffed your chest with the kind of pride that made Vi’s heart skip. “Did y’all see that?”
One of the guys tipped his hat, a playful grin on his face. “Look at you, ridin’ like a pro.”
Vi was already making her way to the gate before you even stopped, arms outstretched to steady you. “Look at her, ridin’ like she owns the whole damn ranch.”
“I do now,” you teased, reaching for her hand as she helped you down.
“Think I’m a real cowgirl yet?”
Vi laughed, low and full of affection, and caught you around the waist, lifting you off the saddle like you didn’t weigh a thing. “You ride that horse, run my house, feed my boys — darlin’, you might just outrank me.”
You laughed too, breathless and warm, leaning into her chest like it was the safest place on earth. “I wanna do it again.”
“Oh, you will,” she promised, brushing a kiss against your temple. “But not ‘til you get some water in you. And maybe a medal.”
You turned toward the boys, arms thrown wide, voice ringing out clear and proud. “Y’all hear that? I’m a medal-worthy cowgirl!”
They hollered and whooped like you’d just roped a wild bull.
And Vi? She just stood there, watching you shine, her chest full to bursting.
vi loves it so much when you play with her hair -- the ends are getting long, but she knows you like it so she hasn't brought up trying to get it cut. she loves the way your fingers feel, twisting through the roughly dyed ends (though the darkened tips are slowly washing out, with every subsequent shower and rinse), the way you absently tug on them when you're talking to her, about everything, about anything.
she grins, her whole body slouched between your legs as you run her ends through your hands over and over and over.
"hm?" you pause, even as she readjusts to fit more snuggly against you.
she shakes her head, peering over her should to slate you a smile.
"nothing, sweetness -- keep on doing what you're doing."
you laugh, resuming the movement.
"but like i was saying -- it was all so random, but i thought --"
she lets your voice wash over her like the sweet lull of the tide, the warm kiss of water at her toes, the soft sink of her limbs into the sand. and she's never been to the ocean, but she thinks that this must be what it feels like to be held by it --
to know that whether she decides to sink or float, you'd still be there to catch her, to hold her, and that if she were to close her eyes and let herself go, the taste of your lips will still be just as sweet under water.
thinking about soft, slow make out sessions with vi. she’s got you sitting on the counter, her body slotted in between in your legs with her arms wrapped around your waist to pull you impossibly closer while your hands cup her face. she would be so gentle, warm hands on your back, soft lips moving perfectly in sync with yours. breaking away from the kiss for just a moment to admire you, smirking at the way your lips follow hers, kissing down your neck to hear you gasp in her arms, to feel your pulse under her lips, to know that you are real and here and hers. when your fingers find their way into her hair, tugging her up to place her mouth on yours again, vi thinks she could stay like this for hours, savouring the way you taste, the way you feel, the way you sound. eventually, you pull away, foreheads touching, breathing in each others’ air as you whisper sweet words to each other.
Could you write a vi x reader were vi finds readers childhood blanket and stuffie?? How would she react to it how would reader react to vi finding it? Idk I think that it would be cute
Have a wonderful day/noon/night!
-saturn
saturn this is so cute 🥲 here’s some fluffiness for your sunday afternoon <3
typically, you’re good about hiding the worn-out blanket and stuffed bear. whenever vi sends you an on my way text, you fold up your childhood blanket, a patterned quilt with fading fabric, and store it in your closet with your twenty-something-year-old teddy bear. it’s a habit you’d begun in your teenage years, after several partners had made side comments about how silly it was to hold onto those specific childhood relics. over the years, it became second nature to stuff them in the closet when someone comes over.
but today, you don’t get the chance to hide them away - vi arrives unannounced at your apartment, her abrupt knock tearing your attention away from the book in your lap. you open the door to find her clutching a bouquet of flowers, the colorful array of roses and violets and baby’s breath carefully wrapped in paper.
“hey, cutie,” vi greets you with a crooked smile. “flower delivery for the future mrs. violet lanes?”
you roll your eyes playfully, but you’re unable to fight the smile that appears on your lips. “come on in, vi.”
when you reach out to accept the bouquet, though, vi moves back and shakes her head. “let me put it in a vase, yeah?”
“if you insist,” you quip back. you open the door for vi and she struts into your apartment - but not before she greets you with a kiss, her lips warm and soft against yours. you inhale her scent, all smoke and spice, and a relaxation settles into your bones that only ever comes when vi’s around.
following her into the kitchen, you hand vi a pair of scissors and watch her unravel the paper wrapping from the bouquet. with careful precision, she snips each of the stems at an angle, making sure to keep them all at a uniform length. she looks up from her work and quirks a brow at you, smugness in her expression as soon as she notices you’d been staring.
“where do you keep your vases again?” she asks, and you gesture toward your bedroom.
“there’s one on my dresser, actually.”
“then i’ll be right back,” vi says as she backs out of the kitchen.
in the meantime, you lean against the counter in the kitchen, admiring the bouquet she’d picked out for you. vi never fails to amaze you - she knows exactly how to make you feel loved, from the mundane to the extravagant. she’s picked out your favorite flowers in your favorite colors, likely remembering your off-hand comments over the time you’ve been together.
you’re reaching out to fuss with the bouquet of flowers when you hear vi’s footsteps approaching the kitchen again. when you look up, she’s grinning, powder blue eyes practically glimmering with interest.
“who’s this?” she asks, holding up… your teddy bear.
“oh,” you say, mouth hanging open for a moment. “um… that’s mister bear.”
vi lets out a little chuckle, moving the stuffed animal’s arms. “mister bear, huh? first name teddy, last name bear?”
after you don’t respond for a beat, vi looks up from toying with the stuffed bear. she sees you and her expression drops, worry quickly replacing the playful look on her face.
“oh, angel, what’s wrong?” she asks, crossing the kitchen to pull you into her arms. she gives you a quick hug, then pulls back and settles a hand on your cheek, her eyes searching your face. “talk to me.”
you blink back a sudden swell of tears, eyes stinging. “sorry, i just - it’s embarrassing, i guess.”
“don’t be sorry,” vi reassures you. she strokes her thumb over your cheekbone, then leans in to press her lips to yours in a brief kiss.
“i mean, for the record, i think it’s really cute.”
vi leans her forehead against yours, eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiles. you laugh softly, looking away and murmuring, “if you say so.”
“i mean, who wouldn’t love mister bear?” vi asks, holding up the plushie. she pantomimes that he’s waving at you, and you snicker into your hand.
“i guess you’re right, he’s very lovable.” you smile over at vi, and she pulls you into a hug, one strong arm wrapped around your figure. she plants a kiss to your forehead, then sighs, pleased.
cute lil date with vi and it’s you teaching her how to play the piano. each mess up has you hiding a smile in her shoulder while she grumbles about messing it up for a third time in a row, complaining that she can’t do it right but you softly reassure her that it’s okay and to try again. her cheeks flush a crimson red, creeping down her neck after a while of trying one more time, when you’re leaning over just slightly, placing your hands over hers and guiding her to the right keys; waving it off and smiling when she presses the wrong one. she can’t help it. your intoxicating, sweet & amazing smell drives her crazy. your soft voice of affirmation swells her heart, and your mumbles of good girl in her ear when she does get it right, makes her giggle. yeah. need that asap.
