about me !! - my name is violet, i go by they/she, i'm 21, i'm a lesbian and a really slow writer...
but don't let that stop you from sending in a request! i’ll probably only write wlw, nblw, or nblnb! just because i feel i'll write best for those communities <3
current requests: 2 <3
SO. the characters i'd write for are:
hange zoe
yelena (from aot)
moira o’deorain
venture (sloan cameron)
ellie williams
vi (arcane)
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reminder that i don’t have many rules, but if you request keep in mind that i won’t do a lot of hardcore/abnormal stuff. thank youuu and i hope you enjoy your stay <33
summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf
warnings: NSFW content (minors dni), explicit language, violence, heavy angst
spotify playlist here!
PART I
PART II
PART III
PART IV (half 1) (half 2) i split this one in half bc it was way too long
Imagine a BAND AU! in which you’re Hange’s bully throughout high school for being openly queer and non-binary, because, well, first of all you’re a dickhead (fuck bullies), but it’s really because you’re very insecure about your own queerness being raised in a conservative and religious environment.
Unfortunately only your longtime best friend who also happens to be the most renown lesbian at school, Historia, knows that deep down, you’ll never willingly grace society’s, or your parents’, expectations of being a docile wife to a conventionally masculine and dominant husband. But you have to play the part and you somehow get lost in it. You can’t decipher reality from pretending.
And so not only you end up hanging out and going out with the bigoted chads of your school, like an animal sacrifice meant to appease the Gods’ wrath, (and here the Gods are your family), but you also end up displaying the same shitty behaviour, picking on any kind of “outcast”, and you have your heart set (lol) on Hange, the eccentric science obsessed nerdy queer freak. It’s the closest you’ll get to them.
Historia, despite feeling for you, absolutely condemns those acts and has to distance herself from you, whilst still keeping contacts, which kind of bewilders her girlfriend Ymir and their friends, including Hange. She tells them that deep down you have a good heart, she knows it, it’s just complicated and eventually you’ll learn and grow and change. She keeps your secret. For years.
And after those years, Hange thinks all of this, the homophobic straight girl who treats them like a freak, the bigoted chads who make disgusting comments about their body and sexuality, all the picking and bullying, is behind them. But then one day they see you perform with Historia’s band.
But it’s not in any venue ; it’s at a queer exclusive venue, in a bar where almost exclusively queer artists get to perform in order to uplift their art and their voices, a bar in which Hange plays regularly with their own band, the first stage on which they got to perform publicly. This place is dear, almost sacred to them after what they’ve personally endured, and by your hands specifically. To say they’re furious to see you there is a euphemism.
Turns out you were kicked out by your parents after they found out you were in fact not straight. And the only person willing to reach out a hand to you was Historia. So one thing leading to another, you became a member of her band. And so now you’re led to rub shoulders with the members of the other bands and artists in town, among which is Hange.
Ensures of this a long journey of confronting the past, resentment, making amends, forgiveness, enemies to lovers tension, angst, and whatnots.
Little something 'cause I had a dream that I ABSOLUTELY had to write about
Small couple interaction between fem!reader x athlete!Hange in a college au 🥴 (sub!Hange also got my heart honestly ❤️🩹)
Levi and Erwin absolutely tired with Hange's and Reader's bullshit lol
"Soo... I lost."
"You lost."
Hange looked at you as if you weren't copying their exact same words, and cracked a defeated smile.
"I was supposed to win, I swear ! But I don't know why my body gave up on me." There they were acting like a kid while being a full bachelor student. "I know we had a deal but-"
"I'll see you later Hange." You had to cut them before they started to talk to you about some nonsense.
"Wait, what ? Do you mean I still get to take you on a date ?"
You nodded, amused to see the surprise on their face.
"Thank you, thank you so much baby." They slowly got down on their knees, in that hallway full of people, holding your waist firmly under their big hands.
"What are you doing...?!"
"I'm thanking you, obviously."
"Get the fuck up, people are watching us !" As much as you tried to get to stand up, Hange was in fact stronger than you and more willing to embarrass you too apparently.
"I don't care, I get to have a date with the best girl on that campus, they can suck on that." The side of their head plopped down on your belly, you looked around trying to see how many people were watching you. Seeing one of the few known athletes of the campus holding someone as unknown as you, like you were their goddess for sure made people curious.
"Shut uuup, Hange you're so fucking annoying, get up !" Nothing could get that strange tall creature to stand up. And in a last attempt, you pulled on their hair lifting them up, so their eyes landed on you.
"I'm about to cancel everything, now stop fucking around."
And they quickly stood up, like a factory machine. You watched them, furious about those awkward looks you got because of their idiocies.
"Me fucking around ? Never." You rolled your eyes while they still held you close. "I'm sorry, it's just that you're so..." Hange smelled your perfume shoving their face in your clavicles.
They were just that addicted to you.
"I can't believe I'm yours."
The precise words they choose, made you crumble, but you could only cup their face to look at you. And they seemed so thirsty for your lips, their's half opened like they expected something to crash on them. They seemed dazed, under substance. You couldn't give Hange what they wanted, but your hands slipped down on their body getting to the helm of their pants that also exposed the elastic of their boxer, and pulled them against your hips. You smirked thinking about all that teasing you were giving to Hange without them ever being able to do something about it.
"Yeah, mine only." You took one of your palm a few centimeters under their tank top, your manicured nails brushing hard against their skin. They held a whine. "Now go, they're waiting for you."
You threw your gaze to the side, showing two other students standing up in front of you, sharing an expression between something disgusted and traumatized.
"Oh my god. Get a fucking room." Levi said his arms crossed, as Erwin nodded actively at his words.
Hange kissed you one last time on the cheek before leaving your touch, slowly backing up still facing you, a playful smile telling you that you two were not done, yet. You just waved until they hit their back on Levi, that didn't hesitate to slap them at the back of their head.
"You two never seem to act normal I swear..." That was all you heard from their friends as they distanced themselves from you, Hange getting dragged along.
And one sad look they gave you behind their damaged glasses, made you chuckle all by yourself.
They could lose a million competitions, be the last ranked forever, and you'd still love them to the bone. There was no bet that was about to change that.
✎You have a part time job as a librarian at the college that both you and Ellie attend. Ellie is studying rather late into the night, and you are the “lucky” one who begrudgingly shares the news of the library’s closing until tomorrow morning. As you continue to cross paths on campus, you both realize you might be something more than just peers.
✎modern college au, nerdy!ellie, awkward!reader, slow burn, eventual smut/fluff
previous chapter | next chapter
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The rain picks up outside the building and you imagine yourself in bed with a candle lit and a book open. You had tried your best so far to drown out your professor’s whiny voice, but for some reason he has the energy of a small dog every other morning at 9:00. Your laptop was set to the lowest brightness and the notes app you had downloaded at the beginning of the year to help you “study better” was completely empty. This was the one class you failed to pay attention in, even with Mr. What’s-His-Name practically yelling in your ear for nearly 2 hours.
“Ellie, yes!” the professor calls out, basically begging for participation. You grab the edge of your hood and pull it further down your face, trying to block out the fluorescent lights, until you hear a familiar voice.
“Your point relates to the core concept we discussed earlier, but if you apply the second one to this specific scenario, the outcome becomes pretty self-explanatory.”
You peek a squinted eye out from behind the navy blue fabric and see the quick-witted auburn from last night. She is three rows down and either wet from the rain or just a major grease ball. Either way, her answer seemed like something she had pulled out of her ass even though you had no idea what was going on.
“And how does that relate to the Permian-Triassic transition?” You could tell he was trying to sound not so judgemental about her answer, trying to get something out of anyone.
The girl, now known to you as Ellie, doesn't even sit up straight. She just spins a pen between her fingers and shrugs, “Because the Siberian Traps caused a massive carbon excursion.”
You furrow your eyebrows and pout your lips in more of a surprised way than an annoyed one. “Right,” he says just before he glances your way and sees your seemingly condemnatory expression.
“Do you have anything to add to this conversation?” Ellie turns her head slightly and looks at you for a moment out of the corner of her eye. You make eye contact, but quickly break it and fiddle with your fingers. “Me? Uhm, no, I agree with her,” you lie straight through your teeth. You had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, and that just drew her attention to you. Talk about awkwardness. His serious face and robust nod cause your stomach to turn, and you give Ellie one last glance before sliding down the bench and bringing your hood all the way down to your chin.
You wake up 45 minutes later to the sound of shuffling and various students mumbling around you. You stretch and a squeak-like noise comes out from the back of your throat which you silently pray nobody heard. You close your laptop and pack up your belongings, grabbing your phone to quickly look at yourself only to notice a red mark on your cheek from how you were sleeping. From the corner of your eye, you see Ellie packing up her own things, swinging her backpack over her shoulder and moving quickly down the stairs, dipping between three people and leaving the building with absolutely no grace and giving a sorry expression to the girl she somehow managed to bump into. You wonder for a moment if that’s what you looked like in high school before turning your phone off and following Ellie’s routine, dodging a certain group of annoying boys still stuck in the headspace of senior year.
The sweet late October breeze hit you immediately as you stepped outside, red and orange leaves giving off a soft crunch beneath your feet. The concrete was freshly wet, the puddles reflecting the warm colors of the trees surrounding the campus. With one earbud in your left ear and the other tucked into your clothes, the warmth of both your navy hoodie and leather jacket was welcoming. You grabbed your phone out of your jacket’s pocket and shuffled through your playlist, eventually choosing “Hearing Damage” by Thom Yorke.
You’re so focused on avoiding as many puddles as possible and the vibrating tension of the song that you don't notice the sudden change in the crowd until you’re shoulder-to-shoulder with someone. You misjudge the height of the curb, your foot sliding on a patch of wet, decaying leaves. Just as you’re bracing for the impact of the wet concrete, you feel a firm tug on the back of your backpack. It’s just enough to yank you upright, the momentum snapping your head back slightly.
"Careful," a voice mutters, cutting through the music.
You stumble into a standing position and whip your head around to find Ellie. She’s still holding onto the top handle of your bag, her knuckles pale from the grip. Up close, she’s less of a "grease ball" and more just incredibly damp. Strands of hair are plastered to her forehead, and she smells faintly of burnt wood and rain. She reaches out, her hand hovering near your arm as if to steady you, but she doesn't actually make contact.
You realize you’re staring. Your face is still warm from the nap, and that red mark on your cheek makes you self-conscious.
"I, uh–thanks," you manage, reaching up to adjust your earbud. In your haste, you accidentally knock it out. It dangles by the wire, Thom Yorke’s voice barely audible in the open air between you.
Ellie glances at the earbud, then back at you. Her expression stands somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. She doesn't mention what happened in class, and she doesn't mention that you clearly just woke up.
"Good luck with the Traps," she says, her voice dry as she gives a short, awkward nod and steps around you.
You stand there for a moment too long, the cold breeze hitting the spot where she almost touched your arm. As you put your earbud back in, you wonder why she looked like she wanted to say something else.
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chapter 2 complete :D i love writing in the fall elements bc im like so fixated on october as of recently… anyway, i hope you enjoyed!!
warnings: rushed, wrote this half asleep, might delete idk. lowercase very much intended. fingering, blood/feeding kink, ellie begging to be sucked dry and then passing out.
she should feel ashamed for what your nose pressed into her neck is doing to her—drooling over her collarbone, nuzzling the porcelain skin like a dog hunting down truffles. her wrist is in pain, bent over her own thigh, middle and ring fingers curled up for you to use and bounce on like she’s nothing but a sex doll. her eyes squeeze shut, face all blotchy red as if she’s the one getting railed—but she’s not. it’s the insistent little kisses pressed against her pulse point that are doing it.
god, what would it take for you just to sink your fangs in and take what you want? why drag it all out like a held-back coward?
thing with ellie is that she always insists she can take it—can handle sharp canines piercing the largest vein in the crook of her neck and bleed her dry. it’s a delirious feeling; despite the lifeblood being drawn eagerly, the pulse between her legs only pounds harder, stubborn against the dizziness flooding her skull and clouding her vision into a bleak, colorless fog. she pants in your ear, the wild heartbeat so inviting under your palm, pupils looking up at you as if praying you’ll be starving again—because only then you come to her to satisfy your needs.
but you’re full and sated, with little—if anything—left to want. nothing to quell. you’ve already taken from her weeks ago, took so much she swore she was about to drift into some other realm and finally leave all this behind.
always so stubborn. always encouraging you to take more of her. and you trusted her so blindly. what a foolish mistake you’d made.
she’s shaking beneath you, lips parting, mouthing something that never makes it out before muttering a feeble “faster” that’s too weak to fool even you, even in your dazed state. your hips slam down harder into her quivering hand, looming over her to lick the salt off her tongue, invading every inch of that filthy mouth. you could be doing something different with that mouth, if she were to be honest.
your hand finally descends from her chest, pressing down on her tense abdomen before coming to cup her mound, prickly hair tickling your palm, fingers drifting over her slit, smearing the puddle she’s dripping with. her breathing stutters; your lips return to her neck, peppering it with kisses, denying yourself the one thing you both seem to want—albeit for different reasons. she grunts when you push into her without warning, pumping back and forth until she whines, weak fingers inside you twitching, struggling to keep the pace.
but no, it’s not your fingers she truly desires, though ellie’s most honest when finger-fucked, and curling her tongue around the words trying to escape feels impossible. pearly fangs flash behind her eyelids the moment they flutter shut. “just fuckin’ bite me already. you’re… mhpphh… right there—”
“not hungry.” you hum indulgently into her neck, earning a spoiled little groan you’ve only ever heard coming out of children for over a century now. there’s so little she can take when her mind goes out like this.
“don’t give me that shit,” she snaps. “you’re fuckin’ drooling over me.” you punish her for that, pushing harder and deeper into her, nails nearly clawing at her insides, cum gushing out with each thrust.
“please,” she drawls on a weak gasp, and god, she sounds so desperate, hungry for something she shouldn’t even crave. “just a little. swear i can take it. i’ll tell you when to stop.”
you lift your head, bloodlust eyes finally linking, your hips coming to a pondering halt. “you said that last time.”
she huffs through her nose, all frustrated and twitchy, you realize all she truly needs is a fucking exorcism. “c’monnn... you always takin’ from me, what’s one more sip?
“jeez, you’re needy.”
“fuck you,” she whines, and then something breathier worms out, “…please bite me. pleasepleaseplease.”
a brainless little lamb begging to be sacrificed. only, she’s no lamb—not really. she’s a wolf in sheep’s skin, daring you to take what pulses so recklessly under layers of delicious flesh. throwing herself into your bite like it’s her birthright. taunting you with that vein, with that look. always begging to be bled out, like the ache in her cunt will only ease if you drain her dry. as if you could ever resist when her blood pulses that loud beneath your touch—singing your name, chanting it.
and she looks all cute under you, panting, moaning dumb on your fingers, eyes all glassy and shifting to that needier shade of green you always catch whenever your mouth unlatches from her salty neck. her hair’s splayed out over your pillow, head thumping against the velvety-red bedframe with each thrust of your fingers. can’t pull back now. can’t stop yourself from caving in.
when your fangs finally sink into her neck, she whimpers, then starts moaning twice as loud, clawing at you with her free hand like her whole soul is getting fucked. your fingers turn brutal, the heel of your palm grinding into her pained clit. her own fingers snap out of their trance, stabbing into you at a murderous pace, moaning like a slut into your shoulder as little crimson droplets roll off hers in glistening lines.
you chase them, lapping each bead from your fingertips before sucking them clean. she mewls at the sight, back arching hard.
“taste so good, darling.”
you latch back onto her neck, sucking and clenching ‘round her fingers. this won’t last long, her walls keep telling you.
and it doesn’t.
she cums before you even get to finish feeding, eyes all unfocused and skin dripping with cold perspiration. she looks like she’s about to pass out.
she does.
for seven full seconds.
seven brief seconds that mean nothing to her—not when you’re hovering above with bloodied lips and the guilty stare of something unholy, fingers no longer nestled inside her, frantically searching for the rise of her ribcage and the buried beat of her heart. it’s there, faint, but still humming your name. what a saint.
the first thing out of her mouth when she blinks back to life is, ‘…you could’ve kept going’ she could’ve died and still gotten off first. like a fucking freak.
“oh, please.”
“i was fine. could’ve taken more.” a stubborn little lie she keeps telling herself. she doesn’t even dare to look up.
you raise a brow, fingers smothering the fresh teeth marks on her neck, pressing into the forming bruise until she sucks in a hiss. “you passed out for like seven seconds.”
“exactly,” she continues. “could’ve gone for ten.”
fake dating hockey! vi x reader | fluff, angst, fake dating trope, romcom-ish, smut (mdni 18+) wc 20.8k
synopsis: following the release of four outdated love letters, vi vanderson is more than willing to start fake dating the girl of her dreams as a way to get rid of your clingy ex (and her ex hookup): caitlyn kiramman.
content: fake dating trope, some fake insta/snap stories/smau content!, language, betrayal, makeup smut (kissing, fingering, oral, mdni!), clingy ex!caitlyn, college au, lying, miscommunication
soundtrack: if you let me (alina baraz) | lowkey (niki) | lovers (anna of the north) | see through (amelia moore) | fetish (selena gomez) | kill bill (sza) | all of the girls you loved before (taylor swift) | two weeks (fka twigs) | everything happens for a reason (madison beer) | every summertime (niki)
Three-fourths of your favorite cereal is absolutely disgusting.
The deep blue circles start off sweet, but leave a bitter aftertaste that stains your tongue. The auburn ones aren’t all that bad, but they get too soggy, disintegrating into grains that fade into the now colored milk. The chestnut brown discs are so scarce that their taste is completely forgettable; you swear there’s only three in each batch.
Had these been the only flavors, you’d chuck the box in the trash and scold your best friend-roommate Mel for even bringing them into your shared apartment. But that one-fourth of strawberry pink circles make it worth it every time. They’re sweet on your tongue, sweet on your heart, swee—
“What’s with the look?”
Mel’s concern-filled voice brings you back to the present, making you smile sheepishly like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. The girl slides her white puffer jacket on, keys jingling in her hand as she awaits an answer.
“Nothin’, just ate a blue one.” Your mouth flattens, attempting to squeeze the bitter flavor from your tastebuds.
The gold-eyed girl hums. She blinks as her arms cross and she takes two, then three cautious steps towards you. Her gaze flickers faster than light, attempting to read every inch of your body language.
“You know,” she starts, sitting down to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “If you need to talk about it, I’m here. Don’t feel like you have to suffer in silence.”
That makes you snort, soft reassuring laughter following as you shake your head with confidence.
“Suffer? Mel, I broke up with Caitlyn, not the other way around.”
“Yeah, but transitioning from a relationship to a peace-abundant single life is hard nonetheless.. unless you’re ready to jump to the rebound stage?” Her full brows raise in persuasion as she finishes her sentence. In her mind, getting laid would solve any problems that the complex inner-workings of your mind could craft.
The question catches you off guard once more. Not that it should. It’d be a big fat lie to claim the idea never crossed your mind. In fact, it planted itself inside your brain like a bug and dug all the way down to memories you’d attempted to forget. Down to highschool of all places (God forbid). Down to those four names that perfectly defined the word ‘desire’ for you. Ellie Williams, Caitlyn Kiramman, Sky Young, and Violet Vanderson.
Ellie, a fellow camp counselor at Wildflower Haven your junior year, took hold of your heart on day one. Sneaking out of your cabins at night, skinny dipping in the camp lake, even making matching bracelets that you claimed you’d ‘wear forever’. Your crush blossomed at superluminal speed. But before you knew it, camp was coming to an end and you were saying goodbye forever.
Caitlyn Kiramman. A classic senior-year-of-high-school crush that didn’t develop until the first semester of college sophomore year. Your now ex, who is the last person you want to think about. High five to your high school self for predicting that one, though.
Sky Young, a skating instructor at your local ice rink: Polar Peaks. After you’d fallen on your face for the fourth time and were ready to give up, you saw chestnut brown curls above you, decorating one of the friendliest smiles you’d seen to date. She helped you rise to your feet and held your hand for a lap around the rink. Unfortunately, you were a sophomore when she was a senior, and a week later you returned to the rink to find out she’d officially left for college. Not that there was anything between you two. Still, you could dream.
And last, but certainly not least, Violet Vanderson. The star athlete of your school’s hockey team then and now. Sculpted muscles, a singular tattoo that multiplied quickly after graduation, and a killer smile that could put a halt to the gears turning in any girl’s head.
It was a simple interaction. You were the first one to read your final poem in front of your literature class with clammy palms, a shaky voice, and a dream. As you finished, looking at attentive students like a deer in headlights, Vi was the first to clap. It was enthusiastic, loud, and genuine. And like always, other students followed suit.
Vi didn’t know you. She knew of you, the bits and pieces she could gather. You were somewhat of a social butterfly, you smelled of strawberry and vanilla every time you passed her seat, you were mind-consumingly beautiful, and you could write. Unfortunately for the both of you, your paths didn’t seem to cross any further than that.
And so, you wrote a letter.
Four love letters, to be exact. Each one in the high point of your crushes, attempting to soothe the longing feeling in your gut that ached for you to do something. You wrapped them all the same, in either a dark blue, chestnut brown, auburn, or pink envelope with a bow on the seal, even going as far as addressing and stamping them. Of course, they were never meant to be sent, which led them to their hiding place in a rose-red cylindrical fabric box that was stashed away into the depths of your closet.
“C’mon, you’re hot and single again. I have some good contestants–”
“I don’t know Mels,” you cut her off with a look too mixed to decipher. “But really, I’m good,” you reassure, taking another spoonful of cereal into your mouth.
Yuck– another blue one.
“Sevika, what the fuck!”
Gert’s complaint was drowned out by skates shuffling against the abused ice. Players clad in blue and white practice jerseys messily fill the space, fighting to keep up with Sevika. The woman speeds past, guiding the puck along the ice and slamming it into the goal.
The sounds of hurried feet and grunts subside, leaving breathless panting and shared looks of confusion across the teammates’ faces. But one pair of skates never slows, coming up behind the buff figure and skidding to a stop.
“The hell are you doing?” Vi scolds the woman with a scrunched up face of judgement. This is the sixth time Sevika’s pissed her off this week and it’s starting to get on her last nerve. “You’re hogging the puck. You’re not the only person on this team, in a game this would’ve–”
“Get the hell out of my face,” the burly woman throws back, shoulder checking Violet hard enough to make her break her cool, squaring her shoulders and raising her voice with a “Sevika,”.
“Vanderson! Grove!” Coach Talis’s voice echos throughout the rink, making the hockey players stop in their tracks.
“Unless you two want to run extra drills: cut it out. Now.”
“Is it just me, or is she being more of a fucking pain than usual?” Vi asks the woman across the locker room rhetorically, slipping on a clean compression shirt and plopping down on the bench to knot her laces.
“I told you dude, she wants to be you, or at least take your spot.” the blonde sighs, pulling her braided hair from under the pullover she just slipped on. “As long as she’s taking her anger our on you and not me..” She continues, and the pinkette throws her a scoff before the blonde continues.
“You know if you need stress relief, you could always go back to Kiramman. Heard the pretty girl called things off with her.”
And although her teammate only muttered the words, they set off blaring alarms within Vi’s mind. Because she can’t go back to hooking up with Caitlyn, she lied to her friends saying the two of them were ‘too busy’ when in reality Vi called things off because she couldn’t stop thinking about the one girl she knew nothing about. You. And suddenly, you and Cait were dating. Suddenly, she sure as hell couldn’t tell anybody the real reason she stopped seeing her.
“Nah Abby, not happening,” she simply replies, attempting to sound as bored with the topic as possible.
“Fine, stay dry. I’m just throwing things out there,” the blonde puts her hands up in defense, shutting her locker as she walks towards the exit. “Later!” she waves before slipping out of the door.
A beat passes. Then two. Then three. Finally, she takes a deep breath, leans down to unzip her practice bag, and reaches in.
And out Vi pulls a pink envelope, decorated with a bow perfectly placed on the front and her name adorned with hearts on the back.
The force of cool air coats your face as you walk throughout campus, ranting on the phone to Mel about your latest hell of a group project. “And it’s not even.. even.. sorry, I’m getting a call. Talk at home!”
You smile at the friendly contact photo covering your screen, rounding some greenery as the parking lot comes into view. With a click of the ‘accept’ button, you're greeted with the gentlest of voices. “Hey!”
A soft chuckle leaves your lips.
“Hey little man, look I’m about to drive home so I can’t talk for long,” you blinked a few times, realizing you went further from your car and spinning on your heels.
“No worries,” he starts, “I just wanted to let you know that last week I was helping clean your old room and I found some letters, looks like you forgot to send them out? They were stamped and addressed and everything, so I just sent them for you.”
Ekko continues, giving some speech about God knows what.
But you can’t hear any of it, because the ringing in your ears is deafening.
No.
It takes a few beats of your pure, shocked silence before your brain powers back on. And once it does, every inch of your mind is racing.
Okay, you thought to yourself. Ellie’s letter was addressed to camp, so there’s no chance of it getting to her anytime soon, if at all. Sky’s been gone for years, but you can’t remember the address you put down for her letter. Violet– shit. She definitely has hers.
Oh. No. No, no, no.
Your body feels oh so fragile and suddenly the idea of fleeing the country doesn’t sound entirely heinous, because only a few feet away stands Caitlyn.
Her blue hair is in a messy ponytail and her outfit is less perfected than usual, urgently thrown on. She’s searching, a determined expression plastered on her face as her gaze flickers through crowds of students.
For a moment, you pray it’s a misunderstanding. You pray she’s in a rush to find someone else, because there’s absolutely no way your ex was mailed a love letter you wrote in highschool.
But your eyes trail down to her hand wrapped around that beautifully decorated navy envelope, and your knees are seconds away from buckling.
“Yeah, yeah uh huh that’s great and all Ekko but I’ve really gotta go. Call me another time, okay?” you hit the ‘end call’ button with more force than needed and dash to your car.
As you swing open the car door and drop inside with a slam shut, you can feel it. The way your heart pounds against your chest as if it’s trying to escape. That achy feeling that crawls its way up the back of your throat and transforms into tears that prickle at the corners of your worried eyes.
You shake your head, putting the key in the ignition and immediately shifting to reverse, not tending to your clouded vision.
“Woah!”
The somewhat-familiar yelp has your foot slamming on the breaks. Your face scrunches in confusion, the sleeve of your coat wiping your eyes just enough to make out the empty space behind your car as you look in your rearview camera. You’re confused, ready to switch the car back into ‘reverse’ before a tap tap at your window makes you gasp.
Violet stands there, looking relaxed as an almost smug smile coats her lips.
Your face distorts, torn between speeding off and giving in to her request, but before you make a decision, your manicured hands are rolling the window down. Cool air flows inside, but it loses to the subtle warmth that fills your body from the way the pinkette is eyeing you.
“You know you’re supposed to check behind you before pulling out, right?” she teases.
The question itself is mocking, but the glint in her eye and how she leans down to relax a forearm on the car tells you to let it slide.
“Right,” you agree. “Right, sorry about that. I just really need to leave so–”
“Think y’ can explain this before you do?”
With no time to brace yourself, she holds up that stupid decorated pink envelope, and all you want to do is faint.
“I don’t..” you whisper, accepting there’s nothing you can say to make this go away. But that blue hair is nearing, and you’re going to have a heart attack.
“Can you get in?” you ask, voice a soft plea.
Vi’s expression falters. That was the last thing she expected.
“Please?” you try again. “I can’t talk about this here.”
Your foot’s going to fall asleep if you sit like this any longer.
The two of you stay perfectly still, worried that any form of movement will penetrate the bubble of silence that formed as soon as Vi sat in the plush passenger seat.
Her mind is racing, because the beautiful girl she’s had her eyes on for months sent her the most heartfelt confession she’s ever gotten, and now she’s sitting in her car in a secluded area of a park. For a moment, she wonders if she’s dreaming. But the sound of your seat belt unbuckling and you shifting to face her, sweet and cautious eyes looking into her soul, has her heart skipping beats. She concludes she’s wide awake.
“Interesting spot for our first date,” she hums after clearing her throat. “You’re not gonna kill me, right?”
That has your expression faltering.
“You’re..” you stammer, “you think this is funny?”
“Listen I’m just a little confused, sunshine,” she doesn’t miss the way your body stills at the nickname. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered. But you and her majesty just broke up, and I think you should know that her and I—”
“Just– let me see that.” you cut her off and reach out for the rosy packaging, but Vi’s quicker, pulling it back with a squint in her eyes.
“I’d like to know how mortified I should be,” you confess quietly after a beat of silence. “It’s been a while since I read yours.”
Naturally, the athlete oozes confidence and cockiness, but the pure confusion that colonizes her expression makes all of that fade for the moment. Her guard is down, allowing you to reach over her lap and seize the envelope.
“Wait wait wait,” she starts as you focus your attention on pulling the folded paper from the envelope.
“What do you mean ‘yours’? Are you saying I’m not the only person who got one ‘f these?” she asks, voice laced with confusion and another emotion you can’t quite pinpoint. You ignore her, hands stilling as sour nostalgia hits you in the gut and knocks the wind out of you.
My dearest Violet,
Do you remember Ximena Talis’s creative writing class in junior year? You acted so uninterested in each lesson when your teammates were around, but when they were busy skipping class, you were sticking your nose in the next Shakespeare play or Edgar Allen Poe poem. You shared your own writings with the class, a bored look painting your face and an awkward laugh spilling from your throat (although, they really weren’t that bad). But when I stood in front of our peers and performed my spin on “Annabel Lee”, you rose to your feet in applause. I’ll always be grateful that it was you who gave me my first standing ovation. Because in that moment I knew, from my happily raised eyebrows down to the nervous shuffling of my feet, that I love you Violet Vanderson. I really, truly love you.
You physically can’t read the rest of this.
The tense sensation in your stomach only tightens as you hastily fold the paper and toss it back to the athlete, who’s still examining you with a curious glint in her eye.
“Okay– here’s the thing,” you begin after a deep breath. “I wrote four letters, and they’re all outdated, like– from sophomore through senior year. A family friend sent them out by accident.”
The explanation has Violet blinking, because in one sentence you’ve managed to crush her plans that she confidently pranced over with. In one sentence, you’ve made her question what the hell she was thinking. In one sentence, you’ve washed away her suave persona and turned her to a questioning pile of mush, because– you’re not just trying to get into her pants?
“..Well who else got letters?” She cringes at her whiny tone, running a hand through her hair for comfort.
“Uh,” you sigh and shift your position as you look anywhere but the girl, dread consuming your almost-annoyed face. “A girl from summer camp, some girl from the ice rink, and… Caitlyn.” The last word comes out as an embarrassed murmur that leaves Vi’s mouth agape in shock and pity.
A few beats of silence pass before Vi’s eyes light up.
It might be a crazy idea, and you might despise her after the suggestion leaves her lips, but she can’t pass up this opportunity.
“Things with Kiramman must be tense now, right?” she offers.
Your lips press together in silent agreement, gaze trailing to your shining phone screen. 35 new messages and 6 missed calls from Caitlyn, just in the past two hours. You’d texted Caitlyn an explanation as soon as you’d parked: that Ekko sent her an old letter and that was just that. But still, stubborn as always, the bluenette refuses to believe you.
“You could say that,” you mumble reluctantly. “I just,” you whisper, “I don’t know what to do.”
Her gaze flickers up and down your frame once in final thought. Your bright eyes drooping with worry and once confident voice lacing with insecurity makes up her mind. She wants nothing more than to console you, to wrap her strong arms around your frame and make you beam. Vi’s not sure if it’s her or the seventeen year old in that creative writing class speaking, but words fall from her lips.
“I could be your girlfriend.”
A wave of disbelief washes over you, leaving widened eyes and a pounding heart in its path. The panicked expression on your face is enough to have her next words sputtering out in consolation.
“Fake girlfriend, of course.” The way your eyes soften in thought fuels her to continue. “Just for a little while y’know? To give Kiramman the hint.” Her words are spoken with more power as she sees the gears turning in your pretty little head.
The idea’s heinous, and the thought of your scheme being revealed makes your stomach turn in embarrassment for the both of you. It’s ridiculous, idiotic, and risky, but your phone lights up once again with a text from your navy-haired ex, and that’s enough to make you answer.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
caitlyn: I know you didn’t mean what you said. Just come and talk to me, love.
caitlyn: Jesus, don’t be stubborn.
The messages continue on like a flood, piling onto your guilty conscience until the notification ringing becomes all too much, making you flick the silence button on your phone. The quiet doesn’t last long as you near the doors of the practice rink. Five players burst through the doors, a cluster of chaos and yells surrounding them before one girl, hair tied back into a dark brown bun, notices you.
“That her?” she whispers to her teammates, their backs facing you as they walk away, but they whip their heads around (noticeably at that) to get glances at you.
“Damnn.” another draws out, earning a slap on her neck.
“How’d Vi do that so fast?” you hear another quip before they take a turn down the hallway.
You only smiled gently, rolling your eyes at the comments as your hand pushed open the door to the rink. At least you make a believable couple.
“You know, my words were ‘you could always go back to Kiramman, the pretty girl dumped her’, not ‘you should go bag your ex-fling’s ex-girlfriend’. They’ve been broken up for, what, two weeks? Does she even know about you and Cait?” Abby’s raspy voice fills the ice, making Vi shush her in annoyance.
“Yes, of course she knows.”
There’s a beat of silence, neither of the players move when the words of a lie fill the air.
“Fuck fine. No, she doesn’t know yet. I’m just waiting for a good time..” Vi confesses, aimlessly kicking the ice.
“You know this makes you messy, right?” the strong blonde grinned.
“Oh fuck off. Messy is pounding half the swim team.” The pinkette sends an accusatory glance and Abby’s raising her hands up in innocence with a shrug and a smug smile. She rounds the ice and stops in her tracks when you enter the room, glistening skin and a patient waiting look on your face.
She snickers, letting out a quick whistle as she skates towards the exit off the ice. “Violet,” she coos in a sing-songy voice, “look who’s here for you.”
The blonde waves goodbye to her friend once and sends you a wink before exiting the room.
Your hands are clasped behind your back as you take your time walking up to where the carpet and ice of the rink are separated. Realizing your limit, you lean your side against the entrance, looking at the athlete whose eyes are grazing over your attire painfully slow.
“You want some skates?” she finally speaks, eyes meeting yours with a glint.
You laugh gently. “Hell no.” She snickers along with you, removing her helmet to run a hand through her hair.
“So you’ve,” you slightly raise your hand to point your thumb in the direction Abby and the other players exited, “you’ve told people already?”
Worry flickers over her face, because for some reason she just can’t read you right like she can read other girls and it drives her insane.
“Yeah, something wrong with that?” she asks cooly, placing her helmet back on the pink fluff as she glides around.
You bite the inside of your cheek in thought, finally shaking your head. “No, no I mean that’s the whole point, for people to know.” you hum.
“But I have to ask, why are you doing this?”
Vi stops in her tracks, body turning to face yours from feet away.
She contemplates it, telling you the truth. That she’s infatuated with and intrigued by you. That you’ve completely ruined hookups and “crushes” for her because she can’t get you out of her head. And maybe she doesn’t know you too well just yet, but she’s going to. And yes, she used to fuck your ex girlfriend way before you were even girlfriends, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the bond she wants to have with you, and she prays it doesn’t affect deem her unreliable.
Yet none of that can come out of her mouth. So, she settles on her practiced lie and prays whoever’s up there doesn’t look down on her for it.
“Coach doesn’t like my reputation for ‘getting around’. Says it just doesn’t look good. Being with you gives me some cover.” She talks smoothly, making sure there’s not a hint of guilt behind her voice, because it's a lie. Coach Talis couldn’t care less about what she’s doing in her free time as long as she shows out on the ice.
You only hum and nod.
You don’t notice how close she’s gotten until she’s there, staring down at you. Her musk and amber scent is intoxicating, seeping into your nostrils while powder blue eyes catch yours through her helmet and– is it possible she looks better than you remember?
“The letter,” you sputter out, mentally cringing as the pinkette raises a brow. “Can I see the letter again?”
She’s cheesing, reaching into the pocket of her pants to whip out the neatly folded paper and.. is she just keeping that on her?
As if she can read your mind and wide eyes, she speaks. “Just knew you’d want it,” she explains, placing it between your waiting fingers. She watches as you unfold the paper and look up at her. Thick silence fills the air before the athlete gets the hint, blinking twice with a nod. “Right, sorry,” Vi apologizes simply before skating off.
You take a deep breath, heart swelling the same way it did when you first wrote this sweet confession.
My dearest Violet,
Do you remember Ximena Talis’s creative writing class in junior year? You acted so uninterested in each lesson when your teammates were around, but while they were busy skipping class, you were sticking your nose in the next Shakespeare play or Edgar Allen Poe poem. You shared your own writings with a bored look painting your face and an awkward laugh spilling from your throat (although, they really weren’t that bad). But when I stood in front of our peers and performed my spin on “Annabel Lee”, you rose to your feet in applause. I’ll always be grateful that it was you who gave me my first standing ovation. Because in that moment I knew, from my happily raised eyebrows down to the shuffling of my nervous feet, that I love you Violet Vanderson. I really, really love you.
When I sat back down in my seat, you slipped a pink sticky note back onto my desk. Gentle handwriting and a sweet smiley face in the corner decorated the words “that was amazing, how do you write so well?”. I’d never had my heart pound harder, never felt my palms sweatier or my spirits higher. As each day passes, I hope you’ll look at me with the same rose colored glasses as you did that class. I dream each night with my lovestruck brain of you taking me by the hand and asking me to be forever yours. I’ll be waiting, no matter how long it takes.
- forever yours, ____
It doesn’t take long before you get that warm and fuzzy feeling, the same one that caressed your body while you wrote this very letter. It takes even less time for it to be replaced with soul eating shame that has you wanting to curl into a ball.
“You’ve always been a good writer,” she calls out, nearing you. “I meant it when I said it.”
“..I know,” you agree, a smile forming against your will.
Vi’s grinning at your sass, and damn is the only word that fills her brain. “How are things with Kiramman?” she asks gently.
“She just doesn’t believe me. She’s texted a thousand times since yesterday and is totally convinced I want her back.” you roll your eyes in exhaustion.
“Do you?”
You pause at her question, because underneath that carefree and playful persona hides a hint of worry behind Vi’s voice, and it’s fueling the curiosity within you. “Why are you asking?”
A beat passes. “Just wanna know how humiliated I’ll be after all of this,” the pinkette admits.
Her confession makes you laugh and shake your head. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” you hum. “I broke up with Caitlyn and that’s that. If it takes a fake relationship and a little pda for her to see that then so be it.”
Vi nods, making sure not to let the smile she’s feeling creep onto her face.
“So you like writing, you’re smart as hell, you dress real cute,” she points a finger up and down your outfit and you tilt your head. “Anything else I should know about you or our little.. ordeal?”
You tongue your cheek in silent thought before replying.
“You can’t kiss me.”
That has Vi’s brain short circuiting, because the image you’ve set in her mind from those words alone is sparking a crimson glow across her face and– fuck she shouldn’t be thinking about this. But she had to admit (to herself, not out loud of course), she’d have no problem with running her lips across yours if you asked for it.
“Did Kiramman not kiss you, angel?” ‘She’d have to be a fucking idiot not to’ is the next thing that wants to come out of her mouth, but she settles for a soft tease. “That’s a couples thing, if you didn’t know.”
“We kissed, obviously.” You cross your arms as you speak. “You can– y’know, hold me, kiss my.. anywhere else.” Both you and Vi feel a shift. Damn, are ice rinks always this warm? “Just, no real kissing. It’s too personal.”
Vi gently nods, slipping out a soft ‘alright’ because you have a good point.
She moves forward to step off the ice, placing a firm hand on your waist to gently guide you out of the way as she passes. Your body tenses at the touch, whipping your head towards the girl in surprise.
The pinkette notices, and she knows she shouldn’t chuckle at it, but she does. “If it’s gonna take ‘a little pda’, you might wanna get rid of that before this weekend,” she’s speaking cockily as she nears her bag, her helmet coming off for good.
You clear your throat. “What’s this weekend?”
“Party ‘m takin’ you to. Think of it as our couples debut.” And Vi loves the surprised little look on your face as you ask her if that’s ‘really necessary’.
“You really think anyones gonna believe we’re together if I’m at a party all by myself? Who’s gonna fight off all the girls craving my attention, sunshine?”
You wonder if the notorious smirk on her face is permanent as she slings her practice bag on a sculpted shoulder as she moves to tower over you, the cool air of the rink becoming very present.
“So you’re coming, yeah?”
Your eyes travel from hers to the empty space beside her in thought.
“Of course.”
“You’re sure it’s not too boob-y?”
You tug at your low cut top, half yelling over the chaos of other students to your roommate who’s eyeing you like your one head has turned into five.
“Wait, you didn’t want it to be ‘boob-y’? Practically wearing a bra,” she yells back with a knowing smile, sipping from the red cup that quickly found her hands. At the sight of your worry, her smugness turns to playful comfort. “Come on, you’re at a frat not a damn funeral. You look sexy.”
“She’s right.”
The raspy voice behind you is unfamiliar, sending a soft chill down your spine that turns you on your heels.
You’re met with a tall, muscular, brownskin woman. Half of her hair is pulled back, and loose strands fall to decorate her face that holds piercing eyes which are completely directed on you. You’ve seen her before for sure, but her name is the last thing on your mind as her eyes trail over every inch of your exposed skin.
“Sevika,” she tells lowly, placing a red cup between your manicured fingers to which you scoff under your breath.
You give her the benefit of the doubt.
“___,” you offer your name, looking for any hint of recognition on her face, and you get it when she smirks and tilts her head.
“I know who you are, beautiful,” she purrs.
“Then you also know I’m Vi’s girlfriend?” you throw back. The words feel completely foreign on your tongue, but come out so awfully right.
The raven’s eyebrows raise right before she huffs out a laugh of disbelief, sipping from whatever mixture graced the cup in her hand. “Girlfriend?” she repeats. “Shit, with the way she was talking about you, I thought you were just a hookup.”
The air’s suddenly much thicker, tenser, and you don’t have much time to process what Sevika just laid upon you before pink hair makes its way through the crowd.
“There’s my girl,” Vi calls out as she nears you, her sweet words cutting the tension like a knife. “Been looking all over for you,” she speaks as gently as she can in the atmosphere, completely ignoring the presence of her teammate.
“Hi,” you simply let out. Your knees feel weak and you think maybe you’re not cut out for this, because the pinkette slides a warm hand around your waist and places a chaste kiss down on your bare shoulder.
She’s pulling back from your skin when her eyes land on the cup in your hand, a confused glint in her eye as she squints. “Thought you drove?” The calloused fingers tracing meaningless patterns on your skin and soft breathy words hitting your face from just inches away make you feel like Melting. What’d she ask again?
“No,” is all you manage to stammer out, shifting in the girl’s arms until the right words form in your head. “No this isn’t mine.” you’re mentally facepalming.
Vi’s eyes flicker from you, to the cup, to Sevika, finally piecing together her part in this. The athlete stands a bit taller, gently taking the drink from your hands and shoving it against Sevika’s chest. Some of the liquid splashes over the cup, leaving droplets of a stain on the angry woman’s shirt.
Sevika’s slowly taking the cup without breaking eye contact. Her gaze is sharper than daggers as Violet huffs out a scoff, her grip on your waist more present as she guides you away from the brute and through the crowd of partygoers.
“I’m sorry about her. One asshole of a teammate.” Vi’s words kiss your ear to avoid yelling as she walks. “You okay?” she asks slightly softer, which earns her a nod and quick ‘yeah’. The pinkette’s hand snakes from around your waist down to grab one of yours, holding you tightly as you worm your ways through the horde.
As you exit the crowd your left arm finds its way to wrap around her right, placing your free hand lazily on her bicep, because if you had to feel her fingertips on your skin anymore you’d faint. The pair of you walk through the spacious backyard, decorated with a pool, groups of your classmates, and a cluster of hockey players lounging on some couches that circle a fire pit.
“You ready?” She whispers softly.
“Ready,” you reply with a smile that turns into an “o” shaped mouth, big worried eyes capturing VI’s. “They won’t ask me about hockey, right?”
The girl lets out a sweet, genuine laugh, and so cute is what she’s mentally replying.
“There you are!” Abby calls out as soon as the two of you are in her vision. The rest of the team follows, greeting both you and Vi, throwing her smirks or nods of approval when you have your focus elsewhere. Vi sits, sprawling out against the couch with her legs perfectly spread for you. As if it were natural, her hands find their way around your hips and she guides you down into her lap.
And you hate it.
Not the feeling of her firm chest against your back, not her warm legs encasing your bare and crossed ones, not even the way she wraps her muscular arms around your torso and places her head so close to yours.
You hate how normal she’s making all of this feel, how your brain is being fried with each touch, but your faux girlfriend doesn’t seem to be bothered one bit. And you’re starting to wonder if it’s a problem.
“How’d you two even meet? Didn’t you and the chick from the basketball team just break up?” one of her teammates questions you with a raised brow.
Fuck is all your brain renders, and you hope the shock didn’t show on your face because—
“I’ve had the hots for her since high school, thought it was time to do something about it,” Vi replies. A proud feeling washes over her when your body relaxes in her arms.
You’re gently squeezing her arm twice, thankful that she’s such a great actor. She’s running her thumb against your skin, thankful that you can’t read minds.
A few sweet nods and noises of approval are let out before Abby speaks up. “‘The hots’? What are you, fifty?” She jokes, earning a grinning ‘fuck off’ from Vi.
The teammates’ conversation continues both with and without you, leaving moments for you to think of something ‘girlfriendish’ to say or a new place on Vi’s skin to touch. And then, it starts. Against Vi’s rolling eyes and Elora’s complaint that this is “so middle school”, a game of truth or dare ensues. Ever the fun one, the blonde convinces everyone that it’ll be fun, that it’s good to be childish every once in a while.
So far, Gert’s been dared to send an ‘i miss you’ voice note to her ex and is utterly ashamed, Abby’s mouth tastes both bitter and spicy from the liquor concoction the teammates dared her to drink, another girl has been stripped down to her shorts and wife pleaser and shooed away from the fire to ‘endure the cold’ for ten more minutes.
When it comes to the other teammates, you don’t know how many “___ and i banged” truths and “take this many shots” dares you hear before it’s finally your turn.
“Truth or dare?” Vi coos in your ear.
“Truth–”
“Dare?” she cuts you off with a mean grin. “Alright, I dare you to jump into the pool. Right here, right now.”
Your head whips towards the girl fast enough to send chills down the pinkette’s spine. The hockey team is whooping and cheering you on as Violet comes to a stand with your mid area still locked by her arms.
“No– no– I said truth Vi!” you sputter out. Your body and mind are moving at an astronomically slow speed because before you know it, Vi’s scooping you off the ground and throwing you over her shoulder effortlessly. As she begins to walk, the hollering of the team growing in intensity, one of her warm hands lays at the back of your thigh, holding down the bottom of your already short skirt. The other trails its way down your leg and to your feet, slipping off your shoes and letting them fall with a plop.
“Violet Vanderson.” you warn firmly, squirming in anticipation as you neared the icy blue water. You’re feeling five emotions at once, and at the same time evaluating how much Caitlyn’s perception on things truly matters, because you’re this close to firing your ‘girlfriend’.
When she suggested this entire ordeal you imagined it’d be standing together for an hour and dancing, going out for drinks once or twice, maybe even an instagram story or two.
You didn’t expect pool shenanigans, shoulder kisses, and powerful arms wrapped around your sides every two seconds. You didn’t expect to be having fun, let alone like it.
“Put me down!” you yelp through rising giggles.
“A dare’s a dare, angel.” she speaks lowly over her shoulder to you, who’s dangling helplessly in her grasp. “C’mon, it looks good for us as a couple,” she whispers.
“Wait wait wait!–”
Your last threat is drowned out as Vi jumps into the glowing blue.
“Wonder how many people have had sex in here tonight,” you joke through chattering teeth. You’re holding your soaked hair together to the best of your ability as to not drench everything in your path, but truthfully, water is the cleanest thing to grace those frat floors. Vi trails right in behind you, snorting out a laugh as she leans against the closed door.
The pinkett’s pool stunt only had you upset for so long, mostly out of shock of her actually going through with it. However, once you rose to the surface of the water, the only things that could spill from your mouth were hearty giggles.
What made it ten times better was that people saw, Vi’s teammates whooped while others just snickered at the ‘new couple’s’ playfulness.
What made it a hundred times better was Abby informing you of how pissed Caitlyn looked, staring at you and Vi before storming back the way she came from.
“Enough to start a new std?” She flashes her pearly whites at her own joke.
“Violet!” you cringe, making her chuckle.
As cold as your water-soaked clothing, skin, and drenched hair makes you, the athlete’s soft gaze is a lighter igniting a blaze in the pit of your stomach. For the first time in a long time, protected by the walls of someone’s room, you’re able to explore her face.
Perfect, full brows are intercepted by a slit with one to match down on the the left of her rosy lips. Sweet freckles dance on and around her nose, and gosh she’s pretty. It’s the same face you’d admired years ago, but you still look at her as if you’ve discovered her beauty all over again. You stand there attempting to pinpoint what shade of blue her eyes are when she finally speaks up.
“Here,” the athlete steps closer, taking off her thick black coat and handing it over sheepishly. “Can’t do anything about your skirt, but I thought these would help.” A hint of blue and white fabric peeks out from underneath, and you unravel it to reveal a jersey. One of her jerseys.
There’s a glint of suspicion in your eye, and Violet’s in fear.
“You just.. keep this in your car? All the time?” You question with a perfectly raised eyebrow.
Vi clears her throat. Because no, no she doesn’t. She just had to do something to get you in her clothes.
A beat passes with no response, and finally the pinkette’s eyes are flickering around the room before she turns. “I’ll let you get changed.”
The door’s opening and closing before you can protest, and it’s finally safe for that suppressed smile to grace your lips without shame.
It doesn’t take long for you to strip out of your sopping clothes and into the oversized comfiness of Vi’s. You examine yourself in the full length mirror, fixing your wet hair to the best of your ability and running your hands over the warmth of the new clothing. It sMells just like Violet, and you convince yourself that you don’t care, but underneath that protective mask is the lovestruck teenage girl you once were.
Turning on your heels, you gather the wet bundles of fabric and head for the door when someone on the other side beats you to it.
Correction, the last person you want to see beats you to it.
Caitlyn’s quick to step inside the room, closing the door with an indecipherable expression plastered on her face. Her brows furrow with more distaste than usual, and her once perfect navy blue locks now have strands messily shaken out of place. Your tongue is strangled by the bite of your teeth. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes to the back of your head.
“Violet Vanderson?” She wastes no time, chary eyes examining your face with crossed arms. “Really?”
You’re done holding back, so you scoff.
“Yes, really. What, are you jealous?” you quip. “Y’know what, don’t answer that. I already know.”
She ignores the sassy remark. “I’m surprised you chose her, considering everything.”
You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Considering, what exactly?”
Caitlyn’s poker face had been drilled into her since she was a kid, but the bluenette physically had to suppress the amusement from taking over her face when she realized: you had no clue.
“I just didn’t think she was your type, and that was awfully fast,” she saves.
“I didn’t cheat on you, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” You spit the words like they burn on your tongue as impatient hands come up to rest on your hips.
“I’m insinuating that I don’t believe whatever this is.”
That has you pausing. Your face, demeanor, and attitude all stay the same, but you both notice the shift in the air.
“I think you realize you messed up when you broke things off, and now you’re playing hard to get.” She continues, stepping forward as her toned arms fall to her sides.
“There’s no need to play games with me, you know.”
Cait’s look is condescending, and it only pisses you off more when her hand reaches out to caress yours. The perfect persuasion, an easy fix to all of her problems when the utter of her surname isn’t quite enough. But you’re not easy, and you didn’t mess anything up. So you quickly swat it away, sneering as you step around the tower of a girl and towards the door.
“Get over yourself, Caitlyn.”
You exit the room with blood red vision, a fury which follows you on your journey to find Mel in the drunken crowd and pull her to the front while Vi offers to walk both of you to your car.
And in your red haze, you miss the eye contact Caitlyn and Sevika make from across the crowded room.
Sweat is dripping from the athletes’ foreheads down to the stretch of their neck as Talis blows his whistle, allowing the players to catch their breaths.
Normally, Vi would be more than willing to stay longer than the scheduled practice time. Running fun drills with Abby, racing Gert, whatever the matter may be. Hockey is her thing.
But, at the moment, you’re also ‘her thing’. And right now you were patiently waiting in your apartment for Vi to make an appearance. A friendly one, of course. Away from watching eyes and overwhelming questions, where you could discuss your next moves in peace–as peaceful as you could get with the muscular tease looking at you as if you were a star to wish on at night.
So she keeps her mouth shut and her eyes trained on Coach Talis (who’s giving some end-of-practice spiel) as Sevika glides up next to her.
She keeps her mouth shut as the brute lets out a soft scoff at how hard Vi’s trying to ignore her.
She has to bite hard on her tongue when the woman mutters something about the pink-haired athlete needing to ‘give up while she’s still ahead’.
And her mouth opens immediately when your name falls from Sevika’s lips. “___, she really is somethin’ huh–?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Sevika,” she threatens, a tad louder than expected. Their stubborn gazes stay locked on one another, and Sevika’s letting out a scoff while squaring her firm shoulders.
“Or what?” the raven throws back, intimidation oozing from her presence.
“Hey! What did I say?” The bubble of their rivalry is popped as Coach Talis raises his voice.
“That’s it. Bag skates.”
[REDACTED]: you sure this’ll work?
When Vi finally shows up at your sun-glistening apartment, her hair is wet from the quick shower she took, she’s a total blubbering mess about how she’s crazy sorry and feels terrible for making you wait an extra hour, and she’s holding one cup of coffee that looks exactly like the one you always order.
“Vi, seriously it’s okay,” you chuckle, and the girl deflates in soft relief. A smile sweet as honey graces your face and Vi finally figures it out: you’re just an angel in disguise.
You reach over from your seat on the couch to take the cup of coffee from her hand. It’s your order to a T, and the sip you take sends a cold trail of liquid down your throat and into the warmth of your stomach.
“Mmm,” you hum, making Vi malfunction when you lick the remnants from your lips. “Did you chug yours on the way?” you ask.
Perfect blue eyes blink twice while Violet calculates the odds that you’ll say yes if she were to suggest you drop the whole act and venture off on a real date right now.
“Oh– hell no. I can’t stand coffee. I just went to get you one,” she hums without thought. Fifty-five percent chance, not good enough.
“Again, I’m sorry. Sevika’s been more of an asshole than usual. Made us run back and forth on the ice until we practically collapsed. Don’t know what the hell she was thinking though, almost missed her shift at that rink..” Violet continues on with conflicted brows furrowing and a hardened gaze. But just like waves washing away at imperfections in grainy sand, the awestruck glimmer in your eyes wipes the fury from her blood.
“You went just for me?” the question comes out almost as a whisper.
Violet swears she can feel her heart Melting from your actions, and the feeling bubbles its way up as words in her throat. “Of course.”
It’s left at that. Of course, a declaration that it was common sense she’d be of service to you even behind the scenes. Neither of you dare to ask or explain why. For a moment, there’s no words. Just the soft sensation of little breaths, beating hearts, and wandering gazes, but only for a moment.
“Cait doesn’t believe us,” you spill.
Vi can only huff gently, shifting in her seat as her spread legs move a bit wider.
“She’s smart, I’ll give her that.” Vi hums in thought. The cogs in her brain get distracted and come to a halt when she sees the glistening worry in your orbs, and without thought, her hand is coming up to hold your chin, guiding it to connect your gazes.
“Hey, we’ll fix it, alright?” She reassures, and a thumb glides over your cheek. The moment is tender, something deep and sweet, but it doesn’t take long for the both of you to pull back as your eyes flicker anywhere else.
“We just need to… to up our game.” At the sight of your confused eyes, she continues. “Give me your phone,” Vi instructs softly, holding her hand out.
You simply obey, placing the device in her hand with a slight squint in your eyes.
All uncertainty is replaced with giggles and content when Vi holds up the camera. Her left hand holds the phone while her right arm lifts into frame next to her face and flexes, revealing the entirety of her sculpted muscles.
Jesus, your mind betrays you.
After the snap of the camera, the pinkette hands the device back to you.
“Make it your lock screen,” she speaks so casually, like the idea behind these actions have no effect on her whatsoever. A black cased phone is then slid into your hands, and big powder-blue eyes are staring at you expectantly.
“Oh, you want..” you internally cringe at the stammer.
“Of course, needa see your face too.” she states with a grin.
You’re nodding at that, as if a swarm of what you think are butterflies aren’t rummaging around in your gut. Raising the camera in your manicured fingers, you snap a photo mocking Vi’s. More kissy face, less muscles. The athlete has the biggest grin as she takes the device back, and with a ‘there’, your face is blessing her lockscreen.
“So, should I book our room at Mt. Sky, or do you want to?” Her eyes are trained on your face as she drapes both swole arms across the back of the couch.
You do nothing to hide the surprise on your face. With crisp frosty air, a winter wonderland of snow, and more unplanned pregnancies and sexual noise complaints than any of the campus’s frat parties, Mt. Sky was the unofficial University of Piltover ski trip of the year. Athletes, hookups of athletes, curious freshmen, and anyone who concerned themselves with campus drama banded together for a few days of thrillingly-messy paradise.
“You wanna share a room?” you ask with raised brows, because ‘wait, we’re going?’ seems out of the question.
The pinkette’s lips curl into a smile, one that flashes the white of her teeth as blue orbs flicker down and up your frame once.
“Yeah, I do.”
The short silence that follows is smothering, and you swear the room just got a hundred degrees hotter—because there’s the same tease you remember fantasizing over as your pink glitter pen graced the paper of her letter.
“It’d be weird if we didn’t,” she explains. “Wouldn’t just be Cait questioning us, it’d be everybody,” she tilts her head, and you’re snapped back to the reality of your situation. Fake.
You’re not looking at the freckled girl as you hum with a nod.
That has the athlete’s suave persona faltering. A rough hand snakes up to gingerly move a piece of hair from your face. She’s barely touching you, as though you’re more fragile than glass in her grasp.
“We don’t have to, if you wanna room with Mel that badly–”
“–No, no I think we should,” you reassure with a smile, because you do want to, more than you probably should, but your brain’s having a very hard time deciphering fantasy from reality.
It’s her turn to hum, and that tender hand doesn’t leave your face, it only stills as you turn your head completely towards her.
“You don’t have to do that when we’re in private,” you refer to her wandering hands with a gentle tone. Vi’s eyes soften into something raw and real as she lulls out a response.
“Doesn’t hurt to get comfortable with each other. Right, sunshine?”
Wrong.
Because it could hurt. It could wound the both of you and cause an ache like never before. Because—admittedly—you don’t know what you’re feeling right now. But more importantly, you don’t know what Violet’s feeling. You had her all figured out at seventeen, but now, you’re unsure of how gentle or reckless she’d be with your heart.
And still, against all the skepticism your brain concocts, you agree.
“Right.”
[REDACTED]: Of course I’m sure. Just do what I ask and we’ll both get what we want.
“Late again?” Finn coos, a teasing expression on the raven’s face.
“Another run in with pinkie,” Sevika smirks, almost seeming proud.
The man shakes his head with a smile before placing a handful of mail on the counter in front of the pair. “You mind?”
A groan falls from Sevika’s lips as her gaze flickers between him and the letters. “But I have—”
“Please?” the man asks, already inching away from the space. “I just have to deal with something.”
Before she can argue further, Finn thanks her and rushes off towards the rink. The woman’s left muttering swears and rolling her eyes as she rummages through the envelopes filling her space.
To: Polar Peaks, To: Polar Peaks, To: Sky Young, To: Pola—
She blinks once and her firm hands come to a pause before her fingers are backtracking to a chestnut brown envelope, covered in hearts and kiss marks.
Sevika’s huffing out a laugh of disbelief. Her eyes trail over every inch of the sickeningly sweet decor. The recipient address is the ice rink, just like the rest of the pile, and the woman’s intrigue only grows as her eyes trail to the top left corner. To the sender. To you.
“My favorite energy drink?” Vi throws out.
“Berrybulls, specifically the yellow and amber ones.” you quip with confidence, smiling when Vi nods in content.
A lightbulb flickers across the pink haired girl’s face, and she stops in her tracks, unintentionally pulling you back. You’re standing still now, and as the frigid air threatens to consume your body, the reminder that your hands are intertwined with one another spreads warmth throughout your core. You let yourself forget that it’s for show, and enjoy it.
“Vi?” you question, stepping a bit closer.
“This one’s important,” her tone is more serious, and her eyes meet yours as she takes a deep breath.
“What’s… my coffee order?”
“Oh my gosh–” a joking scoff falls from your lips, and you’re gently shoving the laughing girl as you pull her to continue walking. The warmth of hand holding can only do so much to combat standing still in the chill of winter air.
“C’mon sunshine, we’ve learned all there is to know. Besides, you really think anyone’s gonna come up and start quizzing us?”
“No,” you admit as Vi holds you closer with a hand around your waist while more pedestrians enter and exit the sidewalks. “But I think it’s good to know just in case. Besides, I like learning about you.”
“Oh yeah?” she coos. You hear a phone buzz once.
“Yeah,” you let out with a giggle. Another buzz, and you’re reaching into your back pocket and tapping on the screen to reveal… nothing.
kiramman: You have until the end of the trip.
kiramman: If you don’t tell her, I will.
Is it possible to feel complete peace and soul-shredding anxiety simultaneously?
On one hand, you’re having the most fun you’ve had in a long time. The drive to the resort with Mel—and her newfound friend Elora— was filled with guttural laughter. The three of you screamed songs at such a volume you’re surprised the windows didn’t burst.
When you arrive, you’re trapped by the strong arms of Abby who’s lifting you into the air with her hug. Vi has to be the one to mutter “That’s enough, Abs..”, earning a laugh from the surrounding teammates, who are quick to tug you and your friends into conversation.
There’s arms around your waist and a bulky body encasing yours while you sit around a fireplace, quiet giggles to each other when you’re bored of the group conversation, and a sweet goodbye kiss to your forehead when Vi and her peers leave to ski. The day progresses perfectly.
On the other hand, you can feel as Caitlyn’s eyes follow you. A predator stalking its prey. And even though you’re not afraid of the girl, you wonder what it’s going to take for her to throw in the towel.
“Was the sex that good?” Mel’s golden eyes are both teasing and genuinely questioning you.
“You’re unbelievable,” you throw back with a laugh.
“I’m serious, why is she so persistent? Does your tongue have a built in vibrator?—”
“Mel!”
She’s giggling with you now, face falling into the plush of the king sized bed you’re both sprawled out on.
“By the way, watch out. Your girlfriend’s biggest fan decided to show up this year,” she flips over onto her back, head tilted to look at you with a pitying–but still undeniably smug–expression.
“Sevika?” you whine and she nods. “She never comes to Mt. Sky. She’s just... anti-fun.”
Mel hums. “A refined Kiramman has turned into a borderline stalker, Sevika Grove is coming on ski trips, what’s next? Aliens?”
“Surprised the aliens weren't first.”
Your giggles are cut short as Elora knocks at your already open door, and Mel’s swiftly coming to a stand.
“Talk to you later?” she offers, and you smile with a nod.
The tranquility of an empty room only lasts so long, because within seconds, Vi is bursting into the space and hastily shutting the door. You hear the click of the lock and jolt up with confusion written across your face.
“Vi? What’s—”
“Cait’s on her way up here,” she speaks with haste.
“I could talk to her, if you want. Just say the word,” Vi offers, and there’s no time to overanalyze the tightness in your chest at the idea of the pinkette protecting you.
Thousands of possibilities fly throughout your racing brain. Talking went in her ear and out the other (or, rather, around her head entirely), and going radio silent only amplified her stubbornness. The way you see it, the only thing left to do is play Caitlyn’s petty game, to make it clear that the two of you were done.
Your brain is completely heated and fuzzy at the idea, but you have no time to waste as you hop off of the bed and over to the butch.
“We’re gonna have sex,” you state.
Vi’s completely stopped working. That’s it—she’s died. She’s died and gone to heaven. That’s the only plausible explanation for—
“Fake! Fake sex, I mean.”
Well that makes more sense.
“Fake–what? You’ve gotta explain a little better than that,” she’s trying to suppress the color from showing in her cheeks, and a hand comes up to run through her hair.
“Just—” you stammer, moving the girl by the arm so that you’re both a few feet away from the door, leaned up against the wall with Vi hovering over you. Your hand stays on her arm, which is gently placed on the side of your waist. The room’s air grows thicker by the second, and tension oozes from every movement made.
“This doesn't feel very fake, sweetheart.” Her voice is lower, more sultry, and it sends a shiver straight up your spine.
“We’re gonna…” gonna faint. The sound of footsteps power walking down the hallway throws your brain back into action. “Just follow my lead,” you breathe.
The athlete’s in a state of utter confusion. She’s squinting harder than ever as you bite your lip, seemingly in thought, before you send a wave of pure shock throughout her core.
You moan.
Not a whine, not a whimper, not even a wince, a raw moan that compels something in her to twitch.
“Violet,” you’re singing, eyes closed, and your head thrown to the side. Out of embarrassment or getting into character, she’s not sure. She’s not sure of anything, quite frankly, because how on earth is she expected to think when you’re squealing her name like she owns you?
“Oh yes—please please,” you coo. As if someone flipped a switch, you’re opening your eyes to look up at the athlete.
“Say something,” you snap in a whisper.
There’s no wasted time, because Violet’s thoughts spill at your approval.
“So fuckin’ pretty. Who knew your moans sounded so good, baby?”
You’re about to lose it. All sense of good judgment—or what’s left—is flying out of the window and being replaced by the dirty haze of your mind. You can’t help the way your hand is gently trailing up Vi’s arm and sliding down to rest against her abs. You don’t miss the way her grip around you tightens.
You expect her to be done, but Vi’s kept these thoughts tucked away for way too long. If they’d be of any service to you, she might as well let them out.
“Bet she couldn’t fuck you like this, huh? No angel, she couldn’t.”
A symphony of grunts, whimpers, and moans of passion decorate not only the room, but the ears of Caitlyn. Your navy haired ex lingers outside the door, seeing nothing but blood red as she listens to the noises you used to make for her. The noises Vi never made for her. The newfound passion that the pinkette pulled out of you, one that Cait never could.
With clenched, clammy fists and gritted teeth, Caitlyn reluctantly drags herself away from the door and down the hallway.
Like coming down from a high, shallow breaths fill yours and Vi’s ears before all sounds subside. Neither of you dare to move as the clack of Caitlyn’s feet storm down the hall and out of earshot. Colorful orbs stare down at the floor or up at the white ceiling, because they’re suddenly oh so intriguing.
And maybe, just maybe, this is the moment you realize not everything is as imaginary as you thought.
Meanwhile, Vi’s imagining what the hell she’d say in this situation if her brain were computing. Because the sight of you throwing your head back in fake pleasure and spilling noises straight from your core was entirely soul-shifting.
And it’s different, to be seeing you this close. Granted, she’s been closer. Graced the skin of your forehead or cheeks with her soft and scar-decorated lips more than once. But here, hovering over your softened body, her hand connecting to your waist with the gentlest of touches, and her eyes firmly memorizing every angle of your face, it’s different. Everything’s softer, and Violet’s able to relish in your raw loving aura, rather than put on a performance for the skeptical eyes of others.
And then you laugh.
You laugh, and laugh, and laugh. So hard that you don’t notice the way Vi smiles, one that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
And definitely, oh definitely, this is the moment she realizes she’s undeniably smitten.
“Think we’ll get the first noise complaint?” You joke while coming down from your fit of laughter.
That pulls a laugh from Vi’s throat, one that has her leaning forward with a deep breath after it bubbles out. The soft of her forehead tenderly meets yours, and the room’s heart rate rises exponentially, but neither of you squirm out of your positions. Because this is exactly where you want to be.
You can’t see it as your eyelids flutter shut, but Vi’s left hand wraps around your waist to meet her right, cradling you in a way that’s so natural, so sweet, so real. A cradle that protects and shields you from forces you can’t handle alone. A shelter for disasters from tsunamis to the cold chill of winter. From pretending to be your girlfriend to replacing your wet party clothes, all the way back to being your first standing ovation. Vi is your refuge.
“Thank you,” you whisper, worried you’ll crack the faultless atmosphere. “Can’t believe you’re putting up with this– with me.”
Her grip lightly tightens. “I’d do it over and over again.”
She would, and she will, if you let her.
You feel the truth in her words, and your eyes flutter open to pull back, just enough to look into those perfect blue specks.
The pair of you stay there for what feels like forever, examining the watercolor paintings that you call your eyes. And–although she could stare at you for the rest of her life–Vi physically can’t wait any longer. Like magnets, your lips are tugging her forward. Centimeter by centimeter. Inch by inch. Heads tilting, eyes half lidded, and breaths hitching. Vi can practically taste the plush of your feature when—
“Yo! You guys in there?”
Abby’s fist thumps on the door three times. And as fast as you connected, you’re drifting apart.
you don’t care whether she knows or not. you just want her crawling back to you.
not happening.
kiramman: I’ll tell her.
“Would you rather go a month without sex, or a month without candy?”
“What kind of stupid ass question is that?” Vi throws at Abby, who’s snobbishly leaning back in the heated water as if she’d given the ultimatum of the century.
Her newest middle school party game is would you rather, and while Vi couldn’t care less about the event itself, she’s secretly over the moon at the effort her teammates and close friends are making to connect with you.
“A month without candy,” you cooly state as you look down at the water. Making the relationship more believable. That’s all you were doing.
That enables a chain of raised eyebrows and looks to Vi, whereas others let out sly whistles and snickers, throwing out little quips like “you hear that, superstar?”.
“Alright, alright,” she’s calming them with a tug at the corners of her lips and a roll of her eyes. You only snicker to yourself at the odds, as if you didn’t have sex— fake sex with the girl minutes prior.
Leaning closer against Vi’s skin, plush bodies warming each other in the bubbly heat of the hot tub, you’re almost completely relaxed. The outdoors is the perfect flaky winter wonderland you expected, cabins further out from the resort look like the coziest of all shelters, and the milky mountains in the distance tie the atmosphere together.
And while you’re focused on the landscape, Violet’s eyes are completely trained on you.
She examines the way you sit so properly in her lap, the way your legs squirmed as she slid her hands away from your thigh and around the small of your waist (so others could see your contact.. of course), how you get so comical and chattery once you’re finally comfortable in a group, and the angelic resting look on your face when you’re finally at ease.
And neither of you know it, but when the conversation is one that allows you to listen instead of talk, you’re both daydreaming about the endless possibilities of this night. The potential of this moment, as well as that of the countless others you’ve had since this entire ordeal began.
Neither of you know it, but you’re both considering the idea that life could be like this all the time. The two of you snuggled up, surrounded by those cherished, laughing until you just can’t breathe.
A chin comes to rest gently on your right shoulder, and Vi’s breath sends a shiver throughout your body faster than the crisp winter air ever could.
“Do you always sit with your legs crossed in pools?” she teases, voice low, like she’s sharing a secret with you. Only you.
“No,” you simply hum. Your tongue is prodding the inside of your cheek in thought, and you go through with the lightbulb in your head.
“It’s a great reminder of how dangerously close your hands are to my bikini though, isn’t it?”
The pads of her fingers that were once tracing meaningless patterns on your waist come to a stop, and you can hear the smirk in Vi’s voice.
“You want me to move them?” she breathes.
Your response is almost automatic.
“No.”
The conversation of what would’ve happened if Abby hadn’t knocked on your door was yet to come, but the newfound tension and playfulness that spilled from both of your lips was undeniable.
Vi grins at your confidence, but underneath the suave persona, she knows you’ll be the death of her.
“Bold girl,” she hums.
You’re so trapped in your playful banter that you don’t notice the way the rest of your peers are leaving, running off towards a different attraction of the resort, only god knows what.
“You were pretty convincing up there,” your sly lips are curivng up at the corners. “You have fake sex often?”
“Nothing fake about my sex.”
You’re snickering at her confidence, relishing in the way her arm hardens around you as she chuckles.
“Don’t get cocky. I’m sure someone’s had to fake-orgasm with you once.” Maybe the lying’s getting to you, because you know in your heart of hearts that’s the furthest thing from the truth.
“You really believe that?” she speaks in a lower tone, head snaking around to make eye contact with you.
Like a clock rewinding, you’re seventeen again.
Not physically, nor mentally, but your full heart is pounding the same rhythm as when you first fell for the tough, pink haired beauty in your writing class. Your breaths are shallow, gazes locked, and the warmth between you is incomparable to any sensation you’ve ever experienced prior.
“Thought so,” she brazenly states after your lack of words, and you’re smiling in thought before gently splashing water towards the smug girl, Melting her charming essence that has you by the throat.
Vi gasps through a laugh. Soon, she’s threatening to splash you back while you laugh and squeal through your begs for mercy.
And although your vision isn’t flawless through the squinted happiness of your eyes, you can recognize that swinging navy blue hair approaching you.
Fuck.
“She doesn’t give up,” you think out loud, and Vi doesn’t need to waste energy on turning her head to register who you’re talking about.
You don’t see it through your irritated gaze, but Vi feels a jolt of worry crawl up her spine. While you worried about Cait smothering you for the rest of eternity, Vi’s skin shivers at the idea of her place in your heart being twisted from one of love and trust to hatred.
She wants to tell you, wants you to make the conscious decision to love her despite any past affairs.
But she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it now, while you’re warming up on her water-covered body. And she sure as hell couldn’t let Caitlyn poison your mind with it.
So there she sits, staring into your soul with those loyal eyes that silently swear they’d do anything for you. And, understandably, Vi makes all sense of good judgement Melt from your brain until it’s a useless pile of mush.
So when Cait nears, practically striding her way to your uneasy soul, you make a decision.
You kiss Violet.
It’s a quick shift in atmosphere. One moment, your heart is beating out of fear, and the next it’s being thrashed around your chest by the ascended butterflies from your stomach. You turn in her lap to have easier access to her mouth, and the connection of your plush mouths is anything but fragile. It’s messy, hungry, starved even. Your lips dance in unison, and Vi’s sculpted arm wraps around you and gently holds the back of your neck. The way she’s handling you coupled with the burning water is giving your body a fever.
You don’t know when Caitlyn sees you, how long she glares at your wet mouths and pressed bodies in pure anger, or how long it takes for her to storm off in defeat, because every inch of your mind is focused on the pinkette holding you as if you’re all she has.
And it’s this moment that you finally accept the truth that’s kept itself hidden in your gut, you want her. And those sparkly powder-blue eyes are telling you that she wants—needs you too.
But when you slide your hand down to hers and shyly move her calloused fingers to what little fabric’s covering your chest, she’s pulling back. There’s resistance in the movement, but she forces herself to disconnect from your wanting lips nonetheless.
“Can’t,” she whispers, breathless.
You freeze, big dazed eyes blinking in confusion and embarrassment. ”But..” is all you can muster before Vi opens her mouth.
“Angel–it’s not that I don’t want this, I’m just—”
The athlete’s rubbing her temples. Her mind, body, and heart must be at war inside of her, because each is telling her a different path to take, and she looks so conflicted as she speaks.
“You don’t want this,” she finally decides.
“What?” is all you manage to choke out.
“You don’t want this.” she repeats, less convinced than the first time it left her lips.
You can only scoff, attempting to hide the bullet to your heart and ego.
“You don’t know what I want,” you counter, and the ache in your voice sends a crack through Vi’s heart. “Why are you denying this?”
Because this is fake, a scheme to get your ex girlfriend off your back. Because I haven’t been completely honest with you, and for that I don’t deserve a sweet love like this. Not yet.
But instead of that, or even coming clean to you altogether, Vi sighs. And for the first time, her eyes are disloyal, looking anywhere but yours.
You’re huffing, shoving stiff arms off of you. You pull yourself from the hot tub into the freezing air of the night, a replica of your once blazing heart turning ice cold.
“Whatever, Violet.” you spit out, and just like that, you’re gone.
The debate over soul-shredding anxiety and complete peace has come to a halt, because the ache of a pummeled ego and a confused heart that’s afraid to beat outweighs both.
You didn’t sleep in yours and Vi’s shared room that night. Instead, you grabbed a pillow and stormed over to Mel and Elora’s, who were happy to have you. Making up a lie about dying for a girls’ night, you gossiped and giggled, arguably with a stronger poker face than the Kirammans, before a yawn finally slipped from Mel’s mouth and exhaustion spread throughout the air.
At last, in the silence of night, salt ridden tears noiselessly slide down the bridge of your nose and pile onto the cool fluff of your pillow.
As if your lack of adequate sleep and racing mind didn’t have you at your wits end, the next day was twice as cruel on you. Ignoring one athlete was a walk in the park, but avoiding two, while trying not to raise suspicion, is just as hard as it sounds.
Caitlyn’s in the hallway, so you rush to your room. Violet’s in the room, so you venture off to the spa with Mel and Elora. Caitlyn’s entering the spa right before you finish up, so you’re suggesting a lap of skiing to the girls, but Vi’s exiting the room in her snow gear when you near the door.
You just couldn’t win.
So when you hear the soft voice coming from the doorway, you don’t even bother to lift your body from the plush of your blanket.
“Don’t go,” Vi pleads, gently shutting the wooden door and ridding herself of her puffy jacket.
The pinkette’s still, waiting for you to move, to do or say something—anything, but you do nothing of the sort. When she concludes it’s safe she takes small, soft steps towards the edge of your bed and you feel the mattress dip under pure muscle.
With still hands and a timid heart, Vi speaks the first words into the air.
“Well, we broke our little rule set.”
Her playful smile is uneasy, one made when she examines your weary face too hard. And when she notices the lack of expression on your face, it flattens out into worried brows and soft lips.
“I’m sorry,” slips from her lips, prompting you to turn your head towards the pinkette.
“Stop. You don’t have to apologize for your feelings… or lack thereof,” you whisper the last part as if it’s shameful.
With a sigh, you hoist yourself up to sit straight and lean against the decorative headboard. With fidgeting hands laid in your lap and eyes that travel anywhere but the anxious girl before you, you speak.
“I just thought that there was— something,” you start. “And.. and maybe it’s stupid, but I thought that maybe all of this means something. Maybe my letters getting out wasn’t the worst thing, because maybe things between us could be exactly how I wanted when I was writing them.”
Vi feels terrible for giving you emotional whiplash, but she can’t stand to see you beating yourself up over something you want— something the both of you crave: eachother.
Tender fingers snake their way up to your face and hook on your chin, tilting your head towards her alluring orbs.
“You really believe that?” she asks, eyes squinted.
“Believe.. what?”
“That I don’t feel things for you?” she asks like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world.
“I couldn’t tell you all the things you do to me. All the ways you make me feel,” she slides the hand that’s cupping your face to gently tap the side of your pretty little head.
“Here, and.. here,” her finger grazes your skin as it skims down to tap once against your encaptured heart. “And….”
She cuts the sentence short, dropping her hand down to intertwine with one of yours, because you’re supposed to be having a serious conversation, so she needs to focus.
“You do terribly good things to me, sweetheart.”
“Then why did you push me away?” you whisper to combat the rapid speed of your heart as adrenaline rushes through your veins from Vi’s simple and sensual touches.
She contemplates it, ripping the bandage off and telling you the truth, she really does. Would it be that big of a deal? Would you take it with ease and laugh at her anxiety, caressing her like she dreams and letting her finally place a guilt-free kiss upon your soft lips? Or would you crumble at the news, and let the trust you’ve built up shatter with it?
“I didn’t know whether it was real or not,” she decides: a lie. “I know that the way my heart races for you is real, the realest thing there is. But I know it’s easy to get caught up in a fake high, and when you were kissing me I just—” she sighs at the ramble, but the gentle squeeze you give her hand guides her through it.
“I just wanted to let you decide if this is really what you want. Not because of Cait or anyone else. Just you.”
She’ll tell you. Eventually. She silently swears it to herself.
But right now, Vi’s looking at you the same way she did that day, and it’s suffocating.
Big pretty eyes examine every inch of you with that awestruck gaze, a child watching a shooting star pass by. Except this time, she wouldn’t let you leave.
This time, you, that creative girl with clammy palms and shy eyes, watching her bubblegum haired love give her a standing ovation— that shooting star would come crashing down and right into the warm arms in which she belongs.
“The love I have for you.. it never went away, it just transformed,” you confess.
Violet’s once worried expression morphs. She’s still soft, still trapped in the beautiful moment, but there’s a newfound confidence behind her demeanor.
“The love I have for you has stayed the same. Ever since that stupid writing class—” you giggle at her words, and she does the same, “I think I’ve loved you for years. It’s left such an ache in my heart, baby.”
There’s a glitch somewhere in your brain, because the athlete’s words mixed with your newest nickname is causing a system overload.
You’re suddenly very aware of the amber musk filling your nostrils, and Vi’s proximity has you squirming, soft hand gently squeezing at hers which carresses you so gingerly. You’re trapped between the headboard and her oh-so-close body, and it’d be a lie to say any part of you is complaining.
“I can.. I can make that ache go away,” you whisper, shy head tilting as you wait for her approval.
The suave, player-like girl is back in full force. With a notorious smirk in place, she’s leaning closer, tilting her head opposite of yours and lining up her plush lips with yours.
“Yeah, you can.”
That’s all it takes for your lips to come crashing together at full force. It’s messy, loving, and infuriatingly sexy all at once, and you don’t have any brain power left to think about it. All of your energy, every bit of your soul is being put into showing this girl how you really feel.
The atmosphere feels heavier and lighter simultaneously in the best way possible. Vi’s kissing you like you’re the air she needs to breathe, and drinking you in like your mouth is water and the torturous years leading up to this have taken place in the desert.
For the first time, the pair of you silently agree that this is real. Real touches, real passion, real tongues gliding against one another, and real desire for more.
You hum into Vi’s mouth as she ravishes you, and your hands find their way to tangle in her fluffy scalp as she effortlessly switches places with you and lifts you into her lap while she relaxes back against the headboard. You can’t help but chuckle as her hands move to cup the fat of your ass, causing her to grin through kisses until you finally stop, because your lips are practically peppering her teeth.
“What’s so funny?” you ask through a snicker. Vi shakes her head, sneaking kisses down your jaw and the stretch of your neck.
“Nothin’, I just don’t want this to end,” she confesses, ending with a tender kiss to your collarbone.
An uncontrollable smile fights its way onto your face.
“Well I’m not going anywhere,” you assure.
She nods, wrapping strong arms around your torso to pull your body as close to hers as possible.
“Neither am I, sunshine.”
Violet’s learned three new things since you fell asleep in her arms.
One, you’re a cuddler. Every inch of you has touched, skimmed, or wrapped around the butch since you laid upon the soft matter of the bed. Her favorite position is when you curl yourself up against her chest and slide a leg inbetween hers to let them intertwine.
Two, every inch of you still smells like that perfect mixture of cotton candy and strawberry she remembers from years ago.
And three, she’s completely whipped for you. For your brain, your voice, the giggles you make between kisses, the way you give your all to her, and don’t get her started on your body. She’s got it bad.
So, the struggle she faced when she had to snake out of your grasp was ultimately the hardest thing she’s done in her entire life.
The love-hazed girl didn’t bother to do anything but slip on some shoes and run a hand through her hair, because within minutes she’d be right back next to you where she belongs.
At least, that was the plan.
She doesn’t know why the loud cacophony of cackles catches her attention, because she knows how obnoxious her teammates can be, but it does. She lazily turns her head once, letting it lull back before the alarm of confusion goes off in her brain, and she’s turning towards the sound once again.
Sevika, a few members of the basketball team, and some others she doesn’t recognize, all sit against the couches and chairs in the lounging area. But there’s no relaxation in the way they rest against the furniture. Each is laced with anticipation, and their eyes all lay on the buff brownskin girl who’s smirks as if she’s discovered a pot of gold.
“Your voice of honey soothes my soul, and the picture of delicate curls falling to frame your face as you lift me onto my feet will stay forever plastered in my mind,” the woman spits.
The words are so sensual, so raw, so genuine, filled with nothing but passion, but Sevika’s interpretation does it no justice.
And Violet knows exactly who wrote those words of desire.
Her feet move quicker than she’s ever felt the need to before.
When she nears the group, a face of pure determination, she spots it. A brown envelope, decorated with a bow and pretty hearts accompanied by a single kiss mark. So similar to the one you made for Vi all those years ago.
“There’s the woman of the hour,” Sevika taunts loudly, leaning back in her seat. Her fingers tap the letter in her hands against her own thigh, a reminder that your past words of hope and love still lie with her. “Or, would you be the second? No… no, that’d be this uh, Skye, huh?”
Sevika’s smile is poisonous, infecting Violet with a rage she’s never experienced before.
“What are you doing with that?” Vi’s practically seething, eyes trained on the brown paper between Sevika’s fingers.
“Found it on the ground, guess it slipped away from your girl before she could mail it off to her secret lover,” she lies, throwing her hands up in faux innocence.
“I swear to God— fucking give it to me, and I’ll forget this happened.”
“And you’ll forget that she’s dreaming of someone else’s mouth?” The burly woman scoffs, coming to a stand directly infront of Violet. The space between them is thinning, disintegrated by rageful tension.
“Seriously, I don’t see why you’re going through all this trouble for a whore, pinkie.”
Faster than anyone in the room can register, Vi’s fist comes up to smash into Sevika’s jaw. The slam is loud, echoing throughout the room until it creates a stunned silence.
Sevika’s hand comes up to hold her jaw, craning it as the metallic taste of blood sets itself on her tongue.
Within seconds, she’s lunging right at Vi. Their fists look like skin colored blobs in the air from how fast they land punches to one another’s guts. They’re thrashing around in anger, threatening the space they reside in, before four onlookers break them apart.
Some whoop and holler, others laugh and speculate exactly who ‘won’, but neither of the girls care. Through their heavy panting and darkened gazes, they’re only focused on one thing: the brown envelope that now lies between Vi’s fingers.
With a cocky, bruised grin and the satisfying drug of adrenaline, Violet turns on her heels and stumbles out of sight.
[REDACTED]: listen, toots. i have a better plan.
…
[REDACTED]: I’m listening.
With the way neither of you dare to move, any third party would think the two of you are paralyzed; and you are, by love.
It’s been five minutes since you’ve woken up, and Vi’s sweet gaze keeps you in a warm, butterfly inducing trance. Neither of you move from your position in the bed, savouring deep synced breaths, snuggling under the blankets, and wrapping around one another. You’re sticking together like your feelings are superglue.
Finally, one of the pinkette’s hands rubs at the small of your back, drawing sweet nothings on your dimples and the line that trails up your perfect torso.
“I haven’t slept that long in ages,” you hum, making Violet pull you just a bit closer.
“Maybe you should sleep with me every night,” she concludes, sending you a smile that has you giggling with a little ‘oh sure’.
She sees your sweet bubble of happiness wobble when your eyes squint at the sight of her chin, now decorated with a blossomed bruise. A soft hand comes up to graze the purple mark as you ask, “When did that happen?”
As fast as the pinkette opens her mouth to speak, it shuts. Because she definitely can’t tell you that Sevika’s tried to embarrass you by reading one of your old love letters to a group of your classmates. Why has she become more of a pain now than ever? Vi hasn’t figured that out yet. But she has come to one conclusion: worrying you wouldn’t do any good. What you didn’t have to know, you wouldn’t.
She quickly takes your wandering hand in hers, intertwining fingers and giving them a little squeeze.
“I’m fine, sunshine. Got up all hazy last night to turn the light off since we forgot. Completely ran into the wall, that’s all.” Although Vi isn’t a klutz, it seems like a perfectly plausible story, so you don’t push.
You only chuckle, shaking your head. “Be more careful. I have to get you home in one piece.”
A soft smile spreads across her face, and she’s kissing your knuckles while responding. “Of course, angel.”
While you scolded Vi about her bruises, you were set up to get some of your own.
“Vi I’m not sure if this is a great idea,” you worry, looking down at the girl who gets on her knees to lace up your skates.
The freezing temperature kissed your nose a subtle hint of red, but the beautiful sunlight gently coating the flurry white wonderland that surrounded the city made up for it. All around you, classmates and city locals of all ages glide around the ice rink with glee. Sounds of love, joy, and the squeals or laughter of tripping inexperienced-skaters fill your ears.
“Why not?” she asks, eyes flickering up to yours for just a second before moving on to the other foot. The picture of her is just all too much, and you have to look away to regather your thoughts.
“I know that you’re a hockey player so this may come as a shock to you, but not everyone is good at ice skating,” she grins, rolling her eyes at your sarcasm. “I’m just gonna fall on my ass a bunch,” you whine.
“And I’ll be right there to pick you back up.” Vi’s confidence melts away your worries. Finally, as she finishes with your skates, you playfully roll your eyes and come to a stand (with the help of her strong hands).
The thinning space between you two and your starry eyes which look up at Vi keep her in a trance as her arms mindlessly wrap around your waist, hands dangerously close to your ass.
“Promise not to let me go?” you whisper through a grin.
“Shit. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
And she doesn’t. Through your first steps and little slips on the ice, Vi stands right beside you, holding your hand with tender care.
“This is pretty romantic, right?” she hums in your ear as you attempt to push your feet against the ice like she taught you.
“As long as I don’t completely eat it.” you warn, eyes trained to the ice.
She snickers.
“Well, you look sexy when you’re focused, I’ll give you that.”
Butterflies erupt throughout your stomach, and a warmth is travelling up your body as you look at Violet with a faux sternness.
“Quiet. You’re distracting me,” you tease.
Vi’s tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek in thought before she’s letting go of your hand and coming to stand right infront of you. Sculpted arms snake around your waist, and the lack of space between you two as Vi stares with a hungry gaze is making your body feel weak.
“I’m distracting you, sweetheart?”
You quietly suck in a breath of icy cold air, searching for a response in her pretty powder-blue eyes before she snickers once more, stepping back. At last, you feel like you can breathe.
She takes you around the ice, helping you reach a good foundation to feel comfortable skating on your own, and the ‘good job, baby’ she praises you with sends a sweet sensation throughout your body. As you’re gliding away from her, giggling in surprise as she pretends to chase you with her intimidating hockey stance, a group of her teammates call for her attention.
She pauses, breath kissing your ear as she lets go of your body. “I’ll just be a second, yeah?”
You nod, sending her off to the group with a smile.
And for a moment, everything’s perfect. Until it isn’t.
The call of your name from her mouth freezes your body faster than the chill of the ice ever could. Effortlessly, Caitlyn’s gliding up to you with a calculated and calm expression. She knows you can’t get far in those skates.
First, you’re praying that Vi will look over at you and race back just in time to save you. Then, anger’s bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and you whip around to make eye contact with the navy-haired girl. Finally—
“What, Caitlyn?” you snap without hesitation.
The girl’s expression refuses to waver, and toned arms are crossing with the notorious sly smirk of a Kiramman. “Never thought I’d see you with blades on your feet.”
“Never thought I’d see you begging for attention, but here we are,” you quip, placing your hands on your hips, completely distracted from the ice below you.
Her arms uncross with an amused hum, and for a moment you think that maybe she’s getting off on the negative energy you throw her way. But then she begins to push her skates against the ice, slowly circling you.
“I just thought I’d check in on you, sweetheart. You’ve forgotten to answer my calls and texts–”
“You know damn well I haven’t forgotten, Cait—”
“—And I wanted to applaud you in person for being so understanding about what happened with Violet and I.”
She comes to a stop, and so does your heart. The little red organ skips a beat before continuing, pace matching your weariness.
“What are you talking about?” you question, brows furrowed so innocently that Caitlyn has to stop herself from laughing.
“She hasn’t told you?” The bluenette makes no attempt to act shocked. Your eyes lock, and her skates scrape against the ice until she’s hovering right over you.
“Weren’t you wondering where she slept after you left her at the jacuzzi?” The visible air that blows from her mouth is just as harsh as her words, stabbing your heart with its icicles.
“What are you..” you mutter, but the words die in your throat.
“Vi and I had a… rekindling.” Her head tilts with a cocky smile. “It was bound to happen I suppose. Once a hookup, always a—”
“I don’t believe you.” Your stern words contradict the uncertainty tainting your voice.
Caitlyn doesn’t speak. She simply reaches into her back pocket, pulls out her phone, and scrolls to open her messages with Vi, gently placing the device into your quivering fingers.
Really? My ex girlfriend?
You’re a class act.
i’ll love her better than you ever could, caitlyn
Is this to get back at me? You’re the one who ended our little affair.
stop texting my number.
Come to think of it, I never told her about us.
Does she even know?
fucking drop it cait
You have until the end of the trip.
If you don’t tell her, I will.
you don’t care whether she knows or not. you just want her crawling back to you.
not happening.
I’ll tell her.
“You see it now? How easy it was for her to lie to you? She doesn’t love you, not like I do.”
“Angel?” Vi’s voice calls out. The once sweet melody to your ears now erupts a symphony of confusion and anger inside of you. Did she plan out those nicknames?
Before you know it, Vi’s coming up behind you and placing an arm around your waist. Instead of feeling comfort, you’re suffocated. How can she fake it so easily?
“Can I help you?” the pink haired girl spits to the Kiramman with a voice of pure disgust. How could you have known?
“I was just leaving,” Caitlyn hums. With the fulfilling sight of your aghast eyes and Violet’s hidden panic, she skates off.
The two of you are uncomfortably quiet for a moment. Your body’s still, save for the racing thoughts in your mind, but when Vi’s hand on you tightens you’re breaking from her grasp.
And then she sees it.
The broken gaze in your sorrowful eyes, the one look she desperately wanted to avoid. Her worst nightmare has become her reality.
And you see it.
The way her gaze goes from calm and collected to a deer in headlights. It’s like a switch was flipped in her brain, and Violet’s mask comes off as she speaks.
“I can explain—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your heartbroken voice drowns her out.
“You don’t understand,” she pleas, but you’re pushing your weight into one foot in an attempt to turn yourself around on the ice.
“I understand perfectly fine you backstabbing–”
Your knees come slamming into the icy ground with a thud, and the newly proclaimed backstabber is at your side, attempting to lift you onto your feet. You shove her off with a huff, using one knee to come to a wobbly stand.
“Just..” you start, ignoring the tears of frustration that bubble in the corners of your eyes, accompanied by the prickly curse in your throat. “Just stay away from me, Vi.”
And you’re gone.
Vi obeys your wishes and leaves you alone like you asked.
But only for the next two hours, while she figures out what the hell she’s going to say to make up for the pain she’s caused you. Because she did hook up with Cait, but the last time was was months ago, before either of them had anything with you. Because she knows Cait did something to fuck with your head, and now her baby’s fretting and scared to trust anyone. Because she’s in love with you and only you, and she’s never going to forgive herself if she doesn’t get you back.
So when she slips into your shared room and finds you packing your things, she braces herself for the yelling and cussing she expects to come.
But, it never happens. Instead, you look at her with a woeful expression, and turn back to your open luggage with a scoff.
“I knew Caitlyn was fucked up, but I never imagined you’d have as many screws loose. You’ll be perfect for each other,” you spit, the words acid to Violet. Manicured hands move at a fast pace, roughly tossing in clothes and skin products like they mean nothing to you. “And I know we’re not actually dating, but to fuck the one person we’re trying to lie to? Then come to me the next day acting like you…” you trail off, discarding the sentence like trash, but she knows what you were trying to say: like you love me.
Wait, what?
“Hold on, hold on. I haven’t fucked Kiramman.”
“..So you weren’t with her the night I slept in Mel’s room?” you squint.
“Fuck no. It’s been months since we’ve hooked up, angel. Like, before you and her were even a thing–”
“So you did fuck! Jesus, why didn’t you tell me?” you raise your voice in question, whipping around to face the girl with exhausted body language. When Vi’s mouth hangs open with no clue of a better response than ‘I was scared’, you shake your head, coming to conclusions yourself.
“That’s why you did this, right? I should’ve asked more about why you proposed this whole scheme,” you start, walking towards the nightstand. “Make me look like an idiot? Get back at Cait? Get with Cait? What was it?”
“No– no. I was going to tell you angel, God I swear, I just didn’t know how to tell you without making it hurt. I don’t want anything with Caitlyn, cross my heart, her and I are history. Everything I said about you– everything I felt with you is real.” She’s speaking so tenderly, inching closer to your frame.
And you would’ve turned, would’ve calmed down enough to finish this conversation civilly, maybe believe her.
But instead, you’re staring at the opened drawer of the bedside table, right at the chesnut brown envelope decorated with hearts. The same one you wrote for Skye all those years ago.
You’re completely over this.
Violet’s close enough to see everything now. The envelope and letter, the way your face is morphing through thousands of different expressions, and the tears that finally begin to slide down your cheeks as you lift the paper into the air and choke out words.
“Why the hell do you have this? How much did you plan to humiliate me, huh?” you ask through sweet sobs.
Violet sighs, because everything she’s kept from you is hitting her. All of her mistakes are crashing down upon her at once. All she wants is to fix it for you.
“That’s not– fuck this looks bad.” She’s cursing herself for everything she didn’t tell you, all the chances she had to come clean and never did out of fear.
“Sevika had it and I took it from her. We fought over it and I hid it here because I didn’t want you to be embarrassed. That’s all. I swear.”
She watches your glossy eyes flicker to her bruised jaw that you touched so lovingly that morning, to her eyes that beg you to forgive her, and to your bag as you walk towards it.
“Well you don’t have to worry about me anymore, Violet. This– us, whatever we are is done. ” You knuckle away your tears, sniffing and pulling at the handle of your suitcase.
The pinkette takes no action to hide the dread that fills her face, quickly following your motion around the room.
“So we’re just breaking–” she stops. Her heart is racing at an ungodly speed, and the next words come out as a horrified mumble, “We’re just over? Like that?”
There’s a pregnant pause, and for the last time, you look back at Vi, voice clear.
“We were never together, Violet.”
There’s nothing she can say to rebuttal, or stop you from walking out of that room, because despite both of your desires, it was true.
For the next two days, your bed becomes your safe haven. You put your phone on ‘do not disturb’, wrap yourself in the thickest blanket your apartment has, and hide from the rest of the world. It’s only thanks to Mel, who’s worried to death, that you remember to eat every once in a while.
Safe to say, you’re a wreck.
Three soft knocks on your bedroom door prompt you to roll over, and you’re pulling your head from the covers as the aforementioned beauty enters the room with a plated sandwich in hand.
“I have something for that headache of yours,” she offers, setting the platter on your bedside table and sitting at the edge of the soft mattress.
From your blanket-clad vision, you see her lips press together in thought before she finally decides on her carefully sculpted words.
“I talked to Abby,” she starts. You groan, pulling yourself back under the blankets.
“Listen,” she scolds, and you bite your tongue. Hard. “I talked to Abby and she says Violet slept in her room that night. She was moping about you the entire time.”
“She didn’t tell me about her and Caitlyn,” you seethe.
“No, but she said she was going to, right?” She offers, tilting her head. “In the end, does it really change anything about how you two feel towards each other?”
When you don’t respond, she sighs, patting your blanket and coming to a stand.
“It’s your decision what you do, but I can tell Violet really cares about you. And I think you feel the same.”
With that, she’s stepping out of the room and gently closing your door with a click.
Almost immediately, your head pokes out of the blanket, and your gaze travels to your now black lockscreen lighting up.
One message from Caitlyn.
caitlyn: Are you ready to apologize to me? I’ll still take you back.
You block her number. Something you should’ve done a long time ago.
Then, you check the three messages from Vi.
superstar <3: i know you want me to leave you alone, and i’m trying my hardest to
please let me talk to you angel
whenever you’re ready to hear me out
You can only sigh.
“I don’t know how else to get this through to both of you.”
Coach Talis’s sharp tongue scolds the winded athletes. Sweat is dripping down every inch of their skin under their heavy gear. While their teammates ended practice an hour ago, they were here running drills for the ‘stunt’ they pulled back at Mt. Sky. If it weren’t for the exhaustion capturing their bodies, they’d be pummeling each other this very second.
“I’m this close to benching both of you, and you know I don’t want to do that.” Both girls rapidly shake their heads.
“This better be the last time I hear of an incident regarding the both of you, do you understand?” The tanned man snaps, and both athletes are throwing out soft “yes coach”’s before he waves them off to the locker room.
Throughout her entire shower, Violet’s brain is focused on two things. One, how much she loathes Sevika (fuck her), and two, how much she fucking misses you.
Throughout her time spent drying herself off, getting redressed, and packing her backpack, she prays for a text, call, something from you. When she hears the buzz of a phone, she’s whipping her head around to face her lockscreen (with her favorite picture of you looking effortlessly beautiful and silly simultaneously).
It’s not until the second buzz goes off that she realizes it’s not her phone that’s being blown up, but Sevika’s.
Despite better judgement, she curiously walks over to the device, reaching down to pick it up with careless hands.
And it almost drops from her calloused fingers in shock.
There’s three notifications from ‘C. Kiramman’.
c. kiramman: That worked better than I thought. You’re not as dumb as you look.
c. kiramman: I think our work together is done.
C. Kiramman sent you $300!
You’re at war with yourself.
Your brain is clawing at you to block Violet, get yourself together, and move on with your life as if she was never a part of it.
Your heart and every inch of hope that fills you is begging for you to pick up your phone and give her a chance to prove that it was all a case of bad timing, misunderstandings, and that you truly mean something to her. Because you want her, you can finally admit it, but you’re deathly afraid of being made a fool of.
You’d skipped classes for the day, pulled yourself from your sheets, showered, and now sit on your black couch with a little sigh, sinking into the fluffy matter. The silence of the apartment is contrasting the swarm of loud thoughts inside your mind, and before it can drive you utterly insane, the doorbell rings.
“Angel?” That sweet voice calls out.
You rise to your feet embarrassingly fast. Your brain waves a white flag and your heart dances in success.
When you swing the door open, it takes everything in you to keep yourself from jumping into Violet’s arms. She’s worried out of her mind, but the surprise that you even opened the door is giving her a jolt of hope and encouragement. You take in her presence, musk amber scent, oversized jacket that once protected your arms, and all.
“I’m so sorry,” spills from her lips, and you scan her expression before stepping to the side.
“Come in.”
You and Vi sit on opposite ends of your couch. You’re trying to show off your self control, but she’s just glad you’ll sit next to her at all.
“I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you about my past with Caitlyn. I was scared that you’d hate me, and shit it all just caught up with me before I could grow some balls and rip the bandaid off.”
You’ve never seen her look so worried, so vulnerable.
You take one scoot closer.
“But I promise, I ended things with her a long time ago and that was the last time we ever did anything.”
She’s pulling out her phone, opening the photos app, and setting her phone down face up on the cushions for you to take. You do, picking it up with weary fingers, ones that still when you see the material she’s revealing.
“Caitlyn hired Sevika to fuck with us. That time at the party, all those times she got me in shit at practice, taking your letter, even giving Caitlyn the idea of lying that I did something with her. They’ve been trying to get inbetween us for a long time.”
Your mouth is slightly agape as you scroll through monetary payments and texts from your ex. Ones about her getting you back (fuck that), and others about Sevika getting the spotlight once Vi’s burnt out and screwing up at hockey (again, fuck that).
“I get why you’re pissed at me, and I understand if you want me out of your life forever.” It shakes her to even utter those words. “But I…”
She’s biting her lip, and you watch as she pulls a neatly folded piece of loose leaf paper from her pocket. With embarrassment flushing her face, she sets it on the couch for you to take.
“What’s this?” you ask softly, taking it in your hands and gently unfolding.
“Please don’t read it out loud.”
Your heart quickens at the suspense, and your fingers come to a stop as Violet’s handwriting fills your vision.
Dear _____,
Oh my god.
The words fill your mind and apparently show through your eyes, because when you look at Violet once more, she’s looking more sheepish than ever.
With a deep breath, you read.
I’ve been in love with you for so long, longer than I ever realized, and I never knew how much it warmed my heart and brightened my days until I lost you. The way your eyes light up when you laugh, the loud laugh that takes over your body when we’re alone, the quiet moments we shared, where we didn’t need words, just the way our hands fit together so perfectly. How being near you made everything feel like it was right, even when nothing else made sense. All of the little things that make you, you, have become the moments I crave most.
I know I’ve messed up. Been too wrapped up inside my head and covered in fear to tell you the entire truth, but I miss us. I miss your laugh, your smile, the way we would talk about everything and nothing all at once. I wrapping my arm around your waist or kissing your neck cheek nose forehead and feeling like everything was right in the world when we were together. And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you. I’m not asking for everything to go back to normal right away, because I know things take time. But I want to try again, if you’ll let me.
You’re worth every second, every inch of love that exists throughout my blood, and I will spend the rest of my days trying to show you just how much you mean to me.
-With all my love, yours truly, Violet
In the eleventh grade, you thought you loved Violet more than humanely possible.
Now, you wonder how shocked your younger self would be to hear that amount has grown exponentially.
"I know it's bad. I'm not a genius like you bu-"
Lips smashing into hers silence any worries that the letter didn’t do its job. Your plush mouthes press against one another’s with a passion so deep, so genuine, that it speaks louder than any words you’ve spoken; louder than any love letter either of you have written.
You faintly pull back, giggling breathily as Vi chases your lips with a look sweet enough to give you a heart attack. With touching foreheads and closed, relaxed eyes, you use the same words as when you first fell in love with her. Except this time– you say them out loud.
“From my happily raised eyebrows to my.. gosh however I worded it. Y’know that was so corny now that I think about it,” you begin to whisper, and giggles erupt from both of your mouthes. You hum, placing another chaste kiss on her swollen lips. “I love you, Violet Vanderson. I really, really love you.”
The warmth radiating from your soul and the heat of your intertwined bodies is all too much. It does anything but help when Violet places soft kisses on your cheek, ones that trail down to your jaw and the base of your neck as she gently pulls you into her lap.
“Do you–” she places a kiss, “forgive me?” The suck and lick she gives to your neck sends a shudder down your spine. Wait, what’d she ask again?
“I don’t know,” you hum teasingly, feeling her smirk against your wet skin. “I think you should work for it.”
“Whatever you want. Tell me what you want, baby.”
Fuck. How can words make your eyes roll into the back of your head?
“Want you to—”
You gasp as she slides her tongue down your neck, coming to kiss at your collarbones.
“Use your words, sweet girl,” she whispers sensually.
“Fuck. I want you.”
That’s all she needs, and Violet’s sliding a cold hand up your shirt, inching it up slowly over your bra and refusing to break eye contact. The action has you whimpering into submission, and you huff.
“You’re such a tease.” You complain.
“You’ll take it,” she hums, finally pulling the shirt over your head and going straight for the clasp of your bra.
You take the time to trail a hand under her own shirt, letting your finger tips trail over her abs, and you gasp as your already hard nipples twitch from the newfound cold air when Vi tosses your bra to the side.
“God you’re beautiful,” is the last thing she says before diving head first into your chest. The room is filled with soft kissing sounds, wet licks and pop’s from Vi’s mouth on your nubs, and your moans of pleasure when she twists at whatever nipple isn’t getting her mouth’s attention.
“Vi– babe please. Need you now.”
She groans against your sensitive skin, releasing you from her mouth.
“Need me now, baby?” The girl mocks your neediness with a smirk.
“Yeah, yes please,” you whimper out, and she snickers at how you’re already too dazed to focus.
She decides she’s played with your tits enough (for now), and pulls you right back into a messy, tongue infested kiss as she flips your position. You lean against the couch as she reluctantly separates your lips, sliding kisses down the middle of your torso as her strong hands work at pulling down your pants terribly slowly.
Once they’re off, and you think you’re free as she runs a finger along the middle of your panties, right over your clothed heat. She hums at the way you buck forward. Her just graze along the seam as you speak.
“I’m not– mmm, feeling very forgiving right now…” you scold, eyes so gone that Violet has to stop herself from apologizing.
“Do you want my mouth or fingers to change that?” she asks, and she can’t hold back the laugh any longer when your eyes unknowingly light up.
“Mouth– both– Vi anything, just give me it now.”
She laughs, finally pulling your underwear down at a reasonable pace and scolding you gently.
“We’ll work on fixing your tone another time.”
She leaves the tiny fabric hanging off one of your delicate ankles, mumbling something about how fuckable you look sprawled out for her like this. The girl’s quick to effortlessly spread your legs, and she gulps at how slick and glistening your cunt is all for her.
“Fuck me, baby,” she mutters in awe.
“I’m trying to,” you whine, taking her back to the present where you and your body are completely at her mercy.
Finally, your prayers are answered, and she’s licking a clean line straight up your pussy, taking a river of juices with her pleasure-inducing tongue.
As if the taste enchants her, Vi’s dropping her head down to your needy heat. Her tongue lulls out, swirling against your clit, your hole, anywhere she can make you feel good. It’s not long before two thick fingers plunge into you, and you’re throwing your head back.
“Oh my god, please please– yes.”
“Please? Please what, sweetheart?” she mocks once more. Your moans motivate the muscle-flexing girl to go deeper, go faster, and she has to hold you still when you arch from how sweet her digits hit your g-spot.
The way she’s drinking your cunt sucks away your thoughts as well, and it’s not until she hands a harsh slap to your ass that you’re blinking, babbling something about needing to cum.
“You can do it baby, yeah good girl. Fuck.”
Sweet praises decorated with the perfect mixture of her fingers, tongue, and the lust-laced eye contact send you over the edge, and your loud moans carry throughout the entire space as you finish.
Vi’s tools don’t stop, not until you’ve completely come down from the best high of your life, not until your shaky hand is gently placing itself over hers in silent appreciation.
When your heavy pants are all that’s left to be heard, she kisses your cunt goodbye and says hello to your lips. A strong hand on the back of your head keeps your mouth pressed against hers, and you love it. Because you’re sure you could twist lips with this girl until you pass out from forgetting to breathe.
“Taste yourself?” she whispers once her tongue’s slid out of your mouth. You can only nod, relishing in the way her arms wrap around your body, a silent insinuation that you’re hers to protect.
With a hum, you’re kissing both of her cheeks, then her nose and forehead in thanks as her chin rests against your chest.
“I guess that was a good enough apology.” You fake dissatisfaction, completely ignoring the way your body presses even further into hers while you smooth a hand through her hair.
She snickers in disbelief.
“Think you need another? Just to see how sorry I am, of course.”
You hum, finally shrugging with an inconcealable smile.
“I guess that’d work.”
Vi makes no complaint, because why on earth would she, and she’s kissing a line right back where she started.
“Is this too over the top? The number six was fine but the hand prints? Do I look like a high schooler? Be honest—”
Mel cuts off your babbling with a laugh. “You didn’t want to look like a high schooler?”
You’re whining from your position in the stands, and Mel’s apologizing for her joke as she confirms you look amazing. “Vi’s already seen you, and she seemed to love it,” she coos in your ear, bumping her hip against yours as you laugh.
And the girl’s right. Throughout the game, Vi’s taken glances at you every second she gets. She’s grinning at the pink body paint handprints that travel up your legs, winking when you blow her kisses everytime your gazes lock, chuckling at how loud you get when you cheer ‘go Vi!’, and don’t get her started on how you’re body is clad in her big jersey.
Yeah, she’s completely whipped.
There’s only two minutes left in the game, and the Piltover Knights are winning 2-4. But you’re not entirely focused on the screaming atmosphere or Vi’s upcoming victory, because all you can think about is how hot and aggressive your girlfriend looks in her element.
There’s a jolt of joy that zips up your body, because: yeah, that’s your girlfriend.
The horn chugs to signal the end of the match and the crowd’s roaring with glee, especially you and Mel, who jump up and down while screaming out for your respective players.
Vi throws you a toothy smile from the ice, one that you see again after she exits the locker room and comes to find ‘her girl’ in the loitering crowd.
She embraces and lifts you into the air, spinning you around as if you’re a feather in her grasp. Each giggle that spills from your lips is more joyous than the last, just like every moment you spend together.
“You were so cool out there! Never seen you look so mad and focused,” you praise your pink-haired girl as she sets you down, placing a warm kiss to the top of your head.
“That’s because you bring out the good in me. I’m usually all rude and scary and—”
“With that hair?” you tease, ruffling your hand through her fluff. “You’re not fooling anybody, pinkie.”
Vi’s jaw drops in shock.
“Pinkie?” she repeats with a squinted gaze.
A beat passes, and you’re turning to run away, but it’s too late. The athlete lunges forward, wrapping her arms around your core to trap you as you fake complain in protest, but giggles are soon falling from your mouth and breaking your character.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” her playful words kiss your ear.
“Oh whatever, you love me.” you grin through the claim, turning your head to have her beautiful face in your vision.
Vi’s smile softens into something genuine as she scans over your pretty face. Your astonishing, stunning– fuck there are so many things she could say about your face, about your heart, about your brain, about you.
“Yeah. I really, really do.”
Sparkled blue eyes connect with yours, and they’re sending you into a trance as you’re lured into a tender kiss.
With every kiss, the world around you is drowned out until it’s just you and Violet. Your minds, bodies, and hearts intertwine, and with each connection of your lips, you taste everything she feels.
It’s perfect, even better than you could’ve imagined from that creative writing class, and it gets better everyday that you live the reality.
From the grasp of your passionate kiss, as colors of blue, auburn, chestnut brown and more pass by you, you smile knowing that safe in your arms lies your perfect pink.
lane inspired me. thanks lane. <3 @ynsbrightorbs your writing is so inspiring and it makes me sad that you dont see it the way the populous does
ive been struggling to write lately even though i enjoy writing recreationally. im very insecure about my writing yet im also really proud of it as well.
when i read other fics that i really enjoy i just like. feel like i cant do some of the things they do sometimes. i've seen fics that are so poetic and have so much world building and personal flair and writing that's so vivid that you can create an exact picture in your head of what theyre describing.
but i feel like mine is very straight cut, mainly just describing actions and the readers thoughts while only briefly describing scenery. to me my work feels like toast. just toast. like it's just a crispy piece of bread with no toppings. its not bad, but its not good, it just is.
but the only way out is through or whatever & i just have to keep practicing.
on top of this school also sucks the motivation out of me.
thank you to everyone who enjoys my writing. i often still get likes on my work and it makes me smile.
Do you have any Hange x Reader fanfic recommendations? I love your works and I want to know if there’s any you like (if you read Hange fics yourself)
admittedly, i dont read a lot of fics </3 i get so wrapped up in my works i rarely find the time for it but i do have fic author recs. hangesfavles, my beloved. baosour, i yearn for their return. hangesbestgirl, again, yearning. sorry ive really fallen off with fic reading theres a few fics on the hange tag that have caught my eye but havent gotten to reading them yet </3
my January piece !! also, a little treat while i make you guys wait for Cherry Flavored Anesthetic :3 enjoy !!
cw: none !! get ready, because this fluff is so fluffy you might get a stomach ache !
hange carefully wriggles their body under the covers of your shared bed, trying not to wake you. they snake their arms around your waist cautiously, finally relaxing when they feel your sleeping form unconsciously lean into their hold.
the clock struck 12 o clock- marking four hours since Hange had pretended to fall asleep with you.
it wasn’t a cheating scandal, nor was it just them suddenly developing a hardcore alcohol addiction (thank the GODS, because someone in the veteran ranks needed to be sober sometimes).
they’ve just been… working. on things! things that they can’t risk you seeing- like the wedding ring they’ve been trying to weld for you, the countless balled up papers containing potential vows, and a blank packet of the legal papers concerning marriage.
here’s a secret for you! they’ve been storing these papers since the day before the two of you started dating.
gently, they guide your head to rest on their chest, a fuzzy feeling filling their chest as they see your lips quirk up into a smile at the sound of their heartbeat. or maybe it’s just their boobs, i dunno. that’s your choice to make.
their happiness is short lived, though- the second your eyes snap open, they accept their fate. they’ve been sentenced to death.
“where the hell have you been, Hange Zoë?” a cold shiver rushes down their spine as you glare harshly at them, their mind working at full capacity so they could come up with some genius excuse to throw you off their trail.
“i- y’know just- paperwork. Erwin always piling more stuff on me, especially because it’s Christmas! I think he’ll probably give me overtime in the office tomorrow…” they try and laugh off your suspicions as your narrowed eyes meet theirs. “listen, sweetheart, don’t worry about it. let’s just go to sleep, yeah?”
they watch nervously as you sigh and turn around so they can spoon you, trying not to think about how many lies they’ve told you within the past week. instead of dwelling on this, they opt to wrap an arm around your waist.
when you pull away from them ever so slightly, they try not to tear up.
- - - - - - -
it’s been 2 days since the last time you had spoken normally to hange, and it was vexing them like nothing had before.
the time you made them sleep on the couch because they stunk? light work. a thorough shower and a few spritzes of cologne later, and everything was back to normal.
a few weeks ago, when you got mad at them for leaving their dirty clothes everywhere? after a quick (3 hour) trip to pound town and agreeing to do the laundry every other week, the storm was over.
but now? now they didn’t know how to fix it. but if they didn’t fix it, the likelihood of you accepting their proposal would drop drastically- and they don’t even want to think about the possibility of you rejecting them.
just as the spiraling becomes bad enough for them to start clicking the same key over and over again on their keyboard, a sharp smack is delivered to the back of Hange’s neck.
“four eyes. why the hell aren’t you working?” their savior arrives in the form of levi ackerman- the man who helped them get into this relationship in the first place. “i actually don’t even care why you aren’t working, but there’s no time to slack off. erwin needs that report to be done by lunch.”
hange lets out a tired chuckle as they dejectedly stare at the half finished document on their computer, the one they’ve been staring at sadly for the past half an hour.
“hey, levi. could i ask you for some advice?”
“does it have anything to do with cleaning your filthy office? if it doesn’t, then absolutely not.”
“c’mon shorty! what have i ever done to deserve this treatment, huh??” they frown excessively at him, crossing their arms and making a show of how “upset” they are.
“do you want me to start with the time you blew up the janitorial closet or the time you asked me to seduce erwin into getting you a pay raise?”
they completely ignore this statement. “if you help me i’ll get you some of that good earl gray. the expensive kind.”
levi gives them a quizzical look and then sighs heavily, pulling up a stool and setting his mop to the side.
“alright. tell me what you need.”
- - - - - - -
it’s friday night, 10 minutes until 8 pm.
as soon as you enter the apartment, something feels off. instead of the usual smell of smoke and something chemical adjacent, it smells like coffee and fresh laundry.
the lighting is low, unusually so. all of the lamps are on, and you spot a few new ones with lampshades that you would kill someone for. you step closer to one that has dragonflies decorating its shade, tracing the shapes with your pointer finger.
hange clears their throat behind you, and you can tell they’re nervous. a glisten of sweat is visible on their forehead behind their bangs, and they try to hide their charcoal covered hands behind their back.
“welcome home, pretty thing.” the awestruck look in their eyes increases as you saunter forwards, fiddling with their tie- it has a trilobite theme today. “you doing okay? how was your day?”
they pull you closer by your hips, rubbing slow, soothing circles on your hips as their gaze rapidly switches between your lips and eyes.
“it was fine, i guess.” you try to resist, but end up resting your head on their collarbone anyways. “it feels amazing to be home.”
hange hums as they listen to you, moving their touch to the small of your back and rubbing circles there instead- when your this close, you can smell their sandalwood shampoo. wait, did they shower?
you take a few steps back, shooting them a suspicious look.
“did you…?”
“i sure did!” they grin mischievously, striding forwards. “i used the soap you got me for christmas too. the one with lavender. i ran out of my 7 in 1 stuff.”
you take a step back, looking them up and down. they’re wearing that thin, white, wrinkled button up, the sleeves rolled up to expose their forearms. their glasses are perched perfectly on the bridge of their nose for once, hair freshly tied back- just begging you to play with it. and their now loose tie? the cherry on top.
this is literally the equivalent of lingerie for you.
they close the distance between the two of you, resuming their position with their hands resting on your hips.
“you alright, sugar? you’re spacing out again.” they chuckle, shifting to hold your face in their hands. they squish your cheeks, cooing over how cute you are. “how about you go change, baby? I’ll get you something to eat, and then we can lie down and watch TV- maybe take a bath.”
though the sight of them makes you want to pounce on them and ride them into next month, a night of disgustingly adorable domestic bliss sounds amazing too.
- - - - - - -
hange is sweating. literally, sweating.
just from feeling your body on theirs for about 30 seconds. after a week of not touching you.
they lean against the kitchen counter, letting out a deep, shaky sigh. they run a hand through their hair, trying to fan the sweat off of them.
if a week of not touching you did this to them, they were terrified what it would be like if they got promoted and had to go on one of those shitty business trips all of the higher-ups in the company.
the soft patting sounds of your footsteps alert them, making them clear their throat and straighten their posture.
“hi, gorgeous.” they grin at you, opening up their arms and gesturing you to come forwards. “how was your bath?”
their entire body relaxes upon your touch and they resist the urge to bury their nose in your neck.
“it was nice. you used up all my cute bath bombs, though, so I’m mad at you,” but their touch is too comforting, so you snuggle yourself deeper into their body.
“sweetheart?” no response. “sweetheart, you awake?”
you nod, still clinging to their shirt, fiddling with the buttons and pouting at the fact that they still have so much clothing on.
“off, hans. i want this off.”
you tug on their shirt, frowning like they just insulted your cat. hange snatches up your hands quickly, stopping you from stripping them in the kitchen.
“let’s move to our bedroom, i’ll take it off there.”
a chuckle escapes their chapped lips as you groan out a little noise of discontent before dragging them all the way into your shared bedroom without so much as a stumble in your steps.
the second the two of you enter the room, they know it’s time.
“darling, before we wind down, I’m going to brush my hair. is that alright with you?”
they try to hold back a chuckle as you glare at them, flopping onto the bed and worming your way under the many blankets- weighted, heated, and fluffy. all in the order you like them to be.
hange dashes into the bathroom, carefully locking the door behind them and fishing the box containing your ring out of their messy drawer containing a multitude of hair ties, ballpoint pens, and… protein bars, for some reason.
they clutch the box to their chest tightly, rehearsing their speech they’ve been practicing for weeks in their head and carelessly brushing their hair in an effort to look more charming and well kept.
the sound of the door creaking open is louder than usual, making them cringe as they turn off the bathroom light and shut the door behind them before making their way into your bedroom.
the second they see you, all cohesive brain function leaves their mind, left with one fully formed thought:
im the luckiest person on earth.
your eyes make contact with theirs as they stride forwards, closing the bedroom door behind them before they make their way to your beside, a large, lovesick grin plastered on their face.
“my love,” they begin, taking a deep breath and trying not to tear up. “i have something i’d like to-“
“i’m pregnant.”
“what?”
“sorry, i panicked. go ahead.”
they let out a nervous laugh before clasping your hands in theirs, pressing a kiss to the top of your hand.
“beloved. we’ve been together for… about five years now, yeah?” they watch as you connect the dots- the black velvet box in they place in front of you is a big hint. “these years have been the best of my life. i’ve honestly been happier than ever before, and I wouldn’t trade this life for anything- not even for a chance to go back to the Cambrian period.”
you snicker, and their smile just keeps growing. they’re so excited it’s sickening.
“I- I’ve been planning this out for a while now. You are the most amazing, beautiful, compassionate person i have met in my entire life. If i told little middle school me that our best friend who helped us wash vinegar out of our eyes after science class would be our girlfriend, i probably would’ve developed imposter syndrome.”
“genuinely, i couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. you’re just… the most perfect match for me, precious. if i was a sunflower, i’d literally confuse you for the sun- your so… your everything.” nailed it, for sure. “if you would do me the honor, i’d be the happiest queer scientist in the universe if you married me.”
they carefully pop open the box, revealing a pretty silver colored ring with a heart shaped rose quartz gem right in the middle- you can see the words ‘eternally yours’ engraved on the inside.
“I know it isn’t exactly a diamond, and you don’t have to accept, of course. I just thought-“
you grab their collar and yank them forwards, pulling them onto a passionate kiss, effectively shutting them up. their hands immediately latch onto your waist as they sigh happily into the kiss.
“why in the world would i ever say no, Hans?” you sigh, cupping their cheek with your hand and staring deeply into their coffee bean colored eyes. “of course i’ll marry you- now get under these covers and hold me.”
they nod excitedly, practically leaping into bed and getting under the thick layers of blankets, finally reaching you. just as they attempt to put their arms around you, you stop them.
“shirt.”
“take it off yourself, gorgeous.”
you roll your eyes at them (lovingly, of course) and make quick work of their shirt, unbuttoning it and chucking it across the room in record time.
like clockwork, you shuffle forwards, resting your face on their sternum and smiling like you had just won the lottery- which you had. the lesbian lottery.
as they scroll through shitty reality shows on the TV across the room from your bed, a surge of happiness rushes through your body in waves.
“you’re so cute when your sleepy, honey.”
they laugh and litter kisses all over your head and face, their eyes moonier than ever before.
spi ﹒der ﹒man. /ˈspaɪdɚˌmæn/ noun
a genetically modified, courageous hero born from the bite of an altered spider.
"you'd been hyper aware of everything since you were young. a glass about to fall, a gunshot seconds before it went off, the exact spot the first raindrop in a storm would land. no one ever knew why but they knew you were special, so you were thrust into a dozen 'gifted' programs when all you could really do was see a few seconds into the future. not a big deal."
spiderman!ellie x maxcaulfield!fem!reader, mentions of family, mentions of glass, mentions of brother, mentions of sister, mentions of joel, mentions of "being normal," mentions of kidnapping, attempted kidnapping scene, based on jamie's daydreams by kevin atwater on his achilles album, specifically 0:39, ~3.1k words, a/n–AAAH!!!! it's finally out you guys! dinners late but it's ready </3. this was inspired by kevin atwater, call of duty by kevin atwater, threat by kevin atwater, spiderman into the spiderverse, the amazing spiderman movies, and the mcu. kevin is literally my hero i love you kevy. also there's probably a lot of repitition bc i wrote this at 2 AM and finished at 4:10 AM agter deciding i was done procrastinating and definitely some spelling/formatting errors like a random weird quotation mark LMAO but enjoy
you'd been hyper aware of everything since you were young whether it was a glass about to fall, a gunshot seconds before it went off, or the exact spot the first raindrop in a storm would land.
no one ever knew why, but they knew you were special, so you were thrust into a dozen "gifted" programs when all you could really do was see a few seconds into the future. not a big deal.
okay—maybe it is a big deal, but you don't want it to be. you're trying to be normal. you're just the girl who works at the barnes & nobles on campus, helps her brother with homework, and visits her family on the weekends. really.
tonight, it's december first, eight pm. you're walking home from your night shift, the streets of seattle dreary and empty. the only sounds are your footsteps echoing on the pavement and ocassional puddle—and then someone else's.
"hey! wha—" you start, just before you're shoved to the ground and everything gets white and heavy and hurting. whoever it is, they're on top of you, pinning you down and trying to drag you somewhere.
your eyes flutter open long enough to see a blur of brown hair and red fabric streak past.
"that's no way to treat a lady," someone jokes, and just like that, the weight lifts off of your chest. you scramble back until your spine hits the side of a van, your hands scraping the concrete as you do so. you're shaking, panting, watching.
spiderman–yes, the real one, fighting for you.
just as relief and excitement start to kick in, someone else grabs you and pulls you up by the arm.
"spiderman!" you shout, thrashing. In what looks like a single motion, both men are webbed to the sidewalk along with the van tires, their limbs stuck and squirming.
"damn," spiderman mutters, a slight texan tinge to their voice, before brushing hair out of their face. "oh, hey. sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm spiderman, y'know, if you couldn't tell by the suit." they say before dialing the police.
"yeah, I can see that," you say, breathless.
"oh, fuck off," they laugh, nudging your shoulder with theirs. "I was trynna be nice."
oh.
oh.
your bodies touch—and suddenly, your head goes quiet for the first time in your entire life.
"wait," you whisper, reaching out and gently hanging up the phone in their hand.
"wha–hey! that's my phone, what the hell? are you okay?" they ask, trying to grab it and failing.
"no–but I think I will be if you don't leave."
they laugh before snatching it back with a web. "okay, no time for jokes, short stuff. I mean, I know I'm cool and all, but I can't be that cool and I really gotta drop these guys off. uh, maybe I'll see you around?"
you try to speak—but before you can they're gone. the webs, the blur of red and brown, and the relaxed voice.
and just like that, the visions are back.
the next week, you searched everywhere for them.
you put up flyers with your number. scoured local seattle forums. talked to their biggest fans. you even read the newspapers–printed, crinkly ones still being made in 2025, and you still had no luck.
your last hope was that road. yeah, that road—the same place you'd almost gotten kidnapped. let's just say you don't have the best survival instincts. the same stretch of pavement where everything had gone quiet in your head.
maybe it was stupid or foolish or desperate, whatever it could be called–but you had to find her. you needed to.
⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀──────────
⠀
It's thursday when it happens.
you're walking that same road—coffee in one hand, other shoved deep in your hoodie pocket, hood up, head down. the winter air stings your cheeks, and you're honestly not expecting anything after three days of radio silence. just walking, just thinking, and just trying not to think too loud.
and then someone nearly knocks into you, shoulder clipping yours so hard you stumble.
"shit—sorry," she says.
you freeze.
that voice.
you know it. sharp, sarcastic, always like whoever it belongs to is trying not to sound nervous.
you look up, and she's already turning like she's going to keep walking. a gray hoodie's clinging loosely to her body, her hair looks tussled, and there's a grocery bag in her left hand like she's any other college student.
but then she sees your face.
"… oh. fuck," she mumbles.
your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you blink. twice.
"you."
"me," she says flatly, eyes darting around.
"spiderman?"
"spiderman."
you step forward. "It's you."
"I didn't think you'd—uh—hi," she says awkwardly, looking around. "please don't scream."
you furrow your brows. "why would I scream?"
"you did last time."
"you were saving me from being kidnapped."
"fair," she pauses, "okay, but—why are you here again? like, here specifically? most people don't like almost being kidnapped."
you sighed, eyes not leaving her face. "I was looking for you."
a moment passes.
her eyes widen.
"dude."
"what?"
"you—you said that. the okay thing—oh my god," she runs a hand down her face. "I literally thought I hallucinated that part."
"yeah, no, I'm real, and you touched me, and you touched me, so the world really did stop screaming in my head, and then you left. so now I'm kind of going crazy."
she winces. "that's… my bad."
"'your bad?'" you laugh, mostly in disbelief.
"I didn't really know! I was saving you and you distracted me while I was trying to call the police, I wasn't trying to, like, break your brain or whatever."
"well you didn't 'break' it, you fixed it. just for a few seconds."
that shuts her up. she looks at you, quiet, and something in her expression softens like she’s trying really hard not to let herself care and failing a little anyway.
"no," she pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head, "I can't talk to you. my mentor, uh, joel–fuck, I'm saying too much–said to never get attached to civillians. but you're cool. but should I?"
"too late, I already know what you look like, and oh, that's smart," you laugh, "your backpack has your name on it."
"oh," she looked over her shoulder, "c'mon! that's totally not fair. you wouldn't."
"I would."
"fine… not like I was really gonna stop talking anyway. you wanna... go somewhere?" she asks, wincing like it'll hurt if you say no. "like, to get a coffee?"
"I already have a coffee."
she sighs. "fine. I'll get a coffee and you can watch me drink it like a weirdo. or get another one."
you grin. "deal."
she looks at you like she doesn't get why you're smiling, but part of her likes it anyway.
so the two of you walk together, side by side, shoes hitting the pavement in rhythm. and for the first time in days, your head isn't so loud because she's right there.
⠀
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⠀
the shop is comforting in an almost artificial way. Its overhead lights are a little too warm, its name "aroom" on the menu in big letters, and its music a little too good. you claim the small booth in the corner while she orders, her hood still up, and there she is at the counter. bouncing on her heels like it’s taking every ounce of strength not to turn invisible.
you watch her. you can't help it. there's something so strangely familiar about the way she moves. something endearing and elusive at once. like she's been carrying the weight of a city and still doesn't know how to hold a conversation, or thinks she loves the city but also thinks her job's like picking glass out of her teeth.
she slides into the booth across from you and sets down a coffee with a flourish.
"for your viewing pleasure," she says, sipping dramatically.
"nice, I can't wait to watch you hydrate, williams."
she chuckles. "so, what's your name again? I'm bad with 'em, sorry."
"you never asked me the first time."
"well I'm asking now."
"why? so you can forget it?"
"okay," she glares in mock-offense, the wolfish smile pulling at her lips contradicting her. "I was mid-fight and also, I'm really, really forgetful. you can't expect perfect manners during an attempted kidnapping and definitely not good memory from me."
"I can expect some things after, though. like your name."
she grins, rests her chin on her fist. "you already know that. It's ellie. ellie williams."
you blink. "no, the real one."
she blinks. "what?"
"I don't know, I figured maybe the name on your backpack was fake. you know, a coverup? no seriously, what's your real name? wait, no, let me guess."
"..."
"..."
"sarah?"
"sarah?" she repeats, wrinkling her nose. "God, no. I don't look like a 'sarah.' that's my sister's name."
"wow. ellie. I like it but, I feel like your parents could've done better."
"wow, you're rude, and confident... or dumb enough to be rude to," she looks around and gets quieter, "the spiderman."
"well you're avoidant, I would know after looking for you for, like, forever, and being spiderman doesn't mean you're invincible," you say, smiling into your cup.
she leans back, laughing a little at you. "I haven't talked to someone like this in a long time. 's kinda, nice? being a superhero doesn't come with many friends."
"yeah, me either. It is."
there's a silence that settles between you. not really awkward, just a strange quiet that lingers beneath the surface of your chest. you take another sip, and she picks at the sleeve of her hoodie.
"you really meant it, huh?" she finally says, voice a little lower. "the stuff about your head."
"yeah. It's like constant flashes or trying to talk with ten tvs playing inside your brain. It's always there, even when I sleep, and then you touched me and it all just... went away."
ellie's face falters for a second. just a blink. like your words hit something she didn't know was sore.
"shit," she mutters. "that sounds—awful."
you shrug again. "It's my normal."
"and I interrupted that normal," she says like it's her fault.
"you didn’t interrupt it. you gave me a break from it."
"… and then I bailed."
"you didn't know."
"I should've stayed."
you look at her, and you can tell she means that.
"It's okay," you say. "you're here now."
ellie looks away, biting back a smile. "damn, you're kinda nice when you're not being a smartass."
"and you're kinda charming when you're not running off rooftops."
"I don't 'run,' I swing."
"right. my bad."
she chuckles, eyes crinkling. "this is weird."
you nod. "yeah."
"I should go."
"already?"
"If I hang out too long, someone's gonna figure it out. me. spider stuff."
you nod again, trying not to let the disappointment show. "right, of course."
she stands, lingers awkwardly by the table, then slides a napkin across to you.
her number scrawled messily, like she was nervous.
"call me," she says. "If you wanna. or if the tv thing gets loud."
you pick it up carefully.
ellie starts to walk off, then stops and turns around. she looks like she’s about to say something dramatic. instead:
"also, don't put up any more flyers. that was embarrassing."
you blink. "wait—you saw th—"
"bye!" she grins, already halfway out the door.
and you just sit there, heart too loud, head finally quiet, staring down at the ink on the napkin like it might burn through your hand.
⠀
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⠀
you don't call her right away. you try, more than once, even. thumb hovering over her number, pulse tapping in your throat. but what do you even say? "hey, come turn off my brain again?"
but it doesn't matter because she beats you to it.
three nights later, your bedroom window creaks open.
you jolt upright in bed, heart in your throat, grabbing for anything remotely weapon-shaped—only to freeze when a familiar voice whispers "relax, crazy. It's me." she's crouched on the sill, hoodie up, mask shoved halfway in her jacket pocket, cheeks flushed from the cold. and she's smiling.
"what the hell?" you asked. "how do you know where I live?"
she shrugs. "spider senses. and a little stalking."
you stare.
"I made sure you got home safe the other night," she explains, hands and eyebrows raised in mock surrender. "you went into the apartment building on 6th. I narrowed it down, then I followed your scent."
"you wha—"
"I'm kidding," she grins. "mostly."
"you're insane."
"you didn't call," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I figured you might be dead."
"I'm in pajamas."
"thankfully you're alive in pajamas."
you stare at her.
she smiles.
"I brought snacks?"
you sigh. "get in."
she hangs around that night but doesn't say much. she sits on your floor cross-legged, absolutely destroying all the food. at one point, she reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist like she's trying to see if it'll work again.
and it does.
the silence crashes down like waves. gentle, warm.
you feel your body relax for the first time all day.
ellie raises a brow. "still happening?"
"still gone," you say, voice soft.
she lets go—and the static comes back immediately, like a switch flicking on.
"Jesus," she mutters. "okay, that's kind of freaky. and kind of cool."
"tell me about it."
"guess I'm your like, off switch or something."
you give her a look. "don't flatter yourself."
her mouth twitches. "too late."
after that, it becomes a thing. she shows up more. sometimes at your window and sometimes in weird disguises around campus.
"that hoodie does not make you less suspicious."
"shhh, I'm blending in."
"If it's opposite day then I guess you're right. get it? right?"
"shut up."
you test it together—her walking away down the street, the buzzing returning. her stepping close again, and everything going still.
It's a strange kind of trust. a closeness neither of you talk about but both of you feel.
and, slowly, without meaning to, you start to count on her being there.
⠀
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⠀
david was the kind of nice that got under your skin without you noticing.
you met him in your work-study program. he was friendly, soft-spoken, and the kind of guy that was always offering to carry extra boxes or cover someone's shift. there were signs, like when he'd stare too long at highschool girls just looking for books, but he was nice. enough. when you had your first dizzy spell in the library—visions slamming into your skull like a migraine from hell—he was the one who walked you home and waited with you on your steps until your hands stopped shaking.
he never asked questions. just smiled.
"don't worry," he'd said, tone gentle. "I've got you."
and you believed him.
⠀
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⠀
It's a week later when you see him again. you're just trying to get groceries before your shift. rain drizzling, your head buzzing faintly in the background. then—
"hey," a voice calls, and you turn.
david. smile crooked, hands shoved in his coat pockets.
"I found your favorite creamer," he says, holding up a bag. "figured I'd drop it off."
your shoulders loosened maybe for the first time all day.
"thanks. you didn't have to," you say, almost shy.
"c'mon," he grins, stepping closer. "you look like you haven't slept since freshman year. let me walk you."
you make it two blocks before everything goes wrong.
you're not sure what shifts first—your breath catching, the creeping nausea, or the dull ache turning sharp behind your eyes.
It hits you like a wave: too many futures. too many paths. his hands on your arms, his voice splintering into echoes. but not in protection.
In force.
"sorry," he murmurs as you start to panic. "I really didn't want to do this again, but you're not safe out here. not with what you can do. It's okay, I'll be all you're seeing in a few days."
you stepped back instantly, hand on the knife ellie, no, spiderman gave you for safety.
"what—what are you talking about?"
he steps forward. you recognize the change in his expression now. not kind. not even cruel. just clinical and focused.
"we were supposed to bring you in on the first," he says. "I didn’t know she'd show up. I didn't know spiderman would be there."
your stomach drops.
no. no no no no no. not him. not him.
"you helped set that up?" you whisper, eyes wide, backing into the wall behind you.
he sighs, almost apologetic. "you're not just a student. you're an anomaly. everyone's looking for you. I thought... maybe I could keep you from being hurt."
you go to stab him, just deep enough so you can get away, but then your vision shatters—
literally. image split and spiral in your mind, versions of him hitting you, drugging you, dragging you into a van, chaining you down. every second fracturing. you can't think. you can't breathe.
then—
"hey!"
a red blur drops from above like fire, slamming into him and sending him crashing across the rooftop by the clocktower you somehow didn't realize you'd ended up on. concrete cracks, debris flies.
ellie.
It felt good to see her, but not in the situation you were in. she's panting, crouched low, hair wind-tossed and wild beneath her half-up mask. she doesn't even look at you yet. her eyes are locked on him.
"I've been looking for you for weeks," she yelled out. "I didn't realize you were with the assholes who tried to get her."
david staggers up, pulling a gun from his jacket.
ellie doesn't hesitate.
the fight is brutal. fast. loud is what you register the most, really. her movements aren't elegant—just rough and raw. you can barely track them through the splits in your vision and static in your head. while you're clutching your head and biting your lip to try and deal with the pain, he grabs you, using you as a shield with a knife to your throat.
ellie has his gun.
david has her girl.
then david screams as a bullet tears through his shoulder.
he falls–
and lets go of you as he does.
you scream and there's a moment, barely a second, where you see gears and metal and how far you are from the roof and think, this is it. this is how I die.
and then you're so close to the ground, you're close and close and close and–
close, but thankfully not close enough.
a web meets your stomach, arms wrap around you, and the wind howls in your ears as you're yanked toward something or someone in a blur of motion. It's a body, you can tell now, and it wraps around yours as you both swing down and back up—
and fall hard, but with your lives.
ellie's breathing is ragged, her lungs shaky and arms still around you.
"gotcha," she breathes, voice shaking. "I got you."
your eyes are still squeezed shut and your head is ringing so hard you can't hear, but for the first time in what feels like hours, the visions stop.
"hey, hey."
ellie says frantically, letting go of you and hovering atop you. "please? hey, hey," she says, and it's the first time you've ever heard her really, genuinely scared. she's running her calloused hands all over you as if her touch could bring you right back from wherever you'd gone, and then,
"ellie."
"oh my god."
and before you know it she's squeezing you so, so hard, like if she doesn't you still might hit the ground, like she still might not catch you.
but she did.
you stare at her after she pulls away, laughing a little. "wow," you say shakily, swallowing thickly, "I don't, I don't know what to say. thank you–I'd be dead without you."
ellie just looks at you.
"me too," she says quietly.
and then she kisses you.
not some soft, withheld kiss.
bruising in the way you've wanted for ages and ellie and feeling the way you always thought it did.
and you're stuck in the feeling, but you kiss her back.
"so, fast food tonight?"
"shut up," she laughs, gravelly and rough from the tears threatening to fall from her eyes, "of course."
“Happy birthday.” Your co-worker messages you. You reply with a smiling + hugging emoji, before dropping your phone to your side. The first person who wasn’t a family member to message you happy birthday almost 24 hours later.
Usually you didn’t care, you really didn’t. Yet, celebrating everyone’s birthday this year and last, you thought you would get the same energy back.
But no.
Twenty-something now, and you’re spending it alone, sitting on your apartment floor, with a cardigan way too big for you stained with frosting. The same stale frosting that took over the air and mixed with the scent of candle wax.
It’s too quiet in your living that eventually it gets too loud. So, you put on your shoes and walk to the nearest corner shop that’s open this late.
The dull lights buzz the moment you walk in, alongside a small bell. Immediately the cheap alcohol section is calling your name, singing thou happy birthday louder than anyone has all day.
The basket gets heavy as you put in the six-pack, your forearm dropping slightly. You fill the basket: chips, chocolates, more cheap alcohol.
You got birthday money from a family member, “might as well put it to you,” you mumble to anyone who’s around you, but the store’s empty.
You’re grabbing one more bag of chips when you hear:
“…No way. Is that you?”
You furrow your brows, freeze a little. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.
You turn and there she is behind the counter. Your old High School classmate. The girl who wore her lanyard either on the loops of her pants or around her wrist. The chick who wore boots during the rain and snow, whenever she walked all you heard was: ‘squeak squeak.’
Same girl who wasn’t really a close friend. Though, in some blurry memories, once made your stomach flutter-cheeks burn up for reasons you never understood at seventeen.
She leans forward on the counter, smiling like she’s genuinely glad to see you. And you, cursed at yourself for wearing the: ‘no one I know will see me,’ outfit.
“You look like you ransacked the place, and are about to ask me for the money in the safe,” she teases. “Everything okay?”
You shrug and lift the basket slightly. “Birthday.”
Her face changes, not pity, but like she just recognized something. A quiet “oh,” look appears into her expression.
“It’s your birthday? Tonight?”
You nod, and she lets out a little laugh, stepping around the counter so she’s closer. Too close for someone you haven’t seen in years.
“I remember…” she murmurs. “Back during homeroom, you used to bring cupcakes for everyone. Different colored frosting, rainbow sprinkles; like you were a birthday fairy. Cute little crown too.”
You feel your face heat up. “Yea…well that was before everyone ditched me right after graduation. Hard to keep a reputation when no one sticks around.”
The words came out harsher than you meant it. Regretting the whole: “woe is me.” She notices. Her expression softens again, this time in a way that kinda hurts.
“I didn’t ditch you,” she says quietly. Yeah she didn’t, you did though. Her gaze drags over your face like she’s searching for the old you she used to know. “None of that reputation shit ever mattered to me.”
You gulp, the store feeling too warm. Or maybe it’s her.
She plucks a bag of chips with her knuckles out your basket. “Tell you what. You shouldn’t spend your birthday alone…” she looks at the clock behind you, red lights on. “I get off in ten minutes. Stay? Keep me company while I finish my shift?”
It’s the way she looks at you: softly, familiar, almost like she’d been waiting for you to walk back into her life. Shit, now your heart fluttering, it’s like you’re seventeen again.
You nod before your brain even fully understands what she ask. And she grins.
⟡
She clocks out as the neon sign in the window glides: ‘24-Hours Open’ Her position behind the counter, replaced by another employee who barely looks up from their phone. She grabs her jacket, slinging it over her shoulder and nods towards the door.
“Cmon birthday girl.”
The night air hits a bit cooler than before. And the beer you crack open as soon as you step outside sends warmth down your chest. The streets quiet, just the sound of your footsteps and cars passing by occasionally.
She bumps her shoulder gently into yours, “So…big plans for the rest of your b-day?”
You laugh, bittersweet: “This is the most social thing I’ve done all day.”
She gives a look, curious she tilts her head: “Did you at least get birthday calls? Messages? Something?”
You shrugs, “Apart from family…” you shake your head. “No one said anything.”
You pause for a second, “Actually, yeah. My coworker who’s an elderly woman said happy birthday.”
You don’t want pity, and she knows that, cause she doesn’t give you any. She just walks closer, her arm brushing yours.
“You know…” she begins, taking a sip of her beer. “You usually post on your birthday.”
You surprisingly glance at over at her: “Do I?”
“Yea,” she laughs softly. “You didn’t this year. If you had , I would’ve said happy birthday right away.”
You stop walking for a second. “You…follow me on social media?”
She raises a brow, grinning: “Of course I do. Why? You don’t follow me?”
You open your mouth, then close it. The silence answers for you.
She burst out laughing, the sound: teasing, affectionate, kinda warm all at once. “Oh my goodness. Wow, so you really just never noticed me there?”
You look away all flustered. “I-I…you’re not really someone I expect to keep up with me after school.”
She slows her pace until the two of you fall into sync again, but this time she’s closer. You look over at her before quickly looking down at the black plastic bag filled with what you bought.
Her tone is lower. “Well I did.”
You don’t know what to say to that. You nervously bite your bottom lip. The apartment complex appears around the corner, streetlights making everything gold. You feel her eyes on you.
“Which one?” She asks, nodding towards the buildings.
You point, the motion a little wobbly from the alcohol. She reaches for your elbow lightly, not holding you more like steadying you.
That touch makes you have butterflies.
She smiles, “Alright, Apartment 312.”
⟡
“Do you wanna come in? For one more drink? I still have cake. Might as well pretend is a birthday party.” The words slip out without hesitation. You’re not sure whether it’s the beer, the tingling feeling of her hand still lingering on your elbow, or the way she looked at you under the streetlights…
She looks at you for a second, her expression making you nervous. “Yea, I’d like that.”
Your apartment inside? The right amount of messy that comes from living alone and not expecting people to come over. A blanket on the couch, an empty mug, a candle that burned out days ago. Yet she doesn’t seem to mind. She just takes it all in with curiously, then flops on your couch like she’s been here hella times.
You grab the cake from the fridge, store bought—frosting smushed, and two forks. She whistles dramatically.
“Damn, a private cake tasting. I feel honored.”
You laugh and hand her a fork. The two of you eat straight from the container, washing it down with another round of drinks.
You talk about everything and nothing. How you moved back to this town after swearing you’d never return. How the other city you lived in, drained you out. The way it took you so long to unpack, and how you barely go out, only to work.
She listens, knees angled towards yours on the couch.
“It’s kinda nice you’re back,” she admits quietly. “Everything now feels nostalgic.”
Blaming it on the alcohol, the comments feels deeper than it probably is. You swallow another sip.
From there, the convo switches to high school. Old teachers—stupid rumors—ugly ass yearbook photos. The friendship between you two: never close but shared memories of events during lunch or field trips.
Both of you laughing hard, leaning into each other the more drink you two get.
At one point she groans, dropping her head back dramatically.
“God, your friend group was lowkey lameee.”
You cackled, “I KNOW! They were…ugh I dunno. I mean…” you pondered briefly. “They were cool sometimes. I just don’t know how I survived all the drama.”
She rolls her eyes and snorts. “They thought they were cool.” after a sip, “…them ditching you after graduation?….Never liked them.”
You tilt your head, “I never knew that. You never mentioned it.”
“You never asked…and why would I tell you that?” She teases.
Another drink enters your system quickly. Now your head feels light. The line between rational judgment and drunken honesty blurs, you say it:
“There was this one time…in the girls locker room.”
Her eyes goes to you instantly, amused and curious. And now you wish you didn’t bring it up.
“Go on,” she smirks. “This already sounds interesting.”
“Ahh, no no, never mind.” You drop your face into your hands for a second, but the alcohol pushes you. “Ok ok.” You caved in so quickly.
She taps your knee, “…come onn, say it.”
You exhale. “You remember, sophomore year. We had the same P.E class. It was after class.”
She lowers her chin a bit, “You gotta be more specific. I try very hard to forget that locker room existence.”
“You were always the last one to finish changing,” you mumble. “You’d be at your locker, shirt half on, hair a little messy from whatever we did that day.”
She now looks more curious and amused.
“And?”
“And…” you look all around your living room except her face. “There was this one day. You were laughing at some joke someone made, and you-your shirt was kind of…stuck…?”
You gestured badly, “Like halfway up. And I just…I dunno. That image stuck in my head for a while.”
She blinks slowly. What was even slower was that little wicked smile that forms.
“So, what I’m understanding is…you were checking me out during our time in the locker room?”
You blush: “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to,” she leans closer, voice deepens.
Her knee presses between yours a little. “You fantasized about me in high school?”
She’s making the room spin more than the alcohol. You gulp hard, “it was just one time.”
“That you’re admitting…”
You wanna deny it, but her stare is steady, flirty, soemthing you can’t really give a name to. Just feel down to your core.
The air between becomes heavy with alcohol, nostalgia, dare even say….lustful?
She leans back a bit. Answering the last thought, when she licks the frosting off her fork and watches you like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Should’ve said somethin’ back then,” she says playfully.
You met her gaze.
“You wouldn’t have believed me.”
And for the first time all night, she doesn’t laugh. She just looks at you. The way she wouldn’t dare to do in high school.
You feel her shift closer on the couch. Her knee brushing yours again. Her hand slides along the back of the couch until her fingers hover near your shoulder, like she’s testing the waters.
“What?” You sniff nervously.
“What?”
“You’re staring,” your whisper.
She slowly smiles, “I know.”
Her breath mixes with yours, a touch so gentle when you feel her thumb on your jaw. Makes you breathless
“Can I…” she starts, her voice barely audible.
You don’t let her finish. You close the space and press your lips to hers. A fluffy kiss at first: careful like if you’re painting with a small thin brush. The she makes that damn sound. Just one sound that’s needy and desperate. That small sound is all it takes to unravel everything.
She grabs your waist to pull you fully onto her lap; your knees on either side of her thighs. The couch creaks from the sudden shift. Her firm hands sliding up your back. Under your shirt, her touch is hungry and your thighs tighten around her.
You can tell something inside her awoken by the way she moves her mouth against yours. As if she’s been waiting years for this. You as well…
You pull back enough to catch your breath, but she chases you. Lips brushing against yours. Gosh she can’t stop.
“Mmphhh,” she humms against your lips, “you have no ideas how long I wanted that.”
Your heart flips, “High school?” You ask, out of breath.
She laughs, air hot on your neck as she kisses down to your throat. “Maybe.”
Her hand slips lower, gripping your hips, guiding you against her. Your body reacts: ASAP. You’re already wet. You grind down without thinking, and she lets out a hushed, strained groan that sends shivers down your spine.
The apartment becomes irrelevant: the cake, the cabs, the mug, the frosting stain on your cardigan. All of it doesn’t matter as she’s kissing you again, thus time deeper.
“Bedroom?” she whispers on your lips.
So dizzy~
You nod.
She stands, hands on your waist. You wrap your arms around her neck as she walks backwards, unknowingly, til you point at the right room and you back hits the wall. You kiss her like you need her, like you’ve imagined for all these years without even knowing.
⟡
Clothes hit the floor: her jacket first, then your pants, then her tank top. You barely make it to the bed before she pushes you gently on your back, climbing on you with a look that you only read in books.
Her fingers trace your waist, tickling your ribs, mesmerizing your chest. “You’re so beautiful,” she says, in a tone of almost frustration at how true it is.
You pull her down and kiss her again: deeper, messier. Hair tangles between your fingers as she shifts between your legs. Her thighs slide against you and you gasp, hips lifting towards her instinctively.
She notices. She smirks. She does it again.
You playfully bite her shoulder and like she’s done all night: laughs…except this time it’s breathlessly and followed by a rolling of her hips against you. Yummy, slow, calculated.
Your mind goes fuzzy. Soft moans fill up the room. Yours plus hers, overlapping. Her hands explore every inch, guiding you.
You feel her everywhere: mouth on your neck—fingers tracing between your thighs, coated with slick—breathe trembling when you tug her closer.
God, she wants to ruin you. You want her to.
You lightly gasp an exhale. You felt pressure against your clit as she keeps the heel of her palm on your bud and slips inside her index and middle finger.
⊹
Your lips journeyed back down her neck, her chest as you slowly grind on her hand.
You cum with your mouth on her collarbone and riding on her fingers. She’s whispering your name through it, in way that she can’t even believe she’s actually doing this with you, needy and desperate.
She kisses you tenderly through the aftershock, holding your jaw steady. Then take your hands to her body, and you take your time exploring.
“Your turn,” you whisper.
Her lashes flutter. “Mm yea…” she breathes, “please.”
You’re a bit more feral, palms grazing her nipples then filling your hands with her breast. Leaving wet spots on the valley of her breast with open kisses.
‘It’s MY birthday, and she’s like my gift. I’m going to enjoy her, like I deserve.’ you thought to yourself, selfish thoughts.
You trailed your gaze down to her bare bottom, and trailed your mouth over it. Her fingers slid into your hair, and you just lost it.
You tasted her slowly. Lingering, your hands sliding up her stomach feeling her muscles quiver in pattern. Toying and teasing her breast. She tugs your hair, and rolls her hips against your mouth.
She got on her elbows as she shook, knowing she was close. You lightly stroked a fingertip over her slit, teasing the opening as your mouth traced lazy circles around her clit. Your eyes watching hers, looking for her reaction.
She let out a throaty low groan and you loved it. You were no longer thinking: ‘My birthday, my gift….’ it’s now a ‘Thank you. Thank you for spending time with me on my birthday.’
You learn what makes her gasp, arch her back, grab the sheets. Seeing her come undone under you ignited something…that you didn’t want to think about right this moment.
“Oh god,” she gasps. Her hips twisted subtly, and you slid your finger out, letting her watch as you slowly sucked it into your mouth, tasting her.
She basically rolled her eyes back, letting out a chuckle, she didn’t think that you even had this side. “If I knew you were going to be like this, I would’ve given you more.” She managed to say audibly.
“Don’t worry about it.” You kissed between her thighs. Tasting her one last time.
“You’re…” she swallows. “You’re unbelievable.”
You crawl up to her. Clinging onto her close, you don’t really mean to. She doesn’t pull away. She kisses the corner of your mouth then your lips.
Eventually, later on you’re both exhausted, drunk, tangled together asleep. One arm over your waist, the other drape over her eyes, your face against her collarbone.
⟡
2:43 a.m
You wake up to the soft rustling of sheets and the fabric being pulled away gently.
For a moment you think it’s morning, until you glance over at the dim lights glowing in your nightstand.
She’s sitting at the edge of your bed, fully dressed, slipping on her shoes. The room is dark except for the light you left on the hallway, drawing over her shoulders—curve of her neck—and the messy flyaways of her hair.
She glances over at you as you move.
“Hey,” she whispers, voice groggy from sleep. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
You slowly sit up, the sheets slipping down your chest. “You’re good. You heading out?”
She nodded, tying her shoe. “Unfortunately—yea. I have to…”open,” the store tomorrow. Well…today.” Her tired laugh is soft and real and makes you grin foolishly.
There’s no awkwardness, no panic, or regret in her gaze. Just pure exhaustion, and a tiny bit of hesitation if she should leave or not.
You shake your head, “I get it.”
She stands, smoothing her top sliding into her jacket. Then looks at you with something gentle and tender.
“I had a really good time,” she quietly says. “Like…honestly the best night I’ve had in a while.”
Your chest is warm: “…me too.”
She steps closer, stopping in front of you. Her hand lifts, fingertips brushing your cheek, jaw, slow and respectfully. Memorizing you again before she closes the door behind her.
Then she leans in and kisses you. Not hungry like earlier. Not rushed like she wants to leave.
Just a soft kiss, sweet and honest.
When she pulls back, her forehead rest against yours for a moment:
“Happy birthday,” she murmurs.
You blush and hold your breath.
“And…I hope I see you again.”
You open your eyes. “You will.”
She smiles, before stepping toward the door. You watch her walk out through the hall, listen to the soft click of your apartment door closing behind her.
You bite your bottom lip with a smile.
The room feels different now: still quiet, but not lonely.
You roll over, grab your phone from the nightstand, and open social media: search her name….There she is.
Profile photo you somehow never noticed. Thinking how you missed her entire online existence.
That follow button you should’ve pressed years ago: You tap it.
Then you go on every other media: follow, follow, follow…
It’s stupid, you feel silly. Also feels huge. It feels like the best birthday gift you could’ve given yourself.
You set your phone down, sink back into the warm spot she left behind, and close your eyes.
whichever one of you said my streamer/nerd hange fic gives katie b energy you are soooooo correct i didn’t know her much when i first got that comment but now i do and i hope u know u cooked
