a cough and a fever is always good, the whole hand on forehead “you’re burning up”
resisting the cool cloth and cassie’s voice being so gentle like “it’ll help baby trust me”
🫰🏻
cassie touched your forehead with her hand. "babe, you're burning up." she quickly got the kit from the drawer and pulled out a thermometer. "just stay still."
"i don't get sick," you whined.
"your 38.6°C temperature says otherwise, my love."
you pouted, too tired to think of a comeback. you pulled the blanket higher, hands trembling a little bit.
"just stay put and i'll make you your favorite soup then you'll have to take meds."
"yes, dr. mckay." you grumbled against the pillow. you knew you won't win anyway.
cassie came back to the room after twenty minutes with a bowl of chicken soup and a glass of smoothies neatly placed on a bamboo bed tray. you sat up against the headboard and cassie carefully placed the tray in front of you.
"eat first then meds." she said.
you were too tired to argue and too hungry to even say no to eating. it didn't take long for the delicious warmth of the soup to soothe you and giave you a little bit of relief.
it was a known fact to cassie that you hated taking your meds, any meds. but it's also a known fact that she's a very persuasive doctor who you couldn't ever say no to.
she placed two pills on the tray and a glass of water. "you're gonna take this every six hours," she said, watching you gag but still taking it. "good girl."
you only scrunched up your nose in response.
cassie then got up and wet a towel to put on your forehead to help cool you down. when she came back from the bathroom, she saw you on your phone. cassie knew what you were doing.
"consulting dr. google again?"
"it says i only have two days to live."
she shook her head and bit her lip. "poor you." she snatched the phone from you and put it on the bedside drawer. "stop consulting online when you have an actual doctor for a wife."
"hmmm, my doctor is so strict." you replied.
"i wouldn't be if you're such a good patient." cassie laid you back down on the bed and placed the wet towel on your forehead. "it will help, baby, trust me."
"i trust you, dr. mckay."
"good." cassie placed a chaste kiss on your cheek. "i'll be right back."
"where you going?" you whined.
"just calling al-hashimi to say i'll take the day off."
"don't have to..."
"i have to. my wife is sick," was all she said before she disappeared to the other room to call work. cassie made sure you always come first.
So I may or may not be on my deathbed from being rained on and if I could have a last wish, I would LOVE if you could have my baby Cassie taking care of reader.
As always, you’re amazeballs ❤️
Bodies
A/N: My first one-shot where someone is sick!! I love the sick trope ngl...as someone who gets sick often and loves when people want to take care of them :) Sorry, this took so long @starryparchments, also it's a little short :( But I hope you like it!!
you can find my other works here!!
I would usually put a content warning, but I don't think there's anything that really constitutes one for this one-shot, really! Everything is safe :)
It’s the dead of winter.
And as a teacher, that means everyone is fighting for their lives, sick or not.
You had been really careful all week, as you had a date with your girlfriend on Friday that you absolutely weren’t going to miss. Her schedule barely aligns with yours as it is, and the day it’s supposed to happen, you were absolutely NOT getting sick if you could help it.
You had taken precautions every minute of every day. Sanitizing desks after each child sneezed, wiping down chairs with Lysol wipes whenever the kids were outside or participating in activities that had them away from their tables, you had hand sanitizer at the ready, etc.
All of that… to eventually end up getting sick anyway.
That morning, you knew something was wrong because when you swallowed, there was a tickle at the back of your throat. You tried to gargle warm salt water, but that was of no use. You tried the throat numbing spray, but all you managed to numb was your mouth, and so you downed a few cups of DayQuil and said fuck it, and went to work anyway.
You weren’t going to miss this date. That was that.
However, throughout the day, you just somehow kept getting worse. Your eyes had begun to water, and the right nostril of your nose was running every five seconds while the left nostril was completely dry, your throat still felt like barbed wire was wrapped around it, etc.
Everyone kept asking if you were okay, and by the time your third student asked if you were sick, you knew you weren’t fooling anyone.
Your head felt heavy, like it was packed with cotton, and every sound in the classroom landed loudly in your ears, making your head pound. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, drilling straight into your skull. You tried to push through, just one more worksheet, just one more read-aloud, but when you stood up, the room tilted enough that you had to grab the edge of your desk.
“Okay,” your co-teacher said gently, already halfway across the room. “Nope. You’re done for today.”
“I’m fine,” you tried, but your voice came out rough, betraying you.
She gave you a look. “You’re not. Go home. I’ve got this.”
You huffed a faint, humorless laugh, but it dissolved into a cough that made your chest ache.
“Go home,” she said more gently this time. “You’re not doing yourself, or them, any favors by staying.”
There wasn’t much fight left in you anyway at that point. The drive home was a blur of red lights and sheer willpower. You kicked your shoes off somewhere near the entryway, dropping your bag without care. You made it to your bedroom on pure autopilot before collapsing onto the bed, still in your work clothes. The mattress dipped under you, soft and welcoming, and you let out a long, shaky breath.
Your phone buzzed in your hand as you stared at the ceiling, and it was a struggle to even pick it up. It was like your fingers were stiff to the point of no return. You blinked at the screen for a second before remembering to remembering to open your messages.
You: got sent home sick :( our date isn’t happening :(
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
Cassie: What? Cassie: Are you okay? Cassie: What happened?
You smiled faintly despite how awful you felt. That was your girlfriend- straight to concern, no hesitation. But she is a doctor after all, and that’s what she’s trained to do.
You: just feel like crap. dizzy. probably a fever idk
Cassie: Did you take your temperature? Cassie: Are you home? Cassie: Do you need anything?
You stared at the messages, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, but suddenly even typing felt like too much effort. Your phone slipped slightly in your grip as you sank deeper into the mattress, and your eyelids grew heavier. You’d answer her in a minute. Just a minute. You just needed to close your eyes for a second. Also, she’s probably working, so she won’t mind if you don’t reply right away…
————
You woke to knocking.
At first, you thought it was part of a dream as everything still felt distant and muffled to you. But then it came again, louder this time, pulling you up from the fog of sickness that you felt surrounded you.
Your head pounded as you sat up. The light in your room was dim now, and the sunlight outside shifted toward late afternoon. You had no idea how long you’d been out. For a moment, you didn’t even know where you were.
The knocking came again.
“Coming,” you croaked, though it barely made a sound.
You pushed yourself out of bed, immediately regretting it as a wave of dizziness hit you. The room tilted just enough to make your stomach turn. You took a moment to steady yourself before immediately beginning to shake because of the temperature change. You grabbed the blanket off your bed, wrapped it tightly around your shoulders like armor, and shuffled toward the door.
“I’m coming,” you muttered again. Each step felt heavier than it should, like you were wading through something like invisible molasses. You opened the door, sagging against it a little bit as you looked up at who decided to disturb your sleep.
Cassie stood there, slightly out of breath, concern written all over her face. “Oh, baby.”
You stared at her for a long moment, brain struggling to catch up. “…I think I might be dreaming,” you mumbled.
Her expression softened instantly. “I promise you’re not dreaming,” she said gently, stepping closer. Her hand came up to your forehead, brushing your hair back as the back of her hand pressed against your skin. Her brows knit together at the warmth radiating from you. “But you are burning up.”
You let out a weak grunt. “Mm, no. But you’re supposed to be working.”
“Obviously not,” she said softly, turning around to shut the front door. “Okay, let’s get you back in bed. See if we can get rid of this fever, okay?”
She begins directing you back to your bedroom, but your mind is going blank except for the fact that she’s here with you. “But how did you even- you didn’t have to come- you’re gonna be fired!” you say, turning around in her arms.
She slipped an arm around your waist before you could protest. “I won’t be fired. It’s called making up an excuse so I can take care of my girl. Come on.”
“I don’t believe you,” you murmured, leaning into her. “But I’m sorry about our date.”
“It’s okay, baby. Don’t worry,” she said, not arguing, just guiding you gently inside and kicking the door shut behind her. “We’ll figure out some other time to go, alright?”
Once she got you back in bed, Doctor Cassie had instantly taken over. She moved quietly, so as not to disturb you too much. Shoes off, sleeves pushed up, scanning your body like you were in the trauma bay or something. It would’ve been almost funny if you didn’t feel like death.
“Do you have a thermometer?” she asked, already opening drawers.
“…bathroom,” you mumbled.
She disappeared for all of thirty seconds before returning, crouching beside you. “Open.”
You obeyed without question, too tired to do anything else. You waited in silence, your eyes drooping closed before the thermometer made a noise. She took it out from under your tongue and looked at the number on the digital screen.
“102,” she confirmed.
“I feel it,” you muttered weakly.
That earned a small smile. “Still got some attitude. That’s a good sign.” She stood up from your bedside. “I’m getting you water. And meds. Do you have ibuprofen or acetaminophen?”
“…kitchen cabinet,” you said, eyes already drifting shut again.
“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet,” she called lightly as she headed out. “I need you to stay awake long enough to take your medicine.”
You just made a noise in reply. True to her word, however, she was back quickly with a glass of water in one hand and medicine in the other.
“Sit up for me,” she said, gentler now, helping you lift your head and shoulders.
You leaned heavily into her as she held the glass to your lips. “Slow,” she murmured.
You swallowed the pills, then took a few sips of water, though even that felt like such an effort to do.
“Good,” she said quietly. “That’s good.” Once you were settled back down, she adjusted your blanket to wrap entirely around you, but soon stopped. “Baby, you’re overheating,” she noted, already pulling the blanket back slightly. “We’re not doing the full cocoon thing right now.” You made a small protesting sound. “I know, I know,” she said softly, brushing your hair away from your face again. “But you’ll feel worse if you trap the heat.”
Her hand lingered at your temple, cool against your skin. You sighed, leaning into the touch without thinking. “Can you keep me warm then? Please? While you still have some time left?”
“Of course I can, sweetheart. I’ll do whatever you want.” And she’s instantly crawling into bed with you.
“Wait, you probably shouldn’t. You’ll get sick too.” You respond, but it’s too late as she’s already cuddled up against you, arms encircling your body.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” She whispers against your temple, and you don’t have any energy left inside you to protest any further, so you just accept it.
“I can hear your heartbeat.” You tell her, which makes you smile a little bit.
“I can hear yours too,” is all you hear as you fall asleep
———-
At some point between constantly waking up and then drifting back to sleep, you realized she hadn’t left.
“Cassie,” you mumbled, eyes half-open. “You’re still here”
She glanced down at you from where she was sitting on the edge of your bed, one hand still resting lightly on your arm. “Yes, I am.”
“But you have work.”
“I left early.”
Your brow furrowed slightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Her expression softened, something warm and unwavering settling in her eyes. “I wanted to,” she said simply.
You didn’t have the energy to argue with that. Cassie brought you a cold cloth and laid it across your forehead, swapping it out when it warmed. She made sure you drank water every so often, even when you groaned about it. She also made sure you kept up with taking medicine every 3 hours.
You stirred when the bed dipped slightly beside you once more. “Hey,” Cassie said softly. “Can you sit up a little? I made you something.”
You groaned quietly but didn’t argue as she helped you up again. A bowl of soup appeared in your line of vision.
“You don’t have to eat a lot,” she said. “Just a few bites.”
“I’m not hungry,” you mumbled.
“I know,” she said gently. “But your body needs something.”
She waited patiently as you sighed faintly, then opened your mouth just enough for the first spoonful.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
You managed a few more before shaking your head weakly. “Can’t.”
“That’s okay,” she said immediately. “I’m just glad you ate something.”
———-
You woke again, and the room had gone fully dark; your fever had dulled just enough to make your vision not seem as though you were spinning anymore.
You shifted slightly under the blanket, your hand brushing against something warm.
Or rather, someone warm. Cassie.
You turned your head, squinting slightly in the low light. She was sitting beside you, one leg tucked under her, her phone resting loosely in her hand, but the second you moved, even slightly, her attention was off the device and on your face.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “How you feeling?”
“…you’re still here?” you murmured.
She gave you a small smile. “Yeah,” she said. “Of course I am.”
“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, though your voice lacked any real insistence.
She studied you for a moment, then reached out, her fingers brushing lightly along your cheek. They felt so cold against your still burning forehead.
“I wanted to,” she said simply. “You’re sick. I’m not leaving you alone like this. Harrison is with Chad, so think of this as our date.”
You swallowed. “…okay.”
A small, reassuring smile touched her lips. “Okay.”
She adjusted the blanket around you again before she shifted slightly closer. “Try to get some more sleep,” she murmured.
You also moved closer, but your hand found hers. Her fingers laced gently with yours, her thumb tracing slow, absent circles against your skin. The motion was a sort of reassuring action, some consistent pattern that has your body relaxing.
Your breathing evened out, and the ache in your head began to dull. The heat under your skin still lingered, but it didn’t feel as overwhelming because Cassie was here. Taking care of you. Staying exactly where she said she would.
Your grip on her hand loosened as sleep pulled you under again, but she didn’t let go. She wouldn’t let go. Not while you needed her.
You spent twenty long years hidden away in your tower, where your mother kept you safe from those villains who coveted you and your impossible lengths of magical hair. But nothing can stay hidden forever.
vi x reader tangled au
content: pretty much what it sounds like (i took some creative liberties though), rapunzel!reader x flynn ryder!vi. reader’s hair is long but hair texture is never specified. no pronouns for reader, but reader is referred to as 'princess' a couple times cw: violence, side character death. wc: 9.8k
a/n: this is my magnum opus, i hope you like it. if you do, pls let me know!
That day started the same way they all did.
You woke up. The painted stars on the ceiling of the tower, the only sky you had ever lain under, blinked down at you. Loneliness, your most constant companion, padded over from where it curled up in the corner of your bed. You let yourself languish with it, just for a moment. The you hopped out of bed. Enough melodrama. It was time to paint.
You completed your morning ablutions, but didn’t bother to change out of your nightgown. Not while last night’s work sat on the easel, waiting to be finished. Your mother would hate this painting – yet another depiction of the floating lights you expected to reappear in three days’ time. Though your mother could not explain them, and they weren’t mentioned in any books you had read, they appeared every year on the same night. They served as the subject of most of your paintings. Though there was much you had not seen, you knew the floating lights were most certainly the most beautiful things in the world, and it comforted you that you could see them from your tower, when so much of the rest of the world remained out of reach.
It would have been better to experience them up close, to travel to whatever land they came from, but you mother insisted you remain safe in the tower, especially on that day. You did not argue. Mother could be generous and gracious, but her moods were mercurial. You did not wish to suffer whatever punishment she saw fit for disobedience.
Your stomach interrupted your work. You took a break for lunch, which consisted of bread, jam, and the last of your dried meats. Mother would return in a week with more food. Until then you would have to be more careful how you rationed.
You cleaned, then returned to your work. You had made great progress, and you expected to be finished painting that evening. You pursed your lips in disappointment. You were running out of canvas. Your mother had promised to bring more with her next visit, but that left days with nothing to do, even assuming she kept her word. You had read every book in your possession a dozen times. You could polish the floors, you supposed. Clean the grout. You wondered what Josephine, the heroine of your favorite novel, would have done in your situation. A giggle bubbled up at the thought of her of scrubbing pans or darning socks. Josephine’s mother never would have asked her to stay in the tower to begin with. Josephine was born to be an explorer, one who took risks and had adventurers. You simply read about them.
You had just moved on to the foreground of your painting when you heard a sound coming from outside the window. A groan, then the clang of metal lodging into the tower wall. It could not have been your mother, who would have announced herself, and who always expected you to heave her up the side of the tower yourself. Which meant the day you had always dreaded had come to pass. Your paintbrush clattered to the floor.
Someone had found you.
You looked around the tower for something, anything you could use as a weapon. A pan would have to do. Boots thumped against the stone floor. A stranger had climbed through the window. A stranger was in the tower. But they hadn’t noticed you yet. They were distracted by the scenery below, giving you one opportunity to knock them out.
One opportunity was enough. The stranger crumbled to the stone floor. You kicked them over onto their back, allowing you to see them properly.
A girl, maybe a few years older than you. Her ink black hair was cropped short, one side longer than the other. Your hand drifted to your own hair, which would have fallen the length of the tower to the ground if you tossed it out the window.
The girl, or perhaps woman, wore a shirt and waistcoat, but no jacket, and the sleeves of her shirt were rolled up high enough to reveal tattoos that crawled up her wrists, to the back of her muscle-corded forearms. Tattoos painted the side of her exposed neck. You imagined that the planes of flesh that were not visible to you were similarly inked. Even her face was tattooed with the number six, though you could not ascertain the meaning.
It was a nice face, you supposed. You didn’t have much point of reference, it being the third you’d ever seen in person (the first two being your mother’s and your own). But you had seen sketches in books, and her strong shoulders and long eyelashes seemed superbly paintable.
Her eyelids began fluttering, and her head turned back this and that way. Her fingers twitched, reaching for something. A weapon, perhaps? Enough daydreaming – you needed to move quickly.
When Vi came to a strange figure loomed over her, more shadow than anything else.
Her head ached like it had been cleaved straight open. Had the palace guard found her? She moved to stand, and found her hands were bound behind her. The cord dug into her wrists as she yanked at the rope again, and again. She would certainly escape – she just needed the room to stop spinning first.
“Who are you?” you asked.
She could have asked the same. Instead of answering, she screwed her eyes shut and opened them again. The speckles of dim candlelight danced in her vision. Vi had been in worse spots, but not by much.
Three months planning the heist. A flawless entry. Would have been a flawless exit too, if it hadn’t been for that maid. But she’d escaped. She picked her cuffs, jumped out the moving carriage. Lost the guards, found an abandoned tower to hide in. At least, she thought it was abandoned. She scaled the side, swung one leg over the sill. Then the world went dark.
All that work, and for what?
“Who are you?” you asked again. “Why are you here?”
She took you in then. Not a palace guard, like she had assumed. Instead of a uniform, you wore a simple white nightgown. Cotton, cap sleeved, floor length. You must have been cold, with all the windows open, but you had a stubborn glint in your eye — and so much hair.
Long, impossible lengths of hair. They tumbled down your back and piled on the floor in heaps. Someone could go lifetimes without growing hair that long.
Maybe you were magic. Or, more likely, she had a brain injury.
You grew frustrated with her silence. “Hey!” You grabbed her by the collar. Vi lunged as far forward as her bindings would allow, and you squeaked as you scurried back out of her reach. You tripped over your own skirt and tumbled to the floor. Vi’s head throbbed in retribution for the sudden movement, but her chest hummed with satisfaction.
You groped for the bag beside you – her bag – and pulled out a dagger. Fear wrapped its fingers around Vi’s throat. You held the knife out in front of you, pointed right at her. Light danced off its surface as your hands shook.
Shit. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m Vi. I was just looking for somewhere to stay the night, and this place looked empty.”
You frowned, eyes searching hers like maybe deception would be visible in them. The knife still pointed directly at her.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
You didn’t answer, grip on the handle tight enough your knuckles were bloodless.
She offered a facsimile of a smile. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
“Who are you?” you asked again.
Vi dug her nails into her palm to keep her voice level. “I told you, my name is Vi.”
“But why do you have these?” You withdrew a second dagger, tossing it to the ground with a clang. The sound rattled through her skull. Before she could say anything, you removed a third object. Thunder cracked through her. “What’s this?” you asked.
Calling it a necklace would have been a disservice. Thick plates of gold heavily laden with deep red jewels. Rubies, or garnets maybe. It was gaudy as all hell, but Vi wasn’t planning on wearing it.
She jerked forward uselessly, all pretenses forgotten. “That’s mine.”
You pursed your lips. “What’s this on it?” Your thumb caressed the back of the pendant.
Her angle of viewing made it impossible for her to see what you were gesturing at, but she knew every centimeter of that necklace. “The royal crest,” she said.
Your eyes went wide. “You’re a princess?”
Vi laughed before she could stop herself.
Your expression hardened. “You’re a thief.”
“Well, the king and queen steal plenty from us, so it only seemed fair I get something back from the parasites. It’s a tough world out there, princess.”
The air crackled with discontent. You jutted your chin out. “I know.”
“Do you? When’s the last time you’ve been outside?” Just a guess, but a good one, it seemed like, because a shadow fell over your expression. You didn’t speak, instead readjusted your grip on the dagger’s handle. Vi had to laugh. “Shit, have you been outside?”
You didn’t answer.
“Never?”
Your expression twisted with embarrassment. “I know all about the outside world. Mother taught me. The people are vicious, and violent, and selfish.”
She couldn’t disagree with that. But something in your voice made her think you wanted her to. Maybe that was her out. “Not everybody.”
You scoffed, but she caught a whisper of interest in your eyes. “I suppose you’re meant to be the exception?”
“No,” she started, and your expression crumpled. “But you can be, if you let me go. Just untie me, give me back my things, and I’ll be on my way.”
You hesitated a moment, lowering the knife to your side. “Where will you go?”
“You won’t see me again, I promise.”
You looked almost… disappointed at that. “Will you go see the floating lights?”
The question bewildered her. “What?”
You huffed. “Wait here,” you said, like she had another option, and then you disappeared somewhere behind her. The necklace disappeared with you. When you returned, you held a painting.
A beautiful painting, actually, of lanterns climbing up into the night sky. It was so lovingly rendered she half expected the lights to drift up off the page.
And she understood. The lantern festival was only a few days away, but she did not plan on attending. She had not since she was a child. “No, I’m not going to see the – the floating lights.”
A moment of despair. Then your face lit up, and she noticed, against her will, that you were actually rather pretty. “But you know where they are.” She frowned, but your smile only grew more resplendent. “You could take me!”
Vi laughed at that, but it didn’t douse your newfound confidence. “Why would I do that?”
You stood taller then, shoulders back. “Because then I’ll let you go.”
“You’re going to let me go either way.”
You ignored the threat in her voice. “And I’ll give you back your necklace.”
That gave her pause. The room had stopped spinning, the ache at the back of her head had dulled. It would be easy enough to untie herself and to overpower you. Finding the necklace might be more difficult, but she knew she could make you talk. You were skittish and sheltered. She might not even need to lay a hand on you before you squealed. But something twisted in her stomach at the thought of taking it that far.
Maybe it would be better to just play along. You’d probably want to return to the safety of your tower before you made the edge of the clearing.
She sighed before answering. “Alright, fuck it, let’s go see these floating lights.”
You had expected her to say no. To cut her losses, abandon the necklace and go on her way. It must have been more valuable than you thought.
Because she said yes. So, you gathered some of your things, donned your sturdiest dress, and followed her out of the tower.
You loved everything about being outside. The mosquitos, the gravel cutting into your feet. Any sacrifice would have been worth being out. You had seen the forest a thousand times – a million, maybe, but always from above. Now, the trees towered over you, sheltering you from the worst of the rain. You had been transported to another world, one more beautiful and magical than you had ever dreamed. The air even smelled sweeter out here. You couldn’t believe Mother would keep all this from you.
Mother.
You faltered to a stop. Vi focused straight ahead. This was not the first time you had hesitated. You had insisted on turning back before you even made it through the hedge. And again, at the creek. And again, when you reached the trail. The first few times she had been sympathetic. It seemed her sympathy had worn off.
“Keep going,” she said.
You huffed, but took extra-large steps forward to make up for the distance between the two of you.
It would be alright. If all went well, Mother would never know. You would be home before her, and you would spend the rest of your life in the tower. You swallowed down the bitterness you felt at the thought. It would be different, then – you would have memories of the outside world to keep you company. Subjects for your paintings, context for the books you read.
Vi took a left at the next fork in the road.
“Where are we going?” you asked.
Vi ignored the question.
“Are we going to stop soon?” You aimed to keep your tone casual, like you were just asking out of curiosity, and not impending exhaustion. This wonderous world was beautiful – and large. You had been walking for hours, and there seemed to be no sign of stopping. She turned back to look at you, and her gaze dropped to your bare feet.
“We can rest up there,” she said, pointing ahead. You bit back a smile. You were starting to understand Vi, and you knew being too effusive in your gratitude would leave her mumbling and groaning.
So instead, you murmured a simple thank you and followed her to the clearing. There you tossed your bag onto the ground and quickly joined it. A thought crossed your mind – you would need to launder your dress and bathe before Mother returned, to hide the evidence. No use worrying about that now. You let yourself roll back onto the grass – arms spread out like you could embrace the whole forest around you.
Vi stayed on her feet. She wore a frown, as she so often did. “We need to find you some shoes.”
You looked down at your bare toes. They looked filthy, and they ached like they never had before. Shoes would be nice.
“I know a place we might find some. There’s a market not far from here.”
A market? “Really? That sounds–”
“Try to temper your excitement, princess.” Vi’s tone admonished, but the side of her mouth quirked up.
You turned your focus instead on the forest floor beneath you, trying to memorize each detail, cataloguing them all for those lonely nights ahead. The grass, damp from the rain that had been misting on and off all evening, lay so plush and forgiving compared to the stone of the tower. And the color! Such a vibrant green. Emerald, even.
You would have to paint this scene. You would start by washing the canvas in those greens. Then some cerulean, for the sky, and marigold and burnt umber for the soon to be setting sun.
And then there was Vi. She would be your subject, fit to be the heroine of one of your novels. You could see flashes of it – her inky-black hair, streaked with fuchsia. The way her shirt tugged across the taut planes of her back.
Vi cleared her throat, and you looked up. The setting sun lit her from behind, so you couldn’t quite make out her features. You threw up a hand to shade your eyes.
In her outstretched palm sat a flower. A daisy. Something warmed in your chest. This would be the moment that you painted. In the painting, her face wouldn’t be shrouded in shadow. Instead, the slopes of her cheeks would be kissed by golden sunlight.
“Have you seen these before?” she asked.
You had seen flowers before. You used them to make paint, Mother brought them for you. But the slight hitch in her voice made you say, “No, I haven’t. Thank you, Vi, it’s beautiful.”
She tossed it in front of you, suddenly, like it had burned her. You plucked it up to inspect it closer, running one finger along its petals.
Vi cleared her throat again. Could she be falling ill? Your eyes flickered back up to hers. “We’ll leave soon, be ready,” she said.
You had to leave sooner than expected. The rain returned. Not a light mist, like before. It came down in sheets. Less than a minute and you were soaked through to your chemise.
“There’s going to be a storm. We need to find shelter,” Vi shouted over the pelting. You agreed.
She took your hands, guiding you to your feet. “I know a place near here.”
She took you to a worn-down cottage. The windows were shuttered, the roof overgrown with moss. A sign, heavily weathered, stood watch out front, sagging with age and aching to be relieved. You could just make out the word ‘orphanage’.
She walked past the sign without looking. “Come on, we need to get dry.”
You agreed with that. But when you reached for the handle, it was locked. “Should we find somewhere else?” you asked.
Instead of replying, Vi produced out a set of pins. Excitement crept up your spine. A lock pick, like the character Josephine carried. She knelt and fiddled with the lock. It clicked, and the door swung open.
A barren room stood before you. Others had clearly stopped here since the orphanage closed, and taken everything they could carry. Vi passed through the threshold without hesitation. You followed, eager to dry off.
When the door creaked shut behind you the room plunged into darkness, with only the slivers of light slipping through the slats nailed to the windows to guide you. You could make out the rough shape of Vi, but nothing else. Silence fell between you like a plane of glass.
Eventually, you shattered it. “How did you know about this place?”
Vi scoffed. “How do you think?” Your cheeks went hot at the derision in her tone.
Fair enough. You fell back into silence. The rain battered the rooftop. Vi stretched out, cat-like, before lying supine on the wooden floor.
A bolt of lightning struck ground somewhere outside, lighting up the room for a heartbeat. You gasped, hands to your mouth before you could help it. Vi laughed, and you didn’t mind because it meant, for a minute, she was not thinking of whatever sour memories being in the cottage elicited.
You went to her, almost tripping over her leg. You could just make the silhouette of her out, flat on the floor. If she was as cold as you, she wasn’t showing it.
“I was an orphan too,” you said, finally.
Vi said nothing, but you could have sworn you saw her head turn slightly.
“My mother found me abandoned as a baby,” you said, wrapping a lock of hair around your thumb, then releasing it.
Vi did not hesitate. “Then she locked you up in a tower for twenty years. A beautiful story.”
“She didn’t – what’s your story then?”
She murmured something indistinct. The rain pounded against the roof, making it impossible to hear. You sunk down to your knees to be closer, floorboards creaking under your weight.
“What?” you asked.
She raised her mouth to your ear. “I said, maybe another time.”
Another time. It was better than nothing. “How much longer will the storm last?”
Vi laid her head back down on the floor. “How would I know?”
You offered a wry smile. “You seem to know everything.”
She laughed at that. “Hopefully soon, then we can get you to your lights.” You beamed at the thought. “And get me my necklace,” she added.
The darkness hid the way your expression fell.
You wrapped your arms around yourself and drew in your legs. The rain had soaked you through to the skin. You considered stripping down, but you would have rather frozen to death than do that in front of company. Vi propped herself up on one elbow. “You cold?”
You nodded.
She reached out blindly, finally catching your wrist. “Come here.”
You listened. You laid down next to her, ignoring the unforgiving floor beneath you. A blanket would have been nice, but as she wrapped her arms around you, you found it difficult to complain.
“Don’t get any funny ideas,” she whispered.
You weren’t sure what ideas those would be, but you kept that to yourself.
Eventually, the sound of rain lulled you to sleep.
Vi woke to the sound of birds chirping. They had returned in the storm’s wake. She untangled herself from you before nudging you conscious.
Your eyes fluttered for a moment as you processed where you were, and what had happened the day before. She waited for another round of panic and guilt to overtake you, but it didn’t. Good, she thought. She couldn’t take any more of that.
She stood, dusting off imagined dirt from her trousers. “Let’s go.” She resisted the urge to reach out a hand to help you to your feet.
Instead, you stumbled up on your own, still half asleep. “Go where?”
“To get you some shoes.”
The market was small. Hardly overwhelming. Maybe fifteen stalls spread out along the clearing. But you cowered like a cornered animal. Eyes darting from place to place, fingers twitching. She half expected you to dart back into the woods. Instead, you hovered near her, your hand ghosting over her elbow, not quite touching her.
She ignored you. The shoes would require most of her coin, and part of her bristled at the thought of the expense. It would be fine; she would make it back a hundred-fold when she sold the necklace. But to sell the necklace, she had to get it back from you. Which meant taking you to the lights. Which meant shoes.
The cobbler lit up when the two of you approached. Business must have been slow so far. You grabbed Vi, blunt nails digging into her bare forearm. She gingerly unlatched your hand from her arm, and instead interlaced your fingers with her own. So you wouldn’t bolt, she told herself.
You turned to Vi, eyes half bulging. She nudged you with her shoulder, encouraging you to speak.
A long pause. Then you blurted out, “I need shoes.”
Vi almost grimaced with embarrassment for you. But the cobbler remained undeterred. “Then you’re in the right place.” The woman, slightly gray at the temple, offered a warm smile and an open gesture at the wares before her.
The woman’s kindness flooded Vi with relief. It shouldn’t have mattered either way, a deal was a deal, but Vi found herself hoping that this trip went well for you. That you would find whatever you were looking for.
Vi patted you on the back, then shook her hand out like it stung. She had to stop touching you. “Come get me when you’re done.”
You squeaked with panic, but didn’t say anything. At least, not that Vi heard when walking away.
A few paces away from her a family erupted in peals of laughter. She remembered being part of a family like that, as much as she wished she could forget it.
Memory was strange. The open sky above showed no trace of yesterday’s storm. But it was still with her. Time had passed, had made the jagged edges smooth, but she felt the ache acutely enough to remind her to keep her distance from you. Losing one person, that could be chance. But losing everyone?
She was cursed. It was the only explanation.
Her stomach begged her to stop in front of a fruit stand. The vendor turned and broke into a grin at the sight of her. “Vi! Look at you, still kicking.” She accepted a free apple graciously. “People came through looking for you the earlier. Asked if I’d seen you. Said nothing, of course.”
Panic coursed through her. “When?” she asked, nails digging into the apple’s flesh.
He shrugged, casual. “Hour ago, maybe.”
She dropped the apple back in its cart and ignored the merchant’s sound of disapproval. “What did they look like?”
“Fancy-type guards, probably from the city.” He finally noticed the way her body had coiled up. “Relax, it was only two of ‘em.”
Which meant more were coming. “Shit.”
He said something else, but it didn’t register. She needed to get out of here. She had to find you, first.
Luckily, you were still where she had left you. She could only hope she still had some luck left over. “Vi!” You beamed when you saw her, the expression free and relaxed now. “I was just about to get you.”
She grabbed your wrist. “We need to go, now.”
Did she imagine those hoof-beats in the distance?
You frowned, but didn’t argue, and offered a parting wave to the cobbler.
“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” you asked.
Vi hesitated. “Remember what you said, about me being a thief?” You nodded. “You were right. And now there’s people looking for me.”
“For stealing?”
She grimaced. “And some other things.”
You did not ask any more questions. You could not, her brisk pace had left you panting. But she only sped up, not slowing even when you were well within the tree line again. “There’s a cave, up ahead. We’ll hide–“
Something whistled in the air. An arrow stuck itself in the tree trunk next to her.
“Halt!” A voice cried out. Fuck.
The guard reached for another arrow from his quiver. No time to think. A heartbeat passed and she stood over him, wrestling him to the ground.
He jostled her off him and into the dirt. He slid out a knife from its sheath, coughing. She snatched his wrist before he could use it.
His thrashing almost knocked her hand loose. A knee landed in her stomach, knocking the air out of her. He wrenched his hand free and plunged the knife into her gut.
It was an agony like she had never experienced.
But she couldn’t stop. She knew as soon as she stopped, she was dead.
It had been a lucky hit on the guard’s part; he seemed mortified by his own success. He stumbled back on his hands, eyes wide, knife hilt forgotten.
Vi fought the weight dragging down her eyelids. She needed to stay awake. Before she knew it, her hands wrapped tight around his neck. He clawed at her arms; rivulets of blood bubbled to the surface and oozed down to her wrists. Then his fingers went slack. His arms fell to the dirt in a dull thud. She didn’t stop then, not until his face was ashen and gaze vacant. Satisfaction cut through the haze of adrenaline.
Then came the pain.
So, this was how it ended. Gutted like an animal. She couldn’t say she was surprised.
You had read there were 8 pints of blood in the human body, and they were all oozing out of Vi. Bile crawled up your throat. But you would not be sick. Not now. Not when she needed you.
The color leeched from Vi’s cheeks fast.
“Vi?”
Her head lolled to the side. She was dying. You knew she was dying. You had to do it.
Mother would never know.
You gripped her hand with yours and squeezed once, tight. She returned the gesture weakly, her grip barely a pulse.
“You’re going to be okay,” you said.
Vi made no response, no indication she could even hear you. You needed to move quickly. You grabbed the hilt of the blade. Vi let out a broken sound, and you yanked your hand back reflexively. But you had to do this. You reached for it again, and this time she spoke.
“No – don’t–” she started. The words came out choked, barely gasps. You shushed her, free hand gathering a hank of your hair.
“It’ll be over in a moment,” you said. “I promise.”
Her eyes widened in horror. She shoved you away with strength she should not have had. She rolled over, another groan cutting out of her as she crawled away from you, probably tearing up her insides even more. You caught her easily, a hand wrapped around her calf holding her in place.
“Stop! I can help you, please.”
She struggled a moment longer, then rolled on to her back, finally defeated.
You grabbed the hilt of the knife again. Even touching it ripped a sound of anguish out of her. Better to move quick, then. You yanked it out in one swift movement.
Vi made an inhuman noise. Her whole body convulsed, legs kicking, heels digging into the dirt. The blood from the laceration rushed freely, running like creek water. For a moment, you let the panic overcome you. Just for a second, you wondered if this would work. You pressed your hair to the gash, feeling like a fool.
But then you sang, like you had a thousand times before. A song you knew so well you couldn’t even taste the individual words anymore, just the droning melody.
As you sang, your hair shone, even through the slick maroon now coating it like paint. The strands lit up, each one, like fine chains of gold. You pressed deeper into her torso and Vi’s eyes bulged. She knew your secret, now. But her breathing steadied as you sang, the color returned to her cheeks.
You had resented your gift your whole life. But just then, as you felt her flesh knit itself back together beneath your fingers, you couldn’t have been more grateful.
“How is this possible?” Vi’s voice came out a rasp, though her chapped lips had gone plump.
“Magic,” you said.
“Magic,” she echoed, wonderstruck. Her hands patted her torso, over the blood-soaked gash in her clothes. Her fingers brushed over unblemished flesh, and she let out a sound of relief.
Exhaustion began to overtake you, the way it always did when you sang. You fought the fluttering of your lashes, and the new weight in your limbs.
Vi noticed. “Is something wrong?”
You shook your head. “Just tired.”
Vi turned back to the empty forest around you, and the body of the palace guard a few paces away. Your stomach heaved at the sight. Maybe now you would be sick. “I know a place we can rest,” she said. “Come on.”
The cave stood only a few minutes away, hidden by a gushing waterfall. You wondered how Vi knew of all these places. You knew better than to ask. She watched, hawkish, as you laid back against the stone floor.
“This is why your mother locked you up, I suppose.” She gestured vaguely at your hair.
You frowned, sitting back up. You had expected more awe, more gratitude. “She guards me because she loves me.”
Vi clicked her tongue. “Lots of mothers love their children. They don’t usually lock them up in towers.”
“She had to. Or someone could steal me away.”
Vi pouted in faux sympathy. “And yet, someone did steal you away.”
You groped for a counterargument. “Well, I’m going back.”
You expected her to keep arguing. Instead, she said, “Turn around.”
Your eyebrows jumped. “What?”
“Turn around and sit. Your hair is going to get in the way. I’ll braid it.”
You didn’t move. “You know how?”
Vi shrugged. “Would I offer if I didn’t?”
Always so mysterious. “I meant, how do you know how?”
As expected, she deflected again. “Turn around, and I’ll tell you.”
This time you listened. She gathered your hair in one hand, and if she noticed the shorter piece at the nape of your neck, too thick to be natural breakage, she said nothing.
You were glad. That story you wanted to keep to yourself. Although maybe if you had told her how you had almost been stolen away as a baby, by bandits who coveted your hair and its life-giving power, she would understand why your mother guarded you so. She protected you.
And protected your power, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Vi’s whispered in the back of your mind. Since being cut, that strand of hair lost its magical abilities.
You had considered cutting it all away a thousand times, so that there would be no more reason for your mother to hide you. But she needed your magic to keep her alive, and she loved you, so you stayed. It was that simple.
You wondered, not for the first time, where your mother was. What she would think if she could see you. She would never forgive you for saving Vi, for revealing your secret. But you could not bring yourself to regret it, not as Vi sat behind you, healthy and whole.
“Done,” Vi said, letting the braid drop. You instantly missed the feeling of her hands in your hair, of her knuckles brushing against your spine.
You turned to face her, suddenly furious. “You said you would tell me where you learned to braid.”
She smiled sheepishly. “I forgot.”
“You forgot to tell me, or forgot where you learned it?”
She paused a moment, considering her options. “Both.”
This morning you would have taken that as an answer, but you had saved her life. That had earned you a story, at least. You told her as much.
So, she told you a story. Told you a story about a princess. One that had been stolen away when as a baby. She told you how every year, the king and queen launched a thousand lanterns on her birthday to help guide her home.
“The floating lights?” you asked.
She nodded.
You had wondered for so long what they had meant. For a moment you let the satisfaction of knowing wash over you. But your thirst for knowledge remained unquenched. “That doesn’t tell me how you learned to braid.”
Vi groaned. “You’re never going to give that up, huh?”
So, she told you about her sister, and her long, blue hair.
“As long as mine?” you asked.
“I don’t think anyone’s hair is as long as yours.”
She told you how her sister built little machines. How she loved to draw. Then, Vi stopped.
You let the silence hang a moment, before you asked, “Where is she now?”
Vi didn’t answer.
“Your sister,” you clarified, like you could have been talking about someone else.
“She’s gone,” she said. From the finality in her tone, the haunted look in her eyes, she could only mean one thing.
You were silent a moment, eyes wet. You held out your hand. She took it, and you pulled her into you. She came easily, burying her face in your shoulder. She shook against you, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress. You wanted to say something, anything, that would comfort her, but you did not know what to say.
Instead of speaking, you pulled her in closer. She nestled her face into the crook of you neck and wrapped her arms tight around your waist. For an eternity you stayed there, interwoven; the silence only punctuated by the distant waterfall and the sound of breathing. When Vi pulled away her cheeks were wet.
You had never seen someone else cry before.
“I’m sorry,” she said, though you did not know what she was apologizing for. “I – I just…”
You shook your head. “It’s alright.” You swiped your thumb over her cheek, and she flinched away. She turned to rub the tears away herself.
“Fuck,” she said, and she let out a broken laugh, running her hands through her hair. “Let’s just rest for a minute. Get your strength back. Long day tomorrow.”
You laid down on the stone, back turned to her to give her some privacy. She sighed as she laid down beside you. One tattooed arm draped over your waist.
“It’s cold,” she offered as explanation.
You did not argue.
The magic had taken its toll on you. You slept the rest of the day, and through the night. Vi woke first the next morning. She crept to the waterfall, took off her shirt and waistcoat and ran them under the stream. The water ran pink, then clear. She wrung out the garments, and then laid them to dry on the rock. The tear would have to wait until she found a needle and thread. At least clean the garments would look more haggard than suspicious.
She turned back to you. Your dress would also need to be rinsed, but it seemed dark enough that it would not stain.
Her fingers ran over her stomach again. The area you healed remained unblemished. Even the scars that mottled the rest of her torso seemed faded. If she had not seen it with her own eyes, she would not have believed it. She should have died. But she was alive, thanks to you.
It had changed her. It should have left her hardened, but she felt… lighter. Maybe the magic had healed her on the inside, too. Or maybe it had been talking to you about what had happened to Powder. Talking to anyone. But especially you. A weight had been lifted.
She nudged you with her foot. You blinked awake, eyes foggy and then crystal clear as you turned away, hands covering your face.
“Sorry!” you squeaked, and she realized she was still undressed. She reached for her still drying shirt and pulled it over her head.
“I’m clothed, now. It’s safe.” She could not keep the amusement out of her voice, and when you looked back you still pointedly kept your eyes on her own.
“Today is the day,” you said. Your voice was level, but she could hear the excitement almost bursting through that layer of calm.
“Today’s the day,” she echoed. “Let’s get that blood off of you.”
When you removed you dress you kept your arms wrapped firmly around your front, even though your chemise and stays kept you well covered. That left it up to Vi to actually clean the garment.
“It’ll dry as we walk,” she promised, handing it back to you. Seeing your hair pulled away from your face was strange. Nice.
You nodded and gestured for her to turn around so you could dress. She acquiesced.
“I didn’t think I’d sleep for so long. How long until we get to the beach?” you asked.
“Most of the day.” She threw a glance back at your over her shoulder. “We’ll be there in time for the lights, though, don’t worry.”
You ducked your chin down to hide your smile. Then your face fell. “What about the guards, will people be looking for you?”
She had forgotten about that, so wrapped up in the mysticism of it all. A stolen necklace seemed so mundane compared to magical hair. “Probably. We’ll be careful.”
“And is that what we’ve been doing so far, being careful?” you asked, mouth twisted with displeasure. She had to let out a bark of laughter.
“We’ll be more careful.”
It took most of the day, much of which passed in silence, but you finally reached the bay.
The rich blue water foamed white where it kissed the land. You shifted your weight, testing the craggy rock beneath you. That had been a surprise, you had imagined sand. There had been many surprises the past few days, not all of them good. You had watched a man die. Had almost watch Vi die. But there had been good things too. The cobbler. The daisy. Vi. You could never regret this.
You gazed out at the waves. You could almost picture the lights rising up above them, the way they would tonight.
“This is where we’ll watch?” you asked. You turned to look at Vi.
She nodded. “Tonight.”
“Tonight,” you echoed. And then it would all be over. But you didn’t want to think about that yet. You chose, instead, to think about the lights. About her. You would let yourself have today.
You crouched down, feeling lighter than you had ever been. Giddy. The tide lapped at your fingers, colder than you expected. A shiver ran down your spine, and you yanked your hand back.
“Let’s go.” Vi called from behind you. She was already turned away to leave.
“Go where?”
“To the city, we need to eat something, right?”
The city.
The market square you had visited the day before had been overwhelming, at first, but this? This was a different beast.
Everywhere you looked there were people. Even places you didn’t expect, like down dark alleyways or climbing up walls. And there was so much noise. Noise from shops and shop goers, carts and horses, noise from friends gossiping, vendors hawking.
Vi shot you a nervous look you pretended not to notice. She expected you to melt down again, in this wondrous city. You could get lost here. You could stay for days, years, a lifetime, and no one would ever find you.
That was a dangerous thought. After tonight, you would return home and put this all behind you. But it was nice, for a moment, to dream.
The two of you walked down the street. It was too loud to talk, so instead you would nudge and point when either of you saw something worth seeing. An ornate carriage wobbling down the cobblestone. An infant yawning. Dogs chasing each other down the street.
Eventually Vi tugged you to a stop and dragged you inside a shop.
It was quiet and dimly lit. You could still hear the din from without, but it was softer, muffled. You could hear yourself think, for better or for worse.
An older woman was seated behind a worn wooden counter, clearly distracted by the sheer length of your hair, which trailed well onto the floor even in its thick braid. Her own hair was pinned up neatly, like most of the people you had seen throughout the city. Heat warmed your cheeks as you wondered what they might be thinking of you. Finally, she asked, “Outside or inside?”
“Inside,” Vi answered.
The proprietress gestured behind herself to a small corner with a pair of rickety tables and a handful of chairs. Vi followed her silent instruction, and you followed Vi, your braid dragging behind you, brushing your calves.
Your hand flew back to inspect her handwork by touch. The braid was still secure. You allowed the memory of her, her legs pressed into her back, her hands tangled in your hair, to wash over you. The way you had slept the past two nights, her arms wrapped around you.
Vi cleared her throat. She sat, looking up at you, puzzled. Likely wondering why you were not seated as well. You mumbled an apology and pulled out a chair.
Sketches papered the wall beside you. They lacked technical skill, but the artist was prolific. One was especially charming, a family standing in front of a hearth. Maybe it had been drawn by the owner’s child.
“It’s good, right?” Vi asked, looking at the same drawing as you.
You shot her an incredulous look.
She laughed, and you would have bottled the sound if you could. “Go easy. The kid who made it was probably ten.”
You rolled your eyes. “You should see what I was painting when I was ten.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
“I wasn’t actually…” Vi shrugged again, picking at the edge of the table, but you relented despite her nonchalance. “Okay, fine. When you take me back, I’ll show you.”
“They better be good.” Vi sounded distracted, eyes focused on the menu behind you. You were stuck on your promise. When you take me back. A frown tugged at your lips, but you fought it off. You were being ridiculous. Of course you were going back. You had to; Mother needed you.
Maybe this had been a bad idea after all. Now you would spend the rest of your life alone, knowing Vi was out there. Would she even think of you?
Night fell too fast. Vi led you back to the beach, as candles slowly lit up the city. The candlelight only did so much, and you almost tripped on loose cobblestone twice, but Vi caught you in her arms both times, making it difficult to complain. The streets around you remained vibrant and bustling silhouetted by warm, low flame.
It felt like the whole city was vibrating in anticipation.
When you, and presumably the shopkeeper, were not looking, Vi had procured you a lantern. She revealed it to you on the beach, and you bit back a smile. You sank down by the ocean’s edge, and she followed.
The water was tame now, reflecting the brilliance of the stars above. But the stars’ shine was nothing compared to the radiance that was to come.
“I can’t believe I’m actually here,” you whispered, scared to break the silence.
“Me neither. I thought you were going to turn back miles ago.” You turned to her, ready to bite back, but she was smiling, eyes soft. Something about the look in her eye made you turn away again, suddenly fascinated by the paper lantern in your hands.
“Do you have a match?” you asked, still refusing to look at her. She handed one over.
“What are you going to wish for?” Vi asked.
You looked at her, puzzled.
“When you light the lantern, what are you wishing for? You have to wish for something.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Something dawned on you. “Oh no, that means you need a lantern too!”
“I’m okay, sweetheart. Really.”
Your face burned at the endearment. You held out your lantern, finally brave enough to face her. “We could share?” you offered, head cocked to the side. You expected her to scoff, to make some comment about how she was too old for this. But she smiled again, that smile that made your stomach flip.
“Yeah, alright.”
You spotted the first lantern, climbing up into the sky. Alone, it looked almost like a lost lightening bug. But soon, it was followed by dozens of others.
“Now,” Vi whispered.
You struck the match, closed your eyes, and made your wish. You ignored the pang of guilt that followed.
You opened your eyes, and waited for Vi to do the same, before lighting the lantern and letting it float up into the air. You trailed it as climbed higher and higher, eventually joining its family up hundreds of feet overhead. Fingers brushed yours, once. Maybe an accident.
Or maybe not. You reached out and took Vi’s hand, and she let out a sharp breath beside you. But her fingers intertwined with yours, and she squeezed, once. Your cheeks hurt from smiling.
Finally, it seemed that the lights had finished dancing.
You turned to face Vi, who was already looking at you. “What did you wish for?”
She turned away, but her hand squeezed yours tighter. “You wouldn’t like it.”
You laid your free hand on her forearm. “How can you know that before you tell me?”
She scoffed. “Trust me, I know.” She looked at you then, and the expression on her face was familiar. You had seen it in the vanity mirror every day for years, imagining the world that existed just outside your windowsill. It was longing. She had wished for the same thing you had. More time.
“I can’t, Vi. I have to go back.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” called out a voice from the darkness.
“So this is who stole my flower?” The woman eyed Vi, unimpressed. “Come, child.”
You had dropped Vi’s hand as soon as you had heard the woman’s voice, and at those words you scurried away from her. You looked back, once, regret plain on your face. Regret for what, Vi did not know.
Your mother looked nothing like you, and nothing like what you had described. Her hair was streaked with gray, face thin and lined. Without your magic, she was fading, and quick.
Vi could not hear what you were saying, but she saw your head lower in contrition. And she certainly heard the crack when your mother struck you.
She could not stop herself. “Hey!” she called out. Before she could take a step forward, her whole body froze.
Someone else had slipped into her skin. Her hands and legs moved of their own volition. Her body tremored with her fruitless attempts to regain control. She sank to her knees. Vi thrashed anyway. She had never run from an unwinnable fight.
Your mother’s face contorted with concentration and contempt. Her mottled hand stretched out before her. “You cannot stop interfering, can you?”
“Mother, leave her. Let’s go.” You took a step back, as if to head into the forest, but the witch did not move. Vi knew what to expect next.
Her throat closed in on itself. She clawed at her neck, but there was no relief.
“She knows too much,” the witch hissed.
“Mother – No! She won’t say anything, I promise!” Your pleas fell on deaf ears.
“Silence, child. How else will you learn?” Your mother’s face twisted into a sneer.
“Please, no, I learned my lesson. I’ll never leave the tower again, just don’t do this!” You shoved her outstretched arm, giving Vi a moment to breathe.
Then you were flung back onto the rock. The edges of Vi’s vision went black.
Darkness circled in closer, and closer, and closer, until all she could make out was that wicked grin on your mother’s face.
For the second time in as many days, Vi knew she was going to die.
She wished she could turn her head, so you would be the last person she saw. She wished she could close her eyes, so the witch would not be.
Then, that wicked grin evaporated. Air flooded back into Vi’s lungs, all at once. She crumpled into the dirt. Her chest burned, and her head ached, but she was alive. She looked up and saw you holding a severed braid.
Your mother roared in agony. Lines cut into her face and hands. Her hair turned grey, then white, then fell off her scalp in clumps. She reached for you, but melted to the floor before she could even take a step. Vi felt for her knife, but before she could finish the job, the witch was nothing but dust.
A wail cut through the silence.
You fell to your knees and crawled to the witch’s side. Vi pulled you away from her and into her arms.
“It’s okay. You saved me,” she whispered into your temple. You shook your head furiously.
When your knees gave out Vi followed you to the ground. You wrenched out of her hold and crawled forward, hands groping at the remains. This time Vi stayed back. A sob tore out of you. You clutched at your mother’s dress, cradling it in your arms. You rocked back and forth, fingers sifting through the sand, body wracked with tears. Then your fingers caught on something. A necklace. Surprise cut through grief. You held it up to your face, letting Vi catch a look.
“What’s that?” she asked.
You shook your head. You didn’t know. As you stared, your breathing slowed, and the sobbing subsided.
Before she could ask to get a closer look, Vi caught the sound of hoof beats in the distance. At least five horses, headed to the beach. All the noise must have attracted them.
“Who goes there!” a voice called out from the woods.
Vi swore. “Let’s go,” she whispered, and you looked at her with wide wet eyes.
“What?” you said back, too loud.
“We need to leave, now.”
You lip wobbled, hands rooted in the pile of ash that had been your mother. “I can’t leave her like this.”
“You’re not going to have a choice if they find us–”
It was too late. A group of guards galloped onto the beach.
“What’s all this then?” The first guard, the leader, gestured for the rest to stop with a closed fist. “Our lucky day?”
He brandished a sheet of paper. A wanted poster. Her wanted poster.
“Grab her,” the captain ordered.
Vi weighed her options. She could run, but they would catch her. And what about you? Would they assume you had been her conspirator and lock you up in her place? She would have to give herself up and hope she could escape the way she had before.
But you spoke before she could. “Wait!”
The guards hesitated a moment. The authority in your voice even shocked Vi. She looked at you expectantly, and the guards mirrored her expression.
“I pardon her,” you said.
The guards roared with laughter. Vi’s face heated with embarrassment. You stood there, dress covered in dirt, face coated in tears, unflinching.
“You pardon her?” one of the guards guffawed. “You pardon her? And how exactly are you going to do that?”
You dropped the open your palm, dangling the small pendant you had retrieved from your mother’s ashes. The royal crest. “Because I’m the lost princess.”
The laughter died.
Vi took the opportunity to cut in. “It’s true. I found-”
“Silence.” The head guard turned to his compatriots, who were all murmuring to each other.
You were not the first to claim to be lost royalty. But you shared a striking resemblance with the royal family. And you had that necklace… Vi could just make out what they were all whispering – could it be true?
The captain spoke again. “I said silence.” A hush fell over the guards. “Take them both. We’ll do what we always do with lost princesses, present them to the queen.”
You didn’t know what had overcome you. Why you had said what you had, or how you had known it would work. A question remained: was it the truth?
Vi had been silent since the arrest. You snuck a glance at her, sat across from you, fiddling with something in her hands. You stood to look out the back bars of the cell again. Your hands were unbound, some proof they believed your story – or believed it enough not to risk leaving cuff marks on your wrists. But you were still locked up.
“That was quite the move back there,” Vi said, still focused on her hands.
“I had to do something.”
“How long have you known?” So, your bravado had convinced her, at least.
You shook your head. “I don’t know. I still don’t. I just guessed. I guess, I wondered since I saw the crest. The first time, in the tower.”
“And you were still going to go back with her?”
“She’s the only family I have. Had.” The shock of it all was still settling in. You didn’t know if it would ever really. She had been far from perfect, but she had raised you. And in return you—
Vi interrupted your thoughts. “If this works out, sounds like you’ll have a new family.”
“I suppose. A family of – what did you call them? Leeches?”
Vi grinned. Something made a clicking noise. She shook out her wrists, and the cuffs fell to the floor with a clang. “Something like that. You’re not half bad, though.”
Your jaw hung slack. “How did you do that?”
“A lot of practice.” She stood up and extended a hand to shake. You took it, dazed. “This is it, I guess. Good knowing you, princess.”
“The door is locked too, from the outside,” you protested.
“I have a plan for that,” she said with a wink. She walked past you with a pat on the shoulder.
“Wait – just wait,” you said. She turned back to you. “I wanted to thank you. For everything. You changed my life.” She stiffened, taken aback by your sincerity. “And the necklace… its hidden under the fourth floorboard from the stairs.”
She let out a sound, half-laugh half-sigh. “I’d almost forgotten about that.”
Something inside you panged. You offered a wet smile. “That’s hard to believe.”
Vi looked at you a moment. She reached out, like she was about to stroke your hair or your cheek, then thought better of it. Her hand dropped to her side. Instead, she spoke. “Come with me.”
The carriage hit another rock, jolting you. “What?”
“It’ll be fun. Not as fun as lounging around in a palace, maybe, but it would be an adventure, and–”
You didn’t need to hear more. “Yes.”
“And—Yes?”
You nodded, and her answering smile was resplendent. “Okay. We should get out of here, then.” She took your hand to guide you to your feet.
The carriage rolled over yet another rock or root, and you tumbled into each other. You laughed, a bit too loud, and she pressed a finger to your lips, smiling herself. You were close enough that you could feel her breathing against your mouth. Her lips were slightly parted, and so, so inviting. It would have been easy to just lean in. To seal the pact with a kiss, like in one of your novels.
Your eyes flickered back to hers. There was something in them you imagined were mirrored in your own. In a moment of courage, you let your eyes flutter shut and closed the distance.
It was barely a kiss, more a brush of the lips, but your face burned hot and your heart hammered away in your chest.
“What was that?” Vi asked, but she looked pleased.
“I don’t know.” Your stomach rioted against you. You shouldn’t have done that.
Then she leaned in again. This was a proper kiss. One that was long enough that she could take you in her arms and hold you flush against her. She was gentle, much gentler than you had imagined – and you could confess to yourself now that you had imagined it.
When she pulled away, finally, you were left breathless.
“You okay?” she asked, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek as she searched your gaze. You nodded and took a step back to get your bearings. The cart lurched again, and you remembered, suddenly and violently, where you were. A glance through the barred window revealed you were in the woods still but would likely enter the city soon.
You turned back to Vi. “What are you going to do about the door?”
Modern Arcane AU —> hockey player!violet x hockey player!caitlyn x figure skater!reader
Words: 6114
Summary: All three student athletes at Piltover college, two hockey players and one figure skater create a caring relationship built (physically not mentally) on ice.
--
You stood at centre ice, the world has gone quiet.
Then you pushed off at the start of the music.
Your blade pressed into the ice, a clean push. Familiar. Instinctive. And suddenly you were gliding, the stillness breaking beneath you in smooth, deliberate lines.
Coach Kai stood on the edge of the boards shouting corrections as you moved from turns to jumps. The cold rushed up through your legs, sharp and grounding.
The control didn’t last long though. Because they always arrive loud. Hockey players do.
The doors slam open, laughter echoing through the arena as gear bags hit the floor. Sticks clatter. Someone swears. Someone else shoves back.
And at the centre of it. Vi. Always Vi.
She’s still in partial gear, helmet hanging off her fingers. Shoulders back and eyes forward ready for practice. A bruise formed along her jaw like it belongs there. It probably does.
“Oi!” she calls, spotting you already on the ice. “Princess is running late today.” You don’t look at her. You push off instead, clean edge, sharp glide, carving across the rink like glass splitting under pressure.
Behind her, Caitlyn watches more quietly. She always does.
“Late?” you call back, breath steady despite the speed. “You’re early.”
Vi snorts, hopping the barrier like rules are more of a suggestion than anything else. Her skates hit the ice with a dull scrape, toned legs pulling her to a stop.
“Practice starts at ten,” she says. “You’re usually done by now.”
Coach Kai’s voice cuts across the rink. “Edges! Hold your edge. Don’t rush it!”
You don’t answer Vi, moving quickly to push off. You drop your weight slightly, knee bending deeper as you lean into the curve. The blade bites sharper this time, steadier, your body aligning the way it’s supposed to.
Better.
But not perfect.
“Again!” Kai calls.
You reset without hesitation.
Vi watches you as you move, her usual restless energy dialed down into something more focused. Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing as if she’s trying to work you out, like you’re a problem she hasn’t quite figured out yet.
“…Are you always this intense?” she asks.
You don’t stop skating. “Are you always this annoying?”
A grin flashes across her face immediately. “Yeah, actually.”
Caitlyn steps onto the ice more carefully, keeping close to the boards, her presence calm and deliberate in contrast to Vi’s chaos. She doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t demand attention, she simply watches, tracking the details.
“You hesitate right after you land,” she says after a moment, voice even, thoughtful rather than certain. “Just for a second. It’s like you don’t trust it to hold.”
You falter slightly, just enough to feel it.
Not enough for most people to notice.
But she notices.
Your gaze flicks toward her. “…What?”
She shrugs lightly. “I don’t know the technique. I just… watch people a lot. Patterns, I suppose.”
There’s a brief pause. Coach Kai squints from the boards before calling out, “She’s right.”
You blink, thrown off more by that than anything else.
Vi looks between you and Caitlyn, baffled. “Wait… she’s right?”
Caitlyn doesn’t react to the surprise. “It’s just an observation.”
You push off again before the moment can settle, this time faster, stronger, letting your body adjust just slightly based on what she said. When you land the jump, you hold it a fraction longer, steadier, and the difference is immediate, it feels smoother, more controlled, the exit cleaner.
Coach Kai claps once in approval. “That’s it.”
You slow, turning back toward the boards, toward them. Vi is staring at you now with open interest, the usual teasing replaced by something brighter, almost impressed.
“Okay,” she says, shaking her head. “That was hot.”
“Vi,” Caitlyn says, her tone flat but not entirely unamused.
“What? It was.”
You let out a quiet huff of laughter despite yourself, shaking your head before glancing toward Caitlyn. “Thanks.”
She nods once. “Of course.”
For a moment, none of you move. You’re close enough now to notice the details, the faint scrape along Vi’s jaw, the way Caitlyn’s gaze still lingers on you like she’s replaying the movement in her head. The cold doesn’t feel quite as sharp as it did before.
Coach Kai breaks the moment with a sharp clap. “Alright, wrap it up! Hockey’s got the ice.”
Noise rises instantly behind the glass, cheers, complaints, the chaotic energy returning all at once. Vi rolls her shoulders, already shifting back into something looser and louder. “Hear that? Our turn, princess.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Try not to fall over.”
“Oh, I’m definitely falling over,” she replies easily. “Just taking someone with me.”
“Preferably not me,” Caitlyn adds.
“No promises.”
You skate toward the exit, but you don’t leave right away like you normally would. Instead, you linger by the boards, unlacing your skates slowly, watching as they take over the ice. Vi moves like she owns it. Fast, aggressive, colliding with a teammate within seconds and laughing like it’s part of the plan. Caitlyn, on the other hand, is controlled and deliberate, every movement measured, every decision intentional.
For the first time, you find yourself watching them the same way they’ve been watching you.
“Are you practicing at the same time tomorrow?” Vi calls, gliding backward with far too much confidence.
You glance up, meeting Caitlyn’s gaze. She’s already looking at you, waiting, her expression calm but expectant.
You hesitate for only a second before answering. “…Yeah.”
Vi grins, satisfied, while Caitlyn’s smile is smaller, quieter, but no less certain.
As you step off the ice, the cold finally begins to fade from your legs, the thought lingers that your routines have always been precise, structured, and entirely your own. Now, though, something is shifting at the edges, something louder and less predictable working its way in, and for the first time, you’re not entirely sure you want to keep it out.
---
You weren’t too sure what this was.
A flirtationship? No.
A relationship? Definitely not.
Because they were already in one.
Vi and Caitlyn weren’t subtle about it, not if you knew what to look for. It wasn’t loud or overdone, but it was there in the easy way they existed around each other. The casual touches, the unspoken understanding, the way Caitlyn would steady Vi with nothing more than a glance, and Vi would listen without a fight.
They were solid. Established. A couple.
Which meant whatever this situation was, It didn’t make sense.
And yet, somehow, you were still in the middle of it. Like many things in your life it started small enough that you could’ve brushed it off.
Vi’s attention wasn’t unusual; she was like that with everyone. Loud, physical, always in someone’s space. But with you, it lingered. Her shoulder bumps lasted a second too long. Her teasing felt… pointed.
“Careful, princess,” she’d say, skating past you just close enough to knock your balance. “Wouldn’t want you falling for me.”
You rolled your eyes. “You wish.”
“Don’t have to,” she shot back with a grin and a wink to top it off. “Already happening.”
You told yourself it was just how she was.
Except… Caitlyn never stopped it.
It got worse, or better? You couldn’t tell. The day they brought the team to your dress rehearsal.
You stepped onto the ice expecting quiet. Instead, there was a full hockey team pressed against the glass like it was a finals game.
“Oi! Princess!” Vi called immediately, grinning. “Don’t choke!”
“Encouraging,” you muttered, spinning away from them as a small smile graced your face.
Caitlyn, beside her, didn’t look away from you. “Ignore them. You’ll be fine.”
“Them?” Vi scoffed. “I’m her favourite.”
You rolled your eyes, and then your music started. You didn’t think about them while you skated. To be honest you didn’t think about anything while you skated, as you let the ice and music take you.
But without fail every time you finished a section, there was a tap-tap-tap of sticks against the glass, a loud “YES!” from Vi, and a quieter, “That was better,” from Caitlyn.
By the time you finished, they were both already waiting at the board.
Vi leaned over dramatically. “Yeah, okay, that was insane.”
“Vi is right, it was. ” Caitlyn said.
“Insanely hot.”
“Violet.” Caitlyn pushed her girlfriend's shoulder.
You laughed softly, before you could stop yourself. And that should’ve been the end of it. It wasn’t. After that, it just… kept happening. Not so much big moments but small ones.
Vi stealing your gloves and skating off with them.
“Give them back.”
“Come get them.”
“I will trip you.”
“Worth it.”
Caitlyn, from the side: “She will actually trip you.”
“…Noted.”
The three of you sitting on the floor after practice, backs against the boards.
Vi talking about a hit like it was the greatest moment of her life.
You explain, badly, how scoring works in figure skating.
Caitlyn listens to both of you, somehow following everything.
“So you’re judged on… vibes?” Vi asked.
“It’s not vibes-”
“It’s vibes,” Caitlyn said calmly.
You stared at her.
She almost smiled.
---
It didn’t stay on the ice.
That was the problem. Or maybe it wasn’t a problem at all, just the beginning of something that refused to stay contained to one place.
Because at first, it made sense. You were the figure skater. They were hockey players. The rink was the shared space where those two worlds collided, overlapped, then separated again like nothing unusual had happened.
But then it started showing up elsewhere.
Outside the glass.
Outside the rules of practice.
Outside anything Coach Kai could shout corrections at.
The first time Vi caught you outside of the rink, it was already dark outside, the parking lot lit by tall, buzzing lights that made everything look colder than it felt.
You were walking toward your car with your bag over your shoulder and skates in hand, moving slower now that the adrenaline from training had finally worn off and the deep ache settled in your body.
“Hey!” Vi’s voice cut across the lot.
You turned. “You’re still here?”
She jogged over, still in half gear, helmet tucked under one arm. “Yeah. Coach was still yelling at people, so I escaped.”
“That sounds responsible,” you said, unlocking your car.
“It is,” she replied confidently, leaning casually against your car like she belonged there. “Anyway, I’ve got a question.”
You paused with your door half open. “That sounds like a lie.”
Vi grinned. “It wasn’t. Mostly.”
You sighed. “What do you want?”
“Do you always leave like this?” she asked, nodding at your routine. “Practice ends, and you just disappear.”
“I'm going home,” you said.
“That’s not what I mean,” Vi said quickly. “You don’t stick around. You just… vanish.”
“I don’t vanish,” you replied. “I leave.”
From a few metres away, another voice joined in.
“Vi, leave her alone.”
Caitlyn was walking over at an easy pace, jacket still on, gloves tucked into her pocket. Calm as always. Her eyes flicked to you for a second before settling on Vi.
“I’m not bothering her,” Vi said immediately. “I’m asking a question.”
“That’s bothering her,” Caitlyn replied.
You couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out at that.
Vi pointed at you like she’d caught something. “See? She’s laughing. I’m not bothering her.”
“I laughed at something else,” you said, though you didn’t really argue it strongly.
Caitlyn looked at you. “You’re leaving now?”
“Yeah,” you said.
She nodded once, like that was all she needed. “Drive safe.”
Vi leaned down slightly to peer at you through the open door. “Don’t fall asleep at the wheel or whatever skaters do.”
“I don’t fall asleep at the wheel.”
“You could,” she said, completely serious.
You shook your head, but there was a faint smile there now as you got into the car.
Neither of them moved right away.
Vi stayed leaning against your car, watching like she was waiting to make sure you actually left.
Caitlyn stood a little further back, hands in her pockets, eyes still on you.
Only when you started the engine did Vi straighten and give a lazy wave.
Caitlyn nodded once.
And you drove off thinking that was probably the end of it.
---
The first time they both spotted you on campus and not in or near the rink, it was pure coincidence.
You were walking across the courtyard between buildings, bag over your shoulder, earbuds in, completely in your own world. You looked like you always did off the ice, quieter, more contained, like all the sharp edges had been tucked away somewhere else.
“HEY!” Vi’s voice cut through the noise of campus life like it belonged nowhere near it.
You stopped, turning slightly. “You’re loud everywhere, aren’t you?”
She jogged up beside you while Caitlyn followed shortly behind, grinning like she’d just won something. They were both still in team hoodies and joggers, and Vi’s hair damp like she’d just left training.
“I didn’t know you had classes around here,” she said.
“I didn’t know you paid attention in lectures,” you replied.
“Rude,” she said, not offended in the slightest. “I was skipping.”
“Of course you were.”
“I told you she studies in the arts building,” Caitlyn said to Vi.
Vi blinked. “You stalked her schedule?”
“I looked it up,” Caitlyn corrected. “There’s a difference.”
You stopped walking. “Why would you look that up?”
Caitlyn didn’t hesitate. “You leave the rink right after you finish training. I was curious where you go, besides home of course.”
“That’s still kind of stalking,” Vi said, impressed.
“It’s not,” Caitlyn replied calmly.
You sighed. “I have class.”
Vi nodded like that had explained everything. “Right. So you just… exist quietly between ice sessions.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
Caitlyn studied you for a moment. “You’re different here.”
You frowned slightly. “Everyone is.”
“No,” she said simply. “Not like this.”
Vi leaned closer, squinting at you like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “You look less… untouchable.”
“That’s a weird thing to say,” you replied immediately.
“It’s accurate though,” Vi said.
Caitlyn didn’t disagree.
---
The party wasn’t your idea.
It never was.
Your friend had said something about “getting out more,” dragged you in through the front door, then immediately disappeared into the crowd like they’d completed their mission and logged off.
You were left standing in the entryway with a drink you didn’t remember accepting and music shaking through the walls like it was trying to rearrange your bones. And a dress that hugged your figure perfectly but you kept feeling the need to pull it down more on your thighs.
Perfect.
You were already deciding how soon was socially acceptable to leave when you heard it.
“NO WAY.”
That voice didn’t belong in a crowded house like this.
You turned.
Vi.
Of course.
She pushed through the crowd like it was optional scenery, hoodie half-zipped and a grin that widened the second she saw you.
“Princess!” she said immediately, like it was your full name and title.
You sighed. “Please don’t call me that in public.”
“No,” she said easily. “I think I will.”
Behind her, Caitlyn arrived more quietly, cutting through the noise without fighting it. She didn’t rush. People just… moved.
Her eyes found you immediately.
“You’re here,” Caitlyn said.
“I was invited against my will,” you replied.
Vi laughed. “That’s the best kind of invitation.”
Caitlyn looked at you a moment longer than necessary. “Do you want to stay?”
It was direct.
Simple.
Not teasing.
You paused. “I just got here.”
“That’s not what I asked,” she said.
Vi leaned in slightly. “That’s a yes-or-no situation, princess.”
You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know yet.”
Vi nodded like that was acceptable. “We’ll fix that.”
---
Somehow, you ended up with them.
Not because you were pulled.
Just because you didn’t move away.
Vi stuck close immediately, loud even when she tried not to be. Caitlyn stayed on your other side, quieter but always there, like she’d decided your space was something she could occupy carefully.
It didn’t feel like being trapped.
It felt like being… kept track of.
In a way you didn’t hate.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Vi said at one point.
“What thing?”
“That quiet thinking thing,” she replied. “Like you’re planning an escape route.”
“I’m not.”
Caitlyn glanced at you. “You usually are.”
You blinked. “Why do you both say that like it’s normal?”
“Because it is,” Vi said.
That should’ve annoyed you.
Instead, it made you laugh under your breath.
Caitlyn noticed immediately.
“You do that more around us,” she said.
“What?”
“Laughing,” she clarified.
You shrugged. “Maybe you’re less unbearable than I expected.”
Vi gasped. “That’s basically a love confession in my language.”
“It’s not,” you said immediately.
Caitlyn didn’t react to Vi’s comment. She just watched you for a second longer.
Like she was considering something.
Then she said, very evenly, “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”
You hesitated. “Yeah.”
Vi immediately perked up. “Backyard. Less chaos. More existential conversation. Perfect.”
“I don’t do existential conversations,” you said.
“You will,” she replied confidently.
---
The backyard was cooler, quieter, the noise of the party reduced to something distant and muffled. Someone had strung up cheap lights that flickered slightly in the wind.
You ended up leaning on the low stone wall.
Vi dropped into the grass like she had no respect for posture.
Caitlyn sat beside her, controlled, composed, like she always was.
You stayed slightly apart at first.
Then Vi patted the space beside her. “Sit.”
“I am sitting,” you said.
“That’s not sitting,” she replied. “That’s hovering emotionally.”
You sighed and sat properly on the wall.
Vi grinned like she’d achieved something important. “There. Improvement.”
Caitlyn looked up at you. “You’re more relaxed when you’re not in structured environments.”
“I’m always relaxed,” you said automatically.
“No,” Caitlyn said softly. “You’re not.”
That made you pause.
Not defensive.
Just… aware.
Vi, for once, didn’t interrupt.
Instead she said, a little quieter, “You don’t really let people in, do you?”
You looked at her, then down to the floor shoulders lifting up in a single shrug.
Caitlyn didn’t contradict her.
But she added, “Not here.”
You frowned slightly. “What does that mean?”
Caitlyn met your eyes. “With us.”
Silence settled.
Not awkward.
Just real.
Vi stretched her legs out in front of her. “We’re kind of already in your space a lot anyway.”
“That’s because you show up everywhere I am,” you said.
“Yeah,” Vi said simply. “On purpose.”
That made you look at her.
She didn’t look away.
Caitlyn spoke again, quieter than both of you. “We like being around you.”
It was straightforward.
No games.
No teasing.
Just the truth.
And somehow that was worse than anything else.
Because it didn’t give you an easy way out.
You looked between them. “You both say things like that like it’s normal.”
Vi shrugged. “It is for me. For us.”
Caitlyn nodded once. “It’s becoming normal.”
That line hung there longer than anything Vi ever said.
---
After that night, something changed.
Not loudly.
Not suddenly.
Just… in how they stayed.
Vi started showing up next to you without announcing it, shoulder bumping yours like it was instinct now.
Caitlyn started walking closer than she used to, not touching, but never far.
And you stopped stepping away.
---
The rink was supposed to be empty.
It usually was at this hour, late evening, lights dimmed except for the ones above the ice, the building settling into that quiet hum that only existed after teams left and maintenance hadn’t started yet.
You liked it that way.
No noise. No eyes. Just ice and breath and repetition.
You were halfway through a clean sequence when you felt it, off to the side, near the boards.
Not a coach. Not maintenance. Someone watching.
You slowed slightly on the landing of your next turn, blades carving a shallow arc as you came out of it and looked up.
Vi was leaning against the glass.
Team hoodie on, duffle bag hanging off her shoulders. Grinning like she’d been caught doing something she absolutely intended to be caught doing.
Caitlyn stood beside her.
Not leaning. Not slouching. Just watching you properly, hands in her jacket pockets, expression steady in that quiet way she always had.
You stopped fully this time.
“…You’re both still here?” you called across the ice.
Vi shrugged. “We waited.”
“For what?” you asked.
Caitlyn answered first, like she always did when Vi hesitated for half a second too long.
“For you to finish.”
That made something pause in your chest before you could stop it.
You pushed lightly off the ice, gliding closer to the boards but not too close. “Your practice ended two hours ago.”
“We know,” Vi said.
Caitlyn nodded once. “We stayed anyway.”
There wasn’t anything demanding in it.
That was the problem.
It wasn’t pressure.
It was intentional.
You exhaled through your nose. “Why?”
Vi and Caitlyn exchanged a look.
Not long.
Not complicated.
Just enough.
Then Vi looked back at you.
“Because we wanted to talk to you,” she said.
You blinked. “You could’ve done that anywhere else on campus.”
Caitlyn’s voice stayed even. “We didn’t want to rush it.”
That made you go quiet.
Because nothing about them ever felt rushed.
Even Vi, who moved like she lived one second ahead of everyone else, was still standing there instead of cutting in. You rested your forearms on the top of the boards, still on the ice side, still separated.
“Okay,” you said carefully. “Talk.”
Another pause.
Not awkward.
Just deliberate.
Vi scratched the back of her neck once. “This is weird.”
Caitlyn didn’t look at her. “It’s not.”
“It is,” Vi insisted. “You don’t usually, you know, say things out loud like this.”
Caitlyn finally glanced at her. “You already said we would.”
Vi sighed. “Yeah, but I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
Your eyes flicked between them. “Am I interrupting something?”
Vi opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Then looked at you properly.
“We both care about you. A lot.” she said.
Silence landed harder this time.
Not heavy.
Just real.
Caitlyn stepped closer to the glass, closer to you, her gaze steady.
“You’ve been in our space for a while now,” she said. “Not just the rink. Everywhere.”
“I didn’t choose that,” you said automatically.
“I know,” Caitlyn replied. No challenge in it. Just a fact.
Vi pushed off the wall slightly, pacing a small line behind Caitlyn like she needed movement to keep her thoughts straight.
“It’s not even like we planned it,” she added. “We just… started looking for you.”
You frowned slightly. “Looking for me?”
Caitlyn nodded once. “After practice. On campus. Between training.”
Vi stopped pacing. “And it became normal.”
You looked at them both now.
Really looked.
Not as athletes from different sports.
Not as people who just happened to keep showing up in your orbit.
But as Vi and Cait.
Together.
And now here.
At your ice.
You swallowed. “And what does that mean exactly?”
Vi let out a short breath. “It means I like you. A lot.”
Simple.
Unpolished.
Caitlyn didn’t wait for a reaction before speaking.
“I do as well.”
No hesitation.
No softening.
Just certainty layered over something quieter underneath.
You went still.
Because this wasn’t new information anymore.
It was confirmation of something that had already been happening without permission.
You looked down at your skates for a second, then back up.
“…You’re a couple,” you said carefully, more a statement than a question.
Vi immediately nodded. “Yeah.”
Caitlyn didn’t move. “We are.”
That was where the confusion should’ve ended.
But Vi added, a little quieter now, “That doesn’t change this.”
You frowned. “Doesn’t change what?”
Caitlyn’s voice stayed steady. “How we feel.”
Silence again.
The ice creaked faintly beneath you as you shifted your weight.
You exhaled. “So what, I’m just supposed to… what? Fit into that?”
Vi shook her head quickly. “No. That’s not what we’re asking.”
Caitlyn agreed immediately. “We’re not asking you to fit anywhere.”
That made you pause.
Vi looked up at you again, less sharp now.
“We’re telling you it’s there,” she said. “That’s it.”
Caitlyn nodded once. “And that we’re aware of it.”
You blinked. “Aware of what?”
Vi didn’t even hesitate this time.
“Of you,” she said.
That landed differently.
Not dramatic.
Just honest enough to sit under your skin.
Caitlyn’s gaze didn’t waver. “We didn’t expect it to become this.”
The rink was completely still now.
Just the hum of lights.
And the three of you.
You pushed off slightly, just enough to glide closer to the boards again.
Not away.
Not forward.
Just closer.
“…So what happens now?” you asked.
Vi shrugged, but it wasn’t careless. “We don’t know.”
Caitlyn answered softer. “We figure it out.”
A pause.
Then Vi added, a little more like herself again, “Preferably without you ignoring us or disappearing, because that’s been annoying.”
That got a faint huff of laughter out of you before you could stop it.
Caitlyn’s expression softened slightly at the sound.
“You do that often,” she said.
“What?”
“Laugh,” Caitlyn clarified. “Around us.”
You looked at her for a second longer than you meant to.
“…Maybe you’re just funny.”
Vi immediately lit up. “I knew it.”
Caitlyn didn’t argue.
She just watched you.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were outside of something.
It felt like you were standing right at the edge of it.
And they were waiting, together, for you to decide if you stepped in.
---
Four months later, it didn’t feel confusing anymore.
It just felt normal.
What had started as something awkward and hard to define had slowly turned into something steady in your everyday life, like routines you didn’t think about anymore, like classes you always went to, like the rink you always ended up back at.
It still didn’t look like other people’s relationships, but that didn’t really matter anymore.
Mostly because it wasn’t about labels or comparisons.
It was just the three of you.
Vi and Caitlyn were still very much Vi and Caitlyn. Caitlyn calm and observant, Vi loud and affectionate and always invading your space like it was her job.
And now you were just… part of it.
Not on the outside of their relationship anymore.
Not something complicated or uncertain.
Just included.
Wherever they were, you were there too.
---
Like mornings when you’d wake up for class and find yourself already wrapped in Vi’s hoodie, because she’d put it on you during the night without even thinking.
“You stole my hoodie,” she’d say when you pointed it out.
“You put it on me,” you’d reply.
“Yeah, because you looked cold,” she’d say like it was obvious.
Caitlyn, already awake and reading at her desk, would just add, “You both act like you’re arguing, but you’re agreeing.”
And then she’d quietly hand you your bag before you left so you weren’t late.
---
On campus, it was the same.
Vi would find you between classes and immediately fall into step beside you, lacing your fingers with hers.
Caitlyn would fix your hair without asking when it got messy from the wind.
“You don’t have to do that,” you’d say once.
Caitlyn would just look at you and say, “I know. I want to.”
And then she’d do it again the next day anyway.
---
You’re trying to study.
That’s the goal.
Vi is chewing on a pen.
Caitlyn is actually studying.
You are too easily distracted.
“Why is this so quiet?” Vi whispers loudly.
“It’s a library,” you whisper back.
“So?” she whispers even louder.
Caitlyn doesn’t look up. “Vi, if you get us kicked out, I’m leaving you here.”
“You wouldn’t abandon me,” Vi says confidently.
Caitlyn pauses. “I would.”
You snort quietly.
Vi turns to you immediately. “See? She’s scary.”
You reach over, take the pen out of Vi’s mouth, and put it on the table.
“Stop eating stationery.”
Vi grins. “You’re taking care of me.”
“I’m preventing chaos,” you correct.
Caitlyn, still reading “Same thing.”
---
It starts completely normal, the kind of normal that doesn’t feel like anything at all when it’s happening.
You’re standing on campus between classes, talking to someone from one of your lectures. It’s nothing serious, just coursework, deadlines, the usual complaining about how early everything is scheduled. You’re smiling a bit, nodding along, not thinking much of it.
It’s harmless.
At least to you.
Vi sees it from across the path.
And she stops walking.
Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just this subtle pause where her whole attention locks onto the scene like it suddenly matters more than anything else going on around her.
Caitlyn notices immediately beside her.
“Vi. You're staring.” Caitlyn says, her tone calm like she’s commenting on the weather rather than diagnosing a problem.
Vi doesn’t even look at her. “I’m not.”
Caitlyn raises an eyebrow slightly. “You are.”
“I’m just looking,” Vi insists, crossing her arms like that somehow proves her point.
“I am not glaring,” Vi repeats, but her feet are already moving again before she finishes the sentence.
Caitlyn sighs under her breath. “Oh no.”
By the time Vi reaches you, she doesn’t announce herself like she usually does. There’s no loud “hey” or shoulder bump from a distance. She just appears at your side, sliding into your space like it belongs to her.
Her arm goes around your waist in a way that looks casual and you can feel that it’s slightly more deliberate than usual.
“Hey,” she says, way too relaxed for someone who just crossed half a courtyard. “Are you done here?”
You blink, a little surprised by the interruption. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”
The person you were talking to looks between you both, clearly sensing they’ve suddenly become very unnecessary in this situation.
Vi turns her head slightly toward them, still keeping her arm around you. “Yeah, sorry,” she says politely enough, though it’s very clearly not negotiable. “We’ll pick this up later.”
And just like that, they leave.
You stare at her for a second longer than necessary. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Vi replies immediately, far too innocent.
Before you can even answer, Caitlyn arrives behind her, slower, calmer, taking in the scene with one glance that says she already understands everything happening here.
“You were jealous,” Caitlyn says simply, like she’s stating a fact she’s already accepted.
“I was not,” Vi says instantly.
“You were,” you add, still confused but starting to realise what just happened.
Vi keeps her arm around you a little tighter, like that solves the accusation. “I just don’t like people taking up your time when I haven’t seen you all day.”
“That was a classmate,” you point out.
“Exactly,” Vi says like that makes it worse, not better.
Caitlyn steps closer now, resting her hand lightly on your arm, not pulling you away from Vi, just grounding the situation so it doesn’t spiral into chaos.
“You didn’t have to interrupt,” Caitlyn says softly, but there’s a hint of amusement under it.
Vi finally looks at you properly now, her expression less defensive and more honest. “You were smiling at them,” she says, quieter this time.
You pause slightly. “That’s because we were having a normal conversation.”
Vi shrugs once, like she’s decided that’s irrelevant. “Don’t care.”
Caitlyn lets out a small breath that sounds almost like a laugh, shaking her head slightly as she looks at Vi.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says.
Vi leans her head slightly against you for a second, completely unbothered again now that she’s said her piece. “Am I wrong though?”
You look at Caitlyn.
Caitlyn looks back at you.
Then she says, completely calm, “No. But you are still ridiculous.”
Vi smiles instantly like that’s all the validation she needed.
And just like that, she relaxes again, like nothing ever happened, her arm still comfortably around you as if it was never in question.
---
You’re lying on Vi’s bed, in between Caitlyn’s legs, her long fingers gliding through your hair. All three of you watching a movie no one is actually following.
Vi is halfway lying on top of you.
“You’re heavy,” you complain.
“I’m emotionally supporting you,” she says.
Caitlyn, without looking away from the screen: “You’re crushing her.”
“I am not.”
“You are,” you both say at the same time.
Vi pauses. Then shifts slightly, but still doesn’t move off you.
“…Better?”
“No.” you say. Vi responds with a swift kiss to your lips before resting her head in the crook of your neck. Caitlyn laughs at your expense not before placing a tender kiss on your temple. Eventually you shut up and watch the movie, situated comfortably between your two girls.
---
The rink is already half-empty when you step off the ice, blades scraping softly as you coast toward the exit. Your legs feel heavy in that familiar way, like they’ve finally decided they’ve done enough for the day and are no longer accepting requests.
You’re sitting on the bench, halfway through untying your skates, when your phone buzzes.
Vi: I’m outside. Don’t move.
You stare at it for a second.
You don’t even get a chance to reply before the door to the arena swings open again.
Vi walks in like she owns the place.
Not in gear this time, just hoodie, loose jacket, hair slightly messy like she didn’t bother fixing it after practice. Caitlyn is right behind her, more composed, already holding your spare bag like she anticipated this exact moment.
Vi spots you immediately.
“Perfect timing,” she says, walking straight over.
“I can walk out myself,” you reply automatically, already pulling at your laces.
Vi crouches in front of you anyway.
“No,” she says simply.
You blink. “No?”
“No,” she repeats, like that settles it.
Caitlyn leans against the boards beside you, watching the entire thing unfold with calm amusement.
“You were supposed to wait outside,” she says to Vi.
“I did wait,” Vi replies, already reaching for your skates.
“Five seconds,” Caitlyn corrects.
“That’s waiting.”
You shake your head slightly, trying not to smile as Vi starts untying your skates for you like she does this every day, which, honestly, she kind of does now.
“I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself,” you say.
“Yeah,” Vi replies without looking up, fingers working quickly at your laces, “but then I don’t get to do it for you.”
That makes you pause slightly.
Caitlyn notices immediately, of course she does.
“She likes picking you up,” Caitlyn says simply, like she’s stating something obvious.
Vi glances up for a second. “I do.”
“You’re acting like I can’t bring myself home,” you say.
Vi finally finishes one skate and moves to the other. “You can. I just think you shouldn’t have to right now.”
Caitlyn steps closer, gently taking your jacket from the bench and holding it open.
“You pushed hard today,” she says. “We’re taking you home.”
You look between them. Vi still crouched in front of you, focused on your skates. Caitlyn is standing beside you, already ready to wrap you up in warmth the second you’re done.
And you realise this isn’t really a discussion.
It’s just… what they do.
Vi finishes untying your second skate and looks up at you with a grin like she’s very proud of herself.
“Alright,” she says, standing and offering her hand. “Passenger princess, let’s go.”
You narrow your eyes. “I am not the passenger princess.”
Vi gasps dramatically. “You absolutely are. You sit in the car and do nothing. That’s the role.”
Caitlyn, deadpan as ever “She’s right.”
You sigh, but you take Vi’s hand anyway.
Because she’s already pulling you up, and Caitlyn is already stepping in beside you, and your bag is already on her shoulder like it belongs there.
And by the time you reach the car, Vi has opened the door for you before you even get there.
“You’re ridiculous,” you say.
Vi grins. “Yeah, but you’re in the passenger seat.”
Caitlyn slides into the driver’s side, glancing at you both through the mirror.
“You’re both impossible,” she says.
Vi leans over the seat slightly. “But we're your impossible.”
And somehow, that’s exactly how you end up, buckled in, warm, skates gone, hands free, watching the city lights pass by while Vi talks nonstop in the back seat and Caitlyn drives like she’s done this a hundred times before.
something something parker ellis coming home to a sickly, sleepy darling?
Parker entered the apartment after her shift, getting released early at 4 am. She steps into her apartment, seeing you, her pretty little thing, sprawled across the bed, Milo, the ginger cat that she had adopted, curling up to you.
“Hey, little sunshine..”
She whispers, leaning closer to give you a quick peck on the forehead.
You were way younger than she was, a junior at Carnegie studying visual arts. You had met her at one of the bars nearby, on your 21st, tripping into her arms as you shyly flustered, caught off guard by her dominance.
“Hm-”
You shift in your sleep, sleepily smiling when you feel her lips on your forehead. Parker, however, pauses when she thinks about how warm your forehead was, and the way that you were in your plaid pajama shorts and one of her shirts during the Pittsburgh winter.
“You hot, little sun?”
She asks, pressing a hand over your forehead and on your neck. You crack your eyes open gently, smiling gently,
“lovie! You’re home early….”
You croak out, your voice raspy, and immediately channel something protective in Parker, as she reaches for her bag and the first aid kit she kept in her bag.
“You feelin’ okay, little sun?”
She leans in, pressing a thermometer to your forehead, as you try to turn and go back to sleep,
“w-what’re you doin’ lovie? ‘m wanna sleep..”
You murmur, as the thermometer beeps, showing Parker that you had a fever. She sighs softly, grabs her otoscope, and shines it in your eyes,
“Can you open your eyes for me, little sun?”
You open them, with a groan, squinting at her,
“Too bright.”
You whine, hiding in her shoulders as she nods, pulling you onto her lap so she can tilt your head onto her shoulder, so she can check your ears.
“I know, I know..”
She murmurs as you whine at the sensation. Parker knew that you hated doctors or anything remotely medical, and on top of that, it was really early in the morning.
You rest against her as she presses the bell of her stethoscope to your chest, listening to your coughs,
“Hm, this doesn’t sound good, little sun.”
She changes your positioning, lightly palpating your lymph nodes, as you whine when she reaches the one behind your ear,
“hurts…”
“I know, I know…”
Parker whispers, letting you curl into her chest, rubbing your back. She reaches over, grabs a fever reducer, and pours it out into the measuring cup, grinning as she sees your face twist,
“I know you don’t like it, little star, but something’s got to be done about your fever. Just this, and then you can chase it down with your water, hm?”
You look at the purple grape flavor liquid, face turning in disgust,
“It tastes disgusting, lovie.”
But your hands grasp your water bottle, taking the medication with a gag, gulping down water immediately after.
“You’re evil.”
You whisper against Parker’s chest, the medication kicking in and making you drowsy. You feel Parker’s chest vibrate with a chuckle as she leans both of you down in bed, wrapping an arm around your waist,
“Tell me all about it when you’re more awake, hm? We can have some coffee and make waffles.”
You hum, eyes slowly drifting shut,
“Sounds good, lovie…yummy too.”
so....i'm back? maybe? or this is maybe from the sudden amount of inspo I had from seeing parker in the second season of the pitt. also! so sad to see that there's no al-hashimi fic yet (sighs) but that's okay! all the more reason for me to write it!
I'm pretty sure I caught something because I can feel the achiness and over-sensitivity creeping into my body (not to mention the sore throat) and now I'm self-soothing thinking about 'Our Little One' R getting sick and she doesn't want to get Nat or Wanda sick too but they're having none of it of course 🥺
Nooo! I really hope you’re feeling better by now. I know it’s been a while since you sent this.
I wrote a little something (that ended up longer than planned, oops) because the thought of it made me feel all warm and fuzzy, and I wanted to share it with you. Probably too late to help, but I hope it makes you smile a little anyway.
Word count: 5,591
Warnings: Sickfic, Angst, Comfort, Natasha being impossibly soft, Mommy/Mama Wanda, Daddy Natasha, This is just one big ball of fluff.
Fic below the cut.
You surfaced from sleep in slow, reluctant fragments, your body pushing back against consciousness as though waking were a mistake. The room felt harsh and overbright even through drawn curtains, light pressing against your closed eyes.
Your nose was completely blocked, every breath shallow and ineffective, leaving you faintly panicked with the effort of it. Your throat burned relentlessly, raw and tender, each swallow dragging painfully as if something sharp had lodged there and refused to move.
For a long moment you stayed where you were, cocooned in tangled sheets. You knew you should stay in bed, but you also knew you wouldn't. There were lectures to attend, assignments waiting, expectations that did not bend for fevers or headaches or the quiet misery curling in your stomach.
With a quiet, resentful sigh, you forced yourself upright, only to wince as the movement sent a wave of stiffness through your limbs. Your body ached in places you had not realised could ache, joints protesting with every shift of weight as you shuffled towards the bathroom, a low groan slipping from you before you could stop it. You offered a silent thanks to whatever god might be listening that Kate was not there to hear you sound so pathetic.
The bathroom was quiet except for the hum of the light and the distant sounds of the building waking around you. The shower steamed up the small space, warmth clinging to your skin but failing to seep any deeper, leaving you light-headed and vaguely hollow.
You dressed in soft, forgiving clothes, the fabric a small comfort against your hypersensitive skin, and packed your bag slowly, the weight of your books already dragging at your shoulders before you had even left the room.
Stepping outside was a shock to the system. The cold air bit straight into your chest, sharp and unforgiving, stealing what little warmth you had managed to hold onto. You hunched into yourself as you set off towards college, shoulders tense, your breath tight and uneven.
You stopped at the pharmacy on the way, fingers clumsy as you picked up flu medicine, the promise of relief flimsy but tempting. A hot chocolate followed, the cup warming your hands, the sweetness and heat a small, fleeting comfort as you carried on.
It was only once you arrived on campus that you finally checked your phone. The familiar sight of their names eased something in your chest despite everything. Messages from both of your girlfriends, asking how you were feeling, what your plans were for the day, and whether you had eaten yet.
And then the reality of it settled heavily in your stomach. The rules. You had to tell them you were unwell. The thought alone made your throat tighten. You could not risk lying, not again, not when the consequences of being caught felt far worse than the misery already dragging through your body. This cold already felt like punishment enough.
Still, the idea of admitting it made your skin prickle with discomfort. You hated telling anyone when you were sick. You always had. Growing up, illness had never been treated as something real or worthy of care, just another word for laziness, another excuse you were accused of inventing, no matter how badly you felt. That belief still clung to you, whispering that you should just push through, that you were weak for even considering saying something.
And worse than that was the certainty of what would come next. The moment you told them, they would insist you go home, to their place, where they could look after you properly. They would fuss, and worry, and hover, all with the best intentions.
The thought twisted uneasily in your chest. You did not want to be the reason they got sick too. You did not want to pass this miserable, burning, exhausting thing onto either of them. So you stared at the screen a moment longer than necessary, phone heavy in your hand, caught between the rules you were bound by and the instinct to protect them.
Eventually you gave in and sent a message, something close enough to the truth to count, but carefully trimmed so it did not reveal too much.
You: “I woke up feeling a bit stuffy this morning, but not too bad. I’ve taken some medicine, though. I haven’t had any breakfast, but I do have hot chocolate! I have classes all day 😩 I miss you both 🥰”
Wanda replied almost instantly.
Wanda: “Oh no! Why are you in class if you are unwell? I can get someone to cover me at the coffee shop, come home?”
A quiet chuckle slipped out of you. You had absolutely called it. You barely had time to think about how to respond before another message appeared.
Wanda: “Good girl getting some medication and a hot drink, baby. You know I expect you to eat breakfast though, hm?”
You rolled your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. You could hear that ‘hm’ perfectly in your head, soft and fond and far too knowing.
You: “I’m okay, I really don’t want to miss my classes. And I know, I will get food in the break, I promise.”
You sent it even though the idea of a full day of classes made your stomach churn, the thought of food while you felt this awful doing nothing to help.
Wanda: “Okay, sweetheart. I trust that you know what is best for your body, you’re my clever girl. But if you feel worse, you let us know, okay?”
You smiled at your phone, feeling warmth even with the cold settled deep in your bones. Even that small bit of praise lit something up inside you, a soft, needy glow that lingered as you tucked your phone away and tried to focus on the day ahead.
The first class dragged on endlessly, each minute stretching thin and unbearable as you fought to stay focused through the fog in your head.
At your first break, despite having no real appetite, you forced yourself into the campus shop and picked up some fruit. You ate it slowly, more out of obligation than desire, then logged it into the tracking app Wanda used to make sure you were eating properly. The reply came quickly, a simple ‘good girl’ that made the effort feel momentarily worthwhile.
By the time your second class finally ended and lunch rolled around, you felt undeniably worse. The pressure in your head had intensified into a relentless pounding, as though you were trapped in the middle of a rave you could not escape.
Your throat burned with every breath, and whenever you were called on to speak, the words barely made it out before you dissolved into a coughing fit, leaving you flushed and mortified each time.
Lunch was the first time you heard from Natasha. She had clearly been tied up teaching all morning, her message arriving with a quiet, steady presence as always.
Natasha: “I checked your timetable. We both have lunch at the same time. Come meet me in my office?”
Your breath caught painfully in your chest. God, how badly you wanted to go. You could already imagine the quiet safety of her office, the door closed, the world kept firmly outside. How she would let you curl into her, let you cling and be held until the ache in your bones dulled into something manageable. The want of it was almost dizzying.
But you couldn't. You couldn't risk getting her sick. The thought of it made your stomach twist, guilt rising sharp and fast. It wouldn’t be fair. Panic fluttered in your chest as you searched for an excuse, something believable, something that would not invite more questions.
You: “I’m in the library catching up on work. I really need to finish an assignment.”
You sent the message before doubt could catch up with you, then turned away deliberately and headed for the library. If you were going to deny yourself her, the least you could do was make sure you were not lying to her.
Whenever you had to be in the library alone, you always chose the furthest corner, somewhere quiet enough to disappear into. You claimed a table right at the back, as far removed from everyone else as possible, dropping your books and laptop down with more force than necessary.
You made a detour to the coffee machine next, fully aware it produced something only vaguely resembling coffee, but desperate enough to take the hit. You needed the caffeine if you were going to make even a half-hearted attempt at studying in this state.
Back at the table, you took your first sip and grimaced immediately at the bitterness. Still, the warmth slid down your sore throat and eased it just a little, and you clung to that small mercy as you tried to focus on your screen.
It couldn't have been more than five minutes later when a familiar scent reached you, subtle but unmistakable. It sent a rush of longing straight through your chest, immediately followed by a spike of dread. Natasha should not be here.
The thought surfaced sluggishly through the haze in your head, dulled by the constant throb behind your eyes and the tight pressure clogging your sinuses.
The back of the library was quieter, tucked away from the main thoroughfare, but it was not empty. There were distant movements, the soft rustle of pages turning, the muted scrape of a chair somewhere further up. Enough people to make this dangerous. Enough to remind you that she was not just Natasha here.
And yet she came over and stood beside your table anyway. She was calm, composed, looking devastating without even trying, as though the risk of being there barely touched her. Her presence settled into the space around you, warm and grounding and impossibly distracting.
The smile she gave you was small and careful, something that could pass for polite if anyone happened to glance over, but with a twinkle in her eye that said more.
“Fancy seeing you here,” she joked, voice low and pitched perfectly for the quiet of the room.
You sniffed, dragging in a congested breath that did nothing to clear your nose, and let out a weak, breathy laugh. “Yeah… fancy that,” you said, attempting casual. “It’s almost like I told you where I’d be.”
Your throat burned instantly in protest. The words scraped on the way out, rough and painful, until your voice cracked and gave up on you altogether. You bent forward, coughing hard into your sleeve, each cough rattling your chest and sending sharp pulses of pain through your head. Your nose stung, eyes watering as you sniffed again, flustered by how loud it felt in the otherwise hushed space.
When you straightened, blinking and breathless, Natasha’s expression had shifted. The fondness was still there, but now it was threaded tightly with concern, her eyes taking you in properly, the flushed skin, the glassy look in your eyes, the way you were breathing through your mouth because your nose had completely given up on you.
“I knew you weren’t being entirely honest,” she said quietly. “I could tell. Especially when you turned down my office.” Her jaw tightened subtly. “This isn’t just ‘a bit stuffy’. This is flu.”
Your head throbbed in unhappy agreement, a deep, relentless pulse. You swallowed instinctively, the movement scraping painfully down your raw throat, a sting that settled heavy in your chest as you braced yourself for anger, for disappointment, for something sharp enough to match the ache curling through you.
“Why weren’t you honest?” she asked after a moment, but there was no edge to it. No scolding, no frustration. Just a soft, sincere sadness that settled between you, gentle and devastating all at once, and it hurt far more than anger ever could have.
Your shoulders sagged. “Because I…” You hesitated, another wave of dizziness rolling through you. “Because I knew you’d both want to look after me.” You sniffed again, wiping your nose quickly, embarrassed. “Because I’m pathetic when I’m sick.” The word came out small, automatic. “I didn’t want to give it to you. I already feel awful. I don’t need to feel guilty for making you ill too.”
Your voice faded with each sentence, thick with congestion and remorse, eyes fixed firmly on the table as though if you did not look at her, she might let it go.
“You are not pathetic,” Natasha said instantly, softly but with quiet certainty. “You’ve just been taught that needing care makes you weak. It doesn’t. Not with us.” Her hand lifted without thought, fingers flexing as if to reach for you, then fell back again as she seemed to remember where you were, what this could cost her. “We love taking care of you.”
You nodded slowly, breath uneven. “I still don’t want to get you sick,” you whispered. And you meant it, even as your body leaned subtly towards her, drawn by instinct, by the safety she promised without ever needing to touch you.
Something in her shifted then. Natasha moved closer, just a fraction, not enough to be noticed, but enough that you could feel the heat of her, the steady certainty of her presence settling around you.
The library stayed hushed, the faint shuffle of pages and distant murmurs a constant reminder that this was neither private nor safe. And still, her voice lowered, slipping through the quiet like a secret, barely above a whisper yet threaded with an authority that made your breath catch all the same.
“Little girl,” she said softly, “if you think you are staying at school another second feeling like this, you are wrong.” A shiver ran straight through you, settling low and warm despite how unwell you felt. “Now listen to daddy. Pack your books like a good girl and meet me at my car, at our spot. Do you understand?”
Your head swam. You were painfully aware of how dangerous this was. Of what she was risking by standing here and speaking to you like this. Still, you tried to cling to your resolve. “You have classes too,” you protested softly. “You can’t just take me home.”
Natasha huffed quietly, not annoyed, just utterly resolute. “I can. And I will.” Her voice softened again, warmth bleeding back in. “I only have one class this afternoon. The rest of my work can wait.” Her gaze stayed locked on yours. “You always come first. Always.”
Your chest tightened, emotion tangling with illness until you could barely tell them apart. You sniffed again, eyes stinging, undone by the fact that she was willing to risk everything just to make sure you were looked after.
“You’ll be good for daddy, won’t you?” she added after a second.
You knew exactly what she was doing. Natasha knew how to soothe any defiance, any worry, without making a scene, how to take those carefully stacked walls you had built to keep everyone safe from you and loosen them brick by brick.
You were painfully aware of it even as it was happening. You knew you should hold onto them, cling to the instinct that told you not to take, not to need, not to ask for more when you already felt like too much.
But it was hard to remember any of that with her voice wrapped around you so securely it felt almost physical. The walls were already crumbling.
She tapped the table once, softly. The sound was barely anything, easily swallowed by the hush of the library, but it landed with intention. A wordless instruction.
You lifted your head and met her eyes. You could see the concern she was trying so hard to keep in check. But there was that familiar quirk of her eyebrow, the subtle shift that told you this conversation had reached its end. You swallowed, your throat protesting, and you didn't argue. You didn't even try.
“I’ll be good for Daddy,” you whispered, your voice rough, a small sniff breaking the words apart despite your best efforts.
Something dark and pleased flickered across her face before she masked it, her lips curving into a restrained smirk. Her eyes lingered on you for half a second longer than was sensible, longer than was safe.
“Good girl,” she murmured, low and pleased. Then, more clipped, more controlled, “Get packed up. You’ve got fifteen minutes to meet me at the spot.”
You knew she was being generous. The spot was barely a few minutes away, tucked just far enough out of sight to stop anyone from seeing you getting into her car.
She clearly knew that you were slow today, that your head was swimming and your body was aching in that deep, bone-tired way that made rushing feel impossible. That small mercy loosened something in your chest all over again.
You nodded, once, then again, because it felt like you needed to keep agreeing for some reason. Satisfied, Natasha straightened and turned to walk away.
As soon as she was gone, the space she left behind felt colder, emptier. A sudden, needy ache settled low in your chest, sharp enough to surprise you. You wanted her back already, wanted her presence, her voice, the way she made everything feel manageable even when your body felt like it was betraying you.
That need was what pushed you into motion. You gathered your books with clumsy fingers, joints aching, head throbbing as you bent forward. Your nose was still blocked, your breathing shallow and uncomfortable, every movement reminding you how unwell you really were.
You packed faster than you should have managed, heart thudding with a mix of urgency and anticipation, because moving meant leaving, and leaving meant being closer to her again.
–
You made it to the spot in ten minutes flat. Natasha was already there, and through the car window you could see her on the phone, posture relaxed but alert, one hand braced on the steering wheel.
As you slowed, she glanced up, and it was almost unsettling how quickly her attention snapped to you, as if she had felt you approaching rather than seen you. She crooked a finger in a quiet summons, muttered a few more words into the phone, then ended the call as you came closer.
You opened the passenger door and dropped your bag into the footwell with a dull thud before letting yourself collapse into the seat, limbs heavy and uncooperative. You didn’t even reach for the seatbelt. Natasha was already there, tugging it across you and clicking it into place with efficient ease.
Before you could say anything, her hand came up to your face, warm against your flushed skin, thumb brushing your cheek as she leaned in. Instinct took over, and you squeaked, turning your head so her lips landed against your cheek instead.
“No,” you protested hoarsely, a cough breaking through at the end despite your effort to swallow it back. “I’ll let you look after me, but you are not kissing me. You’ll definitely catch it then.”
Natasha let out a low, dark chuckle. Her fingers slid under your chin, turning your face back towards her, and then she jabbed you lightly in the ribs. The surprise forced a sharp inhale, which immediately dissolved into another bout of coughing directly in her face.
“Uh-oh, looks like you’ve already shared plenty of germs now,” she said with a grin, unrepentant. “Might as well kiss me.”
You stared at her, mouth falling open. “That’s disgusting,” you said weakly. “Why would you even do that?”
“Because I want to kiss you,” she replied calmly, utterly unfazed. “And because you’re being silly.” Her voice softened then. “I don’t care if I get sick. I probably won’t. We both know I never do.” Her thumb brushed your jaw again. “So do as you’re told and kiss daddy, hm?”
She leaned in once more, slow this time, giving you a moment to pull away if you truly wanted to. Her lips brushed yours gently, and despite every instinct screaming about germs and guilt, you found yourself giving in, lips parting as your brain finally caught up and you kissed her back.
She stayed there a moment longer than needed, lips warm and steady against yours, gentle rather than insistent, before pulling back just enough to press her forehead lightly to yours.
“Come on, Printsessa (princess),” she coaxed, her forehead still resting there. “let’s get you home, yeah?”
You could only nod, words failing completely, your body softening further against her presence, relief and need curling through you.
She drew back just enough to start the engine, slipping the car into gear with practised ease. You leaned back into the seat, closing your eyes, letting the aches and the fevered heaviness pull you down, excited and grateful for the thought of being home, wrapped in blankets, and finally allowed to rest.
—
The whole drive, Natasha’s voice was a soft, steady current beneath the hum of the car, murmuring gentle reassurances that seemed to smooth out every frayed edge inside you. Each word was deliberate, measured, as if she could feel the ache in your chest and the fuzziness in your head and was weaving a safety net around it.
Her hand rested on your thigh, warm and steady, pressing lightly but firmly, not moving, not exploring, just anchoring you. It was a quiet tether to the present, pulling you deeper and deeper into that suspended, velvety headspace where all resistance fell away, leaving only the need to let her take care of you.
The afternoon light fell slanted across the car interior, but you barely noticed it, your focus narrowing to the warmth of her hand, the soft cadence of her voice, and the steady, calm presence beside you. Your limbs felt heavy, fevered, weighed down with aches, and every small movement required effort, but with her there, the effort felt optional.
You didn’t realise the car had stopped until the click of your seatbelt cut through the quiet, a startling reminder that the journey had ended. Natasha leaned over, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead before pressing a soft, grounding kiss to your cheek.
“Ready to go inside?” she asked, her voice hushed and careful, each syllable so gentle it felt as though any louder might shatter the fragile bubble you were floating in.
You nodded, reaching for your bags, and she tutted softly, the sound warm and affectionate rather than scolding. Leaning across you, she gathered your things with effortless care.
“I’ve got it,” she assured. “You just get your butt inside, okay, pupsik (cutie)?”
You started moving, shuffling toward the house, but barely two steps from the car, you froze. The simple, sharp awareness that while the door was open, Natasha was still in the car, that daddy was just out of reach, prickled at your chest. A tiny, instinctive whine slipped out, soft and helpless, and the rush of vulnerability made your cheeks warm.
Natasha’s low, warm laugh followed almost immediately, wrapping around you like a blanket. “What is it, kroshka (little crumb)?” she asked, finally stepping out and closing the door behind her, her smile soft, the corners of her eyes crinkling in that knowing way.
“Daddy,” you whimpered again, hand reaching out before you could stop it. “You’re taking too long,” you breathed, cheeks flushing despite yourself.
Without missing a beat, she closed the distance, gently lacing her fingers through yours and drawing you into her side. You melted against her, a soft sigh escaping as her warmth anchored you, letting the panic and shyness dissolve in the quiet safety of her presence.
—
You stepped inside with her, the door closing softly behind you, the outside world disappearing in an instant. Warmth wrapped around you immediately, pressing into your skin and settling deep in your chest.
The rich, comforting aroma of Wanda’s soup drifted toward you, and even through the heaviness of congestion and fatigue, your body responded, a small flicker of relief threading through the ache.
“Come on, malyshka (little one),” Natasha murmured, her voice still low as her thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles. “Let’s get you warm.”
Each step felt heavy, your joints stiff and sore, your legs weighed down by exhaustion. Your head felt thick and foggy, sinuses burning, throat raw with each swallow.
And then you saw Wanda in the kitchen, moving quietly, stirring the soup. Your chest ached in response, a tremor of softness leaving you almost shaking. Of course she had come home too, of course.
She looked up, took you in at a glance, and her expression softened instantly. Concern crossed her face, and she moved toward you without hesitation.
“Oh, zlatíčko (sweetheart),” she cooed, her voice soft enough to barely disturb the air. “You’re so poorly.” Her hand lifted to your forehead, cool and soothing against your overheated skin, drawing a quiet, sympathetic sound from her before she lowered it again. “Come sit, okay?”
You let her guide you to the chair, body sagging as soon as you were down. Natasha stayed close, brushing damp strands of hair back from your forehead.
Wanda brought the soup over, steam rising in gentle curls. She lifted the spoon toward your mouth, waiting patiently until you leaned forward. “Slowly,” she instructed. “Just a sip. Good girl.”
The warmth slipped down your throat, soothing the raw ache there, settling into your chest until it drew a quiet, involuntary sigh from you. Each spoonful came in the same unhurried rhythm, Wanda never rushing, her soft praise just for you. Beside you, Natasha stayed, her presence a constant anchor, her hand brushing your arm now and then, not demanding attention, just reminding you that you were held.
Your head grew heavier, thoughts blurring at the edges, though this fog had little to do with the flu. It was the way they spoke to you, the rhythm of it, the certainty. Your breathing slowed, deeper now, even as your chest still felt tight, and you found yourself sagging even further into Natasha’s side as though gravity itself had shifted.
Each pause between spoonfuls felt longer than it was, your eyes slipping closed without permission, lashes fluttering as you drifted. The ache in your head dulled, the constant background noise fading into something distant and unimportant. All that mattered was their warmth, their hands, their voices.
Natasha noticed, of course she did. She always noticed. It had been unfolding from the moment she found you in the library, every word and touch carefully chosen. You had already been soft when you came through the door, but with Wanda close, with both of them surrounding you, you had fully let go.
“That’s it,” Natasha soothed, her voice barely more than breath against your ear, grounding and guiding all at once. “You don’t need to worry about anything now.” Her hand rested firm and steady against you. “Just be.”
Wanda smiled softly as she watched you sink, her thumb brushing slow, repetitive circles over your hand. “You’re safe, baby. You don’t have to do anything. Mommy and daddy have you.”
Natasha’s voice slid in after, low and steady, fitting neatly into the quiet space opening inside you. “Feel that?” she murmured gently. “How much easier it is when you stop thinking.” She let the silence stretch and settle before continuing. “All soft now. Letting us take care of you.” A faint warmth threaded her words. “Aren’t you glad I brought you home?”
Heat bloomed across your cheeks, a soft sniffle slipping out as your eyes prickled, but you didn’t turn away. The need sat heavy and undeniable in your chest, and it didn’t feel like something you had to justify. You nodded, small and honest, accepting it.
Wanda kept feeding you until the bowl was empty, her movements unhurried, her praise quiet and sincere. “That’s it, maličká (little one),” she praised. “You’re doing so well for us.”
When the bowl was empty, they didn’t rush you. Your head remained nestled against Natasha’s shoulder, her warmth steady and grounding, while Wanda’s hand covered yours, her thumb tracing lazy, comforting circles. Their soft, low voices floated around you, weaving through the air, and you drifted deeper, suspended in the safety of their presence.
After some time, you had drifted completely off, your head resting heavily on Natasha’s shoulder. A soft tap and a quiet murmur stirred you awake. “Alright,” she whispered, gentle and patient. “Let’s get you out of these clothes and tucked into bed, yeah?”
You didn’t resist. Your mind barely registered the movement. Natasha’s hands were gentle as they guided you down the hallway, one resting lightly on your back, the other holding your hand. Wanda followed close behind, cradling a bundle of soft pyjamas.
Every step felt heavier than the last, your limbs reminding you just how weighted down you were by exhaustion, chills, and the lingering ache of illness.
The bedroom welcomed you with a dim, warm glow. The bed was already turned down, blankets and pillows fluffed and waiting, and you moved toward it almost automatically. A gentle tug on your hand stopped you. “Mommy has some nice pyjamas for you,” Natasha stated, her voice low and comforting. “Get changed, and then we can get into bed, okay?”
You nodded, and Wanda slipped forward, peeling away your outdoor layers with careful movements. Goosebumps prickled your skin as the air touched your fevered arms, and relief washed through you when the soft fabric of the pyjama top slid over you, warm and comforting like a gentle hug. Your body melted into it instinctively, shivers rippling through you as your tension eased.
Wanda knelt to help with the bottoms, smoothing the waistband just so, her every touch slow, and nurturing. Each movement, each gentle adjustment, coaxed your muscles to relax further, letting your body fully sink into the safety of their care once again.
Natasha pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder from behind, her warmth sinking through your fevered muscles. “There we go, nice and cosy now.”
She eased you gently into the centre of the bed, fluffing the pillows perfectly behind your head. When she drew back, a small, breathy whine of “Daddy” slipped from your lips, tangled with a pitiful cough and a sniffle. She chuckled softly, the sound warm and fond, full of quiet amusement at just how needy and soft you had become.
She slipped into her own pyjamas with purposeful swiftness. It was far too early for bed, but you didn’t even think to protest. She had decided the day was over for her too, and who were you to argue with that?
Moments later, she slid back onto the mattress beside you, curling close. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you snugly against her chest, the steady thrum of her heartbeat and the gentle warmth of her body pressing softly into yours.
Wanda moved quietly around the room, changing herself before producing a small packet of tablets from the bedside table, followed by a bottle of water that seemed to appear as if by magic.
She popped two pills from the packet, holding them out with care. Normally, you might have asked what they were, curiosity or caution pricking at your mind, but in this haze of comfort and exhaustion, the thought didn’t even surface.
You parted your lips automatically, letting her place the pills on your tongue. She tipped the tiniest sip of water to your lips so you could swallow, her fingers brushing your jaw, patient and careful, making sure you managed it in your half-slumped, exhausted state.
“Thank you, Mama,” the words coming out unguarded before you even realised. Then your eyes widened, cheeks burning, and a sharp inhale sent you into a fit of coughs and wheezes. Where had ‘mama’ come from? Panic fluttered in your chest, a brief spike of fear slicing through the haze of warmth.
Wanda didn’t flinch. Her brow creased with concern as she watched you cough, but a faint blush warmed her cheeks. “Shhh, baby,” she cooed softly. “Mama’s right here.”
When your coughing finally eased, she leaned closer, pressing gentle kisses to your temple. “Mama’s girl,” she whispered, as if repeating the word could sink the reassurance into you, letting you know it was completely and utterly safe.
Something in you settled even deeper at that, your body loosening further as if the word had clicked something gently into place. You made a small sound in your throat, reaching out without opening your eyes, fingers curling toward her, grabbing her hand and tugging just slightly.
She allowed it and slipped beneath the covers with you and Natasha, the mattress dipping slightly as she settled in. Wanda curled against your other side, one hand warm and protective on your stomach, the other sliding beneath you so she could hold you just as securely, just as close as Natasha.
You burrowed deeper between them, a soft sigh escaping as your eyes drifted closed. There was nowhere else you wanted to be, nothing else you needed. If this was all life ever offered, this warmth, this care, these arms holding you as the world outside faded, it would be more than enough.
“Sleep now,” Natasha murmured, her lips brushing the top of your head again. “We’ve got you.” You nodded against her chest, knowing words weren’t necessary. And then you let go, letting the dull ache, the fever, the exhaustion slip away as sleep claimed you in their arms.
—
I’ve come to the conclusion that I have absolutely no clue how to end my fics in a satisfying way… so, honestly, you’re just stuck with whatever the hell this ending is tbh.
Also, I would like to add that my dog fought me every fucking step of the way while writing this, so if there are any random letters or spaces, it's on him. Here’s the photographic evidence:
When twenty-year-old you moves to Brookvale hoping for a fresh start, you never expect to stumble upon Little Haven, a small community center run by Wanda and Natasha Romanoff, a married couple known for their patience and kindness. The moment you step inside, the soft light, gentle voices, and safe routines make you feel, for the first time in years, like you belong.
What begins as quiet visits quickly turns into something more permanent. The Romanoffs’ home and Little Haven become a refuge where you can let go, embrace your littleness, and be cared for without fear or judgment. With them, you discover that family isn’t only what you’re born into, sometimes it’s the people who choose to make space for you, day after day, in love, patience, and trust.
Because home isn’t just a place, it’s the hearts that keep you safe.
~~~~~~~~~~~
To all the people who read this and regress, this story is SFW, my other stories may have more intense themes.
Minors DNI
Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Little Reader (non romantic)
You were supposed to meet your friends for drinks. Instead, you were sent the wrong bar, dim lights, cold stares, and two women behind it who own far more than just the liquor license. Wanda and Natasha take one look at you, soft, upset, dressed too pretty for a place like this, and decide you’re theirs.
Very Late CaitVi x Little!Reader Sicktember: Day 3
Alt Prompt: Gentle back/belly rubs.
Contains: Non-sexual MD/LG and AB/DL content and depiction of illness. If you aren't interested, do not read.
Hopefully, I'll be able to do more writing this week and next week. :3
You woke up feeling very little. The room was too warm, too bright, and despite it being nearly silent, it felt too loud. You let out a small whine, rolling over in your oversized toddler bed. You really didn't want to go to work today... You felt so icky.
You realized it must still be early, since neither of your mommies had appeared to wake you up. You whined again, grabbing your favorite stuffy and cuddling them close, before sitting up. Your body protested to the change of position as your vision swam and your tummy churned.
You carefully scooted to the edge of the bed, gathering the courage to get up.
"Hey, pumpkin. It's a little early for you."
You jumped a little at Vi's voice.
"Sorry, baby. I just noticed you sitting up and wanted to check in," Vi apologized, making her way to your bed. "You ok?"
You gave a discontented hum as Vi sat down next to you, cuddling up to her.
"You can go back to sleep, baby. It's still early," Vi soothed, rubbing your side. She frowned at the heat coming off your body.
"Can't... Hot... Hurts..." You mumbled.
"Yeah, you do feel pretty warm, honey," Vi confirmed, gently pulling you onto her lap. "C'mon, lets get your temp and some meds."
She gently lifted you up as she stood, cradling you in her arms. Somehow, just being close to Mama made you feel just a little better. Mamas always made things better.
"Well, someone's up early," Caitlyn said with a slight teasing. You gave a small hum, your face still buried in Vi's shoulder.
"She's not feeling good," Vi clarified.
"Oh, darling," Caitlyn cooed, gently placing her hand on you back and rubbing soothingly. "She is rather warm, isn't she?"
"Yeah, was just about to grab the thermometer and give her some Tylenol," Vi explained. "Definitely not going in today."
"Oh, certainly not. Are you going to stay with her or should I?" Caitlyn asked.
"I've got her," Vi assured.
"I'll mark you both out," Caitlyn said.
"Thanks, cupcake," Vi said, continuing to make her way to the bathroom. She gently set you on the toilet lid, earning a small whine. "Yeah, I know, pumpkin. I'll get you cozied up in just a minute."
Vi rummaged in a drawer for the thermometer, quickly finding it thanks to Caitlyn's organization... Which she'd just ruined.
"Heh... Cupcake's gonna kill me," Vi said softly, smiling fondly. "Turn your head, buttercup."
You obeyed, emitting a small whine when Vi inserted the ear thermometer.
"I know, baby. It's not very comfy, is it?" Vi asked, looking at the reading. "Yeah, your running hot today. We can fix that."
Vi pulled the Tylenol from the cabinet, measuring out a small cupful, before holding it to your lips. You drank obediently.
"Such a good girl," Vi praised, rinsing the small cup. "Let's get you laid back down, and I'll get your sippy filled up."
You gave a small nod as you were picked up.
--
You awoke feeling just as bad, if not worse. You took a small sip from your sippy, whimpering as you swallowed the liquid. You wanted Mama...
You crawled out of bed, standing on shaky legs. You tried to think where Vi might be as you entered the hallway, your legs struggling to hold your weight. Just as you were contemplating where to go, Vi walked out of the study.
"Mama..." You whimpered, reaching toward her.
"Hey, baby. you feelin' any better?" Vi asking as she picked you up. You shook you head, burying your face in her shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
"Wanna cuddle," you mumbled into her shirt.
"Yeah, I think I can make that happen," Vi said, carrying you to her and Caitlyn's room. "Do you wanna watch anything?"
You shook your head. The thought of the television felt too overwhelming.
"Read?" You asked.
"Y'know, that's more of Cait's thing..." Vi said with a slight laugh. "But, I guess it wouldn't hurt to pick up a book."
She sat on the bed, bringing her feet up. She rearranged you on her lap so you were sitting sideways against her. She then pulled a book from the shelf behind her.
"Not tired of (fav book) yet, are you, pumpkin?" Vi asked, earning a small smile. "There's my baby."
She began to read, holding the book in one hand and rubbing your back with the other. Slowly, you drifted off, catching less and less of the familiar story.
When Vi looked down at you, you were fast asleep. She smiled, kissing your forehead. She felt a buzz from the phone in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a text from Caitlyn.
Cupcake: How's she doing?
Vi smiled, taking a picture of you and herself.
Sweet Tooth: Asleep. I'm trapped.
Less than a minute later, she received a reply.
Cupcake: I'd guess you got yourself into that situation. I'll be home soon, darling.
Vi smiled, placing the phone down next to her. She continued to rub your back, content to just hold you.
summary: you wanna be just like Caitlyn, and she finds it adorable
cw: age regression, fluff
a/n: this was an adorable request
—
You wanna be just like Caitlyn, and she notices
Of course she notices. It’s subtle at first, easy to miss if she weren’t trained to observe details. The way you sit up a little straighter when she enters the room. The way your hands fold in your lap the same way hers do when she’s thinking. Even the serious little furrow in your brow when you’re concentrating very hard on… well, everything.
Right now, you’re standing in front of the mirror in her bedroom.
Very seriously.
Caitlyn leans against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, watching as you tug your oversized sweater down and clear your throat.
“I am… uh… The Sheriff...,” you say, stumbling over the words, trying again. “Sheriff-”
“Close,” Caitlyn says gently, amusement warm in her voice.
Your eyes light up immediately. “Caitlyn!” You spin around, “Did I do good?”
You’re small today. Not in size, but in the way you cling to every expression on her face, the way your emotions sit right on the surface. She softens instantly, crouching so she’s eye-level with you.
“You did wonderfully,” she says, “Very serious. Very important.”
You beam, “I wanna be like you,” you announce, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Her heart does that thing, that quiet ache of affection she’s learned comes with being your caregiver, “Oh?” she prompts.
“Mhm!” You nod hard, “You’re tall. And smart. And you help people. And you’re not scared.”
Caitlyn smiles, lifting a hand to smooth your hair, “I get scared all the time, darling.”
You frown, clearly unconvinced, “No you don’t.”
She chuckles softly, “I promise you, I do.”
That seems to require thinking. You toddle over to her desk, climb into her chair with a little grunt, and grab one of her old notebooks. You flip it open upside down and pick up a pen, holding it exactly the way she does.
Caitlyn watches as you squint at the page, tongue poking out in concentration, “I’m writin’ reports,” you explain. “Like you.”
“Mm,” she hums, standing beside you, “And what are you reporting?”
You scribble nonsense lines, nodding seriously, “Bad guys. But I caught them.”
“Of course you did.”
You glance up at her, eyes wide and hopeful, “Did I do it right?”
She reaches over, gently adjusting your grip on the pen, guiding your fingers the way she would with a trainee but much softer, "Just like that,” she says. “You learn very fast, little one.”
That praise makes you excited. You swivel in the chair, suddenly wiggly, excitement bubbling over.
“I need boots!” you declare, “And a coat. And-” you gasp, pointing at her. “And I gotta stand like this.”
You hop down and try to copy her posture. Feet apart, hands behind your back. It’s not quite right, you sway a little, but the effort is unmistakable.
Caitlyn bites back a laugh and instead mirrors you, bending slightly, softening her stance,.“You know,” she says quietly, “you don’t have to be exactly like me.”
You pause, shoulders drooping just a bit, “I don’t?”
She kneels again, resting her hands on your arms, “No. You can be you.” She smiles warmly, “And if you want to borrow some of my bravery, or my kindness, or even my posture…” She taps your nose gently, “I’m happy to share.”
Your eyes shine at that.
Slowly, you step forward and press your forehead into her shoulder. Caitlyn wraps her arms around you without hesitation, one hand rubbing slow circles into your back.
“I like being a little Caitlyn,” you mumble.
She laughs softly once more, holding you close, “Then I suppose I’ll have to take very good care of my deputy.”
You peek up at her, "I’m your deputy?”
“Of course,” she says, “Most important job there is.”
SYNOPSIS: To save face at a get-together, Vi asked her best friend —you— to pretend to be her girlfriend for the weekend. It was harmless, just a performance... but when instincts and unspoken feelings blur the line between what's fake and what's real, things get a lot more complicated.
WORD COUNT: 7.2k+ words. | CONTENT WARNING: omegaverse setting. alpha!vi x omega!reader. fake dating, a bit of a slow burn and friends to lovers. NSFW MINORS DNI. masturbation (vi), oral sex (reader receiving), penetration (reader receives), vi has a girlpenis i guess? omegaverse shenanigans. porn with so much plot. did not wait for this to get proofread since i couldn't wait to put this out here.
note: inspired by prompts #3 and #14 from this post. a bit of a long one shot, sorry! decided to go with omegaverse for my first nsfw os in honor of kinktober •𐃷•
Vi had always thought she was tough; after all, she was an Alpha. Everything about her demanded attention: her bright reddish pink hair, blue eyes that could soften with mischief or harden like steel, a crooked smile that disarmed the brattiest Omega, a powerful scent of worn leather and fresh rain that made heads turn around in every room she walked in —she rarely backed down from anything.
Except her family and friends.
“Are you finally bringing someone to the reunion this year?” Her sister tilted her head as she threw a grape and chuckled once it hit Vi’s forehead, “Or did you already come up with an excuse?”
“Powder…” Vander’s voice was stern, but playful at the same time.
“Uh, I don’t know, guys, I can’t seem to have anything other than one-night stands,” Powder did a poor imitation of her sister’s voice, “I’m a cliché Alpha fuckgirl.”
Vi was about to tell her sister to fuck off, but a wave of nuisance hit her as she noticed her family laughing about the joke. She didn’t bother herself with whatever others thought of her, but as she looked around the living room, she noticed everyone had found their mate. Everyone but her.
Vander wasn’t traditional, he didn’t try and push any societal standards on his daughters, and Vi was thankful for that. But still, the idea that a respectable Alpha should have a mate —or, at the very least, a partner— by now lingered on her head.
And Vi didn’t have any. No mate. No partner. Only many broken hearts she left behind or girls that she could call late at night when she needed to release and relax.
She was happy with the carefree dynamic, until now that a seed of doubt and self-consciousness had been planted. She had independence. She was able to have as many friends as she wanted, some with benefits, and the rest just regular friends. That made her think of you.
That is how she ended up in your apartment on a Wednesday evening under the disguise of just hanging out. Vi was on one end of the couch, heart pounding heavily against her chest, too heavily to simply be for her sister’s nagging.
You were cuddled up on the other end of the couch, laptop balanced over your knees as you bopped your head to the rhythm of the background music that the movie you picked played on TV. Your eyes flickered up and found Vi already looking at you.
“You’re staring,” you mumbled as you looked back down at the small screen and pretended to scroll as you tried to ease your nervousness, “That usually means you want something.”
“Can’t I just look at my friend just because she’s pretty?”
“Ah, a compliment, so you do want something from me.”
Vi wanted to contradict you, but she gave up, “Okay, you know about how my family does a lot of get-togethers at the end of the year, right?”
“Yup, it’s kind of weird but cute.”
“Okay, so, every single reunion everyone is bothering me for not having a mate… Powder, Mylo, Jayce, my aunt Kels,” she rolled her eyes in annoyance, “No Omega, Vi? Are you ever settling down? You should meet my friend’s daughter.”
You giggled at the high-pitched tone, covering your mouth with one hand and shaking your head, “I get it, but I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
“I can’t go through that. So… I need a shield.”
“Uh-huh,” your eyes narrowed in curiosity, “And that involves me because?”
Vi let out a breath, straightening up. She held her hands together as she leaned forward, staring at the floor. It was a rare sight. The confident Alpha, now uncertain of what she was about to do.
“I need you to come with me. As my plus one.”
“Your plus one,” you repeated, as if to make sure you were listening right, “You mean…”
“Like my girlfriend,” Vi interrupted, looking back at you as she raised her hands to stop the imminent objection on your part, “It’s just pretend! Just for the weekend. You don’t need to be my girlfriend for real, it’s just—”
“Fake dating,” you finished the sentence, managing to keep your tone calm as your heart raced at the proposition.
“Yes!” Vi smiled sheepishly, “Please, you’re the only one who can pull it off. Cait is too frivolous, Kiara is too much into PDA, Evangeline is too obsessive…”
You unconsciously rolled your eyes as Vi kept on giving reasons as to why none of her past —or current— lovers could play the role. A tinge of jealousy creeped into you, and you knew fake dating Vi was not a good idea. Not when you already had the strongest suspicion that you were seeing her as more than a friend.
Her hand held yours and made your train of thought stop abruptly, making your head turn towards her. You almost melted at the way her gaze had softened up, warming your heart. You knew you were in trouble.
“Your sister will know it’s fake,” you tried to argue with logic before she could speak again, “I’ve already met her and her mate.”
“Not if we sell it,” she insisted, “We already spent pretty much every waking hour together, she won’t question it.”
“So, you want me to lie to your whole family,” you deadpanned, your quickened pulse betraying you.
“Don’t think of it as lying, it’s… performing,” she corrected, grinning as she squeezed your hand, “Please, you’re brilliant, beautiful, charming. They’re gonna love you and leave me alone for a while.”
The compliments sent a flutter through your chest and down to your stomach, but you tried to keep reminding yourself. She just needs help, she doesn’t mean it like that.
You crossed your arms against your chest, freeing yourself from her grab to try and regain control of yourself, “And what does this… performance entail? Hand holding, back hugging, laughing at your awful jokes?”
Vi couldn’t help but feel excited at the idea of fake dating you. She had never crossed the line, not because she didn’t want to have you in between her arms, to kiss your lips, to make you hers every night —but because she didn’t want to risk losing you. She was scared to commit, but she didn’t want to just use you and leave you as she did with many others. So, she sacrificed her instincts and opted to have you as a friend instead.
But maybe this whole experience could end up opening a door for both of you. Vi liked the idea of that.
“Exactly that,” her gaze had sharpened a bit, almost as if testing the territory, “Unless you’re uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable? You longed for nothing more than to be as close as possible to Vi. Pretending to be hers, even if it was just this once, seemed dangerous, but thrilling.
You scoffed, biting your lower lip with uneasiness before nodding your head, “Okay. I’ll do it. But you owe me dinner for a whole month.”
Vi grinned triumphantly, holding out her hand for you to shook on it, “Deal.”
As you lay in bed that night, remembering the way Vi’s hand lingered more than necessary, a thought kept running through your head: it was going to be a hell of a weekend.
The thought was unofficially confirmed the rest of the week, as Vi and you kept hanging out but neither of you mentioned the upcoming “performance”. You went to the movies, went out for coffee together, and it wasn’t until Thursday night just as you were walking to your apartment that Vi finally said something.
“Wear something cute and casual tomorrow,” she was looking down at her phone as she spoke, “I’ll send you a pic of whatever I wear, in case you wanna match. You know… to look believable.”
To say you were drooling after she sent you a selfie the next day, would be an exaggeration. But heat was pooling between your legs as you stared at your phone screen.
Vi sent you a close-up picture of her outfit: a white shirt with the top unbuttoned, leaving her cleavage out there for everyone to admire, dark denim jeans that adjusted perfectly to her toned legs, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up to show the tattoos on her arm and how muscly they were. She had taken the selfie from above, and you wondered if she took it intentionally like that so that her breasts would pop up and her parted lips would catch your attention.
You tried to ignore the fire inside you and chose to subtly retaliate. You picked a white square-neck sleeveless top, pairing it with a short black skirt and matching black boots. As you finished doing your hair and makeup, you heard a knock on the door.
You gave a quick look at yourself in the mirror, noticing that your outfit would only have you shivering through the night as the weather was already turning cold. An idea popped into your head, and you ignored the denim jacket that was thrown over your desk as you grabbed your bag and made your way towards the entrance of your apartment.
Before you even opened the door, Vi’s scent overwhelmed you. You closed your eyes and let yourself enjoy it for a couple of seconds, only snapping out of it as you heard a second knock, more insistent than the first time.
Outside of your apartment, Vi rested against the doorway and cleared her throat as your scent threw her off. She had grown used to it by now, managing to push down her instincts whenever she was around you, but the excitement for this little “project” you two were about to do must have been strong enough to lose that ability.
She straightened up as the door opened and couldn’t help but look at you up and down, eyes lingering on your legs. Her gaze made her way up to your face, although she stopped a couple of seconds to stare at your chest without any discretion.
Her eyes met yours, and she smirked once she noticed the redness on your cheeks.
“Well, damn,” she chuckled lowly, “I am a lucky girl, aren’t I?”
You rolled your eyes, giving a few steps forward and closing the door behind you. Vi noticed your bare arms and furrowed her eyebrows.
“Aren’t you gonna get cold, babe?”
“Uh, bab— What?” you stumbled upon your own words, looking back at her in surprise.
“You’re my girlfriend, so I figured the nickname was necessary,” she made sure to emphasize the word, lifting her hands to caress your arms as if to warm you up, “Wanna go back inside and grab a jacket?”
You cleared your throat, head already spinning from the tension between you and Vi. “Can I just borrow yours?”
Vi’s smirk only deepened at your words, and she chuckled as she walked you towards her car. Once inside, she reached into the back seats, and the movement had her be even closer to you. Before you could enjoy the moment, she turned back around and offered you her leather jacket.
“I was going to ask you to wear something mine anyways,” she winked at you.
Yup, it’s going to be a hell of a weekend, you thought as you put on the jacket, and her scent overwhelmed you.
The ride was quieter than expected, a couple of comments and furtive glances every here and there. You looked as you arrived at The Last Drop, Vi’s family’s business. She had told you about it, but it was the very first time you went there. Especially since Vi’s talks about the place were followed by her latest love conquest.
But now, you were there with her. As her girlfriend. You walked in, immediately astonished by the atmosphere: music was playing in the background, but you were able to listen to the happy chatter of everyone there, lights moving along to the rhythm of the music, people enjoying themselves and having a good time.
“Welcome to Vander’s place,” Vi mumbled with a small grin.
Seeing the way your eyes sparkled as you looked around and the soft smile on your lips made her heart melt. It gave her the courage to grab your hand and intertwine your fingers with hers, giving you a new smile as you looked at her with surprise.
“C’mon, let’s meet my family.”
Powder spotted you two immediately as you made your way towards them and a squeal left her mouth.
“Oh! I knew it would be her!” she giggled happily as she grabbed her mate’s arm and shook it with excitement, “Ekko, I told you!”
He laughed, looking at the young Omega with tenderness, “Yes, baby, you did.”
As you finally approached the family, you couldn’t help but feel awkward at the way everyone was staring at you.
“Vi, you’re here,” a tall, sturdy man greeted her with a grin, “And who is your friend?”
Vi straightened up unconsciously, ignoring the way her heart thumped loudly against her chest as she gave you a gentle nudge forward, “This is (y/n). My girlfriend.”
Your stomach flipped at the short presentation. Girlfriend, she said for the second time and the night was barely beginning. The word sounded foreign yet delicious in her mouth. You were starting to enjoy it a little bit too much already.
You smiled politely, holding out your hand towards Vi’s dad. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
The man laughed, accepting your hand. Nonetheless, he didn’t shake it —he pulled you in for a hug. It stunned you at first, but you ended up melting into his embrace. His scent was strong, of whiskey and wood, and it reminded you of your own dad.
“Call me Vander,” he whispered into your ear, pulling away but holding your right shoulder with one hand as he looked back at Vi, “Better take care of her, kiddo.”
On any other occasion, Vi would have scoffed at the nickname or mumbled something about lame parental advice. But this time, she only smiled and nodded.
“Will do.”
“It’s about time you brought someone special,” Vi’s cousin, Jayce, playfully hit her in the arm.
“You’re so charming,” Mel, his partner, came up to hug you, too. “And I love your makeup!”
“Thanks,” you blushed, smiling at the idea of everyone liking you already, “Your hair is so pretty.”
“Okay, okay, I met her first, I’m calling best friend dibs,” Powder jokingly pushed everyone else around, so she’d be standing next to you.
A warm hand grabbed you by the hip, and you didn’t need to turn around to realize it was Vi who pulled you closer, pressing her chest to your back. You could feel her breath against your neck as she spoke.
“She’s mine, so everyone back off,” she chuckled as she tried to pass it off as a joke, but the truth was she was starting to get jealous at everyone calling out for your attention. She wanted to be the only one you focused on tonight.
The evening progressed better than either of you could have planned. Everything felt natural. You laughing at Vi’s family’s comments, the way you both looked for each other, how well you fit into their dynamic.
As you sat down on a bar stool, you sighed happily and ordered a cocktail. Vi was at your side immediately, sitting down next to you and a hand casually resting on your knee.
“This is the best night ever,” she grinned, already a bit tipsy.
“You’re ridiculously good at this,” you tried to keep your voice even, sipping the cocktail once the bartender gave it to you.
Vi’s eyes lingered on the way your lips wrapped around the straw, mind drifting and imagining how well they would look wrapping her c—
She shook her head, trying to erase the image. But it was hard as you only looked at her in confusion, eyes flickering up and staring at her between thick eyelashes.
“Good at what?” she leaned closer, breath warm against your ear, “Being charming and irresistible?”
“And a pain in the ass,” you rolled your eyes playfully, but refused to move away. Having her this close only sent jolts of electricity in your body.
“Gotta admit, I like doing this with you,” she murmured, her grin softening but teasing, “Calling you my girlfriend, being this close to you… I like it a lot.”
There was a shift in the air surrounding you. Your pulse quickened and you felt a warmth flutter in your chest. Were you feeling this way because of the alcohol? There was a pull that you couldn’t explain. Is it barely an Omega instinct or is it because of Vi?, you thought to yourself, although you feared you knew the answer already.
By the time the night ended, everyone was smitten with you and wanted you around for the next reunions. Vander said you were always welcomed into his house and bar, Powder and Ekko wanted to hang out with you as soon as possible, and Jayce and Mel invited you to their housewarming party —which, oh surprise, was the next day. And Vi was quick to accept. With that, your resolve to stay detached had begun to crumble.
“We make a great team, the best team,” Vi said on the drive home, eyes glinting, “Don’t you think so?”
You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you made yourself comfortable in the passenger seat, adjusting the Alpha’s jacket around you and inhaling her intoxicating scent. As a reflex, Vi’s hand once again rested on your knee, brushing it softly, but you couldn’t ignore the spark you felt as she did.
“Yeah,” you turned to look at her, it was dark, but the dashboard light let you admire her side profile, “Yeah, we do.”
The next day, you woke up to the sound of your daily alarm you had forgotten to turn off. You stopped it and stretched, rolling onto your side. Just as the sleepiness began to wash off, you felt an odd pang to your chest —a lingering warmth from the night before.
Vi. The way she acted around you even when no one else was looking. You tried to tell yourself it was all a lie, just an act, but a part of you refused to believe it. The shared glances, the physical closeness, Vi’s words… I like doing this with you, she said. Did she mean it?
You did your usual morning routine, trying to stop thinking too much about it. Still, you had to do it all over again tonight.
As you were having breakfast, you scrolled through your unread text messages. You blinked at the notifications on Vi’s chat, noticing most of them were from right after she dropped you off.
Vi: [Deleted message]
Vi: [Deleted message]
Vi: you saved meeee thank you sossoso mucxh
Vi: [Deleted message]
Vi: [Deleted message]
Vi: Sorry, sent a bunch of drunk gibberish last night.
Vi: Morning! See you later?
Meanwhile, Vi was pacing around her room, phone in hand as she hoped that you hadn’t read the messages she had sent.
Vi: come backkk i wanna kiss u bby pls
Vi: u loked so pretiii istgg
Vi: you saved meeee thank you sossoso mucxh
Vi: wanna b isside u so bapp
Vi: ur perfect bby sosososo prfect ¡(“(/”!=
She deleted them as soon as she read them, leaving the only one that wasn’t inappropriate. She didn’t usually drunk messaged people —at least not like that.
She ran a hand through her hair, letting out a shaky breath after doing damage control. What the hell is wrong with me?, she thought and let herself fall into her bed. She was an Alpha —strong, independent, and fearless. But her mind was full of images of you, her friend, the Omega helping her out, the one who made her lose control.
Before she realized, her hand had already made its own way into her pajama pants and she let out a shaky, silent gasp as she touched herself, closing her eyes to picture you —your face, your eyes, your parted lips, the way your breasts would fit perfectly into her hands.
It felt dirty, but she couldn’t stop. She ended up having to flip over, thrusting her hips against the edge of her bed. She imagined it was you underneath her, she had you leaning against a counter and had raised your skirt far enough to find your slit. Would you be dripping all over? Would you be moaning against her hand as she tried to silence you? Would you take her all in on the first try?
Her movements became sloppy and hurried, panting as she chased her own release. She finally came undone, her body relaxing against the bed. It was quick and not nearly as fulfilling as she had expected, but it was better than nothing.
Her high was interrupted by the notifications sounds on her phone, and she fixed her pants as she stood up slowly. Vi made a quick mental note to wash her sheets later in the day, grabbing her phone and almost dropping as she read your name.
You: Hi! No worries lol
You: Pick me up at 7?
Vi was not going to make it out of this weekend alive.
The evening arrived quickly, and you walked into Mel and Jayce’s home, Vi’s hand firm on your hips as you navigated around the crowded rooms. You couldn’t ignore the fact that her scent was even stronger than before, and it was making you lightheaded, so you appreciated having her hold onto you, even if she didn’t do it for that specific reason.
“You made it!” Mel greeted you with a hug once again, “Feel free to grab anything from the waiters. Dinner will be served in about an hour.”
“Vi, I should tell you, my mother invited—”
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite pink-haired Alpha.”
Vi’s eyes widened in surprise as she heard the voice, clearing her throat. You noticed her grip tightened and loosened up repeatedly against your hip.
A tall, beautiful woman walked up towards you. She was smiling seductively, and you didn’t know whether to feel jealous or to admire her. Everything about her was gorgeous.
“Hey, Cait,” Vi greeted her and felt you tense up under her touch.
So, this is Caitlyn, you thought. Vi told you all about her. They had some sort of friends-with-benefits agreement, not caring for exclusiveness, only using each other to let out the stress and find some release.
You lowered your gaze as she stood in front of you, clearly intimidated by her imposing stance. Nonetheless, Cait smiled at you and held out her hand.
“Hi, I’m Caitlyn,” when you looked up into her eyes, you noticed a glint of mischief, “You must be (y/n).”
You were taken aback by the mention of your own name. How did she know who you were?
You shook her hand, noticing out of the corner of your eye that Vi was blushing. A rare sight. “That’s me. Nice to meet you.”
“I’ve heard so much about you,” Cait turned to look at Vi, “And you! You hadn’t called me in a while, I thought you vanished into thin air.”
“I’ve been busy,” Vi shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, but everything inside her was screaming. There were ambulance sirens and red lights in her head.
“Vi and (y/n) are dating,” Jayce smiled nervously as he joined the conversation, nudged by Mel.
Cait nodded in understanding, turning towards the two of you once again. She smiled gently at you, and you second guessed your jealousy. Of course Vi had a thing for Caitlyn, she was insanely gorgeous. She was charismatic, self-assured, and so gentle.
You remembered the times that Vi vaguely told you about their hook ups and how you thought she was a bitch. A wave of guilt spread through your chest as she smiled warmly at you.
“You make a beautiful couple,” she leaned forward to hug the two of you quickly, her head right in between yours to whisper, “I’m into threesomes if you’re ever interested. You’re so much hotter than what I was told.”
She pulled back and winked at you, smiling once again as she said goodbye and walked away.
You blinked as you felt heat creeping up your cheeks and turned to look at Vi for answers. She was staring at Cait’s back, eyes narrowing in annoyance as she shook her head. As soon as she noticed you were looking at her, Vi smiled sheepishly at you.
“Don’t mind her, I’m not sharing you.”
Your stomach flipped once again as her hand found its usual spot at your hip.
An hour later, you were sitting at the dinner table making small conversation when you felt a familiar warmth spreading through your body. It was subtle at first, so you tried to ignore it, but out of a sudden it hit you with force.
You maintained composure for as long as you could, but by dessert, your pulse was erratic, and your breaths were short and shallow. It didn’t help that Vi smelled so good. You were hyper-aware of her: how close she was, whenever she touched your hand or knee, the spot burned as if you were on fire, her breath as she leaned in and whispered something unintelligible in your ear. Your omega instincts screamed, waiting nothing more than to stop pretending, to stop resisting, and asking Vi to claim you.
She noticed the shift in your demeanor, “Are you okay?”
You noticed the concern in her voice, the way her eyes sharpened as she worried, how her hand grabbed yours and squeezed it to comfort you, but everything only made the fire in your belly burn stronger.
“It’s… It’s the—It’s the wine,” you stuttered, clenching your hands to hide your tremors.
Vi nodded, not wanting to press you any further. Her arm surrounded your shoulders and pulled you closer, a thumb brushing lightly against your side. Little did she know it was making everything worse.
“It’s okay, hun,” she whispered, voice low and magnetic, “I’ve got you.”
The simple sentence, her presence beside you, her touch —everything was overwhelming. Your instincts demanded attention, the warmth pooling in your core betraying you.
You were always careful to track your heat, avoiding going out if there was any chance of getting it soon or using suppressants to avoid it. Your heats were unpredictable: you could either only get moody and horny but manage to handle it yourself; or you would be a whimpering mess, hiding in between your sheets or having someone help you out through it.
With this whole performance you and Vi agreed to do, you forgot to check your calendar. And your heat came with a strong force right there, at the dinner table.
Your hands clenched into fists, legs pressing against each other as you did your best to hide it. God, why here? Why now?
Vi’s head immediately turned to look at you, nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. Your scent… it was sweet, unmistakable.
“God, did you just get—”
She interrupted herself, trying to maintain composure. As soon as a couple of heads turned and looked around the room, she knew she had to get you out of there.
“I’ll take you home,” she muttered, biting her inner cheek as she forced a smile and quickly explained the situation to Mel, who was sitting next to her.
Mel’s eyes widened up and nodded immediately, giving you a reassuring look as Vi helped you up and cautiously walked out of the place, avoiding exposing you to curious eyes.
You were walking towards Vi’s car when your knees faltered, and she caught you, holding you close.
“I can’t control it,” your eyes filled with tears, not knowing if it was out of embarrassment or the urge to feel any sort of relief, “I’m sorry, I can’t…”
Vi carried you with ease, approaching the car with you in her arms. She carefully set you down on the back seats, letting you rest for a bit. She kneeled, hand caressing your cheek.
“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me,” she whispered, taking a deep breath as she moved her hand away and you whimpered, “I’ll take care of you.”
Vi held tightly onto the steering wheel as she drove back to your apartment. Even though the windows were down, your scent was all she could focus on. Her jaw flexed, her shoulders stiffened, she was trying hard to restrain her instincts. Having you whimpering and groaning in the back of her car made it almost impossible.
She parked in front of your place, hurrying to carry you out of the car and let you inside. A slow whine slipped past your throat as her hands were on your skin, and Vi could swear you were burning up.
Vi made her way inside, having been to your apartment countless times before, but feeling as if it was the very first time. She walked towards your bedroom, letting you down carefully on the bed.
You sobbed as you felt her warmth leave you, “Vi, please…”
She gulped loudly, wanting nothing more than to give into her instincts, but she tried to hold it back, “I’ll stay for a bit just to make sure you’re alright. I’ll give you some space.”
“No, n—” your breath caught, feeling the air was too hot so you tried to get out of the uncomfortable dress, “Help me…”
Vi took a deep breath, holding it as long as she could while she walked towards you and helped you out of the dress. She had to look away once you were on your underwear, feeling her core pulsing, so she walked to your drawers and grabbed a random oversized shirt.
“Here you—” she stopped dead in her tracks as she turned back around.
You were lying on the bed, one hand holding one of your breasts as the other one made its way down your body.
Both of you had drunk a lot of wine, but no amount of alcohol could compare to the sight of you, on your underwear, teasing her like this.
“Vi…” you moaned lightly, and her legs gave up, kneeling right where she stood, “Vi, please… I need you. I want you.”
She crawled towards the bed, kneeling right at your feet. This was the loveliest, prettiest view she had ever seen.
“Are you sure?”, she asked, mouth watering as your hand disappeared inside your underwear.
You let out a new whimper, “P-Please...”
Vi nodded instantly, lifting herself up just enough for her hands to reach your underwear. She slowly pulled it down, hissing as your pussy came right into view. It was as if her hands had a life of their own, for they instantly grabbed your legs and pulled them apart as you tried to close them.
A wave of cold air hit you and made you shiver, but your legs burned right where Vi’s hands touched you. You unconsciously started moving your hips, looking for some friction to alleviate the feeling.
Vi looked up at you once again, “Baby, I need you to be sure about this.”
“I a-am,” you nodded, looking straight into her eyes, and the sight of Vi kneeling right between your legs, with her face inches away from your dripping pussy, only made you move your hips harder, “I’m sure, Vi, please.”
And with the confirmation, Vi dived in.
You moaned loudly as her tongue started lapping at your pussy, hands immediately grabbing her head to keep her close.
Your scent was nothing compared to the way you tasted. Vi couldn’t help herself.
“Fuck,” she mumbled against your clit, “You taste so good.”
“Please, please, don’t stop,” you moaned as you pushed her into you once again.
Vi could live like this forever. She curled her tongue and let out a low groan as you slightly pulled her hair, to which she responded with digging her nails into your thighs.
She switches it up, circling up your clit and pressing you down against the mattress. She loves it. She loves the sounds you make, the way your hips buck against her, how you’re holding her tightly against your pussy… it’s better than anything she could have ever imagined.
She sucks on your swollen clit, humming against you as one of her hands frees your thigh only for her fingers to start toying with your entrance. You’re so wet, her middle finger pushes inside you with ease.
“V-Vi!” you moan, arching up your back.
But she doesn’t give up. Her tongue speeds up as she starts finger fucking you, making circles around your clit.
Your legs start trembling and she forces them open with just one hand, diving deeper into you. A second finger enters your slit, and she’s slurping at your juices. Her tongue is curling against your clit, going faster than she did before, and she knows you’re about to come before you let her know.
“A-Ah! Shit, shit, yes!”
You come undone in her lips and she takes it all in, slurping and flicking her tongue to not let a single drop go to waste. Your hips buck from overstimulation, moans escaping your throat as you gently pull her hair.
“Vi, I need you inside me,” you whimper, “Please.”
Giving your pussy a final lick, she pulls back and admires it for a couple of seconds. Vi watches as she takes her fingers out of you, groaning as they come out fully coated with your juices. She brings them into her mouth and closes her eyes to enjoy your taste, cleaning them out before looking back at you.
You’re already propped onto your elbows, chest rising and falling rapidly, but you’re quick to whimper again as your gaze meets Vi’s.
“Please,” you say again, and it’s all Vi needs to hear to stand up.
Her clothes end up scattered around your room, not caring about the mess when you’re on the bed, begging for her to fuck you. Her clit is already pulsing, and you can clearly see it, hands immediately going to gently stroke it.
She hisses and grabs your hand, pulling it over your head as she adjusts herself on top of you, “Sorry, I really need to feel your warmth.”
Your chuckle gets interrupted as she slowly enters you, eliciting a loud whimper from you as your hands now grab onto her back tightly.
“You’re so tight,” she groans as she pushes herself inside you, “Fuck, baby, you’re taking me so well.”
“A-Ah, Vi, yes.”
“You like it?” she pushes herself in deeper, smirking at the way your eyes flutter shut and your eyebrows furrow, “C’mon, use your words…”
“Yes, yes,” you nod immediately, “Please, Vi, I need you to move.”
You’re about to complain as you feel her pull out, when she suddenly thrusts back into you with force. Your nails pierce to her back as she begins thrusting into you, quickly finding a pace that had you both moaning in pleasure.
Everything else was gone. Your minds were free of worries, doubts, insecurities —all you had right now each other. The magnetic pull of instinct, the shared heat between you, the feelings you both had let flourished into this moment.
Vi’s lips were nipping at your breasts, when she accidentally ended up making her way at the crook of your neck. Neither of you noticed the insistent tingling —Vi’s urge to mark you, your urge to be claimed. You felt a sharp pain as her teeth bit into the side of your neck, but you ignored it, too caught up with the feeling of her inside you to care.
“I’m gonna cum,” she breathed rapidly, pace speeding up as she reached her high, “C’mon, baby, cum with me.”
Without waiting for your response, her hand found her way between your legs and started circling faster and faster at your clit. You moaned in surprise at the intense feeling, letting out a whimper as you felt the second orgasm of the night hit you out of a sudden.
Vi collapsed on top of you, having emptied herself inside you. She remained inside, enjoying the warm feeling of your walls around her.
“We shouldn’t—”
“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” you muttered, walls clenching against her as your heat was far from over, “Please, Vi, I need you.”
Her eyes sparked with desire, nodding as she slowly began moving again, “Fine. Less talking, more fucking.”
Your alarm went off, and you grunted, turning it off with your eyes closed as you threw the phone at the other side of the room. You stretched out, and you narrowed your eyes as your hand hit something soft. You stirred up, blinking slowly as you took in the figure next to you: reddish pink hair, bare tattooed back, an arm holding your waist tightly, legs intertwined with yours.
Warmth pooled in your chest and in your core as you had blurry flashbacks of the night before. You went into heat in the middle of the party. You begged Vi to fuck you. You had sex with Vi.
You covered your face with your free hand, shaking your head lightly in embarrassment. You hissed lowly as you felt soreness on the side of your neck, eyebrows furrowing as your hand dropped and touched the spot.
Your fingers brushed something, slightly raised. Your eyes widened. No. It couldn’t be.
You must have begun trembling, for Vi was quick to stir up. With eyes half-lidded, she shuffled around for a bit. “Mmm… what time is it?”
“Vi, do you remember last night?” your cheeks burned red, not only from the memories of your sex-night but from feeling the inevitable pull towards Vi, stronger than ever before.
She sat up lightly, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She turned towards you, eyes traveling down to the spot where your hand still was. The sight of it seemed to fully wake her now, eyes widening and lips parting. “Holy shit.”
“You marked me!” Panic flared inside you as you threw her an accusatory finger.
“I… Hold on,” she raised her hands, and you could swear you saw the gears on her brain turning as she tried to remember, “I didn’t… Shit, I… It was an accident, I swear.”
You stood up and grabbed the first piece of clothing you found on the floor, which turned out to be Vi’s shirt from last night’s party. You were about to apologize and take it off, but stealing her shirt wasn’t half as bad as accidentally marking you.
You ran towards the bathroom, taking a look at yourself in the mirror. There it was, clear as day. A brand new, bright red, very permanent-looking, mating mark.
You hadn’t just indulged in a night of passion with your Alpha friend who you had feelings for. You had bonded. Forever.
You walked back into the room, surprising Vi who was mid-dressed. Since you had taken her shirt, she had thrown one of your pajamas on. Your instincts pulled with longing, wanting Vi to hold you in her arms, to stay with her in bed all day.
But your logical side was panicking. Vi noticed your wide, teary eyes, and made her way up to you. She had always been protective of you, hating to see you hurt or sad, but she always tried to give you space. With the magnetic pull of your bond, she knew it was going to be hell trying to be away from you.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, a hand cupping your cheek, “I’m still me. You’re still you. I’m sorry that I let my instincts get the best of me and I’m sorry that you hate this… and I’m sorry that I feel so happy.”
You froze, looking up at her with confusion, warmth stirring up inside of you.
“You’re… happy?”
“I don’t mean it in a selfish way,” she bit her lower lip, looking down at the mark on your neck, “I mean it in a ‘I love you’ kind of way.”
Before you could open your mouth, she continued.
“I’m sorry that it happened this way, it’s not how I planned— Well, I wasn’t planning anything yet,” she chuckled nervously, pursing her lips, “I meant what I said two nights ago. I like calling you my girlfriend, I like having you around, I like being with you.”
“I like it, too,” you gave her a gentle smile, “And I’ve liked you for a while.”
Vi’s smiled grew and she tugged you closer, lips brushing against your temple, “Good. Because now you’re mine, and I’m yours.”
You leaned into her, letting yourself relax fully. Your heart was pounding and body tingling, as the truth set in: Vi was your Alpha.
She was thinking the exact same thing. As her arms wrapped around you, she hummed lowly. You were hers, and she was yours. Nothing was going to change that.
“Oh my God!”
Powder put her hand on your jaw and tilted your head upwards, admiring the mark on your neck.
It had been a week since the marking incident, and all of Vi’s friends kept asking about you.
“They like you more than they like me”, she told you as you cuddled you one night. That’s why you dropped by Vi’s home.
“You freaking marked her!” Powder chuckled happily, smacking her sister in the arm, “I can’t believe it, you finally settled down.”
Vi smile faltered as her sister held out her hand towards the rest of the family and friends, and they pulled out a couple of bills to pay her.
“What’s going on?”
“We had a little bet,” Ekko shrugged sheepishly, counting the money that Powder passed to him, “Yup, it’s 20 bucks.”
“A bet on what?” You asked in confusion.
“You know, how long it would take you to actually be together,” Powder grinned as her mate gave her back the money, “You don’t think we were fooled by your poor acting last week, right?”
“What the fuck,” Vi shook her head in disbelief, “We weren’t acting!”
“You weren’t cause you were actually head over heels for each other,” Mel grabbed your hand and gave you a squeeze as she smiled excitedly.
“We were rooting for you,” Jayce nodded, “But, yeah, you come over with a girlfriend out of a sudden? She’s definitely a paid actor.”
You looked at Vi and crossed your arms in mock anger, “You didn’t pay me one cent.”
Vi rolled her eyes, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in, “Well, I have other paying methods.”
“Ew! That’s so gross,” Powder scrunched her nose before holding out her hand once again, “Told you there’d be a sex joke on the first week, pay up!”
You laughed as your friends groaned and pulled out more money, before looking back at Vi. She was already staring at you with a smile on her face.
hurt/comfort. vi's a fighter. you love that about her. you also hate that about her. wc: 921
request: if you’re in the mood to write more angst, I’d die for protective vi!!! maybe she finds bruises on reader, or reader gets caught up in one of her bar fights? only if you wanna!!!!
(my inbox is open for requests, please feel free to send them in — 18+ only!)
vi usually loved being in your apartment, in your bed. it was bigger than hers, for one, and usually it had you in it. all wins. some of her fondest memories were of the two of you tangled up in your sheets.
tonight would not be one of them.
she started a timer to make sure she didn’t keep the ice on your ankle for too long. that’s how she knew you hadn’t spoken a word to her in fifteen minutes.
“can we at least talk about it?” she begs.
“what’s there to talk about?” your words have a chilly finality to them that make vi’s eyes sting. “i asked you to stop fighting. you didn’t. here we are.”
violet winces, and a part of you relishes it, because now maybe now she’ll finally fucking understand what you’ve been trying to tell her. tonight had just been the most recent iteration in a long line of ill-advised bar fights vi kept finding herself in. the only difference this time around was that you had gone out with her, and got caught up in the fallout. in the ruckus, you’d been shoved into a table and rolled your ankle. it could have been a lot worse, though. and that was what was weighing on her. on both of you.
“can i see your hip?” she asks.
you consider saying no, to be petty. instead you gesture for her to raise the hem of your dress. she does, with a painstaking tenderness you wouldn’t have thought her capable of when she was pummeling that guy into the bar — but you don’t want to think about that any more.
she sees the telltale yellowing of a nascent bruise and her heart drops. she should have killed that guy. she brushes a thumb over the injured skin, careful not to apply any pressure. “baby.”
you scoff. she looks up at you, bewildered, deer-caught-in-headlights. “have you seen yourself?” you ask.
she has. she caught a glimpse of her reflection in your entryway mirror. her lip was split, and her eye would surely be black tomorrow. nothing she wasn’t used to.
“do you think it’s fun for me, watching you get the shit beat out of yourself every week?”
her pride bristles. “i’m not getting the shit beat out of me—”
“no, of course, i should see the other guy,” you spit out, venomous.
for once, she doesn’t take the bait. she rubs her thumb into your hip in what she hopes are soothing circles. “i don’t want to fight.”
you grin, though the expression is humorless. “that’s a first!” you slap her away from you and smooth down the hem of your skirt, massaging away imagined creases.
she instead cups your face in one calloused hand, and you can’t bring yourself to push her away again. “baby, come on. you’re hurt, i want to take care of you.”
you place your hand over hers, holding her there. “and i want to take care of you, too! but you won’t let me.” she opens her mouth to argue, but you cut her off. “what happens when some guy knocks you in the head too hard and you don’t get back up?”
her thumb strokes your cheek, eyes searching yours. “i always get back up.” she says it like a promise, but you know it’s one she can’t keep.
“and what if you don’t?” your hand fists in her shirt. your voice goes soft. “i need you.” you’ve shown your hand now, you realize. she knows you aren’t mad, just scared. knows you could never actually leave her. you can’t bring yourself to care, though. you pull her in tighter, tuck your head into her shoulder, and try not to cry.
it had been a horrible night. that man at the bar had been awful. part of you wanted to hit him, too. and the fight itself was exhausting. then, you got hurt. vi had totally lost it when you fell, or were pushed, or whatever, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the other guy pressed charges. maybe the bar would, too.
you screw your eyes shut and breathe her in. for a moment, you’re both silent.
she can feel you shaking, pressed up against her, fighting tears. she had been so angry before. crass comments about you seemed like as good of a reason to brawl as any other — better, even, because no one gets to talk about you like that. and fighting had felt good, like it always does, the adrenaline of it. knowing she could hit back.
but now you were crying in her lap, hurting because of her. and you’d been hurting a long time.
“okay,” she whispers. “you’re right.” you pull back tentatively to look her in the eyes. she gazes back at you, unflinching. this isn’t the first time she’s said something like this, but your traitorous heart wants to believe her. as if she can hear your thoughts she adds, “i mean it. if this is how horrible it makes you feel,” she looks you up and down, eyes catching on your swollen ankle, “i’ll stop.”
talk is cheap, you remind yourself. but you can’t fight the smile bubbling up inside you, so you bury your face back in her neck. “i love you,” you mumble, words muffled by the fabric of her shirt.
the knot in her chest loosens. she lays you back on the bed gently, lovingly. she checks that your ankle is still elevated before sinking into the pillows with you. “i love you too,” she says. she brings your knuckles to her bruised lips. “i’m always gonna be here. always gonna take care of you.”
Blessing In Disguise — basketball!Caitlyn x Reader
Summary: Caitlyn Kiramman has been your best friend for years. She's the star of the basketball team, a top student, and a little bit of a player: she has it all. Well, except for you. That is, until a wild party and a night of mistakes consumes both of you.
cw: 10.3K words | 18+ nsfw, basketball!Caitlyn, mentions of drinking, drunk sex, fingering, oral sex, scissoring, strap-ons, jealousy, smut n fluff n hints of angst,
The gym is bright, eye-straining. Thuds of feet landing on foam padding, echoing through the room and squeaks of sneakers rubbing against the polished tiles.
A whistle blurs and your coach dismisses your team. You and your group separate from the tower you had all formed, sweat dripping down your temple as you gaze over to the other side of the gym.
Caitlyn. Standing tall with her jersey and loose shorts. The dark orange ball thumping back and forth against the floor, her feet on the 3-point line, practicing her free throws.
From afar, you can see the slick skin of her throat flexing, gulping before taking in a deep breath. Raising the ball over her head and throwing it with a slight hop.
The ball flies through the air, hitting the rim and missing.
She grabs onto the hem of her jersey, bringing the fabric up to her forehead to wipe off the sweat that glazed her skin in frustration, exposing her soft toned stomach.
Caityn grabs the back of her neck and taps her pointer finger. A known habit of hers that you have grown to learn.
The basketball coach blows his own whistle that hangs around his neck. Ordering them the same fate as you and your team. You all spread out around the gym, sitting in different spots on the bleachers.
You join the navy-haired girl, who was in the process of uncapping her water bottle and leaning her head back to take a swig of water. You watch her gulp it down.
“Something wrong, Cait?” you ask and her eyes meet yours without turning her head.
She just shrugs. “Nothing. Just pre-game jitters,” Caityn explains. You sit by her side, knees close to touching. You grab your own bottle near your bag and sip from its straw.
“Why do you ask?” Cait says and you echo your response:
“I saw you doing that fidgety thing with your hand again.”
“Watching me that close, huh?” She says. You roll your eyes and scoff, giving her a bump on the shoulder.
“Just looking out for your ass.” You earn a laugh. That sweet chuckle leaving her lips.
You watch as her bangs frame her face so well. The rest of her blue mane tied back in a ponytail. Sweat dripping in streaks down her arms and neck.
“Ahem,” you both break eye contact to find Maddie, Caitlyn's girlfriend. The ginger-haired girl stands in front of you with a smile on her face: a smile that screams sarcasm.
Caitlyn packs her things and stands to join the red head. “I’ll catch you later tonight?” Cait asks you, swinging her duffle strap over her shoulder and the ginger linking arms with her.
You nod and watch the two exit, Caitlyn walking stiff with Maddie practically skipping by her side, leaving you to sit alone before gathering your items and heading out of the gym.
|------» ~~~ «------|
“Can I borrow your mascara?”
“Wha–” you start to protest, glaring at Jinx when she swipes it without waiting for your response. “Why ask if you’re just going to take it?”
“Because I’m nice,” Jinx leans closer to the mirror, coating her eyelashes in black. “And we live together. What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine.”
“I guess,” you sigh, conceding to her point as you glance at your phone. It’s almost eight: the time you had agreed to leave for the party. It’s supposed to be a rager, a celebration of the end of midterms. You know your friends and the girls from your cheerleading squad, of course; but being that Jinx is your roommate, you tend to stick closer to her. Though it had been a pain to convince her to come, tempting her with the notion of seeing Ekko there had won her over in the end.
You huff at the idea, setting your phone down and running your hands through your hair to smooth it down. “You better not just leave me and run off with Ekko the whole night.”
“Don’t worry,” Jinx rolls her eyes, obvious in the mirror of your shared bathroom. “Everyone gets a piece of me. Besides, your girlfriend will be there. I should be more worried about you.”
“My girlfriend?” Your eyebrows immediately furrow in confusion, then draw together in annoyance when you realize her implication. “Oh, you mean Caitlyn. How many times do I have to tell you, Jinx? She’s my best friend.”
Jinx snorts as she caps the tube of mascara. “Pshh, yeah, if ‘best friends’ means being attached at the hip and flirting all the time. Seriously, you’re so oblivious it hurts.”
You cross your arms, turning to lean your back against the counter in irritation. “We do not have feelings for each other. And, in case you’ve forgotten, she has a girlfriend.”
“Right, right, the ginger bob girl.”
“Jinx!” You scold, knocking your shoulder against hers.
“Sorry,” Jinx sets down her makeup brushes and holds her hands up in surrender. “Whatever. It’s not like I want you to date Kiramman, anyways. She’s so uptight, like she hates fun. All the better for me if you’re not together.”
“We aren’t.” You restate, adamant that she understands. Jinx, it seems, has disliked Caitlyn since the second they met. Being that Caitlyn and Jinx’s older sister, Vi, are rivals, you can somewhat understand where the distaste comes from. Jinx is extremely loyal to who she loves, and you can’t fault her for that. Still, you take it upon yourself to shut down any misconceptions. You and Caitlyn are just friends, nothing more.
Jinx just slings her bag over her shoulder, already heading for the front door of your apartment. “If you say so. Just promise you’ll let me shove cake in her face at your wedding.”
“Jinx!”
|------» ~~~ «------|
You swear that you almost lose your hearing entirely when you step into the house.
It’s some fraternity who was, from the looks of this party, determined to throw the biggest rager of the year. The music is loud enough that you can feel the base bouncing off the walls, and alcohol is freely flowing. People are scattered everywhere: lounging on couches, making drinks in the kitchen, and playing overly competitive games of beer pong.
Mel greets you at the door, gold-dusted cheeks glimmering in the party lights. “Finally!” She exclaims, pulling you and Jinx inside. “I’ve been waiting forever. Ekko was starting to get worried about you.” She directs her last comment to Jinx.
“Really?” Jinx’s eyes widen for a second, and you almost see a hint of pink fly across her face before she smooths out her expression. “I mean, he shouldn’t be. I can take care of myself.”
Yet, when you see Jinx’s gaze dart between people around the room, you just sigh in resignation. “It’s fine, just go find him.” You rub your temples, as if you knew this was going to happen (you did). “I’m going to find Caitlyn.”
Jinx immediately brightens, squeezing you in a tight, death grip of a hug before she’s gone in a flash. Mel has flitted off to talk to other people, ever the social butterfly of the night, leaving you to make your escape.
After wandering through the maze of rooms in the fraternity house, you swing through the kitchen door and find Caitlyn pouring some mixture into a red solo cup. “Hey,” you slide up next to her, smiling as if it’s the natural thing in the world to be at her side. And, to you, it is. With how close you’ve always been, it’s second nature to be next to her.
“Hey!” Caitlyn greets you with an easy smile in return. She grabs another solo cup, pouring some of whatever she’s drinking into it and sliding it over to you. “Want some?”
“If it’s good,” you shrug, lifting the drink to your lips for a taste. Your features scrunch at the harsh taste, only softened by a tinge of sweetness. “Okay, never mind. That’s not good.”
“It’s peach whisky,” Caitlyn argues back, capping the bottle and tapping her cup against yours in a toast of sorts. “Finest there is. I picked it up before I got here.”
“Pick up something better next time,” you sigh, falling into your usual easy banter. That’s one of the qualities you love so much about Caitlyn: you never feel like you’re pretending with her. No small talk, no forced conversations about the weather or what classes you’re taking this semester. With Caitlyn, you’re real in a way you can’t be with most people.
Yet, your conversation is short lived.
You’re standing off to the side of the kitchen with Caitlyn when a familiar voice rings out. “Caitlyn!” an accented tone calls, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you see Maddie take Caitlyn’s arm from behind.
Caitlyn glances at her, and you nod in acknowledgement. “Hi, Maddie,” you respond to the call that wasn’t for you.
Maddie casts a glance at you, not with mal intent, but short enough to express her annoyance. “Oh, um, I didn’t know you’d be here,” her politeness masks her discontent. “Caitlyn said she wouldn’t be going with you.”
“Oh, no–” you blink, your words coming out rushed as to clear it up. “No, we didn’t. I came with Jinx; I just ran into Cait when I was getting a drink.”
“I see,” Maddie tilts her chin. You’ve never had a problem with Maddie, and she’s never had a problem with you. There’s just always an underlying distance between you, keeping each other at arm’s length. You try not to pay it too much mind.
Caitlyn nods as if to validate your reasoning. “Yeah, we were just hanging out. When did you get here?”
As Maddie launches into a story about why she was running late to get to the party, you take your chance to slip away. While you love hanging out with Caitlyn, you dislike feeling like a third wheel with your own best friend. You’d just rather be somewhere else at this point, and you’d rather be feeling a little tipsier than this peach whisky is making you feel.
You wander into one of the hallways, almost aimlessly weaving between people. You wave to a few members of your cheerleading squad as you pass them, exchanging small talk about practice and the upcoming games of the season. I hope our team wins, gods know we need another victory. Coach always gets so stressed around game days.
Your attention is drawn away, though, by a tap on your shoulder. When you turn, your eyes widen at the sight of Vi, Jinx’s older sister. “Oh! Hey, Vi,” you blink in surprise.
Vi cocks a smile at you, leaning back against the wall behind her. “Hey. You’re Jinx’s roommate, right?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” you laugh, scratching your neck almost awkwardly. “She didn’t, uh, tell me you’d be here.”
“She didn’t mention you either,” Vi’s teeth sink into her lower lip. You don’t miss the way her eyes dart up and down your body, scanning over the outfit that Jinx had carefully helped you pick out an hour earlier. “Maybe she should have.”
“Oh?” You tilt your head in curiosity. You don’t know much about Vi, albeit being roommates with her sister, but you’ve heard the rumors. Confident, flirty, a total softie under all her bravado. Her reputation precedes her.
“Yeah,” Vi pushes herself off the wall to step closer to you. “Like, how pretty you are ‘n stuff. You’re on the cheer team, right? I’ve seen you before.”
“Oh– yeah, I am.” You’re unable to stop the pink that tinges your cheeks. “I, uh– you’re really pretty too.”
“Ah,” Vi’s eyebrows raise, and the corners of her mouth quirk upward – as if she’s just figured something out. “Well, I don’t want to be too bold, sweetheart, but you mind if I ask you somethin’?” You must shake your head a little too quickly in response because her follow up sounds even more smug than before. “You like girls?”
You bite the inside of your cheek, willing a smile away. “Yeah. How’d you guess?”
“Well, by the way you’re blushing, I didn’t need anything else.”
This time, you do smile. “Touché.”
As the night grows, so does your conversation with Vi. Polite words become casual flirts and touches, and unbeknownst to you, you’re not the only one who’s noticed.
Across the room, Maddie catches sight of the two of you. She elbows Caitlyn, too, who hisses in complaint, but Maddie ignores her in favor of staring at you and Vi. “Hey, isn’t that your best friend talking to Violet Lanes?”
Caitlyn’s gaze follows Maddie’s, and she immediately stiffens at the sight. Who can blame her? It’s her longtime best friend, who was just talking to her, now talking to her rival. Caitlyn and Vi have been rivals since Caitlyn became a TA for one of Vi’s classes, and Vi annoyed her to no end with stupid questions and falling asleep in the middle of class. She can’t fathom why you’d even be hanging around her, much less getting close and giving her those eyes.
Gods, your eyes. Just because you’re best friends doesn’t mean that Caitlyn’s immune to them.
Something in Caitlyn’s chest twists.
A part of her wants to storm across the room, to take you away from Vi. Not to have you to herself — no, Caitlyn wouldn’t do that. Just to get you away from someone who’s, as Caitlyn sees it, the most annoying girl at Piltover University. Right, yes. That’s what she wants to do.
Before the irrational part of her brain takes over, though, Jayce makes his way over to her with a bright smile meant to convince anyone. “Hey, Cait. You up for a game of Never Have I Ever?”
“Uh–” Caitlyn blinks, icy blue eyes faltering. She glances between you and Jayce, almost unaware that Maddie is still next to her, and clears her throat. “I– I suppose that could be fun.”
“Cool,” Jayce glances at Maddie. “Mel and Viktor are playing, too. What about you, Maddie?”
“Sure,” Maddie nods. She lifts a hand to Caitlyn’s arm, tugging on her sleeve as if to get her attention. Unluckily for her, Caitlyn’s mind is elsewhere.
“Can they play?” Caitlyn blurts out before she can stop herself, pointing to where you and Vi are flirting in the corner. You startle, looking behind you at the sound of Caitlyn’s voice.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Jayce shrugs, not thinking much of Caitlyn’s insistence. “There’s some space in the other living room, I think. Let’s go there.”
“Yeah…” Caitlyn blinks, following after Jayce as if she's in a daze. She can feel your presence following after her, ever attuned to your movements.
It takes a few minutes before everyone's gathered on a few couches in one of the living rooms. Jayce, Mel, and Viktor take up one couch while Jinx sprawls lazily across another — taking up the entire sofa. Maddie and Caitlyn sit on the floor on one side of the coffee table, while you perch on the arm of Jinx’s couch and Ekko takes the other couch arm. Vi's more than content leaning against the wall beside you. You meet her powder-blue eyes, offering her a tentative smile.
Caitlyn must see this from a few feet away because she clears her throat. “I’ll go first,” she declares, voice laced with posh accent. “Never Have I Ever…. um, broken a bone?”
Jinx snorts in amusement, not even bothering to look up at Caitlyn. “Really? Broken bones? We’re not twelve.”
“Fine,” Caitlyn’s glare pierces through Jinx like a laser. “You go, then.”
“Alright,” Jinx shrugs, thinking for a moment before her lips curve into a smirk. “Never Have I Ever had a one night stand.”
Vi, Mel, Jayce, and Caitlyn all put a finger down, and you raise your eyebrows at Jinx. “You haven't?”
“No! I only hook up with people I actually like.” Jinx insists, but you don't miss the red blooming on her cheeks or the way she avoids Ekko’s gaze.
“Sure. Whatever you say,” Mel smiles, much to Jinx’s chagrin.
The game continues for almost half an hour, each one of you bouncing questions back and forth, laughing at each other’s answers. A few people leave, including Maddie, citing their need for sleep tonight. Jinx and Ekko disappear off somewhere — probably to Ekko’s place — and the party has died down significantly. That leaves you, Caitlyn, Vi, Jayce, and Mel to continue to question each other.
Since you're at a party, of course, this quickly turns into a drinking game. Everyone who has done the thing said has to take a shot of alcohol instead of putting a finger down, and by the time Maddie leaves, you're several shots deep.
“I have one,” Vi announces, and she pushes off the wall to appear beside you. Her walk isn't the smoothest since she's obviously drunk, but when her arm brushes yours, you're more than sure that it's intentional. “Never Have I Ever had a sex dream about someone at this party.”
Well, shit.
Hesitantly, you pour yourself another shot.
“What?” Mel gasps. Her golden jewelry clinks softly as she leans forward. There's still many people at the party, but she's never heard you talk about any one of them. “Who?”
“That’s– That’s not a part of the game!” You fluster, shifting uncomfortably in your seat on the couch. Your cheeks have long since grown red from the alcohol, along with your mind going foggy and your rational judgement declining.
As Mel continues to tease you, you're too preoccupied to notice Caitlyn’s clenched jaw and narrowed eyes as she stares at you. She's a bit drunk as well, but that's nothing compared to how irritated she's getting at this game. She usually knows when you like someone, which isn't very often. While Caitlyn herself is a bit of a player, you're more of a hard-to-get type, so you always tell her whenever you actually like someone. Why wouldn't you tell her about this?
And, more importantly, who the hell did you have a sex dream about?
The only person that comes to Caitlyn’s mind is Vi. Vi: her biggest annoyance and rival. Oh, gods no.
When Caitlyn tunes back into the conversation, managing to push away the mess of her (admittedly possessive) thoughts, Mel’s still teasing you. “Maybe we should set you up with someone,” Mel thinks out loud. “I know people who would think you're hot—”
“Okay!” Caitlyn stands suddenly, interrupting her friend’s words. “I think we’ve all had quite enough to drink tonight. It's best we go home now.”
“I'll take her home,” Vi’s voice echoes beside you, and before you can even register what's happening, Vi slips an arm around you and hauls you up from the couch. You stumble slightly, but Vi catches you easily in her strong arms.
“No.” Caitlyn’s response is short, tight-lipped. She’s fully glaring at Vi now, and she's at your other side in a flash. “I’ll take her home. I’m her best friend.”
Vi’s smile grows more forced as she looks at Caitlyn. She's drunk and with a pretty girl — why is her rival interrupting her? “No, no, I’ve got it,” she insists. “I'm more than capable of carrying her.”
Caitlyn practically yanks you back to her, not casting you a spare glance as she stands firmly facing Vi. “I know where her apartment is. And she’s fine walking, thank you.”
Eventually. Caitlyn helps you outside with a firm hand on your hip. Her driver is waiting for you, and Caitlyn makes sure to open your door for you like the perfect gentlewoman before she slides into her own seat. As the driver pulls out of the parking space, you look out the window as buildings pass by in a blur.
“You're really pretty, you know.”
You startle when you hear Caitlyn’s voice, glancing back at her with widened eyes and shifting your body in your seat to face her. “What? Really?”
“Yes, really,” Caitlyn lifts her chin, but from the way her eyes seem to study your face, you know she means it. “I– I don't think I tell you enough.”
“Oh.” Something in your stomach twitches and fills with butterflies — the nervous kind. “Thank you.”
You don't even think about your next actions before you reach a hand out, tracing a strand of Caitlyn’s navy hair gently before tucking it behind her ear. You swear it's the alcohol, some type of liquid courage, because you'd do something so randomly affectionate. But, with the heat in the car rising, you can't tell if it's the heater or the tension between you two.
Caitlyn’s silent for a moment after you touch her hair, and you're debating if you should apologize for the sudden movement before she speaks again. “Why don't I come in with you? It's just…” she pauses as her lone index finger touches your jaw. The press is featherlight and continues as she traces down the skin of your neck, lingering on your pulse point before coming across the chain of your necklace. “It's just that this is so pretty. What if you need help taking it off?”
You don't know what possesses you when you nod, almost getting dizzy from your drunken disorientation. When you speak, your tone is much more breathless than you've ever heard it. “I’d appreciate that.”
|------» ~~~ «------|
The driver pulls up to the front entrance of your apartment. You lazily open your eyes when Caitlyn taps on the ball of your knee, softly ushering you outside of the blacked-out vehicle. Stepping out first and placing her knuckles underneath the head of the doorway to protect your head in case of bumping then taking your hand as you join her out onto the pavement.
The journey up the stairs felt as if climbing the tallest mountain. The hallway lights buzzing faintly above your heads, shining brightly. Your legs are shaky with your palm against the wall to keep yourself balanced. You hiccup, mind clouded. Releasing a yawn that causes your eyes to shut with tears forming at the corners of your closed lids. You misstep.
Foot slipping, the world begins to tilt and your body lurches. Eyes wide as you barely comprehend what’s happening.
“Woah-!”
She catches your wrist. One hand on the wall, her other firmly holding on to you with both of her cerulean eyes looking over you, filled with amusement and a hint of worry.
Caitlyn pulls you back up. Your chest almost hitting hers in the process. You steady yourself.
“Careful there,” she murmurs, accent so low that it sends chills in your ear. Eyes half-lidded, stupid smirk lining her lips.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Her grip around your wrist is still tight.
“Shit, I almost ate that one, didn’t I?” you joke, causing her to chuckle in her throat. Her eyes never left yours, unblinking, unblinking as if she were to look away you’ll fall again.
She turns on her heel and leads you up the stairs, hand now in yours, feeling the warmth of each other’s palms. You both stumble, laughing off the buzz in your heads.
You make it to the front door of your apartment, using your free hand to snatch your keys from your bag you had hanging from your shoulder. The metal jingles together as you figure out how it fits inside the lock. Your other still conjoined with Caitlyn’s.
You managed to unlock the door and crack it open.
“Thank you for taking me home,” you say. You turn to face her, looking up to meet her already staring eyes.
“Well, have a good night.”
You stand frozen. Like your feet are glued to the hard floor beneath your shoes. Her eyes are the most beautiful gems you’ve ever seen. You can’t possibly look away.
Has Caitlyn always been this beautiful? The woman you’ve known since childhood.
You feel her hold onto your hands tighter, as if contemplating whether to let you go.
She gazes down to your lips, then back up. She repeats the motion till you push yourself towards her taller figure and like instinct, she reacts quickly and pressed her mouth onto yours.
It’s intense, it’s heated. Her tongue slips in your mouth as you pull her into your place. Her hands reach for your face, pulling you in deeper while your arms find themselves wrapped around her neck. Upon entering, your shoes were kicked off and your bag was dropped by the foot of the door.
Your bodies move in sync. Chest to chest, lips entangled, moans and groans escaping your desperate mouths. Caitlyn’s hands roam. Sliding down the fabric of your clothes, nabbing at your hips, feeling every curve she’s so used to admiring only with her eyes.
Cait presses you up against the nearest wall, a picture frame tilting unevenly on its hook, feeling around the waistband of your shirt before dipping her hand under it. The feel of your soft skin and the heat from her larger hands, the tension rising. The liquid confidence inducing your physical needs. The long term yearning and longing. The mutual connection that had been pushed down for the sake of your friendship.
The moment Caitlyn reached in both hands, grabbing at your chest, your stomach twists and you pull her down closer to you so you can reach for her back, tugging at her clothes and pulling it over her head.
Her lips let go of yours when her shirt needs to be removed — just to be lip locked with you again seconds later.
Caitlyn leans her weight on you as if your backside wasn’t already planted to the wall. Foreheads pressed together, teeth clashing, spit mixing, hands exploring your hips as she grinds against you. She inserts her knee in between your thighs, making you jolt. A shock riding up your spine and the need intensifies.
She can feel the heat while you roll yourself on her leg and moans while your hands massage her chest over her bra.
Cailyn pulls her lips away from yours to kiss your neck. Your eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open to breath while you feel her lick the sensitive nerves under your ear. She nips at the skin in between her teeth and sucks it after, leaving small spots.
It drove you mad.
Your heart races, your head pounds. You needed her.
She curses softly into your skin. “Your little friend coming home?” she asks you in between kisses. Even at this moment, she and Jinx still dislike each other to their cores.
Out of breath, you reply, “She won’t be back tonight.” Your voice is soft and seductive.
She smirks. Leaning back in to smooch your swelling lips. You feel her bend slightly to wrap her hands under your thighs and lift you with ease.
You “Hmph,” in her mouth when your feet leave the wooden floor.
Your shirt was lost on the way to your room. Left to wrinkle on the floor. Caitlyn drops you down onto your mattress with her hand supporting the back of your head. She lays on top of you, kissing you roughly as she rubs her hips into yours and you feel something hard.
She pulls away, tugging down your bra to release your breast as she stands. You look down in between your legs and find a bulge in her jeans.
“Shit,” you say under your breath. Barely audible while she stares at you. She looks with confidence, but that red asian blush spread on her cheeks is an easy give away to how her mind and heart were racing just to have you wrapped around her hips.
Would have been noticeable by you if you weren’t too heated in the moment and out of your mind. Vision blurry with the world spinning and a build up deep within that needed to be released.
Before either of you could really comprehend the situation she was tugging you down onto her strap.
The girth stretches you out. Your head falling back into your pillows. “Fuck—”
You whined as she sunk into you. Her hips kept your legs open as she inserted all the way inside. You clutched at her shoulders, nails digging in her skin. Breath hitching from the feeling of being filled as if you couldn't breathe.
Each thrust took your breath away. Holding her close as she nipped at your ear. Her naked skin sticking to yours in drunk bliss. The pleasure feeling like electricity from how sensitive your nerves felt. Sweat coating your bodies the more aggressive she becomes. Your neck and chest were covered in bites and hickeys, your hair tangled.
Her hips rolled repeatedly, hitting her tip deep inside your dripping hole. Your toes curled and you whimpered into her shoulder, coming closer to your release.
“S-shit, I’m cumming!” she can feel you tighten around her strap as you make a mess on it. Caitlyn kisses your lips as you come. Your legs shake uncontrollably at her sides. Her back is covered in red scratch trails.
Caitlyn doesn’t think to pull out until your body finally relaxes after your orgasm. The length slips from your pussy with the tip popping out, causing a little gasp to escape your mouth. Your eyes are closed, exhausted and drowsy. The tip of her nose rides the surface of your skin, as if not wanting to leave you, but she eventually rolls off of you and lands on the sheets beside you.
Eyes close and minds drift off.
|------» ~~~ «------|
Your head hurts like a bitch.
That’s your first thought upon blinking your eyes open, heavy-lidded and groggy. Sun streams through your curtains, indicating that it’s already morning. It takes a second for the events of last night to come back to you: party, drinking, Vi. Right.
You just can’t remember what happened after that.
Your gaze lands on the other side of the bed absentmindedly, but when you see navy hair splayed across the pillow, you start in surprise. It’s shocking but not unwelcome. Caitlyn’s spent the night at your place so many times over the years, so you brush it off. She probably just crashed with you after the party given how drunk the both of you were.
Clearing your mind, you stretch out your tired muscles. You lift your arms in a stretch, then groggily sit up as the covers slip from over you and– wait–
You’re naked.
Holy shit.
You gasp out loud, scrambling to draw up the covers around you. Which, apparently, is loud enough to wake Caitlyn. She grumbles sleepily, peeking one eye open. “Wha–?”
“Caitlyn!” You attempt to calm your voice, but it comes out more like a shriek. “Why–? I’m naked!”
“What?” Caitlyn sits up too. She’s still drowsy, evidently, from her mussed hair and voice tinged with sleep. You get the feeling that she doesn’t quite grasp the severity of this situation; let alone what it means for the two of you.
“Caitlyn,” you repeat, breathing in and out to stifle your racing heartbeat. “We’re naked in bed together. We also went to a party last night and got super drunk. What the hell did we do?!”
“Wha–?” Caitlyn’s eyes widen. “I– I don’t know! How am I supposed to remember if you don’t?”
“That’s why I’m asking you if you remember!” You hiss, automatically moving to stand up when you halt suddenly, feeling an ache in your upper thighs. An aching throb that can only mean one thing. Oh no.
Well, that and the obviously used hexstrap on the floor next to the bed.
“Oh my gods,” you breathe, feeling faint at the revelation. “We slept together, didn’t we?”
Caitlyn leans back against the pillows. Her eyes are blown wide, startled. She just slept with her best friend. The idea should make her want to run out the door and never look back, never talk about it again and move on with your friendship. Yet, strangely enough, she’s almost more disappointed that she doesn’t remember it.
You squeak yet again, a hand flying to your mouth. “How are you so calm about this?! What are we supposed to do now?! Where are we supposed to go from here?!”
“Okay, okay,” Caitlyn’s hand flies out as if to touch your arm, the touch a usual comfort for you, but she freezes. She’s not sure if you’d want it right now, anyways. “Take a breath. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.
You, though, are too far gone in your anxiety. “Gods, Cait, you– you’re dating Maddie! You have a girlfriend, and we had sex!”
Oh.
If Caitlyn’s being transparent with herself, Maddie hadn’t crossed her mind. Her first instinct has always been to soothe your worries, to comfort you and fix whatever is bothering you. Her interest is in your well-being. So, really, it isn’t surprising that she hadn’t thought of Maddie.
You take her silence as confirmation of the worst. “You should go,” you whisper, as if you can’t believe your own words.
Caitlyn hesitates, her own heart breaking a little at seeing you like this. You’re usually so open, so at ease with her. Yet, even though her heart wants to reach for yours right now, she’s met with the walls you’ve put up around yourself. “Okay,” she whispers back, resigned to your wishes. “I’ll go.”
She changes in silence, briefly pausing before snatching the strap off the floor. She doesn’t look back at you. Caitlyn wants to believe she can take everything back, to say forget about it and revert your friendship back to the way it was before. Except, honestly, she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t think she can go back to being your friend when her feelings have touched on something entirely new.
Her hand is on the doorknob when your voice breaks through the apartment’s silence.
“What are we going to do?”
Caitlyn swallows thickly, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “I don’t know,” she breathes, and just like that, she’s out the door and gone.
You sit like that for a moment, blankets pooled around you and eyes locked on the door. You had told her to leave and she had respected your wishes. It’s what’s right, after all. Caitlyn is Maddie’s, she’s not yours. You know that. You’ve always known that.
You just don’t know why the silence feels so wrong.
|------» ~~~ «------|
Today is cloudy, a slight chill in the afternoon air with the stress of piled homework that was placed next to your laptop on a table in a pretty popular and well-known cafe near your campus.
Jinx sits on the bench across from you, leaning her head over to drink from her straw as her hands kept typing on her laptop keyboard. Your pointer fingers twirl together as you're lost in thought trying to figure out a question on your assignment, till you hear the bell to the entrance door ring.
Your focus turned to the two all figures who stepped inside of the shop.
Jayce Talis, successful in academics. Top of his classes and an athlete. Then your navy-haired friend who walked in behind him. Within the first second of being inside, her blue eyes met yours in an instant. Her lips tightened in a straight line before looking away.
Though, the boy wonder of your campus notices you too.
“Hey, look who’s here, Cait,” he says with a wide grin, waving to you and the pale girl. He takes a step forward to greet you — even with Caitlyn trying to tug him by his shoulder like a disobeying puppy. He makes way to your table, hands on his hips, happy to see some friends. Caitlyn walks nervously, eyes resisting your gaze as you try to do the same.
The tension feels heavy, almost uncomfortable. You've been avoiding each other for the past week.
But, why? In respect for Caitlyn and her relationship with that soft ginger girl? Or to repress a feeling within that could possibly hurt your friendship?
Either way, your chest tightened at the sight of her. Heart thumping like it’ll explode. Though that night was like a blur you can’t help but fantasize how good your intoxicated form felt.
The conversation between you and Jinx with Jayce wasn’t long. You talked about exams, up-coming games and recommendations on what he should order at the cafe.
“Alright we’ll see you later,” Jayce says, fistbumping you. When he turns towards the counter your eyes meet Cait’s, who stays by the table for just a second. Within that time, she gives you a nod of acknowledgement, a polite way of saying “see you,” without the use of words before joining her friend.
You watch the barista help them at the register until Jinx pssttt’s your attention back to her. Her eyebrow is raised in slight curiosity.
“What’s up with you guys?” she quietly asks with her hand cupping next to her mouth.
You lift your shoulders, pushing to not state the obvious. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” her violet eyes glare at you over her computer screen. She side eyes the tall woman who’s pulling out her card from her wallet and then back at you. You sigh.
“Nothing is going on between us,” you softly say, crossing your arms on the table.
Jinx opens her mouth to say something, but she’s interrupted by Jayce who asks to join you both. The bell of the door rings again and you get a glimpse of Caitlyn walking out with her usual hot drink in her hand. The blue of her ponytail being the last you see till she’s out of sight.
You strain your neck, trying to look at her for as long as possible with your heart still racing.
“Sprout has practice to get to,” he mentions, sipping his coffee as you scoot over to make room for him on the bench. The three of you talk and laugh together, but your mind can’t help but go back to her. Your notes are left unfinished and your pen has gone cold from neglect. When will all of this pass? You thought.
|------» ~~~ «------|
The crowd is loud at the basketball game the following week. Supportive, yet obnoxious. The lights are blinding and the space is hot. The referee blows the whistle that’s wrapped around his neck with a lanyard, calling out a penalty to one of the players on the opposing team.
The score is 68 to 72. You can see the tense and stressed faces of your team’s athletes.
Caitlyn’s accuracy is below average. She’d hop, throwing the striped ball over her head just to hit the rim. Over and over again.
Her shoulders, tense. Hands on her hips as she struggled to breath through her nose. Beads of sweat dripped off her brow. She is visibly unfocused.
During a lull in the match, the coach calls her over. You watch from your seat in the bleachers as she jogs over to him. He makes stern hand gestures, obviously asking what’s going on.
The interaction didn’t last long. Caitlyn was switched out with a benched teammate. Sitting down heavily, reaching underneath the seat to grab her towel.
You stare for a moment, thinking about what to do or if you should as all.
You stand, excusing yourself from the other spectators you stepped over. You walk down the steps till you reach the bottom and sit down so as to not block anyone’s view. The bench is just a few feet away from where you were.
“Cait,” you call out. Nothing.
Louder you say, “Caitlyn!” over the cheering crowd. She startlingly looks over her shoulder. Towel paused mid-wiping the sweat off her forehead.
She puts it down, the question of what happened on her lips. Mind it has been weeks since you both had a decent conversation. The most words you’ve spoken to each other in what felt like a lifetime.
“I’m asking you,” you say. She looks oblivious, tired, stuck in her head. “Are you feeling okay?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Yes, there is. You’re never like this during games. You look distracted.” You pushed. She only sat up straighter in response.
“Is Maddie here? If you’re feeling sick then maybe–” you try to stand but Caitlyn reaches for your wrist, almost falling off the bench to stop you.
“Wait,” she says. You look at her confused, kneeling back down. She bites the inside of her cheek. She lets go of your arm and pulls back the loose strands of blue locks out of her face. “We… we’re not together anymore, we broke up.”
Your eyes widen. “What?” you ask. You want to ask why, but you don’t want to press. It’s none of your business, after all. Though you felt a wave of relief in your heart, it cracked at the thought of your best friend being hurt. During moments such as this, you empathize with her, but the way her eyes look at you, doesn't seem like Maddie was on her mind at all.
“Can we talk after this?” she asks. Swallowing as she waited for you to answer. You stare into her eyes. Looking at one then the other. “Meet here after?”
You take a breath and nod, standing from your spot and wishing her luck on the court before climbing back up the bleachers to your spot.
|------» ~~~ «------|
“Do you remember when my mom scolded us at a sleepover?”
You snort, covering your mouth with your hand. You do remember that. During a sleepover in high school, you and Caitlyn had decided to see who could drink a glass of soy sauce the fastest. Needless to say, you were both too loud at midnight for Cassandra Kiramman’s liking. “Oh my gods, yes. But we just laughed harder.”
“Right,” Caitlyn grins, kicking a spare basketball to the side. It bounces off the bleachers you’re sitting on, the sound echoing through the walls of the empty gym. Caitlyn watches it roll to the shiny, gym floor before she clears her throat. “Um, we should probably talk.”
You drag the toe of your shoe along the bleacher, gaze trained on it so your eyes don’t meet hers. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Then I will,” Caitlyn shifts, her body facing entirely towards you. She pauses for a moment, as if considering her words, before she clears her throat. “I know neither of us remember the night we– well, you know. But we obviously know what happened, so… how do you feel about it?”
You huff, leaning back on the bleacher with your palms. How do you even answer this? You could just as well say you regret it, say that the two of you should just forget about it and move on for the sake of your friendship.
But…
But, deep down, you’d always know it’s a lie. You’d be excluding all the sleepless nights since then, all the restless study sessions, all the distracted thoughts that revolve around her. And maybe, despite how easy lying would be, part of you doesn’t want to give all this up. Part of you needs to know if she feels the same way.
Maybe that part of you can’t hide for much longer.
“I–” you hesitate, breath stuttering as you contemplate your answer.
“Hey.” Caitlyn taps her finger on the bleacher beside you, and you glance up at her. You expect to see curiosity written on her face, but all you notice is how soft her eyes are, how understanding. She’s always been like that with you, especially when she can sense your struggle. “It’s okay. Just be honest.”
You exhale, and suddenly, the words spill from your lips before you can stop them. “I like you, Caitlyn. And I– I don’t know if it’s right to say that. I never did because I didn’t want to risk our friendship, but I just can’t lie about it anymore. I like you so much and it hurts to much to ignore it now, after what happened.”
Silence.
Caitlyn stares at you, icy blue eyes blown wide with surprise, mouth dropped open. “You–” she starts, breathless with exhilarated shock. “You like me? But– But you pushed me away that morning–”
You laugh again, but this time, it’s almost humorless. “Of course I did. You were dating Maddie. I couldn’t stomach what we had done behind her back. And if I’m being honest, Caitlyn, there’s always been another girl. Yeah, I didn’t want to risk our friendship, but that’s because I knew you wouldn’t like me back. There was always someone else — someone else that wasn’t me.”
“No, no–” Caitlyn shakes her head quickly, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. Her response is immediate this time. “There hasn’t– I mean, there has but–” she cuts herself off again, sighing in frustration.
“What I mean is: yes, there’s been other girls.” You feel warm hands enclose yours, and you glance back at Caitlyn in surprise. You know that look in her eyes – it’s authentic, real. “But they aren’t you. I know I’ve, well, been a bit of a player at times. But I couldn’t see anything serious with any of those girls. I wanted something so specific that, when I really thought about every girl on this campus, I realized that what I wanted was you. And no one else could fill that void.”
Caitlyn continues, raising a hand to brush some hair aside from your face and trail her fingers over your cheek. “You don’t have to believe me — I might not deserve it. But please, if you know me at all, you know I wouldn’t lie to you. You know how much I care for you, how much I love you. I’ve always loved every part of you, and I think you believe that much.”
All words are stolen out of your throat.
Because she’s right. You know that she’s right.
“Then will you believe that I love you too?” Your voice is caught in a tremble.
“Oh, darling,” Caitlyn breathes. The bleachers creak as she shifts closer. “I’ll always believe you.”
“Okay,” you exhale shakily, your gaze darting around the empty gym. “But– but where do we go from here? I mean, how do we go from being friends to being… together?”
Caitlyn’s quiet for a moment, as if considering your words. Then, suddenly, she stands. Her shoes thud on the bleachers as she makes her way down to the gym floor, extending a hand up towards where you’re still sitting. “C’mon,” she calls up, a smile slowly spreading across her face.
Her smile must be infectious because you catch it too, unable to help the laugh of disbelief that escapes you. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to help you do a free throw.” Caitlyn reaches for the basketball that rolled down the bleachers earlier, bouncing it against the floor. She is considered Piltover University’s best player, after all.
You frown at her as you jump down from the last bleacher. “Teach me? I can make a free throw by myself?”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, really,” you glare, but there’s no malice behind it. Nor is there malice in the way you steal the basketball from her — only a desire to prove her wrong. “Watch me.”
Yet, as you shoot the ball at the hoop in an attempt to make a free throw, it barely hits the rim of the hoop before bouncing off. Your cheeks tinge pink, but Caitlyn just laughs softly.
“Here, let me help you,” her voice is encouraging rather than mocking. After she retrieves the basketball, she stands behind you, front pressed against your back. “So, just hold your arms like this and shoot,” she murmurs, hot breath caressing your ear as she adjusts your arms in the perfect position. And, when you shoot, the ball swishes through the hoop like you’re an experienced basketball player.
“Yes!” You cheer. Your heart still beats quickly from your close proximity to Caitlyn, but when she holds up both hands for a double high-five, you clap your hands against hers. And stay there. Stay there until she laces your fingers together so both of your hands are intertwined with hers.
“One more thing,” Caitlyn murmurs, and before you know it, she’s lifting you up just slightly.
“Hey!” You squeal, holding on to the basketball in your hands for dear life.
“Dunk it!” Caitlyn calls from below, and you can’t resist the offer. As she holds you up so you can reach the basketball hoop, you push the ball through the basket in a successful dunk. You can’t help the grin that overtakes your features as she sets you back down.
“Thanks,” you mumble when your feet are safely back on the ground, tilting your face to look up at her. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Caitlyn smiles back at you, so tenderly that your heart leaps in your chest. “I know,” she whispers, both hands coming up to cup your cheeks in her hold.
And when she presses her lips against yours in a sweet, slow kiss, you relish in it. Your first kiss. At least, the first one you both remember. As her tongue brushes yours to deepen what started as a chaste kiss full of love, you find that you don’t need to remember what happened before. You just want her now.
That, in itself, makes you fall in love with her just a little bit more.
|------» ~~~ «------|
Caitlyn had invited you over to her apartment to hangout with her. To be with her.
Cooking dinner in a kitchen that’s way too big for a single person. A show you started together playing on the flat screen in her living room, visible from the kitchen counters.
You both joke with each other like you two have always done. Teasing Caitlyn when her eyes got a bit too watery while slicing onions. To the tension when she wipes sauce off the corner of your lips and sucks it off her finger.
Your heart pounds. Pounds so hard you can feel it throb in your chest.
While mixing ingredients in a bowl, she takes your hand to help you stir. When struggling to reach something on the shelves, she grabs it for you. Standing close to hold your hips, it made your stomach flip.
You stand facing the counter, preparing a few more things before dinner is finished. One of her hands holds your waist while she leans on the counter with her other. Her eyes drift to your hands and then to you, where she stares until you turn your head.
The moment your eyes meet hers, your cheeks flush bright red, looking back at your task.
“Hey,” she says softly, taking her hand off of the counter to pull your cheek back. “Look at me.”
It’s as if someone had pressed mute on the TV. The only thing you can hear is your heart and the air entering and leaving your lungs.
She glances down to your lips, slowly licking her own.
“May I kiss you?” she questions, asking like it was your first time all over again.
You gulp, nodding slowly in her hand. Then she leans in. You drop everything in your hands and close your eyes, waiting for contact.
You lean into her touch the second her lips meet yours in a sweet gentle kiss, kissing back and turning your body to face her. Your face is painted in a pretty pink blush, your gut flipping when she pulls you in closer by the hip.
A gentle make out. No rushes, no aggressive touches. She shifts her weight to press your lower back into the counter. Your arms crossing around her neck with both of her hands playing with the loops of your waistband.
Caitlyn breaks the kiss, nose grazing yours. Eyes meeting half-lidded when she softly says, “Follow me.”
She offers her hand and you obligingly take it. She guides you around her complex, the television volume becoming distant, doing her best not to drag you. Keeping a slow yet sense of excited urgency in her steps. Often looking back over her shoulder to make sure you’re okay and to catch every little glimpse of your pretty face to memorise how you look in the moment. Flushed, from ears to the tip of your nose.
When you make it inside her room, she flips the light switch, illuminating the space and turns to you with your hands still intertwined.
With her other hand she reaches for your cheek again where you lean into the gentleness of her palm. She holds you as if you’re frail, a fine glass figure that could be so easily shattered.
No words need to be spoken in order to know what the other wants.
Since that day on the court, the one that felt so small and heavy on the shoulders as the ball misses the hoop again. The tension amongst the crowd. Anxiety driven. Then when it was all gone: The blinding lights, off. The stands, empty. The once so tight space was open and the moment her lips kissed yours for the first real time, she felt lighter. Like nothing else mattered.
The only thought on her mind: you. The only thought in the back of her head since childhood: you.
She leans her face in, connecting her lips to the soft pads of your own. One tender, long kiss.
She detaches and presses your foreheads together, removing her hand from your cheek to slide down the side of your neck, following along the fabric on your shoulder. Down your arm and to the hem of your shirt, pinching the cotton in between her fingers.
“Is this okay?” she asks you. Her accented voice is tuned low. Soft, to be gentle on the ears.
You nod. Your eyes never leave the sight of her thin lips. Admiring the way they move when she talks. Thinking about the way they make your whole body fold with just a simple kiss.
Caitlyn lets go of your hand to grab your shirt, lifting the clothing over your head while your arms relax to the motion.
It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, but this time feels different. With the tension and the heat of the moment, she has you to herself. Nothing handholding her confidence, but the mutual want for each other.
She admires you, grip loosening around your shirt and dropping it onto the floor. Your hair framing your face perfectly. Your breasts are cupped in a pretty bra. The skin of your stomach is soft to touch. All this beauty right in front of her eyes.
She nervously gulps, but you reach for her hands, placing them to your hips, pulling her closer to you. You stand on the tips of your toes and whisper:
“You don’t have to be so careful with me.”
Her knees buckle. Breaking the chains to set her free. Her fingertips firmly hold onto you, feeling all around your exposed skin. Her lips lock with yours once more.
Your hands press on her chest, making her walk backwards till you reach her bed where you then push her onto it. The mattress adjusting to the sudden weight.
During the time she processes it all, you are removing your bra, letting it fall to the carpet and resting your hands on her knees as she’s sat on the edge with you standing in between her legs.
She tries to speak, but you kiss her before she can get a word out.
One of your hands sneaks under her shirt, feeling the toned muscle of her abdomen. Kissing her hard to where her neck stretches to stay in sync.
You take the hem of her shirt and remove it from her body, exposing her in her bra. She tries to pull you on top, but you push her down onto her elbows. Your fingers playing with the button of her jeans and sliding them off the length of her legs as she watches you in fascination.
Now bare with only her bra, you rest your hands on the bed by her sides and smooch her lips again. Nipping at her lips, kissing down her jaw. You kiss the pushed-up flesh of her breast. A hand sliding down a trail that your lips have left till you make it back between her legs. Getting down onto your knees, spreading her legs and coming in to lick up her vulva. You watch her slightly flinch. Jolts riding up her body with every slow, flat-tongued lick.
“Hmph, Ha-shit,” she moans, shifting her weight on one arm to free her other. Using it to place atop your head, moving strands of hair behind your ears. You switch between licking her folds to latching your lips around her clit, sucking with grace and gentle manner. Your eyes watching her every reaction, your thighs clenching together feeling your own slick form.
You stick your tongue inside every now and then. Your hands caressing her stomach, feeling it flex whenever you find somewhere sensitive.
Her head falls back. Her grip in your hair tightening as your jaw moves with precision. Flicking your tongue up and down her throbbing bud. Swirling around it to drive her crazy till she’s shaking. “Ah-,” her breath pants. Inhaling deeply till she loses control. A wave of release flows as she spasms on the bed. You pull your head away. Hand petting the skin of her thigh till her high settles and kissing the ball of her knee.
“Bloody hell,” she says. Lifting her head to look at you with a big ego grin on your face. You chuckle in response, climbing into her lap where she quickly sits up to wrap her arms under your ass. Lifting you and laying you down correctly on the bed. Your head gently hits the pillows.
The cerulean-eyed woman wastes no time in removing the rest of your clothes. Throwing them somewhere and leaning over to kiss you. Her knee pushes your thigh away to make room for herself. Putting her hand in between, fingers brushing through your folds.
You whine softly in her mouth, earning a chuckle from the girl.
“Fuck... You’re dripping,” Caitlyn murmurs as you grip the skin of her shoulder while the other’s holding on the bicep of her arm that begins teasing your entrance. Fingers circling your hole till sinking in a couple of fingers.
You groan, pressing your head into the cushions as you feel her long fingers stretch your gummy walls.
“So beautiful,” her words make you feel like jello. Your stomach churns at any small touch she gives. Her middle and index moving in a slow, continuous rhythm. Thumb working your clit in circles.
Her pace moves faster. Wrist flicking, palm slapping your cunt whenever she dug her fingers in deep. Your legs are at a full spread for her while she sucks your erect nipples. The sensations are overwhelming.
She pulls her fingers out, causing you to whine and call out her name in a pleasing beg.
“Cait, please-” but she hushes you. Taking off her bra and throwing a leg over your own and lining up her soaking folds with yours. You watch as she rests her hips on yours. Blessing each other's ears with pretty moans. 20,000 nerves coming together in bliss.
You both stay like that for a moment, relishing in the warmth. The wet of your slick soaking her inky pubes.
“Ohh, fuck,” she says, burying her face in the crevice of your neck as your chest rises and falls from arrhythmic breathing. Her hips begin to roll. Delicious moans escape your mouth with every rut. A wave of shock climbing up your spine as her clit dances with yours.
She nips and sucks on your neck, turning the skin red. She cusses softly in your ear.
“You feel so good… fucking hell.”
She lifts her torso away from you, nipples hard from the open air. She caresses your flushed cheek, using her thumb to remove a hair from your mouth before planting both palms in the mattress. She lifts her hips and ruts back into you.
Your cunts create loud, wet sounds whenever they clap together. Clits overstimulating, her thrusts become sloppy.
“Close… close!” you pant.
“Gonna make you cum, baby,” Caitlyn feels her own release surfacing once more. Her stomach tightens. Seeing you like this underneath her. She could cum from the sight alone.
You gasp, “Auh! Ohh shit,” your body releases that build up. Orgasm waving over you.
Caitlyn watches you shudder. Eyes gleaming with satisfaction of pleasing you. She comes right after you, “Hng!” Hips jolting, clits clashing together till her nerves ease.
When her muscles finally relax she falls on top of you, breathing heavily. Her nose inhales your sweet scent. Legs untangle and she falls next to you. She uses her fingers to fix the damp baby hairs on your forehead.
You turn your head to face her. Lips curled in a precious smile. Pupils blown wide.
“I’ve loved you for so long, Caitlyn,” you tell her. Her heart feels like it’ll burst from her chest. Slowly she presses another kiss to your lips. This one is gentle and tender.
You hold each other close. After breaking the kiss. She stares into your eyes and says, “I’ve always loved you… I just couldn’t imagine losing you, if you didn’t feel the same.”
You cuddle close to her chest. Nuzzling your face into her warmth. “You won’t… ever.”
The first night of many. Your hearts beat in sync. Your eyes grow heavy.
Knowing you’re safe in the arms of the woman you love, even on restless nights, you know sleeping will come easy.
Hi lovelies~
Thank you sm for your patience and waiting for our collab! We had sm fun writing this and we hope you love it as much as we do. Let us know what you think in the comments, and we'll both be writing again very soon, so look forward to new content <3
Note: Set in a universe where Caitlyn and Reader reign as the Queens of Piltover
Masterlist
Composed!Caitlyn, who never neglected her training despite all her duties – and who always carried a mischievous smile on her lips whenever she noticed Crybaby!Reader standing at the sidelines, eyes glowing and cheeks flushed, utterly unable to tear her gaze away from her wife.
Crybaby!Reader, who knew the heavy duties her wife bore, often took her place at tea parties and other social occasions that Composed!Caitlyn found burdensome. With quiet attentiveness she moved through conversations, smiled at the right moments, and lifted the weight from her wife’s shoulders.
Crybaby!Reader, who, as the two of them prepared for the night, whispered with a playful sparkle about the tiniest bits of gossip, the most trivial quarrels, and the curious glances she had witnessed throughout the gathering. Composed!Caitlyn, who listened intently and simply enjoyed the sound of her voice.
Crybaby!Reader, who demonstratively sat on her wife’s massive desk whenever Composed!Caitlyn lost herself once more in endless documents. Among papers and maps she was a silent call to pause, a reminder that even a queen needed more than ink and parchment.
Crybaby!Reader, who led Composed!Caitlyn to a village festival dressed only in a plain cloak and modest clothes. Amid the bright lights and the laughter of the people she seemed part of the celebration itself, while her wife remained a step behind, ever watchful and yet full of affection.
Crybaby!Reader, who marveled at every animal by the roadside and every artfully decorated stall. For Composed!Caitlyn, her unrestrained wonder was the true spectacle of the evening.
Crybaby!Reader, who stood beneath the moonlight with her wife as distant music still drifted through the night. Slowly they moved in rhythm, carried by the magic of a moment that lasted longer than any melody.
Crybaby!Reader, whose heart was too big to leave Piltover’s strays to the streets. Time and again she secretly brought injured animals into the palace, and though Composed!Caitlyn noticed every attempt, she let it happen—until at last she had a small shelter built.
Crybaby!Reader, who lingered in the study while Composed!Caitlyn leafed through endless reports. Often she offered nothing more than a cup of tea, carefully prepared, and her company, yet in that simple gesture lay a calm that strengthened her wife more deeply than any royal seal.
Composed!Caitlyn, who reviewed the daily announcements herself, filtering out anything that might needlessly break Crybaby!Reader’s heart. Amid political intrigues and grim tidings, it was her silent duty to protect the light in her wife’s eyes.
Crybaby!Reader, who at festive occasions was marked by her unrestrained emotion, moved to tears by music or words. Where others saw only weakness, Composed!Caitlyn recognized the beauty of a heart that held nothing back.
Crybaby!Reader, who knew with all her heart how much Composed!Caitlyn adored her, yet still sometimes found herself in tears, wondering if such a composed queen might deserve someone stronger.
Composed!Caitlyn, who could always tell when such thoughts plagued her wife, held her tightly and did not let go until the tears subsided—as if every embrace were meant to prove that this very tenderness was her greatest strength.
Composed!Caitlyn, who even in her sternest hours knew her wife would always be at her side. In a world full of expectations, it was the only moment the queen allowed herself to be soft.
Composed!Caitlyn, who at first even in their private chambers tried to appear calculated and unshakable, hiding every emotion.
Crybaby!Reader, who lingered quietly at her side, showed her that even a queen had the right to be tender. Slowly Composed!Caitlyn learned to let her eyes glisten without believing it made her weak—and found comfort in the fact that someone truly saw her, with all her uncertainties, all her feelings.
Omg guys, can you believe I haven’t posted in like 3 or 4 days?? 😭
I spent the whole weekend styling wigs and cosplaying! Did Annabel from Nevermore and covered my lashes in white mascara that I can’t get off 😭 was kinda awkward at work today haha
Still, I put together a little something for you! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)
Not totally sure what’s coming next, but probably Chains of Roses!
hockey jock!vi x tutor!reader, fluff / humor / angst / kinda slowburn / smut (18+ mdni!), wc: 16k+ [buckle your seatbelts bc i could not shut the fuck up about vi if i wanted to !]
synopsis: you’re many things; an exemplary student, quiet and well-mannered, loved immensely by those who bother to get to know you, but most importantly, the newfound object of superstar athlete vi’s every affection. or, in other words, hockey jock!vi is lowkey a loser, atrociously down bad, and will stop at nothing to make you hers.
content warnings: language (duh), brief mentions of familial issues, latent insecurity, miscommunication & lack of communication, kissing, groping, SEX! mdni, seriously, i’ll THROW UP!, more specifically fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), spitting, makeup sex idk, just good old fashioned lesbian BANGING! also! jazz cabbage, lets pretend for the sake of this au that student athlete’s don’t get tested bc i NEED hockey jock!vi to hotbox reader PLS.
fic soundtrack:
i could imagine —alina baraz /snooze — sza /tonight — summer walker / pressure — james vickery + sg lewis / wish that i could — umi
author’s note: of course it’d be arcane s2 that resurrects me from my almost yearlong hiatus...pls enjoy this fic even though i’m pretty rusty; she’s been cooking in the drafts for weeks T-T
i’ll be answering some (very long overdue) asks and chatting with you guys <3 and finally, this shit is barely proofread bc my brain is fried lol
main masterlist | arcane masterlist
VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.
One that supersedes every issue she’d ever given weight to in all of her four (and a half) years of university. Is way larger than twice-a-day practices on and off the ice that go hand-in-hand with studying so hard to make sure that her grades don’t slip a fraction. Probably way bigger than the fact that her little sister’s graduating high school soon and she’s trying her absolute best to be as great a role model as she can despite wanting to crack under the pressure. And most definitely bigger than her favorite on-again-off-again fling, Cait Kiramann, who’s rare to come by these days.
Vi has a huge problem, and quite frankly, it’s you.
In hindsight, she’s been relatively good at overlooking you, not that it’d been intentional to begin with, but Vi knows a lot of people. Too many, she feels sometimes. So it's easy for you to slip through the cracks when everyone’s vying for even a shred of her attention.
Perhaps it’s what piques her interest when your orbits finally do collide. Because, admittedly, you know all about Vi. Know that she’s probably one of the most valuable players on the uni’s hockey team (she’s an absolute beast on the ice). Also know that she’s a biomedical physics major and actually incredibly smart. But most of all, you know that not only is Violet a flirt, she’s a player.
Not necessarily that you’ve ever really been on the receiving end, but mostly because her reputation precedes her and you’ve seen it all from a distance. Can't not when the decorated hockey star is such a charmer whether she intends to be or not. Vi has girls both certain and questioning stumbling for a single glance.
You often think it’s pitiful, but it’s not like it’s really your problem.
Until it is.
It all starts at The Afterparty.
Hours after a big victory in the first game of three that solidifies whether the university hockey team participates in the championships, Violet is the star of tonight’s celebration.
She’d sunk the winning shot, and for that she’s being poured shot after celebratory shot. By eleven she’s practically hammered and it’s when her teammate, Ellie, and the captain, Abby, finally show up.
The three of them together, drunk, is like a minefield of obnoxious laughter, dirty innuendos, and rowdy behavior.
And for a while it’s funny, has Vi feeling like she’s on cloud nine, but eventually, the drunken high begins to evaporate and she starts to feel a little overwhelmed.
The spotlight shifts and even though Vi typically preens under the attention, she’s grateful to finally breathe.
With a plastic cup full of water, she’s sliding the back door open and stepping out onto the back patio to take in the cool air for a breather.
She makes a move towards the stairs, but nearly jumps out of her skin when she registers the silhouette at the base of the steps.
“Jesus, fuck,” Vi hisses to herself. “You scared the shit outta me.”
You don’t even spare her a glance over your shoulder, just take a sip from your drink.
“Sorry,” you hum passively.
She catches her breath, doesn’t even bother to ask permission as she drops all of her weight next to you.
The step creaks under pure muscle.
Her strong legs stretch out, elbows settling back against the step up as she waits. And waits. And waits.
The amount of silence that lapses is unusual, uncharacteristic for Vi, especially so because people are typically babbling enough to fill the void when it comes to her.
But you just sit there, nursing your beer and staring up at the stars. The moon hangs half in the sky, softly illuminating the planes of your features.
It’s her first good look at your face and Vi’s definitely drunk, but the immediate thought that comes to her mind is pretty, pretty, pretty. Undeniably and painfully pretty. And not Caitlyn pretty, the only girl she’s ever really used as a benchmark, but intimidatingly so in your own right. Makes her swallow hard, throat bobbing as she watches you unapologetically.
“It’s rude to stare, Violet,” you say simply, eyes finally flitting to meet hers.
Her breath catches in her throat, earthy flecks dancing in your moonlit irises. God, your eyes. Framed by thick lashes and round as you look up at her.
“You know who I am?” she asks stupidly as if point fives of her face aren’t blown up into memes and plastered all over the house.
“Who doesn’t?” you ask, breathing a puff of humorless laughter as you crush the can in your ringed fingers.
And perhaps you got her there, but Vi’s feeling exceptionally small under your gaze despite usually filling out a room. Something about you makes her shrink.
“I— fuck,” Vi stumbles, cheeks red because you’re looking at her with an indecipherable gleam in your gaze that has her squirming. “What’s your name?”
She cringes at herself, rolls the piercing in her nose once, twice, for comfort.
You laugh again, a little more genuine this time because, from a distance, the athlete’s usually so suave, undeniably gorgeous and composed. Right now, the girl in front of you only ticks one of those boxes.
“________,” you offer.
She weighs the name on her tongue, decides she likes it a lot, and tries to shake off whatever this feeling you’re giving her is.
“And you go to school here?” she asks.
You nod once.
“Neuroscience, fourth year.”
“Huh, we’re in similar fields, but I’ve never seen you around,” Vi observes. Because she’s certain she’d bookmark a face like yours, absolutely no doubt about it.
“We had organic chemistry together sophomore year with Dr. Talis,” you say matter-of-factly, like you’re not blowing her mind right now. “And I’m auditing Medarda’s biometry class this semester.”
Vi’s floored.
“Wait, wait, but...” She’s trying to piece the puzzle together, but her brain’s still a little fuzzy, equal parts from the alcohol, but also because she’s caught a whiff of your perfume and you smell so sweet.
“I pop in every once in a while,” you tell her. “But I tutor in that time slot every Tuesday and Thursday, only really go when I don’t have any appointments.”
“Hold on, this is nuts,” Violet says, body easing to face you. You flinch because she doesn’t realize she’s practically yelling. “There’s no way, I definitely would’ve remembered you if that was the case.”
You hum, corners of your lips quirking as you shrug your shoulders.
“Doubt it,” you counter. “I’m nothing particularly spectacular.”
“Nothing particularly spectacular,” Vi repeats under her breath.
And under normal circumstances, she’d be flirting up a storm right now, trying to charm her way into getting you to bite, but this is one of the first semblances of normalcy she’s experienced in a while. No ulterior motives, no exaggerated kindness, no outright asking her to fuck.
Suddenly your phone lights up in your lap and you’re turning your attention to the device.
“DD duties call,” is all you say as you make a move to stand up.
No, this can’t be all she gets from you tonight. Not when she’s been narrowly missing someone like you for the past four years and you’re just now coming to light.
The dormant liquid courage bubbles and Vi’s gently grabbing your wrist to pull you to a stop.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” she asks, steely eyes liquid as she stares up at you.
You eye the scar on her lip, gaze lingering there before flitting to meet hers.
“Maybe.”
Vi decides that she needs to see you again.
You’d left her with crumbs this past Friday night and she’d spent the better part of the weekend trying (and failing) to cross paths with you again.
“Jesus, you’re down bad,” Ellie chuffs Monday morning on their walk to the campus coffee shop.
“You don’t understand,” Vi defends. “She’s so...so...”
“So?”
“Different, I dunno,” Vi sighs, fiddling with the strap of her backpack as they walk. “We didn’t even talk about much, but that was the most normal I’ve felt around someone in a while.”
Her teammate snorts.
“Probably the gayest thing I’ve heard you say,” Ellie deadpans. “She isn’t immediately trying to munch and you’re already in love. Pathetic.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Vi scoffs as they approach the coffee shop, inside packed full with half-functioning college students so early in the morning. “Trust me, if you met her, you’d—”
The words die in her throat because halle-fucking-lujah, the universe or god, or whatever has answered her every prayer this past weekend as she clocks you a few paces ahead in line.
Ellie follows her friend’s line of vision to find exactly what she’s staring at and she lets out a low whistle when her gaze finds your frame.
From a completely aesthetic standpoint, she can see why Vi’s immediately hooked.
“Hah,” she makes a noise in her throat. “Okay, so maybe it makes sense.”
Vi can’t help but stare because, if it were possible, you were far prettier under the warm lighting of the cafe’s ambiance. The curls of your hair frame your face beautifully and it’s so fucking cute how focused you are on your phone.
“Hate to break it to you, though. That girl’s way out of your league,” Ellie says like it’s common knowledge.
“Wow, way to boost my ego,” Vi mutters drily.
“Just being realistic,” Ellie argues. “If you bag her, she’s easily the hottest girl you’ve been with.”
And Vi can’t really contest that, not when the proof’s in the fucking pudding.
Her body’s moving of its own accord and before she can register her own actions, she’s mumbling quiet s’cuse me’s under her breath as she squeezes between patrons to close a bruised hand over your shoulder.
You nearly jump out of your skin, fumbling with your phone as an earbud falls out.
“Shit, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Vi says quickly.
Your gaze snaps to her, brows furrowing almost imperceptibly before your expression settles.
“Violet,” you acknowledge.
And she realizes that she didn’t really have a game plan coming up to you so abruptly. Had been so focused on actually just seeing you again, that she hadn’t thought through the rest of it.
The way you stare up at her is thoroughly disarming because she doesn’t have the shield of night or alcoholic courage to carry her through it.
“Can I help you?” you ask, but not unkindly.
“Oh, uh, I...” She chances a glance over her shoulder to find that Ellie is watching her from a few customers away, eyebrow cocked and smirk testing. She word vomits before she can think of a coherent thought. “You mentioned tutoring...the last time we talked.”
You don’t even bat an eye.
“I did.”
“You’re also auditing Medarda’s biometry class.”
“I am.”
“I’m...I’m not really doing too hot in Medarda’s right now,” Vi says, brain nearly short-circuiting and freezing up because, lie! She’s doing phenomenally in Medarda’s session and, truthfully, she’s just downright scared to ask you to hang out.
Especially when you look up at her like that.
You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.
“Hmm, can’t have that, can we?” you hum.
Vi could melt.
“No,” she breathes out a laugh. “Can’t.”
“You can sign up for a slot through the library’s website,” you say after you weigh the thought.
Vi’s pausing, staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights.
“So I can get paid?” you fill in.
“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”
You give her a soft smile before plugging your earbud back in, leaving Vi to rejoin her obviously amused friend.
“You’re fucking joking!”
The librarian gives you and your incredulous roommate a look from the circulation desk and you return it with a sheepish smile from where you’re tucked by a wall of looming floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Maddie,” you whisper.
“You’re telling me that The Violet asked you personally to tutor her?” Maddie asks you, leaned over the tabletop with wide eyes.
“Yeah, cornered me at Brew House this morning and asked me to tutor her in Medarda’s class.”
“Just that?” she asks. “Nothing else?”
You look around in disbelief.
“Uh, yeah?” you scoff. “What else would she want?”
“What else would she— are you serious?” Maddie leans back in her seat, arms crossing over her chest as she gives you a plain look. “You know all about Vi, you’re actually gonna play stupid?”
“Oh, come on.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve seen the girls Violet’s fucked, right? Kiramann? The blonde from the tennis team? She’s got a type and you know it.”
It’s Maddie’s turn to roll her eyes and you see the exasperated groan she’s staving off.
“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”
“It’s not self-deprecating!” you argue. “Not everyone wants to fuck Violet, Maddie. Put me in the number one spot.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Don’t start.”
“All I’m saying is that anyone with eyes can see that Vi’s hot as fuck. That being said, you’re also hot as fuck. Not only that, but rumor has it, she gives the most toe-curling—”
You’re rolling your eyes again, gaze fluttering out the window momentarily only to find that, speak of the devil, Violet’s approaching the library with a skip in her step.
Maddie stops her spiel to trace your gaze and nearly falls out of her seat when she finds the object of your conversation is advancing, fast.
“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself, pulling up your tutoring log on your tablet to find that, yup, Violet has most-definitely taken your advice and signed up for a tutoring slot.
If the time reads correctly, you’ve got three minutes before she’s due to be taking Maddie’s seat.
Your friend is grinning at you mischievously, stuffing her backpack quickly to vacate the space across from you.
“Un-fucking-believable,” you scoff, slumping back in your seat.
“Tell me how it goes,” she giggles, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands.
“Maddie,” you warn.
“Love you, see you at home!”
Violet’s strolling into the library just as Maddie leaves through the other doors and try as you might make yourself small in the open air near the research center, her gaze falls on you as soon as she enters.
“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.
“Hi.”
A moment lapses before you’re nodding towards the seat before you.
“We can get started whenever you’re ready.”
Right. Right! Vi’s mentally cringing, pulling the chair out with a squeak and dropping onto the worn cushion.
Her eyes are locked, watching as you pull the biometry textbook from your little messenger bag.
“Any particular areas you’re struggling in?” you ask, flipping to a clean sheet of paper in your notepad and clicking open your pen.
Vi combs her brain, tries to think of anything she’s not really grasping in Medarda’s class, but she’s been acing all the exams with flying colors, so she spits out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.
“In relation to...?” You tilt your head and Vi’s breath is hitching.
“The Confusion Matrix,” she answers, even though she knows all about it.
It’s only when you start breaking it down from the bare bones that she realizes that she could listen to you talk for-probably-ever.
You obviously have a great understanding of the subject if the way you deconstruct the relationship between sensitivity and specificity (or whatever the fuck) is anything to go by, and she doesn’t realize that she hasn’t even blinked until you’re glancing up at her.
“Am I making any sense?” you ask softly, taking in the almost confused look on Violet’s face.
“Huh?”
Vi snaps out of it, cheeks coloring pink when she notes the way you straighten in your seat.
“Am I going too fast?”
“No, no!’ Vi practically shouts before chancing an embarrassed gaze around the library to find a few wandering eyes. She clears her throat and tries to relax. “No, you’re doing great. I get it.”
You don’t seem convinced, but the faster you get through the material, the faster Violet can leave and you can finally catch your breath.
Because maybe Maddie’s a little right. That while you know, one hundred percent, without-a-doubt, that you and Violet are cut from two different cloths and that you ultimately won’t mesh, there’s still a sliver of want that settles somewhere confined in the pit of your gut.
You don’t know how long you continue before you notice that sun has begun to set in the horizon, but Vi’s effort is unwavering. She’s probably on her tenth practice problem by now and so far, she’s only flubbed once.
You decide to fold your cards first.
“O-kay,” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as you roll your shoulders and squeeze your hands shut so tight your knuckles crack. “This is a good stopping point, don’t you think?”
No, Vi could keep going forever if it meant hearing you talk all night, but the little G-shock wristwatch winks the time and she realizes that the two of you have been going at it for going on two hours and you’re probably exhausted.
“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long,” Vi says sheepishly. “Thanks a lot for your help, I...”
You look up from where you’re shuffling your papers together, pausing when she hesitates.
“I really appreciate you. I know you probably help dozens of people every week and—”
She stops talking when she sees you crack what seems to be the first genuine smile she could get out of you since Friday.
“It’s my job, Violet,” you tell her. “I’m happy to help.”
And she’d done well enough during the tutoring session, had a successful run with the practice problems. You were confident it was just a one and done. Perhaps served as a review for the upcoming exam Medarda had posted on the class page.
But then you see her name in the final time slot on Thursday, don’t really think much of it until you’re tabbing to next week’s schedule for shits and giggles. Tuesday and Thursday are booked through again, her name highlighted in yellow.
You minimize the calendar and pull up the aggregate schedule only to find that every 4 o’clock slot every Tuesday and Thursday’s been booked until the end of the semester.
You refresh for good measure.
“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”
You don’t know what kind of joke this is, if Violet thinks that this is funny, but you’re not amused.
Especially when you’re stalking all the way to the athletic hall, ignoring the wolfish stares from shameless student athletes to whip into the women’s hockey team’s reserved conditioning space.
You find her benching near the center of the room, Abigail Anderson spotting her while the rest of the team engages in various workouts and exercises.
A hush ripples over the weight room as you approach the hockey star, standing at the end of the bench where her knees are bent. One of Abigail Anderson’s eyebrows quirk up as you stand there with your hands on your hips and you hope the chill that runs down your spine as she checks you out doesn’t visibly vibrate your body.
When the barbell nearly crushes Vi’s chest on her last rep, Abby’s quick to help her re-rack and takes the biggest step back as Vi sits up.
Her expression falls and her face pales when she locks eyes with you, your features severe and gaze stony.
“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.
Truthfully, she hadn’t really pinned you as the type to be confrontational. Thought she’d have enough time to build a strong enough story as to why she booked out all of your tutoring sessions when in actuality she panicked when Ellie started grilling the fuck out of her about being a fucking pussy and begging her to just ask you out.
“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”
And she should definitely be embarrassed, not at all turned on, but she can’t help it as she gulps. Because when you stand before her like this, she can easily admit that she’d die for a private version of the view.
The silence in the weight room is palpable and you want to back down, but if this is some running joke and Vi’s going to make a show of humiliating you in front of her teammates, then you’d give her a show.
“Violet.”
Someone in the back snickers, another whistles, and Vi’s cheeks go red.
She’s standing, sweaty hands closing around your biceps as she spins you around and quickly guides you out of the conditioning room and out of her teammates’ line of ogling sight.
“V—”
“I’m sorry,” Violet splutters. “I’m just not really confident in Medarda’s class right now and I don’t trust myself to study alone, plus you’re a really good tutor and—”
“You do realize that those tutoring sessions are added to your tuition, right?” you ask incredulously. “It’s fifteen dollars an hour.”
Vi’s smile is crooked.
“That’s what my scholarship’s for,” she grins.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?” you try again. “I feel that before an exam for a little refresh is fair, but this would be like relearning the material after every class, all over again.”
“If it’s taught by you, I’ll take it,” Vi says quickly, and you pause because what does she mean by that?
You don’t really have much rebuttal left even though you’d marched up here with a fire under your ass. Vi’s looking down at you with a softened edge in her gaze and she’s wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants and sweat-soaked grey tank that reveals swathes of ink that curls up her arms and disappears under the fabric of her shirt.
She breathes out a small laugh when she notices the way your eyes dance.
“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”
Your gaze snaps to hers and her grin widens when she sees you fidget, little pet name obviously eliciting a semblance of a reaction from you.
“N-No,” you stammer.
“Great, see you tomorrow?“
You swallow.
“Okay,” you agree. “See you tomorrow.”
Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.
Her hair’s wet from an obvious shower and you smell her, warm like honey and cedar as she takes the seat across from you.
“Afternoon, cupcake,” she greets, slinging her backpack into the seat next to her.
You give her a warning look, but she just flashes you a toothy smile and nods towards the opened biometry textbook before you.
“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”
And this feels an awful lot like mocking, but you can’t be sure, not when Vi’s been somewhat respectful, sweet even.
“What do you know about the the sigmoid function?” you probe.
“Jack shit,” she laughs.
And maybe you’d find it endearing if the entirety of the situation wasn’t still absolutely mindfucking you at moment.
“Can I ask you something, Violet?” you ask, leaning back in your seat as you cross your arms to level her with as an intimidating look as you can.
“Sure, anything.”
“Are you messing with me?” you ask. “Is this some joke you and your friends are playing? Because I can’t really think of an outcome that would be funny.”
And you’d like to say that the look of horror on Violet’s face is consolation enough, but you know how being loved and being popular can make people act sometimes.
Vi contemplates telling you the truth, that she’s too chickenshit to ask you out, that getting close to you in any other way scares the fuck out of her. That maybe getting you to tutor her will segue into some form of friendship that’ll allow her to ease her way in. And maybe she’s going about it the hard way, but maybe Vi also likes a challenge.
“No jokes, just bad at statistics,” she says weakly.
You’re silent for way longer than comfort allows before you turn your attention to the textbook and Vi’s letting out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding.
“Fine,” you give in. “Let’s talk about sigmoid function and practice some applications...”
Vi’s happy to listen, goes through your preselected practice problems with ease (and maybe fucks up a value or two here and there to really sell her need for you). But the sun’s going down again, and it’s nearing six when Vi folds her hand this time around.
It comes in the form of her stomach grumbling in the emptying library and she looks up at you in embarrassment as you crack the first smile of the evening.
“Hungry?” you ask.
“Starving,” she replies dramatically, leaning so far back in her seat, her knees bump yours under the table.
Your toes curl at the contact, heart skipping when she doesn’t make a move to reposition herself.
“Have you eaten yet?” she asks, eyes looking everywhere but yours.
“Not since breakfast,” you admit.
“You like pizza?”
“Only the good kind,” you challenge.
“Beautiful,” Vi hums, shuffling her papers into her textbook and chucking it back into her bookbag. “I know the best place.”
Valentino’s is a hole-in-the-wall right outside of campus, a short walk from the library that Violet leverages as a way to get to know you outside of being lectured about statistical curves and correlation.
“Did you grow up around here?” Vi asks once the waiter sets two glasses of water down between the two of you.
You shake your head.
“No, grew up on the east coast and decided I needed a break from my life there,” you admit easily.
It’s almost as if the facade of professionalism fades away, melting to reveal you.
Vi’s desperate for more.
“As in?”
You look at her for a moment, wonder if you should divulge because you’re not really sure if Vi would get it, but she watches you like she’s hanging onto every single word you say, so you’re spilling.
“My dad died when I was little, left me and three other siblings with my Mom,” you offer. “And I love my siblings. Love my mom. She’s been a great parent, better than great actually, but most of our family disowned me when I came out and it was easier to run away than to deal with it.”
Violet’s expression falls, a furrow settling deep between her brows.
“Wow, I’m, uh, I’m really sorry to hear that,” she says, and she sounds sincere. A long moment lapses before she’s adding, “for what it’s worth, I think that’s very brave of you.”
And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.
“Thanks.” You smile. “That’s sweet of you to say.”
Vi could turn to goo in this dimly lit booth, stained-glass wall sconce casting a warm glow over your pretty face.
“You—” She sniffs, changes the subject because she doesn’t know if she can do this on an empty stomach. “You like pineapple on your pizza?”
“Oh yeah,” you confirm proudly. “It’s a hill I’ll die on, I’m not sorry.”
“God, marry me now.”
She doesn’t realize she says it out loud until you’re bursting into a fit of laughter on your side of the booth.
“So this is something we can agree on?” you ask, head tilting in the way that makes Vi want to grab your face and taste you.
“Oh yeah,” she parrots instead. “One hundred percent.”
Valentino’s becomes routine just as much as Vi seeing you at four every Tuesday and Thursday becomes routine. It’s always after the Thursday session (because they have a three dollar slice from 6 to close) that you and Vi cram yourselves in the same booth near the kitchen and giggle over half a Hawaiian pizza.
“...And my little sister blew up her science project in the fourth grade—”
You choke on your bite, eyes wide as Violet recalls Powder’s little mishap that sent the entire gymnasium evacuating despite the tiniest fire.
“Now she’s about graduate and start school for chemical engineering,” she says, obviously proud.
“She seems like a smart girl,” you observe, if the countless stories Violet shares with you is anything to go by.
You figure being related to someone as great as the new friend you’ve made also speaks for itself.
“The smartest,” she agrees. “I’m proud of her.”
“I’m sure she’s proud of you too,” you assure her. “You’re a good big sister.”
And it’s in these moments that Vi realizes that she’s in far, far deeper than she initially gave stock. Because these past few weeks, she realizes that there’s a lot more to your big brain and your pretty face. You’re an attentive listener, way funnier than she could have anticipated, and just a lot more laid back than you let on.
That much she finds out after the two of you graduate from emailing with silly sign-offs to exchanging phone numbers and texting. It starts off rather irregular, a coffee order here and there, maybe a TikTok that Vi swears is funny, you just have to watch it all the way through! But then she starts texting you when she’s bored, when she’s in class, before practice, after. Even pops the question that’s been niggling at her since she met you: on a scale from 1 - 10 how down are you to smoke?
Like cigarettes?
no, weed, dummy.
Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.
She could not wipe the smile from her face even if she tried.
And then she gets the invite.
Ellie swears it’s her in.
“Jesus Christ if you even consider me a friend, you’ll bang,” Ellie calls from the couch.
“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.
“Yeah, at her place,” she scoffs. “At least test the waters, maybe cop a feel.”
“You’re a pig,” Vi snorts, making sure her laptop and all of the worksheets Medarda’s assigned over the course of the week is in her backpack.
“You’ve been wet dreaming over this girl for months.”
“Fuck all the way off.” Vi’s face warms because her best friend isn’t necessarily wrong.
You’re too hot for your own good, but you don’t even know it and Vi thinks she could die sometimes. Especially when you wear your favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hug the swell of your ass just right. Or swipe on that shimmery lipgloss she swears makes your mouth look edible.
If you were willing, Vi would be all over you, but thinking about taking advantage of the fact that you trust her enough to invite her into your space feels a little grimy.
“Whatever, bang, don’t bang,” Ellie says nonchalantly. “Blueball yourself for all I care.”
Vi rolls her eyes, slings her bag over her shoulder before sliding on her shoes and leaving her friend on the couch with a resounding click.
You live off-campus, maybe a ten minute drive, in a cozy little complex near the suburbs. Your roommate, Maddie, a chipper blonde with a bob, is all too eager to leave when Vi arrives.
“Hi, sorry we couldn’t meet anywhere else,” you apologize as you let her into your space. “Even if the library wasn’t closed, the vet said I have to monitor Pip for the next 48 hours.”
Vi raises a brow.
“My cat,” you clarify.
“Oh.” Vi doesn’t know why she suddenly feels like she’s intruding as she hesitantly toes off her shoes and follows you down the hall.
But she does take the opportunity to take you in in all your glory; all cozy and cuddly in an oversized sweatshirt, plaid pajama shorts and mismatched egg socks.
Cute. So fucking cute.
You spare her a glance over your shoulder and she’s clearing her throat.
“We don’t have to have a session tonight," she says, stopping at the threshold of the living room. “I would’ve understood if you had to cancel.”
You shake your head, give her a soft smile that has her knees feel like jelly.
“S’okay,” you assure her. “A promise is a promise.”
And you do start off studying, shoulder to shoulder in front of your coffee table, but then Pip crawls from his little hiding spot under the TV console to curiously nose along Vi’s feet and she’s a goner.
“He’s so sweet,” she practically wails as he paws at her thigh and nudges against her arm so that he can climb into her lap.
You warm at the sight, can’t help but snap a picture, much to Violet’s dismay.
“Stop,” she laughs. “That picture can’t see the light of day.”
“Why?” you whine, making a show of climbing onto your wooden coffee table to get a funny top down photo of the hockey star with your cat. “You and Pip look so cute together.”
She feigns a scowl even though her shoulders shake with laughter.
“I have a bad boy image to uphold, sweetheart.”
You snort, reach into her lap to scratch behind Pip’s ear, and her heart melts, body warm from her ears to her toes.
“Is he sick?” she asks cautiously, petting him softly.
“Just a little,” you say. “Something some rest and medicine won’t fix.”
It’s how the two of you end up on the couch, study materials long forgotten as Animal Planet plays in the background. Pip’s moved to lounge atop the covers draped over your lap and you’re blowing your nose into a tissue as an especially sad segment about baby animals being rejected by their mothers finishes.
Vi knows she shouldn’t laugh, but you’re too fucking cute and she can’t help but coo at you.
“You can’t tell anyone about this,” you hiccup.
“What, that you’re a big soft baby?” she teases.
“Vi,” you whimper.
And something in her brain tickles because she can’t recall a time you’d ever called her by her nickname, only ever referred to her as Violet and nothing else.
She resists a smile.
“Okay, okay,” she gives in. “Lets change the subject.”
You make a noise of agreement as you cuddle your sleepy Pip.
“I actually wanted to ask you something,” she says, arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers a hairsbreadth from your figure.
Test the waters, cop a feel.
Vi’s not particularly into the idea, but the opportunity’s right there in the way wisps of your hair falls from its hold. Her fingers move of their own device, tucking the strands behind your ear.
She feels you still for the slightest, most imperceptible of moments, but then you’re relaxing, letting her fingers brush from your ear down to your shoulder, then back to where it rests on the back of the couch.
“You doing anything on Saturday?” she asks, really hopes you’ll say no.
“Not that I know of,” you say without second thought.
Not that you really need to. Your tight circle of friends are all alike, tethered to their hobbies and their homes.
“I have a game on Saturday,” Vi starts, fiddling with a little hole in the cushion. “If you wanted to come.”
You don’t agree or disagree immediately, and Vi’s scrambling to soothe over any potential discomfort.
“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, of course,” she says quickly. “I just— I thought you might be interested in going and I’d really like to see you there and—”
A small little laugh puffs from your lips.
“Of course I’ll go,” you agree easily.
Vi deflates in relief.
“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”
Vi doesn’t know why she invites you. More so, she doesn’t know why she tells her teammates that she’s invited you because now they’re whooping and hollering in the locker room, towel-whipping her and sing-songing that their star player’s gonna get laid.
Doesn’t know why she invites you because as soon as she glides on the ice, she’s searching the stands high and low for your familiar figure. When she clocks you nestled in the middle with your roommate and another friend she vaguely recognizes, her heart’s soaring and her stomach’s twisting in knots.
Vi’s never nervous, but somehow you bring out the worst of it.
It only takes a few moments, though. The blare of the horn snaps her back into her zone and she leaves all the noise off-rink. In this moment, all she knows is cutting ice, dodging the other team’s most aggressive players and sinking shot after shot.
It’s nearing the end of the second period when she finally glances at the score.
5—4.
The opposing team’s giving them a run for their money and this is probably one of the tightest matches they’ve played all season. She takes a moment to find you in the stands again, and you’re right where she left you, eyes already glued to her as you hover over the edge of your seat.
She hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve got her number painted on her face and another surge of warmth layers over the exertion.
You give her a thumbs up and she feels like lightning.
They reset and she’s off, like a streak of light in the night sky, she’s shuffling the puck towards the goal.
Then you see the navy uniform barreling towards her, voice caught in your throat as Vi gives the puck one last shot before that damned Jersey Number Six shoves her so hard, she’s flinging into the rink’s wall.
The horn chugs, signaling the end of the second period and the stands erupt in a ceremonious cheer as the playback reveals that Vi had sunk the puck before time.
“Fuck yeah!” you cry out, shooting to your feet to clap your hands.
Vi ignores the instigating chants to fight, only really pays attention to your little dance of excitement as she shakes off the other player and rejoins her team for intermission.
“Fuck, Vi, you got it bad, huh?” Abigail Anderson’s spearheading the teasing once they all return to the locker room at the end of the game.
Vi’s body heats at the thought, isn’t really in the business of denying it anymore, because, you know what? Yeah. Vi’s got it so fucking bad for you, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself. You’re her first thought, her final prayer, and everything in between.
So all she does he shrug, can’t help the grin that splits her lips as she rubs her towel through her sweat-damp hair.
She’s the first one out of the locker room, dressed in some sweats and a pullover, towel slung around her neck as she steps into the tunnel. Your contact’s pulled up, and she’s ready to fire off a text asking where you want her to meet you, but she stops short to see you already leaned outside of the change room’s doors.
“Hey, cupcake,” she murmurs, smiling hard when she finds the smudged number 5 still chalked on your face.
“Hi, Violet,” you return shyly, hands clasped behind your back.
She hears the telltale whoosh of the locker room doors, the chattering of her teammates as they poke their heads out into the hall to be nosy, but she’s guiding you along, throwing a wink over her shoulder as the two of you fall into step.
“Thank you for coming,” Vi says after a moment. “You being here really meant a lot to me.”
You don’t know if Vi’s always been this sentimental, but just never given the opportunity to showcase it, or if she’s just buttering you up, but you can’t help but beam at her with pearly teeth and dimpled cheeks.
“God, Violet, you were so good!” you say excitedly, a little skip in your step. “You were in the rink, skating circles around them, like this, and like this.”
She bursts into laughter as you start speeding down the tunnel, dodging garbage bins and jumping up into the air to click your heels.
Something falls out of your little fannypack when you land, and Vi’s crouching down to pick up the tulle baggie to find a little beaded bracelet with a gold clasp that reads puck off.
“What’s this?” Vi asks, and you stop your shenanigans to turn your attention to her.
When your expression falters and you’re running back to her at full speed, she’s holding the baggie up just a little too out of reach for you, grin smug.
“Is this for me, sweetheart?” she asks presumptuously, even though her heart’s thrumming hard in her ribcage.
You’re on your tiptoes, chest pressed against hers, and god, please! is all Vi can think when your head tilts up, a little defeated knit between your eyebrows.
She milks the fuck out of whatever this is, arm banding around your waist as she returns the baggie to you.
“Maybe,” you whisper finally.
“Maybe what?” Vi teases.
“Maybe it’s for you,” you respond, free hand coming to rest on her chest.
“And what do I have to do to get it?” she asks, voice low.
It makes your body jolt hard as a shiver slinks down your spine because there she is, the insufferable flirt who knows exactly what to say to have your brain turn to mush.
You seem like you’re contemplating for a moment and Vi’s breath is hitching in her throat, wondering if you’re willing to play this cat and mouse game with her.
You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.
“Puck off.”
Your giggle is maniacal as you slip away, leaving her temporarily stunned before she chases you down the tunnel. And she should expect your speed, especially because you’ve got legs, but it takes her a moment to catch up with you when her practice bag’s thumping on her back like that. Her calloused fingers are closing around the flesh of your hips in no time and she’s pulling you back into her arms.
“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.
You whine.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you counter.
“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”
And you give in because Violet’s made you weak. She’s holding out her wrist as you free the multi-colored bracelet.
You barely clasp the closure in the ring before Violet’s stumbling into you, a big burly girl from the other team shoulder checking the fuck out of her.
“Nice job standing in the middle of the walk way,” she bites.
Violet only snorts a laugh.
“Whatever, good game,” she calls.
Whoever she is, stops, levels Vi with a deadly look before her gaze flits to the bracelet you’ve just fixed around her wrist to you who stands frozen into place as the tension crackles between them.
“Cute,” she observes and your skin prickles. “Let me take her for a spin?”
“Violet,” you warn when her shoulders square and she takes a step forward.
She looks torn between walking away and beating the shit out of whoever this instigator is, but one of her teammates is shoving her along.
“Leave it.”
Whatever that was shatters the moment between the two of you and Vi’s taking in a deep breath as Abby trails behind the two of you.
The girl whistles for good measure and you throw a dirty look over your shoulder.
She winks.
You’ve still yet to find out who hosts these parties, but this time around gives you a weird sense of deja vu as you climb the steps with Maddie in tow.
You and Vi had parted ways at the rink, not before extending you an invite to the celebration later in the evening.
You should come, I can pick you up.
But per usual, DD duties call, and you’d smiled up at her despite the lingering pressure from the prior confrontation and promised her that yes, you’d absolutely be there.
Maddie squeals from the step below as you climb the front porch, breaths coming out in puffs of steam.
“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.
You giggle nervously, sure hope you do because you’re freezing your ass off!
“Yeah?”
Maddie gives you an incredulous look, eyelids powdered with glitter and gaze lined charcoal. She’s looking extra cute tonight too and you know that the two of you could fall into an endless cycle of teasing because a certain someone’s probably inside tonight.
“If she doesn’t fuck you before the night ends, I will,” Maddie teases, and you’re warming unceremoniously at the thought.
Because maybe you’ve been thinking about it a lot more recently despite only going into this trying to get through these tutoring sessions and dipping. Especially as of late now that Vi’s made it a habit to FaceTime you after practice, on your walk to the library, dripping sweat and chest heaving.
You’d always seen the appeal, but now you feel it.
You smooth down your asymmetrical skirt and Maddie steps up to adjust your tits in your lowcut lace blouse just as the door swings open to reveal none other than Violet.
“Oh—” Her voice catches as she takes you in.
Maddie gives your ass a little swat and Vi’s gaze is following the movement as your roommate pushes past her to slip inside.
“I was— I was just about to step out. To, uh, to call you,” she stammers.
You breath out a little laugh.
“Here I am.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”
Jesus, fuck Vi could burst into flames right now. Your boots hug your thighs and Violet’s not gonna lie, she really wishes it were her head squeezed between—
“You look...” Hot, so fucking edible, downright fuck— “...really nice.”
You smile, but you can’t help the way your teeth chatters.
“Fuck, shit, you’re probably cold,” she curses, warm hands closing around your shoulders to pull you inside. “Why didn’t you wear a jacket? You’re gonna get sick.”
I wanted you to want me.
“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.
She looks like she wants to scold you, but instead, she’s pulling down her coat, a big black work jacket, hanging from the banister of the stairs around your shoulders and you’re relishing the residual warmth that lingers there and her familiar scent.
“Can I get you a cider?” she asks. “It’s still warm.”
It hits you as her fingers curl through yours, that Vi’s truly nothing like what you initially thought. She’s sweet, and she’s respectful, and she’s everything you could ever hope for.
You freeze at the thought, and Vi’s glancing at you when she’s tugged to a stop.
“You okay?” she hums.
Your eyes search her face, gliding over the scar on her lip and the one slit through her eyebrow. The gold hoop pierced through her nose glints under the lowlight and her thick lashes flutter as she looks down at you.
You give her a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes because wow, you’re in deep.
“I’m okay,” you assure her, give her fingers a squeeze for good measure.
When she finally secures you a mug of steaming cider, she’s guiding you to her group of friends that occupy the living room.
You only recognize Ellie, her best friend and her roommate, and Abby, the captain. Everyone else is a jumbled mix of names and faces and you stick close to Vi as she settles into the left corner of the couch.
You make a move to sit on the armrest, legs crossed and hands folded around your mug, but Vi’s spreading her legs and pulling you into her lap before you can effectively protest.
Her warmth immediately engulfs you and it takes every ounce of self control not to curl up into a ball in front of all her friends and classmates.
As they recap the game and catch up with each other, you remain hushed, eyes flitting from person to person as they speak. Toes curling whenever Violet’s voice vibrates in her chest as she talks big about sports and the hot teams this season.
You’re caught off caught when Ellie’s directing a question towards you and you barely register.
“What do you like to do?” she asks you.
All eyes audibly shift to where you’re cozied up in Vi’s lap, cider empty and abandoned on the side table.
“Uh.”
Your words are lodged in your throat because you’re so used to talking Vi’s ear off about your interests (namely, Animal Planet and your son Pip), showing her your little craft projects you like to do in front of the television on a weekend evening (you’d taken a break from the scarf / hat combo you were knitting to finish the bracelet you designed for Vi), and yapping about some obscure film you’d watched while finishing said projects.
But here, now, you don’t know what to say. Not when this isn’t your typical crowd and you don’t know what to expect from her friends.
Vi must feel your hesitation because her digits are slipping into her jacket, fingertips ghosting the small of your back as she presses a palm against your spine to smooth the tension there.
It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.
You give her a look from the corner of your eye before you turn your attention back to Ellie.
“I don’t do much,” you offer honestly. “Just starting my old cat lady duties early, I suppose.”
Ellie laughs benevolently.
“You have a cat?”
“Yes, his name’s Pip, and he’s basically my kid.”
“Cute,” Ellie coos. “You got any pictures?”
And you seem to light up, spare Vi one more glance as you dig in her coat pocket to produce your cellphone, charms jangling as you power it back on to show Ellie the lockscreen.
“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”
“—How To Train Your Dragon!” Abby fills in from across the couch. “That’s such a good ass movie.”
It warms Vi to the bone, seeing you and her friends nerd out. Seeing them put in the effort because they know she likes you and seeing you reciprocate because, well, you’re you, and you just need a little warming up.
She doesn’t know how long you and her friends chat for until you’re shifting a little and turning your attention back to her.
“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”
Her gaze flits to her circle, and they’re smirking, obviously under the impression that this must be some sort of code the two of you concocted.
She ignores them, and most importantly she ignores the way her pulse jumps when you stand from your seat and perch between her legs, offering both of your neatly manicured hands to her.
This is getting fucking ridiculous.
The bathroom is tucked under the stairs near the front of the house and she stands post outside the door as you finish up.
It’s only when you’re poking your head outside the door sheepishly that she stands up straight.
“Can you help me with my zipper?” you ask timidly.
She puffs a laugh, slips in through the space you crack for her to find you holding the two sides of your skirt together.
And she knows she shouldn’t look, but the space allows her to see the pink lace of your panties. She’s shoving her tongue in her cheek, focusing on lining up the seams and pulling up your zipper as you hold the fabric taut.
“Thanks,” you whisper, looking up to see that Vi’s impossibly close to you in this cramped little powder room.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” she croaks, leaning against the counter as you wash your hands.
She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.
“I like this,” she admits, gaze trailing up to meet yours. “You look pretty.”
Your ears burn, unable to meet the smolder of her steely eyes. You’d probably find that her pupils are blown wide if you did. Instead, you’re watching her mouth, lips stained cherry and tongue coming out to wet the dry patch.
You hold your breath as you reach across her for the hand towel, but her hands find your hips, teetering into dangerous territory as she moves almost close enough to slip her hands under your skirt.
“You’re not gonna say thank you?” she asks, watching you through hooded eyes.
A nervous giggle bubbles.
“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.
“‘Course,” she agrees easily. “You gonna wear it again?”
You bite.
“If you ask nicely.”
She licks her lips again, body flexed as you allow her to press you closer. One of your hands splays on the counter behind her, the other brushing over the blooming bruise on her jaw.
“Can I?” she husks.
You don’t need to ask for clarification, not when her nose is nudging yours and your breaths are mingling.
“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”
The door rattles with the ferocity of whoever’s knocking on the other side.
“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”
To your dismay, the two of you don’t talk about Saturday night. And things’s aren’t particularly bad, but something’s definitely shifted and it’s driving you nuts.
Vi’s on the ice practicing the following morning and after classes on Monday, so you wait for your session with bated breath on Tuesday. You try extra hard despite every voice of reason telling you that you’re reading into it too much.
Vi smiles at you easily as she drops into the seat across from you, pulling out her biometry textbook without so much as a peep about the fact that the two of you almost kissed in whoever the fuck’s bathroom that was over the weekend.
You’re staring, hard.
Because that familiar feeling’s coming back. The seedling of doubt that had rooted in the beginning about Vi’s intentions with you. She’d done a good job of weeding it out over the weeks, of dismantling whatever image you’d built of her in your head, but it plants itself again.
She’s squeezing your hand across the table and your gaze flits down to her rough fingers. That’s when you notice it, the bracelet, still fastened where you clasped it on game night.
You relax a fraction.
“Everything okay?”
You smile, something small.
“Yeah, good,” you assure her.
The rest of your tutoring session is uneventful, goes off without a hitch. And you’re shameless in admitting that you hate to see her go as she walks you to your car in the student lot near the library.
You’re grasping at straws, clearing your throat before she closes your door for you.
“Uh,” you squeak. “Do you want to come over?”
Vi’s pausing, hand still on the edge of your door as her lips twitch.
“Like right now?”
You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.
“Like right now,” you confirm.
She checks her wristwatch, sighs heavily because fuck yes, she’d love to come over right now, but Anderson and Williams are expecting her for a strategy meeting with the coach and—
“Sorry,” you say quickly. “You don’t have to, I know we only really—”
She pinches your cheek before tucking some of your hair behind your ear.
“I can’t tonight, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she says. “But tell you what, if you’re willing to free up your Friday night, I’d really like to plan something.”
Your heartbeat skips.
“All yours,” you say without missing a beat.
Vi’s grinning wide.
“Perfect, drive safe,” she bids. “See you tomorrow.”
And you don’t know why you’re so fucking high strung, not when Vi hasn’t done anything to make you doubt that this isn’t all in your head, but it only gets worse as the days go by.
It doesn’t come to a head until Thursday, when your tutoring slots are miraculously empty until Vi’s and you receive an email from Medarda to meet in her office after her string of lectures.
“Afternoon,” the older woman greets, smiling warmly at you as she lets you into her office. “Just wanted to check in with your audit and request any feedback you have.”
You think for a moment before shaking your head.
“Nothing in particular that I can think of,” you say easily, then add with a laugh, “feel like I’ll be a professional by the end of the semester.”
“Why do you say that?” Medarda chuckles as she logs into her computer.
“I have a student sitting every Tuesday and Thursday for tutoring in your class,” you reveal.
She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” You giggle at the distant memory of Vi’s expression in the weight room. “She seems to be picking it up well enough, though.”
“Huh, every Tuesday and Thursday?” she asks, fingers flying over her keyboard. “I must be doing something wrong.”
“I’d hardly say that,” you say. “When Violet booked all my sessions, I thought it was a joke, but I think she’s just really dedicated to doing well.”
“Violet?” Medarda repeats, hands stilling over her mouse.
“Yeah, Violet, on the women’s hockey team?”
Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.
“Why would you— huh. Weird,” she comments.
“I admit it was a little strange, but—”
“Violet’s a consistent top scorer on the exams,” Medarda shares. “She’s been top of the class since the beginning of the semester.”
And it’s like the world stills as she reveals that information, fragile pieces shattering as the gears start turning in your brain and you try to put the puzzle together.
You glance at the clock, find that you’re due to meet Violet in half an hour.
“Uh, if you’ll excuse me,” you say politely, try to ignore the concerned expression etched on your professor’s face at your sudden departure. “It was nice chatting with you. If I think of anything feedback-wise, I’ll be sure to email you.”
And you’re running.
Vi’s in the locker room after practice, toweling off after an extra long shower because she’s been looking a little extra forward to seeing you today, but perhaps that’s everyday as of late.
She’s hooking the bracelet you gave her back on when her phone vibrates and she’s practically diving into her locker when your text tone bleats.
sweetheart: I have to cancel your session this afternoon. I’m sorry.
Her expression screws up.
everything ok? can i do anything for you?
sweetheart: Personal things to take care of. I’ll see you next week.
I’ll see you next week.
But what about tomorrow? She’d been working so fucking hard on tomorrow, on finally pulling her head far enough out of her ass to ask you to give the two of you a shot.
She sets her phone down, slumps down on the bench as she turns her wrist and takes in the smooth glass beads of the bracelet.
She sighs. Hard.
You hole up all weekend long, put your phone on do not disturb, and try your best to get whatever this is out of your system. But you’re a slave to your emotions and you can’t help but check your messages every time you know Vi’s free.
It’s a single text on a Saturday night, one that surprises you because you know she has practice now that the big game’s fast approaching.
violet <3: hey sweetheart, just checking in. i know you said you had a few personal things going on, but i’m here if you feel like you need someone <3
You’re texting back before your better judgement can stop you.
Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?
.
.
.
Then you add, We can smoke.
Vi’s sending you three running emojis and you crack a smile at your screen before realizing that you need to shower.
You lay out some clothes beforehand, ultimately settling on last Saturday’s skirt.
Vi’s giggling as you fumble with the wrapper, rolling it with clumsy fingers because, truthfully, you don’t do this often, but she shuts right up when you don’t break eye contact as the tip of your tongue slides across the seam to seal the joint.
She’d picked you up with a Sprite and a slice to split from Valentino’s, throat drying as you bounded down the stairs in the same fucking skirt that had her touching herself after she’d gotten home from the party, guilty and wound tight. Now the two of you are tucked away behind some abandoned strip.
“Ready?” Her voice rasps as you pop the end between your lips and she brings the lighter to ignite the end for you.
It burns as you inhale and Vi’s thighs squeeze together involuntarily. She’d smoked with you twice before, both times on the roof of your apartment building and at a reasonable distance. But now, she knows what your body feels like, almost knows what your lips taste like.
You take a few more puffs before offering it to her and the smoke begins to plume to fill the space of her little coupe. It’s moments like these, tucked away from prying eyes, that it’s just you and Vi.
Not Vi, the supposed womanizing hockey star, or you, the nerdy homebody tutor. Just the two of you, two souls trying to get through university and carve your paths.
“I aced Medarda’s exam this week,” Vi says softly, jay pinched between her fingers as she watches you with lowering eyes.
“Oh, yeah? I wonder why,” you quip in return, face impossibly close to hers despite the console between you.
“I have a smartypants tutor that does an especially good job when she’s motivated,” she answers.
Your cheeks flame, but you don’t back down. Vi’s been extra good at pushing your buttons and flirting hard as of late, and maybe you’re a little more than willing to receive and reciprocate, but the two of you have been toeing the line, yet neither of you have taken the leap.
This moment, however, feels like it could be it. Like you’re going to find out what the fuck all of this even is.
“I have to meet this tutor of yours,” you play along. “She sounds like a miracle worker.”
“Among other things,” Vi teases, sucking in the smoke and blowing it through her nostrils.
“Like?”
“She’s also funny as fuck,” she hums. “A big baby when we watch Animal Planet.”
You narrow your eyes at her and Vi lets out a little laugh that makes your toes curl.
“Uh-huh?”
“She’s really fucking pretty too,” she says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she affirms. “Kind of pretty that makes you wanna do bad, bad things.”
You smile falters as a shiver rips down your spine and before you know it, Vi’s putting out the joint before climbing in the cramped backseat of her car to spread her legs.
Doesn’t even give you a moment to process before she’s pulling you on top of her and allowing you to settle comfortably in her lap. Her hands run up your thighs and disappear under your skirt to grab the fat of your ass.
You breathe out a little giggle as your slender fingers come up to cup her jaw.
“Think my tutor’ll be mad at me?” Vi murmurs, nose brushing yours. “‘Cuz I really, really wanna kiss this pretty girl in my lap right now.”
You let out a broken little sigh when her hips buck.
“Maybe she’ll forgive you,” you whisper. “I know I would.”
And that’s all the affirmation Vi needs from you before she’s taking the plunge and slotting her lips with yours; kissing you with so much fervor, you’d think she needs you to breathe. She tastes like mint and weed and you can’t get enough.
Vi’s all-consuming, her kiss a delicious mix of teeth and tongue. And, god, her hands. Rough and calloused, but gentle in the way she explores your body. It isn’t until she’s snapping the band of your thong and her fingertips ghost the seam of your sticky heat that you’re hyper-focusing.
“Mmmph, Violet, Vi—” Your voice cracks as she breaks from your lips to map a series of kisses from your jaw, to the juncture behind your ear, down the column of your neck. “Wait.”
She stops, hands pulling from under your skirt like you’ve burned her. And perhaps you have, branded nearly every part of her because she can’t really think of a sound moment if you’re not there.
“Sorry, sorry,” she shudders as the arousal ebbs through her tightened body. “I—”
I’m caught up. I’m losing it, and it’s all your fault, and—
“Violet,” you swallow, fingers toying with the collar of her varsity sweatshirt. “I have something to say.”
Her throat bobs and her grey eyes gleam like ash in the lowlight of the backseat of her car. The windows are smoked out and it’s exceptionally warm, equal parts sexual tension and another thing Vi can’t quite pinpoint.
“Yeah, anything,” she assures you, hands resting on your waist instead. “You can tell me anything.”
One of your palms settles over her chest, right where her heart is and you suck in a sharp breath.
“I— uh, I really like you, Violet,” you admit quietly. “A lot more than I think I’ve ever liked someone in a long, long time.”
Oh.
Oh. Here it comes, the big fat rejection. The coming to your senses.
“But?”
The look on your face is devastating and Vi’s scared.
“I have to know that if I give you a chance, you won’t abuse it,” you hiccup, and wow, that’s definitely not what she expects you to say, but fuck does it leave a sour taste in her mouth.
“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.
“Violet,” you sigh.
“Abuse what?” she husks.
“I know you—”
“Do you?” she scoffs, a wave of irritation washing over her as she looks you with disappointment. “What gave you the idea that I would ever even dream of taking advantage of you giving me a chance?”
“You don’t necessarily have a spotless record, Violet,” you say, voice edged. “And I know that I’m not your usual—”
“Not my usual what?” The venom in Vi’s tone is uncharacteristic, but this is not at all how she expected tonight to go and she’s frustrated. “Not my usual type? You internalized all this shit that people say about me even though I’ve been trying to get you to see me for months.”
Emotion clogs your throat because a small part of you knows that Vi’s right. She’s never given you an outright reason to doubt her interest in you, but it all just seems too good to be true.
“Sue me for wanting to protect myself,” you choke, climbing out of her lap and back into the front seat. “Especially because I know that you don’t actually need help in Medarda’s class.”
And that catches Vi off guard. You see as much in the rearview mirror when she pales.
She clambers back into the driver’s seat.
“Who told you that?” she asks, not even bothering to deny the fact.
“I mentioned that I was tutoring you in passing when Medarda asked for feedback on her class,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “She asked why I’d be doing that when you’re top of all her sections.”
Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.
“And then your past hook ups parade around campus like a reminder that—,” you cut yourself off, obviously hurt after bottling this all up. “And it isn’t any of my business, nor are we anything enough for me to plausibly upset—”
“Yes, I lied,” Vi admits quietly. “But only about one thing.”
Your breath catches.
“You’re right, I don’t need help in Medarda’s class. I lied about being clueless and I signed up for tutoring even though I didn’t need it,” she says.
“Why?”
“You know why,” Vi huffs. “From the moment I met you, I knew.”
It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.
“No one ever says it out loud, but I know what everyone thinks,” you choke. “Violet’s fucking that loser?”
“You really believe that?”
“God, Violet, I don’t know what to fucking believe,” you cry out. “My life’s fucking fine and dandy and then you show up and make me fucking question everything I—”
Vi lets out a humorless laugh, can’t even look at you and it could make you sick.
“You’re so fucking loved by everyone, even those who won’t admit it,” you croak. “And you’re incredible at everything you do, turn everything you touch to gold, and I’m just...”
Vi’s brows furrow.
“You’re what?”
“I’m me,” you whisper meekly. “I’m just me and you’re you, and I just don’t see what makes me so different.”
And Vi realizes that she’d read it all wrong.
“Look at me,” she says softly, fingers tracing your jaw.
You knuckle your tears away, make a petulant noise in your throat.
“You wanna know why I booked all your stupid tutoring sessions?” she huffs. “Because I really fucking like you, ________. And it’s beyond wanting to fuck you even though god knows I’d fucking die if you let me. It’s so much more than having you physically. Because I’ll take being just friends with you if it means having you around. I don’t give a shit about anything else but you.”
It’s the most sound declaration you hear from the girl in the semester you’ve known her and it makes you cry.
“You make me feel so fucking normal and you remind me that I don’t need to be anything else but me,” she breathes. “And I get where you’re coming from, I hear you. I just really hope you hear me too.”
“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”
Vi squeezes your thigh, takes your hand in hers and brings your knuckles to her lips.
“Let’s get you home, okay?” she offers gently.
Vi only has one more game before the championships and she won’t lie and say that this limbo with you has her feeling like she’s going to be ill.
You’d cancelled her tutoring sessions this week, told her that maybe the two of you needed to spend some time apart and that she was clearly doing a number on you. So she agrees, tries to give you space to work through what’s weighing on you.
sweetheart: Good luck at your game tonight, Violet. I’m rooting for you.
She really wishes you’d be there, but she knows you need the time alone.
thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.
“Alright Vi, we have fifteen til puck drop,” Ellie says carefully, has been front row to everything transpiring between you and her best friend.
Vi tucks her phone away in her backpack, unhooks your bracelet from around her wrist and fastens it to the handle of her bag, and grabs her stick from the rack before she lets her teammates jostle her into the tunnel.
And she wishes she could lock in, clear her head and get into the game, but all she can think about is you.
It’s a narrow victory once the game ends, but she can’t find it in herself to celebrate, especially not at the kickback afterwards because fucking Sev and her assholes are there.
“Where’s your little dime piece?” she taunts.
“Fuck off,” Vi warns, obviously not in the mood.
“Shame,” she whistles. “She looks like a fucking weirdo, but she sure does have a fat ass—”
Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.
“She told you to fuck off,” she hisses.
Sev spits the blood in her mouth on the toe of Ellie’s shoe, fists bunching the collar of her sweater.
“Keep that fucking energy on the ice because I’m gonna wipe the floor with your fucking pissbaby team.”
You wake up on Monday morning to a text from Vi and a handful of notifications from Instagram.
violet <3: can i see you this week?
You open Instagram.
sev.94 has requested to follow you!
sev.94 has sent you a message request!
Your brows furrow, opening the message request hesitantly. There’s a few DMs and a video from this Sev person.
sev.94 hey pretty, sorry to text you like this.
sev.94 just thought you should know the kind of person your little girlfriend is
sev.94 sent a video.
sev.94 i don’t really do relationships, but i’d take your mind off of it if you let me.
You’re playing the video, quality grainy and audio blasted. You don’t know what you’re looking at at first, it’s dark, and there’s so many voices. But you see skin, see the outline of a girl’s naked back, delicate and arched in pleasure.
You think this Sev person’s just fucking with you, playing some stupid joke with a shitty punchline as someone’s hands snake around to palm the flesh of the unnamed girl’s ass, but then you see it.
The bracelet.
Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.
(1) Because you haven’t responded to her message despite your read receipts being on, and (2) she can’t fucking find the bracelet you’d gifted to her.
She’s barging into Ellie’s room, shirtless and hair dripping.
“Jesus, fuck, do you knock?” Ellie hisses, buds she was in the midst of grinding scattering across the floor.
“I can’t find the bracelet she gave me,” Vi says quickly.
Ellie’s face scrunches.
“Huh?”
“The bracelet ________ gave to me,” Vi says. “I hooked it on my backpack before practice on Saturday but it’s not there anymore.”
Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.
“Maybe you misplaced it,” Ellie offers. “Regardless, we practice tonight, I’ll help you look for it.”
Vi’s chest is tight, doesn’t want to admit that the stupid little bracelet means way more to her than she lets on. She only ever takes it off when she’s on the ice, won’t risk losing it when she’s got a target on her back and everyone plays rough.
It turns out to be futile when they enter the rink and she retraces her steps only to come up empty-handed.
This, she realizes, is the start of a very long week.
You should’ve seen it coming, really. Don’t know why you tried to psyche yourself into thinking that Vi could ever really want something with you when the world’s her fucking oyster and she can have anything she wants.
And you want to feel bad when she texts you intermittently through the days, checking in, offering to meet you, anything. But part of you is angry, unforgiving, tired.
You could’ve gone the rest of the school year unscathed if she’d just left you the fuck alone, but she pried and she tugged and she settled, and she made a home inside of you and you hate that you let her.
xxxx: i really miss you.
You block her number, block her social media, and even though finals are imminent, you now know that Vi’s been playing you for a fool this whole time and you cancel every last one of the sessions she’s booked.
You hope she’d get the message, figure that you’d caught onto her little game and aren’t willing to play anymore, but she doesn’t, that much is clear when you’re finishing up your two thirty session and find her stalking into the library just as the student leaves your table.
“Are we going to talk like adults or are you going to keep acting like—”
You don’t entertain a response, just pack your bag and sling the strap over your shoulder because the tears are bubbling and you don’t trust yourself not to break.
“Seriously?” Vi bites, hot on your heels as you throw all of your weight against the library doors and suck in the icy air.
“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.
“No, fuck that,” Vi spits, hand closing around your bicep. “You don’t— You don’t get to make me fall for you and then try to leave with no explanation.”
“Fuck you,” you whisper.
“What?”
“Fuck you, Violet,” you hiccup, yanking your arm from her grasp and putting as much distance as you can between the two of you. “I hope you and your friends got a good laugh out of it.”
Her face is screwing up and if she wasn’t confused before, she’s definitely confused now.
“Listen, I can’t fix something if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Vi argues. “I’m so fucking lost right now.”
You hate how believable she is. How the thought of hurting you seems so inconceivable to her. But that grainy video was clear enough.
“I hate you,” you murmur. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”
Your name comes out broken, like you’ve wounded her. But you’ve officially folded your hand, won’t dare look her in her eyes because the both of you know it’s not true.
The championships roll in fast like a tide and neither your or Violet are ready for it.
You hear they’re live streaming the game, it’s the most anticipated one in the season. Piltover Stallions against the Zaun City Tigers. A part of you wishes you could support them, but then you’re starkly reminded that you’re a laughingstock amongst them.
The library on a Friday night is as quiet as can be, the hum of the fluorescents background to the voices in your head that are loud. You’re so engrossed in the study material that you don’t realize someone’s making a beeline for you until they’re knocking on the tabletop.
Ellie Williams stands before you in all her lean glory, hands sunk in her pockets as she stares down at you.
“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?” Your tone is clipped, disinterested because you believed that you and Ellie could be friends once upon a time.
“Coach sat me out because I socked one of those dickhead Zaun City Tigers in the mouth last weekend.”
You humph.
“Listen, we don’t have much time left, so I’m going to make this short and sweet,” she says. “Whatever happened between you and Vi is obviously personal and that typically would have nothing to do with me, but she can’t get her shit together because all she can think of is you.”
“And that’s my problem because...?”
“I know that Vi comes off a certain way, but she’s my best friend, like my best friend in this entire shithole of a world, and she’s—”
“No offense, Ellie,” you cut her off. “But if Vi sent you here to plead her case, I think that’s pathetic and—”
“Okay, well maybe if you shut up for three seconds and let me get to my point—”
You close your textbook and shove it in your backpack before standing to signal the end of the conversation.
“Whatever, I don’t have time for this.”
Ellie watches you walk away, takes in a deep breath because wow, you’re a bitch when you’re mad, but she absolutely gets why Vi is whipped.
“Violet’s in love with you.”
And that statement makes you freeze. Tears cloud your vision as your fists tighten around the strap of your bag.
“If you fuck someone else while you’re in love, I want nothing to do with it,” you bite.
Ellie’s brows shoot up.
“Whoa, what?”
“Violet fucked someone else as soon as things got tough, and if that’s the kind of person she is in love, I’d rather be alone,” you say stiffly.
“Respectfully, there’s no way Vi’s interested in getting pussy from anywhere else with how down bad that bitch is for you, but even if she was, I spend over seventy percent of my day with her and know that all she’s been doing the past two weeks is moping over the fact that you handed her ass to her on a silver platter.”
“There’s a video.”
Ellie’s brows must be mingling with her hairline right about now.
She reaches a palm out.
Show me.
You open the DM from sev.94, watching as Ellie’s expression morphs from morbid curiosity to disbelief, to a quiet rage.
She’s handing your phone back to you and grabbing you by your forearm.
“She’s fucking dead.”
When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.
It’s the middle of the second period and the game is tied 3—3.
Your eyes comb the playing area, can’t find Vi’s jersey number in the mix, but finally settle on her on the bench, shoulders terse and obviously on edge.
She doesn’t clock you yet, had given up on the idea of patching things up with you after your last conversation.
“Vi’s been missing her bracelet since practice on Saturday,” Ellie’d told you on the way there, then pulled out her phone to show you the photo she’d taken of Vi passed out in nothing but her boxers on the couch the night of the last game, fucked up and sad. “We went out for like an hour after the game, but that was it. Vi was too fucking in her head.”
The girl from the tunnel, the one who’d been taunting the two of you, you piece together, has been the one behind it all, stirring the pot.
Throughout the end of the second period and all through intermission, Vi doesn’t notice you, too busy trying to get off the fucking bench to survey the crowd.
It’s only during final puck drop in the third period that their coach finally gives in, smacks the back of her helmet and tells her to make him proud that she lifts her head up.
And there, front and center of the student section is you.
Her eyes are wide, body frozen in place as she tries to figure if you’re just a figment of her imagination, but then the horn’s blaring and she’s having to zone back in.
At this point in time, she doesn’t give a fuck if they win or lose, she just needs to get to you.
“Your little bitch looks cute tonight,” Sevika comments wolfishly. “Bet she tastes as good as she looks.”
Vi easily intercepts her pass, cuts between two players as she shuffles it along with practiced precision. She sends the rubber flying and the goalie narrowly misses block.
“Maybe if you played as good as you ran your mouth, you’d wipe the floor with my pissbaby team you big bitch,” Vi calls, resetting in their corner.
And perhaps you’re her good luck charm, the only thing she needed to see to get back into it, because Vi reignites. The adrenaline pumping through her veins fuels every shot, and soon the timer’s buzzing.
7—5.
The roar is deafening, but you’re all she sees in the ocean of cowbells and pompoms.
She barely inches forward before something arcs through the sky and lands before her feet.
Her bracelet.
You watch from the sidelines, the final confirmation as Vi picks up the loop and launches herself at Sevika.
The crowd cheers.
Fight, fight fight!
You don’t know how many swings Vi gets in, just know that she’s flashing you a bloody smile before she skates off the ice.
Ellie emerges from the locker room and you’re perking up.
Most, if not all, of Vi’s teammates had come and gone and you’d been waiting patiently, anxiously, for her to emerge since the end of the game nearly an hour ago.
“She’s the last one in there,” is all Ellie says before strolling off.
“What if...what if she doesn’t want to see me?” you ask hesitantly.
Ellie chuffs a little laugh, doesn’t bother turning as she calls from halfway down the hall, “Find out for yourself, sweetheart.”
Vi’s pulling a tank top over her head as soon as you enter and your cheeks bloom when you catch a split-second of her tits.
She glances up at you, nose bruising and lip busted.
“Hey,” she spares you, stuffing her uniform and skates into her gym bag.
“Hi,” you squeak.
A pregnant pause as you take her in, hesitant to close the distance between the two of you.
“Didn’t think you’d make it,” she observes.
And you don’t really have a bullshit response, know that you had every intention of staying as far away as humanly possible, so you settle on humming your agreement.
“Ellie told me,” she starts. “Why you lashed out on me.”
You swallow.
“And part of me gets it, I really do,” she continues, “but I also thought you had more faith in me than that.”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Fuck, Violet, I’m so sorry.”
“I told you to free up Friday night a few weeks ago,” she says, shuts her locker door and slumps down on the bench behind her. “I was going to tell you everything, officially ask you out, but then all that shit happened and it caught up to me.”
You take a step forward, and then another, and another until you’re standing in front of her.
“You have to know that I would never do something like to anyone, but especially not to you,” she says softly, taking your hands in hers.
“I know.”
She brushes her lips against your knuckles, pulls you in closer so that you’re standing between her legs.
“You’re right,” she continues, voice hoarse. “I don’t have a spotless track record, but I meant it when I said that I don’t give a shit about anyone else but you. I would give you anything I can if you let me.”
Your hands rest on her shoulders, her chin resting against the plush of your belly as you look down at her, speechless.
“That night, in the car, you said that you didn’t see what made you so different.”
“I don’t,” you admit.
Vi stands, caging you between strong arms as she drops her face into the hollow of your neck. You shiver when you feel her lips press to the skin there.
“We could start off with the obvious.”
One of her hands rests on the small of your back, pulls you flush so that the only things that separate you are the flimsy fabrics of your clothes. The other grabs a handful of your ass.
“I meant it when I said that you’re the kind of pretty that makes me wanna do bad things.”
You gulp, thighs squeezing as her lips part and she bites.
“Vi.”
“You got a giant brain,” she laughs breathily, fingers coming around the fiddle with your belt.
She kisses you, mouth hot and breath warm. It’s better the second time around, no doubt obscuring you from truly indulging.
“Pl—ease.”
“You’re kind and you’re selfless, and you’re my sweet, sweet little crybaby.”
“Violet,” you sigh breathlessly. “Listen to me.”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”
Violet nearly runs two red lights and whips into your neighborhood on two wheels.
The two of you are stumbling up the stairs and she’s spanking your ass on the last step as you fiddle with your keys and try to find the right one under the dim light of the complex hall.
Violet’s already unbuckling her belt as you turn the key, nearly taking you down as she shoves you inside and up against the front door.
“Maddie home?” she breathes.
“Out of town,” you answer quickly, kicking off your sneakers and pulling your sweater over your head. “Visiting her family upstate.”
“Perfect,” Vi hums. “I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on your couch.”
“Oh–”
One of her rough hands comes to cup your tit over your bra, her tongue laving over the other while her free hand makes work of the clasp.
You walk her back to the couch, stand between her knees as she flops back into the seat. Her arms spread over the back as she settles in, legs widening to give you ample room to strip.
Her eyes never leave yours as you easily unclasp your bra and shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a tight pair of little lace panties and pink socks that has Vi wet.
“C’mere,” she rasps, pulling you to straddle her lap.
Her lips immediately latch onto one of your pebbled nipples, tongue hot as her hands wander.
“Fuck.”
“Tell me what you want,” she husks, biting down on the swell of your breast.
And having Violet this close, her touch excruciatingly featherlight and tempting, you wind tight.
“Want you inside of me,” you whimper, fingers fixing around her throat. “Please.”
“Yeah?” she eggs you on, lips brushing yours as her palms settle on your ass. “You want me to fuck you?”
You nod eagerly, hips rolling in her lap as her breath pitches.
“Vi.”
Her nickname puffing from your lips makes her crack. You’re wound in her arms, face in her neck as she peels your thong taut, away from your waiting cunt, and runs her fingertips from your slit down to your clit.
“F...F—uck,” you sigh.
“Holy shit,” she marvels, licking her lips when she easily glides through your folds. “You’re really fucking wet.”
You grind down against her, clothed clit catching against her belt buckle. The cool metal sends a jolt through your pussy and you’re moaning loud in her ear.
And Violet really wants to take her time with you, wants to milk the first time she ever gets to fuck you for as long as she humanly can, but she’s still fully dressed and you’re practically naked, perfect tits pressed to her chest and fat ass in the palm of her hand.
She shifts you further into her, so that she can peek over the arch of your back as she sinks her middle and ring finger three knuckles deep into your needy heat.
“Ah, fuck, Violet.” Your voice breaks as she starts pumping into you, your arousal coating her fingers and the sound of her easily slipping through your pussy reverberating through the living room. “Fuckfuckfuck.”
She kisses your jaw, litters them until she’s catching your lips and licking crudely into your mouth.
You cry out when her fingers slip out.
She’s leaning the both of you forward, easing you from her lap and onto the couch as she takes a moment to shuck her shirt off and pull her belt through the loops in one tug.
You watch her through it all, the way the trim muscles of her biceps and shoulders flex as she leans over you, takes you by the ankles and yanks you until your ass is half-hanging from the edge of the couch.
She kneels before you, strips you out of your thong.
You don’t miss the way she shoves the soiled fabric in her jeans pocket.
“Jesus,” she breathes, gaze fluttering between your eyes and your pussy. “You’re so fucking pretty, sweetheart.”
Your toes curl at the praise, fingers closing around where Vi’s holding your legs apart.
“You know how bad I’ve been wanting to taste your pussy?” she rasps, gathering the lewdest amount of spit to dribble onto your clit. When you don’t answer, she’s freeing a hand to slap your slit.
“Nnngh, fuck!”
“Think I’ve always wanted to have you,” she admits. “But it was that stupid party fucking party and that stupid fucking skirt. God, I would’ve fucked you in that skirt if you let me.”
“Yeah?” you whine breathlessly. “Tell me.”
She’s stuffing you again without warning, curling her fingers in a way that has your back arching off the couch.
“Would’ve bent you over that sink and made you watch yourself while I ate you out,” she says easily.
And it’s so fucking delicious, the nasty shit Vi’s saying to you while she pounds your aching heat; the way she finally gives in and tastes you, sucking on your clit like she’s starved and you’re the only thing that can sate her hunger.
Your fingers curl through her hair as you teeter dangerously over the edge, nails grazing her scalp and tugging when she hits the spot deep inside of you that has you keening for more.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you choke. “Holy fuck.”
You feel Vi grin against your pussy, watch her with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes because the sight of her between your legs in your moonlit living room has your insides twisting hard.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” she encourages you. “Cum all over my fingers. Wanna see you gush.”
“Hah, h—” Your thighs tighten around her head, fingers curled so hard in her hair, she moans in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Don’t stop, Vi, please.”
She moans into your cunt, savoring the heady taste of you as you practically ride her face.
The sound that fills the room is downright filthy, the sight that Vi beholds when she peeks from where she’s devouring you equally so. It’s picturesque, the way she has you writhing. A sheen of perspiration glistens over your flesh as she eats you out and it’s a perfect mix of her tongue and her fingers that send you soaring over the edge.
It’s a pitched whine that echos, the staccato of your shaky breathing that sings like music in her ears as you cum. And hard.
Her lashes flutter against the skin of your inner thighs as she peppers kisses there, her lips slick with spit and arousal.
“Fuck, babe,” she whispers. “That was...”
She can’t really choose a specific word, is just mind blown at the fact that she’d just made you cum so hard and so fast. It makes her tense and tingle, a smug wave of pride washing over her as she starts mouthing a trail from your belly, between the valley of your tits, up your throat, to finally press a chaste one on your lips.
You taste yourself first and foremost, but then you taste everything she’s ever wanted to say to you, all the unspoken words and the things she’d been too scared to share. Feel it in the way her hands are roaming, squeezing, caressing.
You breathe a disbelieving laugh, peck her lips again when she pulls away to brush your hair from your face.
“Vi—” Your breath hitches and your eyes glaze.
“I know, I know.”
You wrap your arms around her shoulders, legs hooking around the narrow of her waist as she bears your weight and picks up your boneless figure.
“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.”
The sun is warm against your skin when you wake up the following morning, your bedroom bathed in an orange glow.
You feel bone tired, body sore and muscles tight as your arm sweeps the other side of the bed in search of balmy skin, but instead you’re met with cool sheets and swelling dread.
You sit up quickly, find that you’re still naked, and take a moment to asses your bedroom. The bathroom door’s cracked, light off, and everything else is exactly where you left it.
Everything except Vi.
Oh, you think to yourself.
Almost don’t want to leave your room because your empty apartment will be confirmation enough that Vi really did get the last laugh in the end.
But you force yourself out of bed, shrug on an oversized t-shirt before finding the living room just as still as it had been before the two of you had barreled in the night before and she’d left her mark on you.
The only sign that the entire thing wasn’t just a figment of your imagination was Vi’s belt strewn haphazardly on the coffee table.
You feel hollow, almost numb, and even if a persistent part of your brain was consistently telling you that you should’ve known better, the tears well in your eyes because you’d really hoped Violet was different.
You knuckle the tears away angrily, mind racing far too fast to register the door quietly unlocking and the soft footfalls coming down the hall.
“Babe?”
Your gaze snaps up.
Like a vision, Vi’s standing in the doorway, a handful of plastic bags in tow. She’s wearing her clothes from last night and the puffs under her eyes make her a little worse for wear.
She sets the bags down on the eat-in, rounds the couch to take you by the shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” she worries. “What’s going on?”
You hiccup, crumpling in her arms because you were so fucking scared.
“Thought you left,” you croak.
Vi breathes a sigh of relief, blowing out a hollow laugh because her girl’s such a baby.
“You have jack shit in your fridge,” she teases lightly. “How am I supposed to make you a five star breakfast with greek yogurt and carrot sticks?”
You whine.
“Don’t care about breakfast,” your muffled voice sounds from where your face is pressed in her chest. “Just wanted to wake up to you.”
Violet groans.
“You’re so cute,” she laughs, kissing the top of your head.
“I wanna go back to bed,” you mutter petulantly, emotional whiplash making your eyes droop.
“You’re not gonna let me make you breakfast?” Vi picks, smoothing the hair from your face.
Your eyes catch the bracelet refastened around her wrist and you grin softly, taking her fingers to press a kiss to her palm.
She could combust, gaze gooey as she watches you watch her.
Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.
One that’s particular, and overarching; one she doesn’t think she can go without.
HEYYYYY idk if i asked you this or another creator but would you write a arcane women x fainting condition reader? How they react, take care. Maybe once it happens in the bedroom during
Thank you so much for this request and for your patience 💜 I know it took me a while, but I really loved writing it and I hope you enjoy!
The night had started lighthearted, nothing serious, Vi had you pinned to the bed, hovering above you with that teasing grin of hers, hands braced by your head as she kissed you like she had all the time in the world.
“Y’know, you’re way too easy to fluster,” she murmured against your lips, smirking when you whined and tried to push her off. She didn’t budge, only pressed closer, her weight grounding you.
But then her teasing expression faltered. Your hands, once playful against her shoulders, went weak. She pulled back just in time to see the color drain from your face.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Vi’s voice snapped sharp with worry, panic cutting through the heat of the moment. Before you could answer, the dizziness you’d been fighting overtook you.
The world tilted sideways. And then it all went dark.
————
When you opened your eyes again, your head was cradled in Vi’s lap. Her calloused hands were trembling as they brushed over your cheeks, brushing your hair back again and again like she was trying to wake you by sheer force of touch.
“C’mon, sweetheart, open those eyes for me,” she whispered urgently, her voice cracking in a way you’d never heard before. “Please… don’t do this to me.”
You blinked, groaning softly, and instantly Vi’s face hovered above yours , relief washing through her in a shaky exhale.
“Oh thank fuck.” She swallowed hard, hugging you against her chest so tight it almost knocked the air out of you. “You scared the shit outta me. I thought— I thought something happened and I—”
Her words stumbled over themselves before she forced herself to pull back and look at you again. She cupped your face, thumbs rubbing gently over your skin, like she needed to convince herself you were really there.
“I-it’s okay,” you whispered, still groggy.
“Okay?!” Vi’s tone shot up, but her voice cracked with the weight of her fear. “You fainted, right in my arms. You didn’t even warn me! What if— what if I hadn’t caught you? What if you’d—”
She cut herself off, shaking her head, jaw tight.
You reached up weakly, touching her wrist. “It happens sometimes…”
That didn’t soothe her. If anything, her eyes widened, the guilt sinking in. “Sometimes? So this isn’t the first time? And you didn’t tell me?” She groaned, dropping her forehead against yours, holding you steady. Her voice softened, breaking. “Baby, please. You gotta let me know when stuff like this happens. I can’t… I can’t lose you, not even for a second like that. You don’t know what it did to me.”
You could feel her heart pounding through her chest, faster than it should be. She hadn’t just been scared. She’d been terrified.
Vi adjusted you gently, helping you sip from the glass of water she must’ve grabbed in a hurry. She wouldn’t let you sit up on your own. Instead, she kept you tucked into her arms, rocking you slightly, whispering under her breath as if to convince herself you were okay.
“From now on, I’m watching you like a hawk, got it? You’re not lifting a finger without me.” She kissed your temple, her lips lingering there. “Scare me like that again and I swear I’ll chain you to the bed.”
Her attempt at a joke didn’t quite hide the tremor in her voice. You leaned into her, smiling weakly. “Sounds a little possessive.”
She chuckled, but the sound was rough, shaky. “Damn right. You’re mine to take care of. Always.”
And that night, Vi didn’t let go of you once. She held you like if she loosened her grip, even for a second, you might vanish again.
Jinx
Zaun was never quiet, not with Jinx tugging you by the hand through every alley and side street she could find. Tonight she was buzzing louder than usual, her words tumbling over each other as she explained the “brilliant, absolutely foolproof” plan for some invention she hadn’t actually built yet.
“—and then it’s like, boom! Bright pink sparks everywhere, scare the enforcers straight outta their shiny boots, and then we—” She whipped around, walking backward now, grinning at you like you were supposed to keep up with her manic energy.
You tried, you really did. But between the steep climb up the pipes, the smoke filled air, and your condition, the ground started tilting. Your lungs ached. Your vision blurred at the edges.
“Jinx, wait—” Your voice cracked, weak. She didn’t notice at first, still rambling, until your hand slipped out of hers.
You swayed once, twice, then crumpled.
The world went black.
———-
When you came to, you were lying on cold metal, the smell of oil and gunpowder sharp in your nose. Jinx’s frantic face swam into view above you, her mismatched eyes blown wide.
“Hey! Hey, no, no, no, don’t you dare, don’t you dare do that to me again!” Her voice was wild, cracking with panic, a high-pitched edge you’d never heard from her before. Her hands were shaking as they smacked lightly against your cheeks, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you tethered.
“Sweetheart , c’mon, open those pretty eyes, look at me, look at me!”
Your lashes fluttered, a groan escaping your lips. Relief slammed into her so hard she actually laughed, the sound breaking halfway into something that almost sounded like a sob.
“Ohhh thank god. Ha! You scared the hell outta me. One second you’re all ‘Jinx, slow down,’ and the next you’re face-planting like a sack of gears!” She hauled you upright in a rush, practically shoving your face into her shoulder as she wrapped both arms around you. Her entire body was trembling.
You coughed weakly, trying to catch your breath. “I’m fine, I just—”
“Fine?!” she snapped, pulling back just far enough to glare at you, her eyes shiny with fear. “You fainted in the middle of Zaun! Do you know how many people could’ve—ugh, never mind, I’m never lettin’ you outta my sight again. Ever. Not for a second.”
She rocked you against her chest, muttering rapid-fire under her breath, half curses, half reassurances. Her hands couldn’t keep still, touching your hair, your face, your arms, as if she needed constant proof you were still there.
Then, quieter, rawer, she whispered against your ear: “Don’t scare me like that again, sugar. I don’t… I don’t do good when I think I’ve lost somethin’ important.”
She pressed a sloppy kiss against your temple, holding you tighter than ever, and you realized she had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
Caitlyn
You weren’t sure why you’d agreed to come. A formal dinner with Piltover’s elite was hardly your idea of a relaxing evening, but Caitlyn had asked so sincerely, and you hadn’t been able to say no.
Now you sat at her side, listening to endless talk of trade routes and council votes, the air heavy with perfume and politics. Caitlyn looked radiant, poised in her uniform, every word she spoke measured and precise. You tried to focus on her voice, but the room was too warm, the lights too bright, and the edges of your vision started to blur.
You reached for your glass of water, but your hand shook. Caitlyn’s sharp eyes caught the movement instantly. “Darling?” she murmured, concern slipping through her polished mask.
Before you could answer, the dizziness surged. Your chair scraped loudly against the floor as your body gave out. Gasps erupted around the table.
Caitlyn was on her feet before anyone else, catching you before you hit the ground. “I need space,” she barked, her voice cutting through the commotion. “Now.” The commanding authority in her tone made the surrounding chatter die instantly.
She lowered you gently to the carpet, her hands steady even as her heart raced. “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you,” she whispered, brushing hair back from your face. Her usual composure cracked just slightly in her eyes, a flash of panic quickly masked under calm efficiency.
Within seconds, she’d sent a servant rushing for water, her hand never leaving yours. She checked your pulse, her thumb pressing lightly against your wrist. Steady. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
When your eyes fluttered open again, the first thing you saw was Caitlyn kneeling beside you, her face tight with worry despite the serene smile she forced onto her lips.
“There you are,” she murmured, voice soft, relief warm in every syllable. “You fainted, but you’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
You tried to sit up, but her hand pressed gently against your shoulder. “No, don’t push yourself. Just breathe for me.” She glanced up at the gawking nobles and glared so sharply they immediately looked away. “This conversation is over,” she announced coldly. “My partner’s health is more important than your politics.”
Later, when she helped you into bed back home, her mask of composure finally slipped. She sat beside you, cradling your hand in both of hers, thumb brushing your knuckles over and over.
“You terrified me,” she admitted quietly, her voice breaking for the first time that night. “Please don’t keep this from me again. I’d rather carry you out of a hundred of those damn dinners than see you collapse and not know why.”
She leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering as she whispered, “You’re far too precious to me.”
Sevika
The Last Drop was buzzing louder than usual, smoke curling thick in the air and laughter spilling from every table. You were perched on a barstool, waiting for Sevika to finish a round of business with a chem-baron contact. She stood across the room, towering, arms crossed, that ever-present scowl etched on her face.
You tried to focus on her, the curve of her jaw, the way her metal arm caught the dim light, but the din pressed heavy against your temples. The noise, the heat, the lack of food in your stomach… it all blurred together until the ground tilted beneath you.
You gripped the bar, but your fingers slipped.
The world went dark.
———-
When you woke, you weren’t on the floor. You were in Sevika’s arms, her coat draped over you like a shield. She was crouched low in a shadowed corner of the bar, away from the chaos, glaring at anyone who dared come too close.
“’Bout damn time,” she muttered when your eyes blinked open. Relief flashed quick in her expression, but it was gone just as fast, replaced by a familiar scowl. “Scared the shit out of me, passing out in the middle of the damn Drop. Thought I was gonna have to break someone’s nose just for staring.”
Her grip tightened around you, metal and flesh both steady and grounding. “You should’ve told me this happens,” she growled, though her voice wavered just slightly. “What, you think I’m too busy to give a damn?”
You tried to speak, but your throat was dry. Before you could say a word, she shoved a glass of water into your hands. “Drink.”
The rough command was softened by the way she guided the rim to your lips, tilting it just enough so you wouldn’t spill. Her touch lingered, steadying you until you’d had your fill.
“Better,” she muttered. Then, quieter, almost begrudgingly: “Don’t ever do that to me again. Thought my heart was gonna stop.”
When you leaned weakly against her chest, Sevika let out a long sigh. Her flesh hand settled against your back, rubbing slow, deliberate circles. “You’re lucky I like you,” she murmured, pressing her lips briefly to the top of your head where no one else could see. “Now you’re glued to my side until I say otherwise.”
The way she clutched you after that, daring anyone to so much as glance in your direction, told you she meant it.
Mel
The council hall glittered that night , chandeliers swaying overhead, crystal glasses clinking, the air thick with expensive perfume and political maneuvering. You stayed close to Mel’s side, your hand resting lightly on her arm as she floated through the room with effortless grace.
She looked flawless, radiant in her golden gown, speaking in that smooth, steady tone that commanded the attention of every councilor and socialite in earshot. But while Mel thrived under the weight of Piltover’s glittering expectations, you felt the heat and noise pressing down on you. Your chest tightened. The corners of your vision dimmed.
You tried to focus on Mel’s voice, the soothing cadence of her words. But the dizziness surged too quickly to fight.
The glass slipped from your hand. A sharp shatter echoed across the banquet hall. And then everything went black.
————
When you opened your eyes, it was quieter. Softer. The world no longer spun. You were lying on a chaise in one of Mel’s private chambers, silk cushions beneath your head. A warm hand cupped yours, and when you turned, Mel was there, still poised, still breathtaking, but her eyes betrayed something fragile she rarely let anyone see.
“Easy now,” she whispered, her accent wrapping around the words like velvet. “You fainted. But you’re safe.”
You tried to sit up, but Mel’s palm pressed gently against your shoulder, guiding you back down. “No. Rest. I won’t have you straining yourself for the sake of appearances.”
Her voice was calm, controlled, but the way her thumb brushed over your knuckles betrayed her fear. “Do you know what you did to me, love? One moment, I was speaking to half the council, and the next… all I could see was you falling.”
You swallowed hard, guilt pressing heavy against your chest. “I didn’t want to—”
Mel silenced you with a look, soft but firm. “No apologies. You are far too important to me for that. I will not have you hiding something so serious from me again.”
She leaned closer, her forehead brushing yours, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You scared me, darling. I do not scare easily.”
The vulnerability in her words cut deeper than any scolding could. She kissed your hand lightly, then let out a slow breath, regaining her composure. “Rest tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll speak with a physician. Whatever you need, it will be arranged.”
And the way she held you against her, stroking your hair with rare, unguarded tenderness, left you with no doubt that she meant every word.
Greyson
The streets of Piltover were unusually crowded that afternoon, enforcers posted on every corner as patrols doubled after a string of Zaunite smuggling busts. You walked at Grayson’s side, her tall figure casting a reassuring shadow over you as she scanned the crowds with that practiced sharpness only she carried.
“Stay close,” she reminded, her hand brushing briefly against your back. “The council is on edge. I won’t risk you getting swept into this chaos.”
You nodded, but your chest was already tight. The heat of the day pressed down heavy, the sound of shouting vendors and clattering carriages making your head swim. You tried to keep your focus on her steady voice, on the way her presence seemed to carve order out of the chaos, but the edges of your vision blurred.
“Grayson—” you whispered.
Her head whipped toward you just as your knees buckled. The ground rushed up,
But you never hit it.
———-
When you opened your eyes, you were in her arms. She was crouched low in the street, her broad shoulders forming a wall between you and the startled onlookers.
“Easy, sweetheart. Easy,” she murmured, her voice low, calm, but laced with an urgency you’d rarely heard from her. Her hand brushed across your cheek, then lingered against your pulse point as though reassuring herself you were still steady.
The other enforcers crowded closer, but one sharp look from her sent them scattering back. “Clear the area,” she ordered firmly. “Now. Give us space.” Her voice brooked no argument, it was steel wrapped in velvet.
When your eyes fluttered fully open, her face softened instantly. “There you are,” she whispered, her thumb rubbing slow circles against your jaw. “You fainted, love. But I’ve got you.”
You tried to push up, embarrassed by the gathering stares, but she pressed you gently against her chest. “None of that. You rest. I’ll handle everything.”
And she did. With one arm cradling you effortlessly against her, she stood, her posture commanding, her voice carrying across the street. “This patrol is dismissed. I’ll see to it personally.”
Later, in the quiet of her quarters, she laid you down carefully on her bed. For the first time all day, the mask of Captain Grayson slipped, replaced by the tender gaze of someone who’d nearly lost what she valued most.
“You frightened me,” she admitted, kneeling at your side, her fingers entwining with yours. “I’ve stood in gunfire and worse without flinching, but watching you collapse—” Her voice caught before she steadied it. “That nearly broke me.”
She kissed your knuckles lightly, then rested her forehead against your hand, breathing you in like a prayer.
“Don’t ever hide this from me again,” she whispered. “You’re far too important. And I’ll be damned before I let anything take you from me.”
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