IN SICKNESS & HEALTH ; robert robertson + invisigal & sick!reader
"“i want..” he says, leaning down to press two kisses to the side of your temple, “for you to stop looking at me like that.” he lingers a bit too long; and just when you think he’ll submit, he leans down to press his lips to your jaw. “you’re making it very hard to be the responsible one here.” "
synopsis ; they don't mess around when it comes to your health
the smell of breakfast has become your favorite.
sweet and savory aroma travels to the bedroom (where you lie) all the way from the kitchen, where robert’s voice carries out calm but annoyed.
“courtney. keys. please tell me you didn’t move them again.” he turns away from the empty holder, sliding the sleeves of his baby blue sdn uniform up his scarred arms.
the girl looks up from her slightly hunched position over her plate. she doesn’t dare to slow her chewing. “yeah, they’re up your ass and around the corner,” she darts with a mouthful of pancake.
robert gives her a narrower look. “real helpful. thank you.”
visi lifts her fork in a lazy salute. “i try.”
his shuffling becomes more purposeful. visi’s chewing intensifies. it’s the same chaotically-homey atmosphere you’ve grown to love ever since you moved in together. safe, warm, syrup-scented and hope filled.
beef barks and bolts out of the kitchen, nails skidding against the wood floor. you step out a moment later, hair tousled, shirt flipped inside out, and backpack dangling low from your hand as if you forgot how to wear it.
his back is to the door when he hears it open. immediately, robert’s in soon-to-be-husband mode.
“good morning sleeping beauty, it’s about time. we have to be there in forty minutes. so, if you’d like some help getting dressed I’d be more than happy to—“
when he turns to face you, his focused demeanor drops into something softer, and he eyes your dazed face. “hey, you good?” his crossed arms relax when he steps forward, the ruffling of his shirt being the only sound in the room.
visi turns in her counter-stool. for the first time this morning, she stops chewing.
“babe, you look like you got hit by something.” she swallows her food, voice clearer and honey-sweet. “a little dramatic. i didn’t think we were that rough last night.”
“what are you guys talking about?” there it was—a thick and nasally voice that reeked of congestion. as if your body was trying to notify you of its dying state, you sneeze so hard you wobble, grabbing the door frame for support.
the two make eye contact from across the room.
“yeah, no. back to bed.” robert’s by your side before you know it. he ushers you into the bedroom, placing a hand at the small of your back with a soft “c’mon baby,” while smoothing out some of your bed head using his free hand.
“what? no, no. i’m fine—“
“see, this is why we don’t let her top.” visi follows behind with her plate of jokes and half-eaten pancakes.
robert exits his doctor state to let out a short breathy chuckle. “can you be normal for like, a minute?”
robert successfully gets you back in the bedroom, his warm and calloused palm bushes you towards the sheets.
for the first time today, you show some sense of liveliness. like an angry child, your feet refuse to move from where they stand, digging your heels into the ground. “seriously—i’m fine—im not missing work. you know how much shit flambae’s gonna give me for missing when i just have the sniffles?”
“uh-huh,” robert hums, clearly not taking in a word.
“or coupé? i bet she’s never missed a job because of a cold—“
“flambae’s a narcissist and coop’s an alcoholic,” courtney starts, crossing her arms. “not exactly role model material.”
“point still stands. i’m an adult cough, i can sniff handle it.” you tilt your head at her, brows furrowed, and of course she smiles. in happiness and anger, in sickness and in health, your eyes will always be the ones that changed her for the better.
“yeah, no.” “cute, though. good try.”
with a half-hearted groan, you submit, falling back into the mattress. as much as you want to complain, want to stress the importance of not being the z-team’s weak link, want to pretend their cozy love isn’t infectious—it is. visi’s fluffing a pillow with soft punches and placing it behind your head. robert’s reaching over to check your forehead temperature with his hand, freckled face and chocolate eyes smiling down at you. for a moment, he can’t help but think about how much you’d all grown together, how the tranquility of domesticity seeped its way into your lives and never left.
for the two most sarcastic individuals in torrence, they made it very known just how much they love and need you.
with comfortable silence, soft smiles, and a thick warm comforter, robert presses a chaste kiss to your forehead and mutters the word “sleep”.
before your eyes can close, visi leans over routinely, fingers holding your chin as she gives you a deep kiss, one that sinks you further into the mattress.
the room pauses before she pulls back with a soft pop of her lips. she squints in that way she does when she’s pretending she isn’t worried.
“mm. fever-kiss.”
your palm comes to rest on your forehead, eyes closing in disbelief. “you’re sick now.” your words are blunt and dry, too tired to sugarcoat it.
she rests herself on her elbow, head tilting in her hand with a carelessly chill face. “i’m fine, it doesn’t work like that.” she grins, moving messy hair from your face. “just the opportunity cost of dating a hot mess.”
robert reaches over to check your temp again, like an anxious mother. it hasn’t changed, he knows that, but he loves the feeling of taking care of you. “court, we’re serious, you’re not immune to—“
“oh my god,” she groans, and in a quick decision, she’s sliding a hand up your shirt to rub lazy circles into your ribs. half to soothe you, half to irritate him. “if i get sick, i get sick. big fuckin’ whoop.”
when her elbow begins to sting, she shifts her position to rest her head in the crook of your neck, peppering your soft skin with quiet kisses. she slips out a teasing whisper: “he’s just jealous i get more action.”
“heard that.”
you snort at their incessant bickering. with unintentionally sweet eyes, you blink up at him. “you want a fever too?”
your words come out joking, but the look on his face tells you he’s seriously considering it.
“i want..” he says, leaning down to press two kisses to the side of your temple, “for you to stop looking at me like that.” he lingers a bit too long; and just when you think he’ll submit, he leans down to press his lips to your jaw. “you’re making it very hard to be the responsible one here.”
“well you don’t have to be,” you whisper sultry-sweet. that’s all it takes for his eyes to flicker to your waiting lips. he leans over you, anxiously slow, and—
“achoo!”
you both turn to visi, who’s grinning from her fake-sneeze position. within seconds, the three of you are laughing unapologetically. courtney’s head falls onto your chest and robert’s hand runs through his hair. in these silly small moments, you knew in happiness or anger, in life or in death, in sickness or in health, just how much they love you.
TWO NIGHTS STANDING robert robertson & reader
yours and your fuck buddy's romantic tension is never explored, until it is. | slight nsfw, feeling denial -> acceptance, fluff, robert folds easily.
In the mix of your exasperated breaths, the heavy winces as robert pulls himself out of you, and sparsely lit apartment bedroom at 2 a.m, you almost miss it.
The routine is always the same: clothes on the floor, chilled white comforter tugged at but never ruined, the warm city hum outside, and Robert turning his back—settled at the edge of the bed while he pulls on his boxers and catches his breath.
He’s always quiet after it’s over, and you know it’s only a matter of time before he snakes out of your room. Out of your grasp. But not tonight.
“Jesus,” you exhale. “This one’s bad.” You reach a cautious hand out to trace the darkest bruise of his patch. It’s enormous, the size of your fist, so your fingers are ever so gentle as they skim his mid-back. Your warmth mixes with the chill of his skin, and Robert searches for a response before he makes a mistake he can’t take back.
“Had a clumsy week.”
No laugh. No context. Just syrup-thick silence swallowing you both whole.
Per routine, this is the moment where you’d roll away and pretend to sleep while he slinks out. But tonight is already different. So instead of pulling back, you reach out—all the way to his arm.
“You don’t have to leave, you know.”
He stills. The gears in his head are practically audible. Then, his smooth voice replies:
“No, I didn’t know.” Beat. “You don’t usually ask me to stay.”
“Well, you’re always in such a hurry to leave.”
“Habit,” he tosses.
“Break it,” you throw back.
He turns halfway toward you. A gentle smirk tugs at his mouth as he observes your face from the corner of his eye. “You gonna miss me if I don’t?”
“Will you stay?”
Your voice is exhausted, needy, soft, but sure. Mindlessly, you spill words he’s waited to hear longer than you could ever know. After a blip of hesitation, he lifts the blanket and lies down next to you, his body heat replacing the cool air that once kissed your frame.
In a surge of confidence, you lift your head to look at him. “Can I? Um,”
His gaze drifts from your hands to your eyes, and you catch the smallest curl of a smile.
“Just getting comfortable?” A drop of ego slips into the addictive drink that is his tone.
“Exactly. Comfy,” you mutter with a smile he can’t see when one of his arms slides around your hip.
The sheets are cool. The city hums. Your minds race.
“Are you ever going to tell me how a desk job causes you to look like—this?” you tap on another bruise, then smooth it out in silent apology. Your voice is hopeful, but knowing. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
“What’s wrong with the way I look?” he deflects. You know the bruises started long before working for SDN. He knows you’re suspicious. But he won’t tell you he’s Mecha Man. Not if it means risking your safety—your life. If he opened the flood gates and let you in, there’d be no turning back. The hero would never forgive himself for the virus of worry that would crawl under your skin if he returned home bloody and beaten; or the possibility that when you were finally his, shroud would steal you from his arms and crush you like a cherry.
So he keeps you at arms length, snaking into your silk sheets to get a taste of the life you’d live together if he wasn’t such a fucked up “hero”.
“Oh I don’t know rob rob,”
He grimaces at the tease, fingers tightening against the skin of your torso.
“The left side of your face is a little more perfect than the right. Total tragedy.” You roll your eyes. He grins, looking down at you.
“Well since we’re being honest, you looked very…medium pretty today.”
You lift your head at lightning speed. “That is the meanest shit anyone’s ever—“
He cuts you off with a hearty laugh, one that rings church bells in your ears and brushes butterflies against your ribs. Without thinking, his thumb and pointer finger cup your chin, guiding your gaze right back to him.
It always comes right back to him.
“You can never take a joke,” he claims through entertained eyes. “I didn’t think you needed me to remind you how beautiful you are.”
Bittersweet tension lingers. Robert doesn’t regret a word. It’s true, after all. But the look in your eyes transitions from tender to guarded, and before he knows it, you’re up and out of his grasp.
“Hey, hey,” he throws out with haste. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make it weird.” He scoots back against the headboard, guilty chocolate eyes following your movements as you violently tug a shirt over your head.
“God, Robert, you’ve been inside of me. I can handle you calling me pretty.” Your eyes dart around the room, searching for distraction from his stare.
He clears his throat at the reminder.
“Okay. Then what is it?”
“You—“ you exhale. You look at him—really look—sending a tidal wave of shivers through his spine. He’ll never get your eyes out of his system. “You ever think we should stop pretending this doesn’t mean anything?”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “Every time I walk out that door.”
Fragile silence lingers before you break it, crossing the room to grab ointment from the bathroom shelf.
“You’re bleeding from honesty,” you joke in a hushed voice, motioning to his chest where a small wound has reopened.
Robert couldn’t care less. About his scars, about his health, all that races through his mind is you. “Mm. You don’t have to—“
The rest dies in his throat when you straddle his lap. “I know I don’t.”
“Then why?” His voice softens mid question, like it no longer matters halfway through asking. His rough hands gently place themselves upon your hips on instinct, big eyes tracing your face with fond disbelief.
The lid pops open and you pool the icy ointment onto one of your manicured fingers. A shaky breath slips from his mouth when you trace his skin, smoothing stars around his scars.
“Because I care about you,” you admit in a murmur.
His eyes flicker up to yours.
“It’s so fucking terrifying to admit, Robert, because every time I think I’m close to understanding you, you just shut me out, and I know—I know…”
He cradles your cheek, his guilty face examining your exasperated one. Fuck. He did this to you. You’re the one good thing he has, and now you’re crying because of him.
“I know it’s stupid, but I’m tired of pretending.”
You caresses his bruised knuckles, your lips brushing over the inside of his palm.
He craves you. Your smile, your frowns, the way you call him out on his shit, your infectious joy that he can’t escape even on his worst days. You’re a sunny day, a cozy winter, and everything in between.
So, he opens his mouth to speak.
“—And don’t give me some speech about how you’re bad for me,” you sniffle, “bullshit.”
He huffs something between a laugh and a sigh, thumb brushing away the tear he caused. “You’re impossible.”
The air between you is heavy with honesty. The kind of silence that doesn’t demand, but promises. He’s never been good at expressing, but actions speak louder than words now more than ever.
His hand slips from your cheek to the back of your neck, steady but trembling. “If we do this,” he breathes, his forehead nearly resting against yours, “will anything change?”
You search his eyes with guilt, hope, and fear. “It will.”
A small, helpless smile ghosts across his face. “Good.”
Then, he kisses you, slow and certain of all that you could be.
It won’t fix all of your problems, won’t make him a nun of complete truth, won’t make you any less nosy, won’t define what you are yet. But it does ensure one thing: he’ll break habit and spend the night.
ON THE CLOCK. fem!reader, nsfw, reader's dating robert & invisigal, semi-publicish, no full sex but its sexy. robert watches you and invisigal get it on over the cams.
your boyfriend and your girlfriend don’t exactly get along.
invisigal's lips collide with your neck at such a rate you're almost positive she's trying to knock you over. gentle but fast hands move, one groping the plush of your tits, the other scraping against the brick wall you lean against to wrap around your waist.
"fuck," she whispers sharp, mouth never fully leaving your skin.
"what the hell are you two doing?"
robert's voice rings directly in your ears. you flinch, forgetting you were even on the clock (with your boyfriend as your dispatcher. a big hr violation to be checked at another time). the girl infront of you just smirks, looking up at the secluded alleyway camera he's tapped into.
"finally. i called for eyes like, an hour ago." visi's eyes narrow. teasing, challenging, warm body still pressed up against you.
"it was three minutes. you're--we're on the clock. i told you i don't play about work. what if i was broadcasting to the team?"
invisigal seems to ignore that. whether she can't think of a rebuttal or doesn't care to, you're unsure. what she does whisper is a sultry "so fucking pretty" and you respond with a sweet involuntary moan that travels to hers and robert's ears. thank god for sdn technology.
"shit. kiss her while you play with her tits. she likes that."
you nod at a rapid pace, hands sliding up to grab a fistful of the raven's hair as her lips press into yours. cold hands slyly crawl up the front of your shirt to cup your chest when a scoff fills your ears.
"what are you, four? with your fucking tongue, visi." his tone is harsh, and it only makes the both of you gush.
"you know," she speaks inbetween wet, sloppy, tongue filled kisses,(she follows orders so well. unexpected, right?) "the way I imagined this, you shut up, stopped being such a bitch, and thanked me for the view."
the line goes silent.
invisigal grins with triumph, unused hand snaking down to slide painfully slow up your thighs to your soaked panties. you throw your head back as soon as her fingers make contact, pressing the thin cloth against your cunt.
"thanks for giving me a boner at work." robert's voice is hushed, exasperated like his mind and body are at war with one another. "you happy?"
and you both were. very, very happy.
silknspice. 2025
just a blurb cause i cant write anything full fledged rn luvit
precis. following the unity of zaun and piltover. every summer for the past three years, six of the nation's elite—along with their councilor guardians—gather where the land meets the water. v, powder, caitlyn, ekko, jayce, and you. the “heirs” to the public, the “interns” to the parents, “brats in training” to some, but you’ll always be “the summer set”. this year, somethings different. the whispers are louder, friendships crumble, councilors secrets slip loose, the tension between you and vi has grown unbearable, and the weight of expectations threaten to squash the six of you whole. but that’s what happens when you’re born with gold in your lungs.
content. fluff, angst, smut in later chapters (18+ mdni.), friends to lovers, summer drama and romance, language, substance use and abuse, mentions of classism, lying, cheating, mentions of drowning, young adults making stupid decisions, list will be updated as chapters premiere.
yes no sorry i fear i have to yap about this now bc --
vi going from hitting you up casually on the weekends to not being able to talk about anything other than you to all her friends; they call her out on it and she tries to deny it at first, but in her heart of hearts, she knows it's true. she's felt it for a while now -- it's just terrifying, isn't it, this whole "falling in love thing" but -- she supposes that if she can puzzle out how you feel about her (she's got an inkling but she's trying not to get her hopes up), it might not be all bad...
her going from winking at you across a bar, slinging her arms around you, tugging you into a dark corner for a quick, dirty make-out to casually having her hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans, to feeling wrong if she's posted up with a drink and you're not tucked into her side, to smiling when you get up to go to the bathroom and one of her friends asks her -- "hey, isn't that your jacket?"
and from there, it only gets worse (and by that, we mean better) because she's always gotta be holding your hand, always gotta be touching some part of you, even when you're not in public. and at first, you thought it was a possessiveness thing, but when you ask her, all she does is blink and tell you that she just likes the way her body feels next to yours -- it's weird, isn't it? falling in love?
or rather, waking up one day, and realizing that you've already been there, that the falling was so long ago it's redefined everything you knew of gravity.
her going from biting her nails over a double-text to facetiming you first thing in the morning, before she's even all that awake, because you're the first person she wants to see to start the day, and she'll be damned if she's not the first person you see, too. going from after-dinner drinks to making you breakfast in the morning, knowing what you like by heart, your orange juice and ginger shot already made by the time you get up and make it into the kitchen.
going from "i like the look of you in my clothes, sweetheart." to "you look better in my life, though, and i can't really imagine it without you anymore."
I’m having a real kick out of cowboy Vi rn and was wondering if mayhaps, if you’re feeling like it, write some headcannons or maybe a lil blorb about it?
I just keep imagining being out in the field, staring up at the stars and shuuuucks the kisses might have gone too far. Save a horse, ride a cowgirl 🤠
i feel like i must prequel this by saying that i know nothing about cow-anything and that i've exclusively grown up in metropolis-type cities. but that being said. i do have a certain appreciation for the aesthetic and all the cowgirl!vi fanart i've seen's got me feelin' sum typa way, as they say.
you blow in like the summer wind, low over the horizon and kicking up all sorts of stardust, so of course, vi's been enamored ever since. you're a city-girl, anyone with half an eye could see that. but vi's never been the type to mind. and when asked, you weren't shy to admit that you're just here for the summer, just here for a little fun in the sun --
so that makes it easy, doesn't it? cause summer's made for stuff like this -- all that heat and dreamin'. all sweet tea and none of the leavin'.
"you can't see stars like this in the city," you tell her one night, laid up in the back of her bright red pickup, the desert stretching out on all four sides for miles and miles and miles around.
"yeah? bet you can't. but... i figure there's probably other stuff to look at in those big cities of yours," vi says, turning her head.
"sure... lots of big tall buildings, and metric fucktons of pigeons," you say, giggling. vi laughs, shifting so that she's facing you. all around you, the wild chirrup of cicadas rock the sand-strewn night this way and that. a second later, you turn to face her too, smiling in the syrup-ridden dark.
"metric fucktons, huh? that the official measure for tall buildings?" she asks, chuckling.
"sure is," you reply inching just a bit closer.
it's been weeks, and vi's spent too many sunlit afternoons wondering about the taste of your lips to question it when you lean in to brush your mouth against hers. you taste like seasalt and lipgloss, and vi's sure her own lips are way too chapped, but when you press in just a bit closer, she finds that she doesn't really give damn.
"been wanting to do that for a while..." you admit, pulling back. and like this, vi figures she can count all the summertime constellations caught beneath your lashes like jars of wayward lightning bugs.
"me too..." vi breathes, tugging you in for another kiss, and then another. when you break apart, she licks her lips and grins at the way you chase after her, toppling into her chest as she leans back, and the whole truck rocks with the weight. you let out a startled laugh, and she, another soft chuckle.
the wind tangles lazy fingers through the branches of the old juniper tree behind vander's farm and in the distance, the fwoosh of a diving nighthawk rends the air. a cluster of sparrows startles out of a nearby bush, their wings flapping against the star-scattered night, and vi finds herself lost in the bewitching sparkle of your eyes as you look at her, and look at her. she doesn't think she's ever been looked at like this before.
heat roils in her stomach as she clears her throat. faintly, she wonders if all city-folk are so shameless.
"so..." you say, your lips twisting up as a fox-fire glint catches behind your eyes, "what else have you been thinking of, hm?"
vi clears her throat, "oh... bit o'this, bit o'that..." she casts her gaze up and prays for strength. she catches a whiff, just then, of your perfume, something soft and sweet, but not like flowers -- no, something warmer, a strange, heady concoction that sends her head spinning.
some big-city magic, she thinks, beating down the urge to roll her eyes at the thought.
"oh yeah? would it be easier just to show me?" you ask, batting your lashes, rolling your hips down slightly against hers, "what's that saying now? save a horse...?" you let your voice trail off with a salacious grin.
and this time, vi really does swear --
"sweet jesus on a bicycle --" she laughs, shaking her head, "you're gonna be the death of me, aren't you?"
you shrug, leaning forward to brace your arms over her shoulders, the shape of you cast against the gathering night like some sort of desert mirage. vi licks her lips, feeling her mouth blister dry as you run your fingers through her hair, her hat long since abandoned too the wayside.
"didn't know jesus rode bikes... always thought he was more of a donkey-guy, myself."
at this, vi snorts, giving your hip a hard pat, "right, c'mon then."
you pout, listing your head, "what? no more stargazing?"
vi cocks an eyebrow, grabbing her hat as she swings out of the bed of the truck, reaching up to offer you a hand.
"well, as much as i love the thought of eating you out seven ways to sunday in the back of my truck... i think your delicate city-girl disposition might like a mattress just a bit better, hm?"
you blink, your mouth falling open into a perfect little 'o' of shock, before color floods your cheeks and you nearly topple out of the truck. luckily, vi's there to catch you, chuckling as she sets you on your feet.
"what happened to all that bravado, hm?
your crinkle your nose, defiance flickering behind your gaze as vi leads you back towards the house.
"that's not fair -- you caught me off guard is all," you say, tucking yourself into vi's side as she helps you side-step a dogwood plant.
"sure i did, princess."
you huff, glancing up at her even as the pair of you finally reach the soft ring of light cast by the large farmhouse stood in front of the massive juniper tree. vi pauses just before you reach the front steps to let you hop up on the first one, turning to grin at her, your eyes now finally at a level.
she thinks the bright twinkle of mischief caught there looks terrifyingly like falling in love. or perhaps, just the falling bit.
you bite your lips and rock on the balls of your feet. vi waits, her breath caught like a wild horse hoofbeat inside her chest.
"so," you say, your voice the perfect mix sugar-cube and snake-bite, "if i ride you tonight, would that make me a cowgirl too?"
thinking about mafia!reader going lingerie shopping and vi having to be there; reader obviously is gonna be an insufferable tease, parading around in one of those massive private changing rooms (she's getting free champagne too, bc ofc she is) posing in front of the full length mirrors like "what do you think, vi? do you like this color on me?"
i’m grabbing you by the shoulders. you can’t just put this in my head. i'm so cooked.
brush the sky no. 3: fantasy
minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+
vi x reader || part two || masterlist
tags: mafia au, bodyguard!vi, femme!reader, longing, a little angst.
wc: 2.7k what the hell
cw: alcohol mention/very suggestive. nsfw-ish. not beta read or edited at all lol.
Vi is not known for her patience.
In a spacious, private changing room of a boutique lingerie shop, she scrubs a hand over her face and tries to prepare herself for the next time you come out from behind the plush, velvet curtains.
Her glass of champagne sits untouched besides yours, which is nearly halfway empty.
This is only the second set you’re trying on but—to Vi, it might as well be the twentieth. The first set had already sent her spiraling, when you had come out in dainty lilac, some little baby-doll dress that you flounced around in. It had inspired images and fantasies of you the morning after, hair tousled and still sleep warm, the sun streaming in through your bedroom window. Some picture of domesticity that Vi cannot be thinking of you in.
The curtain swings back.
You’re in crushed blue, dark and rich and silky. A slinky little slip dress which allows for a peak of the lace blue panties underneath. Vi's eyes go towards the ceiling and she swears she's gonna keep 'em glued there as you come out to strut around and look at yourself in the large, three panel mirror.
And you do that for a moment, Vi can see it in the blurry peripheral of her vision. You twist and turn, examining yourself, and the lingerie and how it moves.
Then, "Vi?"
Your voice is so sweet and inquiring that she grinds her teeth together so hard she fears she'll chip one.
"Yeah, princess?" She doesn't take her eyes off the ceiling.
"How do you like this one?" You press innocently, like the absolute demon you are.
"Not about how I like it," Vi tries to say evenly, "more about how you like it."
"But I want a second opinion." And she can almost hear the pout in your voice and she really can't look or she'll—
"Are you tryin' to kill me, sweetheart?" Vi finally asks.
And she jolts a little when she suddenly feels the careful press of your fingertips to her chin, her jaw. She hadn't even heard you move and—suddenly you're there—in front of her, gently guiding her face down to your gaze.
She swallows hard as she takes you in, the silk fabric shimmering like a night sky, like the ripple of dark waters. Some siren song, the way it dips to reveal the swell of your—
"Can't you help a girl out?" You ask sweetly, mischief dancing in your eyes, her chin still delicately trapped between your fingers. "I'm having a hard time deciding."
Vi has to drag her eyes back up to your face. And then she tips back, slouching into the plush couch, releasing herself from the hold you have on her. She groans, head tipping back as she desperately searches for some other excuse but—
At the end of the day, she can't deny you.
"Alright," she says and feels like she's signing her soul away, "let's see."
And then she picks herself back up, sits up, and takes a full look at you.
She inhales sharp and small.
You're a vision in midnight blue.
Of course it looks good on you, and she's already thinking about how those little straps look mighty thin and weak—
"What do you think?" You ask, smoothing out the fabric with a quick pass over your torso and hips that Vi watches carefully.
"I mean, you'd look good in a paper bag, princess—"
"But what's it saying, you know? Pretend you're my partner." You say and Vi feels her heart kick up into some unsteady, miserable rhythm. The tips of her ears burn, too. "And you come home from a long day—" Your voice drifts softer and Vi, without thinking, leans towards you like she's hypnotized, caught under your spell, "and walk into the bedroom, looking for me, and I'm in this."
You take a step back and showoff the set.
And Vi, heaven help her, pictures it all. Pictures you on the bed in this little number, waiting for her. Pictures the cat's curl of your lips, the mischief that she'll taste when she kisses you. Mostly, she pictures you as her girlfriend, pictures you waiting for her, singing her name when she comes home to your arms and—
"I mean, if I'm your partner, no lingerie is staying on you for long." She says before she can stop herself.
You laugh, and scold, "Vi!"
And she's smiling because she made you laugh, but she knows what you mean—she knows what you're asking for.
"But—it's classy. You know? It's definitely the lingerie of a mobster's wife. Powerful. A little cold, maybe."
You hum in thought, turning towards the mirror again to examine yourself. You announce, "I agree." And in a flurry of silk, you're back behind the curtain, and you're stripping into the next set.
Vi lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
But when you emerge again, she sucks it right back in—sharp, quick.
Damn.
You're in lacy black. Far less fabric this time around. Swirling pattern, dark panties, and a lacy bralette that clings to you in all the right ways. You look—
Vi whistles.
Dangerous. Sinful. You look—
"Oh, you like this one?" You ask over your shoulder as you turn towards the mirrors to examine yourself.
"This one's—" Vi searches for the right words and simply comes up empty handed, "yeah, I like this one."
You laugh, posing and primping in the mirror, straightening out the fabric resting along your breasts or seeing how it looks to jut your hip out. Vi watches your body, the way it moves beneath the lace, and has to keep her thoughts from spinning away from her.
You turn to face her, to show the set off a bit more. "So this one is better than the previous. What's this one saying?"
Vi gathers her patience. Swallows around it.
"That you want your makeup ruined." Vi says and she's not just trying to be funny, but you laugh anyways. And it's scandalized, a little surprised, but bursts from you in a sweet sound. Vi glows in it, leans into it. "Like you're looking for trouble."
You bite your lip, smile tucked beneath teeth, "I guess I am." You agree, but then you press, "does it look—?"
Vi waits for you to find the word.
"Too slutty?" You ask. "Is that a bad thing?" You then follow up with. And you're seeking, earnest, as you look at her. Something about this flicker of insecurity—or, genuinely seeking her advice, sets Vi off in a new way. God, you're cute.
Vi's fingers curl into a fist.
"I mean, not when it's a surprise for your partner. Nothing's too slutty for that." Vi drawls, "I wouldn't want you wearing this around anyone else—" Her eyes, burning blue like the too-hot part of a flame, sweep up your body to find your eyes, "if I was your partner."
And for once, she sees you audibly fluster. She watches as your lashes flutter a little, at the way you blink at her. Your mouth pops open a little. You clear your throat.
"Right—" You get out, "who else would I wear it in front of?"
"Your bodygaurd, apparently."
You laugh, recovering again.
"Ah—" You wave her off, "that's just because it's you. If I had a different one, they'd be waiting outside."
"You like tormenting me." Vi finally complains, "who knew you were such a little sadist?"
Your smile turns wicked, a little sharp, "Oh yeah, poor you, getting to oggle me in lingerie."
"You know what you're doing, princess." Vi retorts, "Letting me look but not touch."
You linger nearer to her, stepping carefully to stand between her spread legs. Vi holds perfectly still, feels her traitorous heart ratchet up inside her chest.
"You could touch if you wanted, you know?" You say softly, looking down at her. You even reach out, let your fingers skim along her jaw. "You're the only one imposing this rule—who knew you were such a masochist?"
Vi looks up at you, leans into the touch at her jaw, "Yeah, I'm a real glutton for pain, huh?"
Your knee comes up on the outside of her thigh, almost straddling her waist. "It could be you that I'm waiting for—in bed, in this."
Vi curses.
Your lips lift into a smile.
Vi sounds genuinely mournful, "You know I can't be, sweetheart."
You sigh, fingers skimming around the slope of her neck, "It could be our secret."
Vi considers it for a moment; sneaking around with you, slipping into your bed in the middle of the night. She thinks about what it might be like to be yours, even in secret. But she knows—she knows it's too good to be true. In this line of work, secrets are dangerous. Secrets put those you love in danger.
Vi reaches up, hand coming up to your waist for a moment. She let's her thumb trace the lace at your hip, even slips beneath for a moment to feel your skin, unobstructed. She hears your inhale of breath, feels the way your eyes burn through her.
"You got more to show me?" Vi asks.
"Yeah," You breathe, "One more."
She taps your thigh a little, urging you up, urging you away, "Go on then," She says gently, "Show me, sweetheart."
You look at her a moment, fully, with all of your desire and your—feelings for her. It's more than lust, she realizes with a start, the look in your eyes. It's sincere—it's something tender and desperate and—
Reluctantly, you part from her, returning behind the curtain and Vi wonders if you can see the same feeling mirrored back in her own eyes. She wonders if she looks at you that way, too.
When you step out again, Vi doesn't have anything smart to say.
This set is burgundy. It's sheer, with these beautiful, flower details. And the straps are all silk ribbon. Two small bows at your hips, one over the nape of your neck. It's dainty but it's—blush dark and sultry. It's classy, but warm. It's the perfect amount of risque. Vi can only think about how delicately she'd unlace those bows, unwrap you slowly—
(She wants to ruin your makeup in it, yeah, but she also wants to make love to you in this set—wants it slow and dirty and passionate—)
You fix the ribbons in the mirror, you adjust your hair and you turn to her. Stand there, in all your beauty.
"How's this one?" You ask.
"Perfect." Vi says, a little more hushed than she intends. "I mean they all are but—" She let's out a breath, shaking her head, "This one's a knockout, princess."
"Yeah?" You ask, lighting up, and Vi wants to kiss you so bad she almost aches. She wants to take you home.
"Yeah." She agrees, knowing she's not the one who'll be seeing you in this.
(And you're smiling, but thinking, you'll buy it—and no one'll see you in it. Who else are you going to wear it for, except her? Who else, except Vi?
After this, it'll sit in your closet, untouched, until she wants you.)
"Now go change, before I do something I shouldn't." Vi says, dragging a hand through her hair, scrubbing it down her face. "You've tormented me enough for one day, sweetheart."
"Maybe I should tempt you a little further, then." You say, "kept hoping you would suddenly join me behind the curtain, step into there while I was changing and—"
Vi says your name, short and sharp and desperate to get you to stop because she can't take the thought of it. Her face flushes with warmth.
"Go put your clothes back on." Vi commands, trying to scrub the thought from her head desperately.
"Sure you don't wanna join me?"
"No—!" Vi says, rubbing at her eyes, "I mean—fuck. Of course I want to. I can't. Go change!"
Your laugh retreats, back behind the curtain, and Vi blows out a breath of air. A huff of a laugh. When you emerge, you're dressed again, back in your blouse and your skirt and your little heels and frilly socks. You head to the front of the store to check out. The price is too high and at least, that might stop Vi from ripping them, if she knew—
While you're walking home, you tuck into her side. Vi can't deny you, so she let's herself have this; her arm falls around your shoulders. It feels natural, easy, to have you like this.
"You know, I got both sets." You say, impish smile tugging at your lips, "the black and the burgundy one."
Vi's brows raise.
"So, if you ever wanna see them again..." You trail off, "You can pick."
"God, you're such a brat."
You laugh, bright and wonderful and filling the air—Vi aches, happy and longing and so full of you she could burst.
You duck out from her arm, wander further ahead. The city gleams from fresh rain, and you seem to as well. The sun has just returned and fuck, it must favor you—with the way you look, golden and lovely.
You turn over your shoulder to look at her, smile sharp and brilliant, "I'll get you yet, Vi."
"Gotta work a little harder, sweetheart. I'm stubborn." Vi says, but even then, she doesn't mean it.
violet; 4,403 words; fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, bartender!vi, florist!reader, (probably) incorrect depiction of florist/bartender life, sun and moon dynamic, so much pining, dad!vander, bff!mel, mylo and claggor being... mylo and claggor, mindless, tooth-rotting fluff, lapslock, no "y/n"
summary: in which you work at the flowershop directly across the street from the last drop.
a/n: happy belated valentines day!!! i know i have like a bunch of other wips but i wanted to write something cutesy and it's still valentines weekend for me so... i hope you guys enjoy! :)
─── Ⅵ THE FIRST TIME SHE SEES YOU, it’s valentine’s day — after a long night of serving drinks and arguing with progressively drunker and drunker men (doubtlessly hoping to land a lay at the bar the night before valentine’s) and a botched hookup attempt (vi texted; hookup did not respond. the crowd boos), the sight of you across the streets had felt something like a dream.
she’d always known about the flower shop directly opposite the small, two lane street from the last drop —
for the love of flowers.
it’s a cute name, written in looping, ornate script, and she’s never paid it much attention till now, what with her schedule being so opposite yours, but that morning (february 14th, she’ll never forget) she sees you, pushing open the gorgeous french windows and setting up the sign, in a teddybear coat that looked like a wayward cloud had wandered down to earth and made itself into a jacket, just for you.
you were humming — she doesn’t know how she knew this, but she did. she could just tell, from the way you moved through the motions of your morning routine like a dance, trailing delicate fingers along the wooden frame of your door before disappearing into the shop and reappearing a moment later with a vast bouquet of ruby-red roses.
the smile on your face had been nothing short of incandescent.
it’s been a full year since then (so they say, time slips by quick when you’ve got a crush — or, whatever) and somehow, she still doesn’t know your name.
she knows other things though — she knows the shape and weight of all your smiles, the way your eyes glitter when you’re helping a customer pick out their flowers. she knows there’s a very fluffy white cat that sometimes likes to sunbathe on the shop’s windowsill, and that when it does come to visit, you always have a warm bowl of milk ready. she knows the cadence of your mornings, the rhyme and rhythm of your opening and closing routines. she knows the colors of all your favorite dresses, and how you like to match them to your seemingly endless collection of cute little flats.
she knows your laughter sounds like bell-chimes, the few times she’s heard it ringing out across the street. she knows the fragments of your voice she’s sometimes overhead, carried on the autumn wind, sometimes reminds her of birdsong.
and, she knows that she doesn’t stand a chance.
“you do,” vander chimes, wiping down the bartop one morning, even as vi helps him stack the stools, the window facing the street thrown open. vi groans, unable to help the way her eyes flicker towards it, towards the shape of your flower-shop across the street, where she knows that in about 10 minutes exactly, you’ll throw open your own white-paneled windows and start prepping for your day.
“how could you possibly know that?” vi asks, crinkling her nose at the whine that sneaks into her voice.
vander makes a sound not unlike an amused bear before slinging the large washcloth onto his shoulder and shooting her a fox-sly grin, his eyes beetle-dark and twinkling.
“just trust your old man on this, yeah? it’s valentine’s day tomorrow, so trot on over after we close… and buy ‘er some flowers. see how that goes, hm?”
vi chews on her lip — it sounds simple enough when vander says it like that but…
heat plumes up the back of her neck at the thought of you, in one of your myriad dresses, perhaps with leggings on underneath to protect against the mid-february chill, the flower patterned apron tied around your waist, a pair of red scissors tucked into the front pocket.
she’s shaking her head before she can stop herself.
“no — i — i can’t, she doesn’t even know i exist — how creepy would it be to just show up and —”
vander cuts her off with a massive hand on her shoulder, giving her a tiny shake that nonetheless makes vi’s head wobble.
“she does know you exist,” vander says, and from up this close, vi can almost see her own reflection in the dark of his eyes. “just… give it a go. and if it doesn’t work… i’ll cover all your drinks here for a week.”
vi puffs out an incredulous laugh.
“vander, i work here — i already drink for free.”
vander chuckles, “fine then, you’ll get the next two weekends off, how’s that?”
vi’s face brightens, “really? and… if it does go well?” she taps her fingers nervously against the worn wooden bar.
vander’s grin widens by degrees, “then… you’ll get the two weekends off anyway — for your first and second dates, sound good?”
vi blinks, staring up at vander for a solid few seconds before laughing and holding out her hand.
“yeah, sure — thanks old man.”
vander huffs, taking her hand in his and giving it a soft pat, and for a moment, vi feels the inexplicable urge to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his chest like she used to when she was still small enough for him to lift onto his shoulders. instead, she only swallows and gives his hand a tight squeeze.
his whole face softens as he lifts a hand to cluck at her chin, chuckling as she scowls and makes a half-hearted attempt to duck away.
“that’s my girl.”
vi turns away with burning cheeks and a giddy smile spreading across her face. she makes her way to the back where the door opens out onto the alley where the delivery truck for the next night’s liquors is already idling. she waves at the benzo, and reaches into the back for a crate of fresh beer bottles, counting down the seconds till tomorrow morning.
she doesn’t see, across the street, the flicker of lights click on in your shop or hear the slight creak of hinges as you push open the windows, shivering slightly in the pre-dawn wind. she doesn’t see the way you crane your neck out to try and catch a glimpse of her, of the tiny pout that pushes at your lips when you don’t see her familiar silhouette in the bar’s old, wooden window.
she doesn’t see the way your shoulders slump, or the way you glance down at your fingers, clutching at the window sill as you try to tell yourself that maybe, maybe this time, you’ll go over and talk to her. she doesn’t see you mouthing the words to yourself, as if going over lines for a stage-play — hi! i hope this isn’t too weird but… i’ve seen you across the street almost every day and… i just thought… well… would i be able to buy you a drink?
you shake your head, groaning inwardly to yourself as you slip back into your shop and grab the large sign that usually goes out front, boasting of the currently in-season flowers and any discounts you might be having.
“god, who even offers to buy a bartender a drink? she’ll probably think i’m an idiot or something —”
“i’m sure it’s not the first time she’s heard that line before, darling,” mel says, barely glancing up from behind the register, taking stock of the previous day’s sales.
“yeah, and i’m willing to be that it’s sucked for her every single time.”
“you won’t know till you’ve tried it,” mel sing-songs, even as she sighs and rounds the register to help you pick out the most eye-catching flowers for the outdoor display.
you scowl down at a fresh batch of roses, just in time for valentine’s day. you reach for your scissors and start the methodical work of ridding them of all their thorns.
by the time you carry the floral display outside and duck back in for the sign, it’s to catch a glimpse of vi, laughing as she jokes around with a pair of boys (who you’ve surmised by now also work at the bar), her ducking beneath an attempted jab and jumping up to loop her arm around one of them in a headlock. the sound of their yelps and laughter rings bright and clear against the mid-morning sky, a second before the wind kicks up and sends the hem of your dress fluttering.
you squeak, pushing it down, your eyes slingshotting back across the street, but vi’s already gone, disappeared into the back alley, the memory of her voice still echoing in your chest like the opening bars of a love song you’ve always known, but can never remember the lyrics of.
you catch sight of vander as he reaches out to close the window of the last drop, and for a second, your eyes meet. he cocks his head, a knowing grin slung across his lips even as you blush and raise your hand in greeting. he pauses to dip his head at you, before turning to say something to someone you can’t quite see, and then he’s turning back, lifting a hand to his lips as if to say — your secret’s safe with me.
something thuds in your chest as he shoots you a furtive wink and pulls the window shut.
“darling? come help me with these snapdragons — i can never get them to sit as nicely as you do.”
you turn and hurry back into the shop, your mind spinning even as you busy yourself with the task of arranging the shop for opening.
the day passes by in a whirlwind of cut-stems and wrapping paper, of satin ribbon and hard twine. and by the time you’re closing up shop, the familiar, heart-warming glow of light is already pouring from the window of the last drop, and a few seconds later, you see the heart-rending shape of vi as she pushes through the front door, holding it open with a hip to let vander through, chattering about this or that.
you whip around before she can catch you staring and busy yourself with checking over the leftover flowers from the outside display, warmth creeping up the back of your neck. you’re sure you can feel the weight of her eyes on you, and you tell yourself that it’s nothing — just something friendly, or neighborly, or — something bumps against your ankle and you glance down to find poro the cat twining herself between your legs.
“hey there,” you greet, bending down to pick her up. poro lets out a pleased mewl, purring loudly as you run your fingers through her silken fur, “we missed you today — but you never liked the big crowds, huh?” you smile, making your way to the window and setting her down on the wide ledge. she spins herself around twice before settling, her fluffy tail wrapping around her paws as she watches you with large, sky-blue eyes.
across the street, vi watches, her heart in her throat, and nearly walks into the edge of the door with an armful of empty crates, catching herself three seconds before faceplanting into the pavement. behind her, mylo lets out a bark of laughter even as claggor groans, shaking his head and sidestepping them both back into the bar.
“y’know, this whole lesbian pining thing’s gone on for a bit too long,” mylo says, spinning a beer bottle opener around his index finger as he and vi make their way in behind claggor.
“shut the fuck up,” vi snipes, shouldering passed mylo towards the stairs leading to the basement, her stomach twisting at the thought of perhaps asking you out in less than 24 hours. she sighs, dropping the crates into a corner and turning to leave again, only to find mylo leaning against the narrow stairwell, staring at her with the a sanctimonious smirk.
her eyes narrow, “you’re one to talk,” she grumbles, making her way back to stare him straight in the eyes; she sees him falter, the flash of uncertainty in his eyes before he squares up again, puffing out his chest, “how long’ve you been thirsting after the lead singer of that indie band again? two years now? three?”
“th-that’s different!” mylo insists, stumbling after her as vi shoves passed him back up the stairs.
vi cocks an eyebrow, reaching up to grab a barstool, setting it on the floor with a loud clack.
“yeah? how so?”
mylo licks his lips, “it’s — she — she’s like a celebrity, y’know? so it’s — it’s normal that i haven’t —”
“what celebrity? her band plays here like every other week — you’ve had more facetime with gert over the past few years than i’ve had with —” vi gestures towards the door, “flowergirl, in like… ever!”
on the opposite end of the bar, claggor is helping vander wipe down tables, glancing up from his work with a deep sigh.
“so is she gonna do it, or what?”
vander grunts, “think she actually might, tomorrow morning.”
“yeah? how’d you convince her?”
vander shrugs, “offered her two weekends off.”
claggor snorts, “figures. well — if it finally gets the two of them together then…” he mimics wiping sweat off his brow and shaking off his fingers. vander laughs, nodding.
“one can only hope.” he casts another glance towards where vi and mylo are now locked in a full-out brawl, vi having pinned mylo’s face to the recently wiped bar top with his arm twisted behind his back.
across the street, you’re sighing into a handful of Iron Plant leaves, stripping out the ones with yellowing tips and keeping the most vibrant ones for the next day.
“you’ll age yourself if you keep sighing like that,” mel says, reaching over your shoulder to pluck a particularly green leaf from the bunch and swatting at your head as if it were a feather-duster.
you frown, wiping your hands on your apron before moving to the next batch of leaves.
“it’s just… been so long and i — i don’t even think she’s looked at me.”
mel groans, “oh trust me — she has.”
“you keep saying that, but i’ve never —”
“just because you’ve never seen it, darling, doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.” she reaches out to tug the sheers from your hand with dexterous fingers. she snaps them once, the sharp snip making you wince.
“yes, yes — i know…” you lick your lips, glancing at the window. outside, the setting sun has burnished the entire street in gold. a second later, the door of the last drop swings open again and vi appears, her eyes casting towards your shop and for a fraction of a second — no longer than a hummingbird’s wingbeat — your eyes meet.
the contact is electric, scintillating and strange — it shocks through you, staticking through all your nerve endings till your fingers and toes are tingling with it — the buzzing energy, the potential of something.
anything —
more.
and then, mylo bumps into vi as he clambers by, and the moment is broken, the tenuous connection between you shattering like sugar-string. vi shoves mylo back hard, and by the time she looks back, you’ve melted back into the flower-decked interior of the shop.
it is a long night, though in general, the one before valentines day always is. too many bruised egos, sloshing over the sides of beer steins. too many puffed-up, washed-up, has-beens, wandering the darkened corners of the town in search of a warm body inside which they might partake in the delicate art of forgetting. and in vi’s experience, wounded prides have never mixed well with alcohol — no matter what the occasion.
so by the morning, she’s exhausted, the sunrise greeting her in all its fool’s gold glory.
vander gives her a pat on the back and slides an irish coffee down the bar towards her. she stares at the white frothy top before cracking him a grin and chugging down half in a single gulp, wincing slightly a the sharp bite of whiskey.
vander laughs, shrugging as vi stares at the remainder of the glass.
“thought you could use a little liquid courage.”
vi sniffs, sucks in a breath, and downs the rest of the drink, raising the empty glass to vander before sliding it back down the bar. vander reaches out to catch it in a single smooth motion, waving her off.
“right, now go on and get your girl.”
vi coughs, “she’s not my —”
claggor tuts, “just go already — we’ll finish up here —”
vi opens her mouth as if to respond, but at another hard look from vander, she deflates, grumbling to herself as she drags the back of her hand across her lips to make sure there’s no residual whipped cream, before pushing out the door, bracing herself against the mid-february wind.
the street is nearly empty this early in the morning, and the dawning sunlight has yet to settle into it’s usual richness, still a bit wane, papering the street in the palest shade of gold. on the opposite horizon, the night is is bleeding out the last dregs of its own inky darkness, a crescent moon hung like a ghostly petal, floating across the surface of a late winter sky.
vi shoves both her hands into her jacket pockets and hunches her shoulders against a kick of wind, half-jogging across the thin, two-lane street just as you push your windows open.
“oh! hi! uhm —” your voice is just as beautiful as she’s always known it would be.
vi squeezes her fists inside her pockets, scuffing her feet against the pavement as she watches the way your cheeks flush rose-petal-pink, and then you’re ducking back into the store, only to appear a second later, stepping through the front door in a velvet dress red as holly-berries (or perhaps just the shade of bleeding hearts), your usual apron tied around your waist, a thin scarf looped around your neck to protect against the chill.
“hey! sorry to just — randomly run across the street like this —” she waves a hand awkwardly at the last drop, closing up behind her.
you shake your head, pressing your palms to the front of your apron, “no! it’s okay — actually i —”
“i wanted to ask — oh, sorry no —” she speaks over you in her haste, backtracking immediately, even as you flap your hands, seemingly just as flustered as she is.
“no, no! it’s fine — what did you want to ask?” you open your hands, expectant.
and you’re looking at her, gods, you’re looking at her. and vi can’t think for the rabbit’s foot thump of her heart, beating inside her chest, making her vision swim as a rush of blood floods her ears, washing out all sound except for the silver-bell chime of your voice. she digs her nails into her palms, clearing her throat.
“uh… it’s just… i was — i was wondering — shit — well, okay — say… i wanted to get someone flowers —”
you blink, your eyes flickering between both of hers at her words. and then, you turn, if only to keep her from seeing the way your expression falls, ever so slightly.
“oh… yeah? okay, sure — i can help you with that — do you know what kind of flowers you’d like?” you lead her into the main body of your shop, holding the door open for her.
vi steps through, scratching at the back of her neck, glancing around, trying not to seem so overwhelmed by the utter explosion of fragrance and color.
“th-that’s the thing though — i — i mean, i don’t know anything about flowers so — i thought — i wanted to ask for your help —” she glances back at you; you clear your throat and look away, reaching out to brush a finger along the petal of a single red rose, lying in the middle of a perfectly cut square of wax paper.
“uh… yeah, i — i can do that — uhm — i’m assuming this is a… romantic kind of floral-endeavor?” you ask, bracingly, making a small attempt at your usual humor.
vi purses her lips, the freckles dusted across her nose made all the more prominent by the way she blushes.
“yeah — sort of.”
you take a deep breath, then start to make your way around the shop.
“okay, well — do you know their favorite color or… anything?”
vi follows a few steps behind, glancing around for any indication before she sighs.
“uhm… i know she likes colors in general — bright ones —”
you pause over a display of button mums the color of honey.
“oh! cool okay —” you make to move away again but vi jerks forward, reaching out in an abortive movement, her hand caught in midair as you turn. you stare, unable to entirely keep the skip from your heartbeat.
“i just — holy fuck —” she runs a hand over her face, looking strangely abashed as she drops her hand, squeezing her fingers into fists before letting them loose again. you wonder, for a moment, why she might be so nervous before she licks her lips and continues, “— so — say you were going to get flowers from someone… on valentine’s day —”
you go almost preternaturally still.
“uh… huh…”
vi chews on her bottom lip so hard you’re worried, for a second, that she might draw blood. still, she looks anywhere but at you.
“w-what kind of flowers w-would you uh — would you want them to get you?”
you stare at her for a beat, and then another. a tentative hope blossoms in your chest, a single creeping vine at first, threading through your veins. you lick your lips, clasping your hands behind your back, worrying at your own fingers.
“d-depends… would this person be uhm… asking me out? or…” you trail off.
vi nods, almost too eager, taking half a step forward.
“y-yeah! maybe — if you’re… open to being asked out —”
“i — i am!” you blurt out. heat plumes into your skin like the first wisteria bloom of spring, one at first, and then another, then another — tiny flowers popping open, fragrant and shockingly violet until your chest is full of them.
“great! so… uh… the flowers —?” vi lets out a soft chuckle.
your lashes flutter, and then, you spring into movement. anything to dance off the mid-summer fire collecting beneath your skin.
“oh! sorry — right — i guess i’d like… gardenias, for secret love,” you say, rounding the shop towards the large white blooms, your heartbeat a riotous mess, clattering against your ribs as you pluck out a few of the choicest flowers. behind you, vi watches, her heart caught in the back of her throat, her breath lost somewhere in the air between you.
“maybe… a few pink camelias, for longing —” you move through to the other side of the shop, collecting the flowers one by one, your fingers trembling as you tug each of them from their stands, “hydrangeas for understanding… or at least —” you suck in a breath, “i hope…”
“y-yeah — i — i hope so too — i mean — that’s good, that’s perfect —”
you swallow, turning around to show her the budding bouquet, but when you hold out the flowers, she barely spares them a glance, her eyes fixed on you.
“y-you’re — they’re uh… beautiful.”
“u-uhm — and then… a few fillers…” you say, oddly breathless, if only to fill in the electric quiet, the air thrumming with it, as lightning might brew beyond a monsoon sky.
you finish the bouquet with a piece of twine, smiling down at your own handiwork. the flush in your cheeks only grows as you turn to offer them to her, and she smiles, pursing her lips.
“is… is there a card or something i could —” she motions towards the flowers.
you nod passed the giddiness collecting in your throat.
“s-sure! and… who —” you gulp again, tugging a small red-heart shaped card from the cash register, “who might this be for?”
vi lets out a helpless laugh, “i… i was hoping that’d be kind of obvious…”
you hesitate for a second longer before scribbling your name at the top of the card. vi leans over to read it; the way she says your name makes your chest stitch, your lungs constrict.
“and…” you finally allow yourself to look up at her, your pen hovering over the from line on the card. her gaze, when you meet it, is the most gorgeous morning-glory blue.
“vi — violet,” she says.
you smile, “pretty name.” before bending down to write it on the card as well.
“thanks. yours… isn’t so bad either,” she says, reaching for her wallet.
you wave her away.
“on the house.”
vi cocks an eyebrow, “i don’t think that’s how buy someone valentine’s day flowers works.”
you crinkle your nose, “it is if the person you’re buying them for runs a flower shop.”
at this, vi laughs, the sound sweet and clear as a winter’s thaw. you find yourself giggling too, looking down at the bouquet with soft eyes.
“how about… you buy this for me… and you let me… buy you a drink tonight?” you ask, setting the flowers aside and pressing your palms to the register top. vi blinks.
“yeah?” vi’s smile lopes to the side, a sharp, dangerous twinkle caught behind her eyes, “and… what would you be getting me?”
you trail a light finger along the length of the register with a small shrug.
“actually… i was going to ask — say someone were to buy you a drink for valentine’s day…”
vi puffs out a breath, her gaze darkening by degrees.
“uh huh.”
“what kind of drink would you want them to get you?”
OH MY GOSHSHDJJDJDHD THE FAKE DATING AU + HOCKEY VI?!!!?!!
Literally it was so good ahhsjdjsjd
I read through it while having terrible cramps (literally was almost crying)
But your fic like totally helped push them away istg
It was like To All the Boys but with Vi😫😫😫
I loved every bit of it, especially the part where reader and Vi were so close to kissing against the door but they got interrupted by Abby GAHSHDB
Anyway uh that was amazing you blessed us🫶🫶🫶🫶💕
oh my gosh so fun fact I like never read my fics all the way through before posting, but last night I had cramps too and that was the first time I officially read what I wrote LOL
im so glad you enjoyed it, and I LOOOVED writing that scene oh my gosh. thank you for the support and for leaving a message <33
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