“Happy birthday.” Your co-worker messages you. You reply with a smiling + hugging emoji, before dropping your phone to your side. The first person who wasn’t a family member to message you happy birthday almost 24 hours later.
Usually you didn’t care, you really didn’t. Yet, celebrating everyone’s birthday this year and last, you thought you would get the same energy back.
But no.
Twenty-something now, and you’re spending it alone, sitting on your apartment floor, with a cardigan way too big for you stained with frosting. The same stale frosting that took over the air and mixed with the scent of candle wax.
It’s too quiet in your living that eventually it gets too loud. So, you put on your shoes and walk to the nearest corner shop that’s open this late.
The dull lights buzz the moment you walk in, alongside a small bell. Immediately the cheap alcohol section is calling your name, singing thou happy birthday louder than anyone has all day.
The basket gets heavy as you put in the six-pack, your forearm dropping slightly. You fill the basket: chips, chocolates, more cheap alcohol.
You got birthday money from a family member, “might as well put it to you,” you mumble to anyone who’s around you, but the store’s empty.
You’re grabbing one more bag of chips when you hear:
“…No way. Is that you?”
You furrow your brows, freeze a little. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.
You turn and there she is behind the counter. Your old High School classmate. The girl who wore her lanyard either on the loops of her pants or around her wrist. The chick who wore boots during the rain and snow, whenever she walked all you heard was: ‘squeak squeak.’
Same girl who wasn’t really a close friend. Though, in some blurry memories, once made your stomach flutter-cheeks burn up for reasons you never understood at seventeen.
She leans forward on the counter, smiling like she’s genuinely glad to see you. And you, cursed at yourself for wearing the: ‘no one I know will see me,’ outfit.
“You look like you ransacked the place, and are about to ask me for the money in the safe,” she teases. “Everything okay?”
You shrug and lift the basket slightly. “Birthday.”
Her face changes, not pity, but like she just recognized something. A quiet “oh,” look appears into her expression.
“It’s your birthday? Tonight?”
You nod, and she lets out a little laugh, stepping around the counter so she’s closer. Too close for someone you haven’t seen in years.
“I remember…” she murmurs. “Back during homeroom, you used to bring cupcakes for everyone. Different colored frosting, rainbow sprinkles; like you were a birthday fairy. Cute little crown too.”
You feel your face heat up. “Yea…well that was before everyone ditched me right after graduation. Hard to keep a reputation when no one sticks around.”
The words came out harsher than you meant it. Regretting the whole: “woe is me.” She notices. Her expression softens again, this time in a way that kinda hurts.
“I didn’t ditch you,” she says quietly. Yeah she didn’t, you did though. Her gaze drags over your face like she’s searching for the old you she used to know. “None of that reputation shit ever mattered to me.”
You gulp, the store feeling too warm. Or maybe it’s her.
She plucks a bag of chips with her knuckles out your basket. “Tell you what. You shouldn’t spend your birthday alone…” she looks at the clock behind you, red lights on. “I get off in ten minutes. Stay? Keep me company while I finish my shift?”
It’s the way she looks at you: softly, familiar, almost like she’d been waiting for you to walk back into her life. Shit, now your heart fluttering, it’s like you’re seventeen again.
You nod before your brain even fully understands what she ask. And she grins.
⟡
She clocks out as the neon sign in the window glides: ‘24-Hours Open’ Her position behind the counter, replaced by another employee who barely looks up from their phone. She grabs her jacket, slinging it over her shoulder and nods towards the door.
“Cmon birthday girl.”
The night air hits a bit cooler than before. And the beer you crack open as soon as you step outside sends warmth down your chest. The streets quiet, just the sound of your footsteps and cars passing by occasionally.
She bumps her shoulder gently into yours, “So…big plans for the rest of your b-day?”
You laugh, bittersweet: “This is the most social thing I’ve done all day.”
She gives a look, curious she tilts her head: “Did you at least get birthday calls? Messages? Something?”
You shrugs, “Apart from family…” you shake your head. “No one said anything.”
You pause for a second, “Actually, yeah. My coworker who’s an elderly woman said happy birthday.”
You don’t want pity, and she knows that, cause she doesn’t give you any. She just walks closer, her arm brushing yours.
“You know…” she begins, taking a sip of her beer. “You usually post on your birthday.”
You surprisingly glance at over at her: “Do I?”
“Yea,” she laughs softly. “You didn’t this year. If you had , I would’ve said happy birthday right away.”
You stop walking for a second. “You…follow me on social media?”
She raises a brow, grinning: “Of course I do. Why? You don’t follow me?”
You open your mouth, then close it. The silence answers for you.
She burst out laughing, the sound: teasing, affectionate, kinda warm all at once. “Oh my goodness. Wow, so you really just never noticed me there?”
You look away all flustered. “I-I…you’re not really someone I expect to keep up with me after school.”
She slows her pace until the two of you fall into sync again, but this time she’s closer. You look over at her before quickly looking down at the black plastic bag filled with what you bought.
Her tone is lower. “Well I did.”
You don’t know what to say to that. You nervously bite your bottom lip. The apartment complex appears around the corner, streetlights making everything gold. You feel her eyes on you.
“Which one?” She asks, nodding towards the buildings.
You point, the motion a little wobbly from the alcohol. She reaches for your elbow lightly, not holding you more like steadying you.
That touch makes you have butterflies.
She smiles, “Alright, Apartment 312.”
⟡
“Do you wanna come in? For one more drink? I still have cake. Might as well pretend is a birthday party.” The words slip out without hesitation. You’re not sure whether it’s the beer, the tingling feeling of her hand still lingering on your elbow, or the way she looked at you under the streetlights…
She looks at you for a second, her expression making you nervous. “Yea, I’d like that.”
Your apartment inside? The right amount of messy that comes from living alone and not expecting people to come over. A blanket on the couch, an empty mug, a candle that burned out days ago. Yet she doesn’t seem to mind. She just takes it all in with curiously, then flops on your couch like she’s been here hella times.
You grab the cake from the fridge, store bought—frosting smushed, and two forks. She whistles dramatically.
“Damn, a private cake tasting. I feel honored.”
You laugh and hand her a fork. The two of you eat straight from the container, washing it down with another round of drinks.
You talk about everything and nothing. How you moved back to this town after swearing you’d never return. How the other city you lived in, drained you out. The way it took you so long to unpack, and how you barely go out, only to work.
She listens, knees angled towards yours on the couch.
“It’s kinda nice you’re back,” she admits quietly. “Everything now feels nostalgic.”
Blaming it on the alcohol, the comments feels deeper than it probably is. You swallow another sip.
From there, the convo switches to high school. Old teachers—stupid rumors—ugly ass yearbook photos. The friendship between you two: never close but shared memories of events during lunch or field trips.
Both of you laughing hard, leaning into each other the more drink you two get.
At one point she groans, dropping her head back dramatically.
“God, your friend group was lowkey lameee.”
You cackled, “I KNOW! They were…ugh I dunno. I mean…” you pondered briefly. “They were cool sometimes. I just don’t know how I survived all the drama.”
She rolls her eyes and snorts. “They thought they were cool.” after a sip, “…them ditching you after graduation?….Never liked them.”
You tilt your head, “I never knew that. You never mentioned it.”
“You never asked…and why would I tell you that?” She teases.
Another drink enters your system quickly. Now your head feels light. The line between rational judgment and drunken honesty blurs, you say it:
“There was this one time…in the girls locker room.”
Her eyes goes to you instantly, amused and curious. And now you wish you didn’t bring it up.
“Go on,” she smirks. “This already sounds interesting.”
“Ahh, no no, never mind.” You drop your face into your hands for a second, but the alcohol pushes you. “Ok ok.” You caved in so quickly.
She taps your knee, “…come onn, say it.”
You exhale. “You remember, sophomore year. We had the same P.E class. It was after class.”
She lowers her chin a bit, “You gotta be more specific. I try very hard to forget that locker room existence.”
“You were always the last one to finish changing,” you mumble. “You’d be at your locker, shirt half on, hair a little messy from whatever we did that day.”
She now looks more curious and amused.
“And?”
“And…” you look all around your living room except her face. “There was this one day. You were laughing at some joke someone made, and you-your shirt was kind of…stuck…?”
You gestured badly, “Like halfway up. And I just…I dunno. That image stuck in my head for a while.”
She blinks slowly. What was even slower was that little wicked smile that forms.
“So, what I’m understanding is…you were checking me out during our time in the locker room?”
You blush: “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to,” she leans closer, voice deepens.
Her knee presses between yours a little. “You fantasized about me in high school?”
She’s making the room spin more than the alcohol. You gulp hard, “it was just one time.”
“That you’re admitting…”
You wanna deny it, but her stare is steady, flirty, soemthing you can’t really give a name to. Just feel down to your core.
The air between becomes heavy with alcohol, nostalgia, dare even say….lustful?
She leans back a bit. Answering the last thought, when she licks the frosting off her fork and watches you like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Should’ve said somethin’ back then,” she says playfully.
You met her gaze.
“You wouldn’t have believed me.”
And for the first time all night, she doesn’t laugh. She just looks at you. The way she wouldn’t dare to do in high school.
You feel her shift closer on the couch. Her knee brushing yours again. Her hand slides along the back of the couch until her fingers hover near your shoulder, like she’s testing the waters.
“What?” You sniff nervously.
“What?”
“You’re staring,” your whisper.
She slowly smiles, “I know.”
Her breath mixes with yours, a touch so gentle when you feel her thumb on your jaw. Makes you breathless
“Can I…” she starts, her voice barely audible.
You don’t let her finish. You close the space and press your lips to hers. A fluffy kiss at first: careful like if you’re painting with a small thin brush. The she makes that damn sound. Just one sound that’s needy and desperate. That small sound is all it takes to unravel everything.
She grabs your waist to pull you fully onto her lap; your knees on either side of her thighs. The couch creaks from the sudden shift. Her firm hands sliding up your back. Under your shirt, her touch is hungry and your thighs tighten around her.
You can tell something inside her awoken by the way she moves her mouth against yours. As if she’s been waiting years for this. You as well…
You pull back enough to catch your breath, but she chases you. Lips brushing against yours. Gosh she can’t stop.
“Mmphhh,” she humms against your lips, “you have no ideas how long I wanted that.”
Your heart flips, “High school?” You ask, out of breath.
She laughs, air hot on your neck as she kisses down to your throat. “Maybe.”
Her hand slips lower, gripping your hips, guiding you against her. Your body reacts: ASAP. You’re already wet. You grind down without thinking, and she lets out a hushed, strained groan that sends shivers down your spine.
The apartment becomes irrelevant: the cake, the cabs, the mug, the frosting stain on your cardigan. All of it doesn’t matter as she’s kissing you again, thus time deeper.
“Bedroom?” she whispers on your lips.
So dizzy~
You nod.
She stands, hands on your waist. You wrap your arms around her neck as she walks backwards, unknowingly, til you point at the right room and you back hits the wall. You kiss her like you need her, like you’ve imagined for all these years without even knowing.
⟡
Clothes hit the floor: her jacket first, then your pants, then her tank top. You barely make it to the bed before she pushes you gently on your back, climbing on you with a look that you only read in books.
Her fingers trace your waist, tickling your ribs, mesmerizing your chest. “You’re so beautiful,” she says, in a tone of almost frustration at how true it is.
You pull her down and kiss her again: deeper, messier. Hair tangles between your fingers as she shifts between your legs. Her thighs slide against you and you gasp, hips lifting towards her instinctively.
She notices. She smirks. She does it again.
You playfully bite her shoulder and like she’s done all night: laughs…except this time it’s breathlessly and followed by a rolling of her hips against you. Yummy, slow, calculated.
Your mind goes fuzzy. Soft moans fill up the room. Yours plus hers, overlapping. Her hands explore every inch, guiding you.
You feel her everywhere: mouth on your neck—fingers tracing between your thighs, coated with slick—breathe trembling when you tug her closer.
God, she wants to ruin you. You want her to.
You lightly gasp an exhale. You felt pressure against your clit as she keeps the heel of her palm on your bud and slips inside her index and middle finger.
⊹
Your lips journeyed back down her neck, her chest as you slowly grind on her hand.
You cum with your mouth on her collarbone and riding on her fingers. She’s whispering your name through it, in way that she can’t even believe she’s actually doing this with you, needy and desperate.
She kisses you tenderly through the aftershock, holding your jaw steady. Then take your hands to her body, and you take your time exploring.
“Your turn,” you whisper.
Her lashes flutter. “Mm yea…” she breathes, “please.”
You’re a bit more feral, palms grazing her nipples then filling your hands with her breast. Leaving wet spots on the valley of her breast with open kisses.
‘It’s MY birthday, and she’s like my gift. I’m going to enjoy her, like I deserve.’ you thought to yourself, selfish thoughts.
You trailed your gaze down to her bare bottom, and trailed your mouth over it. Her fingers slid into your hair, and you just lost it.
You tasted her slowly. Lingering, your hands sliding up her stomach feeling her muscles quiver in pattern. Toying and teasing her breast. She tugs your hair, and rolls her hips against your mouth.
She got on her elbows as she shook, knowing she was close. You lightly stroked a fingertip over her slit, teasing the opening as your mouth traced lazy circles around her clit. Your eyes watching hers, looking for her reaction.
She let out a throaty low groan and you loved it. You were no longer thinking: ‘My birthday, my gift….’ it’s now a ‘Thank you. Thank you for spending time with me on my birthday.’
You learn what makes her gasp, arch her back, grab the sheets. Seeing her come undone under you ignited something…that you didn’t want to think about right this moment.
“Oh god,” she gasps. Her hips twisted subtly, and you slid your finger out, letting her watch as you slowly sucked it into your mouth, tasting her.
She basically rolled her eyes back, letting out a chuckle, she didn’t think that you even had this side. “If I knew you were going to be like this, I would’ve given you more.” She managed to say audibly.
“Don’t worry about it.” You kissed between her thighs. Tasting her one last time.
“You’re…” she swallows. “You’re unbelievable.”
You crawl up to her. Clinging onto her close, you don’t really mean to. She doesn’t pull away. She kisses the corner of your mouth then your lips.
Eventually, later on you’re both exhausted, drunk, tangled together asleep. One arm over your waist, the other drape over her eyes, your face against her collarbone.
⟡
2:43 a.m
You wake up to the soft rustling of sheets and the fabric being pulled away gently.
For a moment you think it’s morning, until you glance over at the dim lights glowing in your nightstand.
She’s sitting at the edge of your bed, fully dressed, slipping on her shoes. The room is dark except for the light you left on the hallway, drawing over her shoulders—curve of her neck—and the messy flyaways of her hair.
She glances over at you as you move.
“Hey,” she whispers, voice groggy from sleep. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
You slowly sit up, the sheets slipping down your chest. “You’re good. You heading out?”
She nodded, tying her shoe. “Unfortunately—yea. I have to…”open,” the store tomorrow. Well…today.” Her tired laugh is soft and real and makes you grin foolishly.
There’s no awkwardness, no panic, or regret in her gaze. Just pure exhaustion, and a tiny bit of hesitation if she should leave or not.
You shake your head, “I get it.”
She stands, smoothing her top sliding into her jacket. Then looks at you with something gentle and tender.
“I had a really good time,” she quietly says. “Like…honestly the best night I’ve had in a while.”
Your chest is warm: “…me too.”
She steps closer, stopping in front of you. Her hand lifts, fingertips brushing your cheek, jaw, slow and respectfully. Memorizing you again before she closes the door behind her.
Then she leans in and kisses you. Not hungry like earlier. Not rushed like she wants to leave.
Just a soft kiss, sweet and honest.
When she pulls back, her forehead rest against yours for a moment:
“Happy birthday,” she murmurs.
You blush and hold your breath.
“And…I hope I see you again.”
You open your eyes. “You will.”
She smiles, before stepping toward the door. You watch her walk out through the hall, listen to the soft click of your apartment door closing behind her.
You bite your bottom lip with a smile.
The room feels different now: still quiet, but not lonely.
You roll over, grab your phone from the nightstand, and open social media: search her name….There she is.
Profile photo you somehow never noticed. Thinking how you missed her entire online existence.
That follow button you should’ve pressed years ago: You tap it.
Then you go on every other media: follow, follow, follow…
It’s stupid, you feel silly. Also feels huge. It feels like the best birthday gift you could’ve given yourself.
You set your phone down, sink back into the warm spot she left behind, and close your eyes.
Alysa Liu didn't even bother looking up from her phone as she said it.
Across the nearly empty practice rink hallway, Amber Glenn followed beside her with absolutely no shame.
"I'm being serious," Amber insisted.
"You've been asking me for my sister's number for, like, two months."
"Because she's pretty."
"That's your only reason?"
Amber thought for a second. "No. She's also funny."
"You've spoken to her twice."
"And both times she made fun of me. That's chemistry."
Alysa groaned softly, stuffing her skating guards into her bag. "You are not flirting with my sister."
"Too late."
"You barely even know her."
Amber leaned against the locker beside Alysa dramatically. "Then help me change that."
Alysa finally looked up at her. "You know she's not part of the skating world, right?"
"I know."
"She doesn't care about competitions."
"I know."
"She literally left halfway through my free skate once because she said she was cold."
Amber smiled immediately at the memory. "That's kind of iconic."
Alysa stared at her blankly.
You were nothing like Alysa.
While Alysa thrived under cameras and interviews, you avoided attention whenever possible. Most fans didn't even know Alysa had a twin sister because you were usually overseas for school or hidden behind hoodies whenever you visited competitions.
Right now, you were studying abroad in France for the semester, living your best life while Alysa dealt with the chaos of competition season back in the States.
And somehow that only made Amber more interested.
"She's in France," Alysa reminded her.
"And?"
"And you live in Texas."
Amber crossed her arms stubbornly. "Planes exist."
Alysa laughed despite herself. "You are down horrendous."
"Absolutely."
That earned another eye roll.
Amber had only met you a few times before you left for France, but every interaction stuck in her head longer than it probably should've.
The first time had been at Nationals when you accidentally stole her coffee because you thought it was Alysa's.
The second time, you'd spent twenty minutes teasing Amber for being incapable of sitting still before competitions.
And the last time Amber saw you, you were sitting on top of a rink counter swinging your legs while complaining about French homework and refusing to admit your accent was getting slightly stronger already.
Amber had been doomed ever since.
"She's gonna think this is weird," Alysa warned.
"No she won't."
"She absolutely will."
Amber grinned. "Then I'll just charm her."
"You are significantly less charming than you think you are."
"That's not what your sister said."
Alysa stopped walking instantly.
Amber froze.
"...She said I was mildly entertaining," Amber corrected weakly.
"That's what I thought."
Amber sighed dramatically before grabbing Alysa's sleeve. "Please."
"No."
"Please."
"No."
"I'll buy your food for a week."
"I have money."
"Two weeks."
Alysa narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.
Amber gasped. "Wait, you're considering it?"
"I'm considering exploiting your desperation."
"That's fair."
For a second, Alysa just watched her.
Amber looked genuinely nervous now, which almost never happened.
"You actually like her?" Alysa asked quietly.
Amber's joking expression faded almost instantly.
"Yeah," she admitted.
That answer came too fast to be fake.
Alysa sighed heavily, already regretting this.
"You better not make her cry."
Amber frowned. "I wouldn't."
"You say that now."
"I mean it."
Alysa studied her face for another moment before finally pulling out her phone.
Amber's eyes widened immediately.
"No way."
"One mistake and I'm blocking you from her phone myself."
Amber pressed a hand to her chest dramatically. "You wound me."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Alysa scrolled through her contacts painfully slowly while Amber nearly vibrated beside her.
"This is evil," Amber complained.
"I'm enjoying it."
"You're the worst twin ever."
"And yet she likes me more."
"That hurt my feelings a little."
"Good."
Then finally, Alysa stopped scrolling.
Amber stared at the screen.
Your name.
Your number.
A contact photo of you somewhere in Paris making an annoyed face at the camera.
Archive of Our Own ᯓ★ Join my taglist ᯓ★ masterlist
summary: You return to work after an incredible weekend sandwiched between McEvans, but things become very confusing when they seemingly stop talking to you as the week goes on. Busy schedules, lots of traumas and a very frustrated Dr Robby lead you to break down at work. Cassie and Dana, after yelling at Robby for upsetting you, come to find you at your apartment and make everything better.
cw: pitt drama, robby yelling at you, angst, mention of child death briefly, lots of smut... 4200+ words
a/n: I'm obsessed with this story! Thank you, anon 🐢, for the prompt. I was not going to take it in this direction, but I loved your idea!
The rest of the weekend is like absolute gay heaven. They cook for you, they fuck you, they swim with you in the lake, they fuck you, they smother you in love and treats, and they fuck you. You are so blissfully fucked out. When you return home, you cannot stop smiling. You watch Dana and Cassie drive away, and you head into your apartment, throwing yourself onto your bed with a heavy, happy sigh. You kick your feet, giggling as you trace patterns across your chest, the trail that Dana kissed, the trail that Cassie sucked. You whimper, wishing their hands were on you again, and you roll over, reaching for your phone.
★ᯓ McEvans chat ᯓ★
You: Thank you for an amazing weekend.
Dana: Get some sleep, baby. We’ll see you at work tomorrow.
You smile like an idiot at your phone; Dana calling you baby does something to your stomach. You slide out of your clothes and into your bed, snuggling close to your spare pillow, imagining it is one of them. And you fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.
ᯓ★
The next day at work, you are refreshed. It is rare to see a doctor so bright and shiny. “Did you spend the weekend getting fucked from every angle by McEvans?” Trinity asks, nudging your arm when she catches you dreamily staring at them.
“What?” you scoff. “No, of course not.” But the blush that creeps up your neck and cheeks tells a different story.
“Oh my god,” Trinity grins, whispering. “They passed you around like a little fuck toy, didn’t they?”
“Trinity!” you exclaim, pushing her. “Shut up!”
“Nurse Mommy is watching you,” she whispers. “Did you call her mommy while she fucked you?”
“Trinity,” you blush. “I swear to god!”
“Hey, back to work,” Robby says, passing by and seeing you giggling. Dana shoots him a look and winks at you as you check the patient log, looking for something good. You don’t have to spend long looking; trauma after trauma comes flooding through the door. You barely get time to breathe, let alone anything else. But Cassie still slips you a protein bar every few hours, and Dana slides a coffee to you when you look like you’re about to falter.
Most of the week goes like this. Pittsburgh seems to have gone feral with shootings, stabbings, and mass casualties. It makes the days go quicker, but damn, there's a hell of a lot of death. You’ve barely had a chance to talk to Dana or Cassie; you’re pretty sure they’re avoiding you. Slowly, the protein bars trickle into nothing, the coffee disappears, and you begin to wonder whether you upset them. Were you not supposed to have these strong feelings after one weekend? Were you not supposed to acknowledge them like you had the most incredible weekend of your life? Did they not want you, after all?
You had lost a patient this morning, a kid, which is particularly tough on anyone, but for some reason it was weighing heavily on you. Your mind was swimming with all of the possibilities. Why didn’t you do this? Why didn’t you check that? What if you had just pushed one more round of epi? This, on top of the uncertainty of whatever was going on with the McEvanses, and you were a wreck.
“Hey,” Robby says, slamming a file down next to you and making you jump. “Are you gonna come and do some work anytime soon?” His voice is loud and heavy. It rattles your bones as you close in on yourself.
“I’m just taking a break,” you mumble tearfully.
“A break,” he scoffs. “You need to get it together. You will never be a good doctor if you can’t even handle one measly death. Get your ass in gear.”
“You think I’m a bad doctor?” you ask, voice shaky.
“Yes,” he confirms. “Actually, you know what, stay in here. It makes no difference to the flow of the ER whether you’re here or not,” he shouts. “Better yet, go home.”
“But–”
“I said go home,” he shouts, loud enough that you feel eyes on you as you hover in the doorway of the break room. The tears start to fall, spilling from your eyes like a river. You scurry through the room to the lockers and grab your things.
“I’m fine,” you snap, shoving your things into your bag. You don’t even look up at Cassie as you brush past her. Dana hovers in the doorway, and she reaches out for you with a warm hand, but you step the other way, lip wobbling as you walk away. “I’m sorry,” you say, the look on Dana’s face enough to break you even more, and you wipe your face on your sleeve as you hurry out of the building, already feeling like enough of a fool after Robby publicly flogged you.
“Robinavitch!” Dana shouts. “What the hell was that all about?”
“What?” he scoffs. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, too?”
“Don’t have to be soft to see that screaming at her was uncalled for,” Dana says, arms folded. “She lost a kid, Robby. A child.”
“And that’s my problem why?” he asks, running his fingers through his hair. He sighs under Dana’s glare. “Gloria is coming down on me again; I just can’t have good doctors sitting around crying when the pitt looks like this.”
“So you do think she’s a good doctor,” Cassie says, appearing behind her wife. “Because you just essentially told her she’s worthless to this department.”
“Jesus,” Robby sighs. “I don’t need you both ganging up on me.”
“Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you screamed at our girl.”
“Your girl?” Robby laughs. “Oh, give me a fucking break.”
Meanwhile, you are arriving at your apartment. You kick off your shoes and throw your bag down, slamming your fists against the edge of the couch. “Fuck!” you exclaim. “You stupid fucking idiot. No one loves you; no one cares about you. You’re terrible at your job; you’re terrible at everything!”
Your scrubs suddenly feel itchy, and you tear them off your body as you cry. Tears roll down your face, the size of pearls, as you slump into your bedroom and collapse into a heap under your duvet, crying yourself to sleep.
ᯓ★
You wake to darkness and a warm hand on your back, and you scream, lurching back away from the person. “Hey, relax,” the familiar voice says. “It’s me.”
“Dana?” you ask, covering yourself with your sheet. “Wha– how?”
“You should really hide your spare key better,” Cassie says. “Anyone could come in here.”
“Why are you here?” you ask, eyes red and puffy.
“We’re here to make sure our baby is okay,” Dana whispers, stroking your cheek. “You were pretty upset earlier, rightly so.”
“Oh, so I’m your baby again now?” you ask dryly as Cassie climbs onto the bed on the other side of you and hands you a steaming cup of tea.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“You’ve ignored me all week,” you sniffle. “If I did something wrong, I’d rather you just told me.”
“Oh, sweet girl,” Dana sighs. “You did nothing wrong, I promise. Cass and I just needed to figure some things out.”
“Because of me?” you ask worriedly.
“Yes, but we’re good, promise.”
“I didn’t mess up?” you ask, and Dana strokes your cheek again, making you sigh.
“No, baby girl. You could never mess up.”
“Tell that to Robby,” you scoff, blowing on your tea.
“Oh, she did,” Cassie laughs. “Tore Robby a new one for the way he treated you. You’ve got tomorrow off, by the way. Thanks to Nurse Evans over there.”
“Really?” You ask, trying to hide your blush in the dimly lit room. “What time is it?”
“Nine,” Dana says, checking her watch. “Or thereabouts.”
“Don’t y’all have better things to do than hang around in my tiny apartment?”
“Nope,” Cassie says, taking the mug from you and putting it on the bedside table so it doesn’t get in the way while her hands explore your body. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re only in your underwear between them.
“Did you get hot earlier?” Dana teases, her hand sliding across your belly.
“Clothes got uncomfortable,” you say, breath hitching as she squeezes your hip while Cassie starts to kiss your neck.
“Did you think about us this week?” Dana asks. “While you touched yourself?”
“Mm, yes,” you whine. “Couldn’t cum, though.”
“Oh, poor princess,” Cassie pouts. “Nothing feels as good anymore, does it?”
“No,” you pout too, hands sliding to Dana’s hair as she kisses over your stomach.
“You must be so frustrated,” the older blonde says as she moves your panties aside. She doesn’t waste any time, sliding her fingers through your wetness, rubbing all over your labia and everywhere but where you need her to.
Cassie reaches behind you and unclasps your bra, kissing over the swell of your breasts as they spill out. She groans, dragging her tongue over the soft flesh before wrapping her lips around your nipple, eliciting a moan from you. The moan deepens when Dana finally pushes two fingers into you, curling them upwards.
“That’s our good girl,” Dana hums, sucking the inside of your thigh as she fingers you. She sucks hard enough that it leaves a mark, and then she moves to the other side and repeats the action. You know you won’t last long; you can feel it building already, and you rock your hips against Dana’s hand.
“Needy little thing,” Cassie coos, sliding her hand down to join Dana’s. You think she’s going to rub your clit, give you some relief, but she pushes a finger inside of you, joining Dana’s fingers and stretching you further.
“Fuck,” you whine.
“Oh look at that,” Dana gasps. “You’re takin’ mommy and daddy’s fingers at the same time.”
Cassie slips in another finger, her hand in Dana’s as they move in sync, four fingers inside of you, fucking you, stretching you. White-hot pleasure shoots through your body, and you tremble as it washes over you in intense waves, until you squirt, liquid gushing all over their fingers and your bed.
“Mmm, let mommy taste,” Dana says as they remove their fingers and you whine. Your pussy pulses, and Dana slides her tongue through you, lapping it all up.
“Was that good, baby?” Cass asks, dragging her wet fingers up your stomach.
“Mhm,” you sigh, enjoying Dana’s tongue. Cassie reaches into her pocket and pulls out a penknife, and you gasp as she flicks it open. She drags the blade gently over your hip before slicing through your panties and tearing them from your body.
“Hope you didn’t like them.” She laughs, putting the knife away and removing her T-shirt.
“They were actually my favourite,” you pout.
“Aww,” Dana says from between your legs. “We’ll buy you some more,” she says, stroking your bruised thigh. “Good girls deserve presents.”
You watch as Cassie throws her top aside and pulls her sports bra over her head, reaching down her soft belly to unbuckle her jeans. When she pulls them down, her purple cock bounces free, and you gasp.
“Daddy came prepared, princess,” Dana grins. “You want mommy to warm it up for you?”
“Y-yes please,” you whine. You love being between them, but watching them fuck makes you so wet. Dana slides out of her clothes and gets on her knees between your legs, her ass in the air, and Cassie climbs on the bed behind her. Your tiny bed can barely keep up with all of these bodies, and the frame groans.
“Are we gonna break your bed, sweetheart?” Dana laughs, her laugh turning into a moan as Cassie thrusts into her roughly. She pushes her body into you as she thrusts, and you gasp, reaching for Dana’s hair as you watch.
“Eat her pussy,” Cassie says, smacking Dana’s ass. “Give our girl something to scream about.”
Dana pushes your legs open again, and her tongue finds its way back into you as Cassie’s hips smack into hers loudly. She is fucking Dana so hard, you feel your cunt dripping. You’re not sure you could think if Cassie was ramming into you that hard, so when Dana sucks your clit, you are impressed and so fucking happy. You cry out, eyes rolling back into your head as her tongue flicks the swollen bud repeatedly.
“Good girls,” Cassie grunts. “Fucking hell, baby,” she says, stroking Dana’s ass. “You’re so wet, you love her little pussy, don’t you?”
Dana hums in response, and it vibrates through your body, and you cry out. “Need more,” you beg. “Please, Mommy, need fingers.”
Dana groans, lifting her head as she slides two fingers back into you. Your pussy sucks her in, fluttering around her as you look at the mess on her lips.
“Cum with me,” Dana says. “I’m close, princess. Gonna cum all over daddy’s cock so it’s nice and warm for you.”
“Fuck,” you whimper. “Please, mommy. Need daddy’s cock.”
“Cum on mommy’s fingers,” Cassie grunts. “Then my cock is all yours.”
You groan as Dana slides her tongue over your clit again while her fingers pump in and out, and Dana starts to pant against you, tongue moving lazily as her own orgasm starts to shoot through her. “That’s it,” Cassie groans. “Good girls.”
You gasp, bucking into Dana’s fingers as you cum again. Dana moans with you, eyes locked on yours as you both climax together. “Atta girl,” Dana grins, kissing your clit and flopping down next to you as Cassie pulls out.
“C’mere,” she says, holding her arms open. “Sit between my legs while Daddy fucks you.”
Dana helps you move, so your back is pressed against her front. You can feel her nipples dragging against your back, and her arms wrap around you. You hook your legs over hers to keep them open, and Cassie grins, stroking her cock.
“Look at my girls,” she says. “Ready for my cock, honey?”
“Yes, Daddy,” you whine as Dana cups your breasts and sucks on the side of your neck. Cassie slots in between the mess of legs and nudges the cock against your slit.
“I see mommy got you nice and wet for me,” she groans as she pushes in. "Fuck, you’re so tight around my cock. Wish I could feel it.”
“Thank you, daddy,” you moan as she slides all the way in. She doesn’t pull out again, just keeps pushing deeper and deeper, not going anywhere but nudging you repeatedly. It feels so deep, so full. “So good,” you whine. “Missed your cock, daddy.”
“Perfect little cock whore,” Dana says. Cassie grabs your chin, forcing your mouth open and leans over you, spitting into your mouth.
“Swallow,” she says, and you do. You’d do anything they asked you to. “Thank you,” you mumble again, licking your lips.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” Dana says, sliding her hand down your stomach. She trails her fingers between your legs to where Cassie is sliding in and out, and Cassie spits on your clit, lubing it up for her wife, who then starts to move her fingers in slow circles over the sensitive nub.
“How many times do you think we can make you cum?” Cassie asks curiously. “This will be your third; think you could give us three more?”
“I’ll try,” you whine, brow furrowed as you try to concentrate on giving them a third orgasm. Cassie’s cock hits just the right spot, and Dana’s fingers rub so perfectly, but your body is fighting the pleasure.
“Relax,” Dana says, kissing your shoulder. “Come on, pretty girl. Give us one more.”
“I’m trying,” you whimper. Dana removes her fingers and brings her palm down onto your clit. A jolt of pleasure shoots through you, and she does it again.
“Keep doing that,” Cassie groans. “She’s close.”
Dana brings her palm crashing down once more, and your whole body tingles with pleasure, making you gasp like a fish out of water as you shudder.
“There we go,” Dana coos. “Good job. Just relax.”
You melt into her arms as Cassie keeps rocking into you, dragging out the euphoric feeling. You’re not sure how many more times you can cum, but that won’t stop them from trying.
“Mommy’s turn again?” Cassie asks. “Give the girl a little break?”
“Good idea,” Dana smiles. She slides out from behind you and settles on the bed next to you on her back. Cassie pulls out, and you whine at the feeling of being empty, which makes her smirk. “Don’t worry,” Dana says. “You can have her back in just a moment.”
With heavy lids, you watch as Cassie thrusts into Dana, kissing her hungrily. Their chemistry is undeniable, and so fucking hot. You watch as Cassie snaps her hips into Dana, holding her body close, lips moving all over her face as she fucks her. It is so intimate, and Dana reaches her hand out to you as you watch. You take it, lacing your fingers with hers, and your other hand mindlessly slides down your body and between your legs. They both notice the tiny whine that escapes your lips as you press your fingers firmly against your clit, your eyes never leaving them.
“Good girl,” Cassie groans. “Mommy’s pussy is so tight and wet because of you. My cock is sliding into her so well,” she sighs. “Thank you, princess.”
“Y-you’re welcome,” you whisper, hips bucking into your own touch. “Fuck her harder, please.”
Cassie looks at Dana, who nods, squeezing your hand as her wife rocks into her harder. You watch as the cock pulls out and sinks all the way back in repeatedly, coming out wetter and wetter each time. The pleasure becomes almost too much, and you cry out, coming hard, just from watching them.
“C’mere,” Dana groans, pulling you closer. Your body presses against her side as Cassie pounds into her, and her hand slips between your legs again, sliding through the wetness. You position yourself better so she can sink two digits inside, and she starts to finger you at the same pace as Cassie fucks her. These women are determined to ruin you.
“God, can you hear how wet she is?” Cassie groans as Dana’s fingers squelch in and out of you. Dana nods, mouth pressed against your shoulder as she starts to cum. The noises from your mouth and pussy and the feel of her wife rocking into her repeatedly send shockwaves of pleasure through her body. Her fingers get sloppy, so you sit up slightly, riding her hand.
“Oh fuck,” you cry out, bouncing on her fingers. “Right there, mommy.”
“Jesus,” Dana groans, legs trembling as Cassie fucks her through it. It gets harder for her fingers to move, and she knows you’re close again, and when you cum, you cry out so loud Cassie is sure your neighbours will complain.
“Five,” you say breathlessly, flopping onto your stomach, Dana’s fingers still inside of you.
“Good job, princess,” Cassie says, sliding out of Dana and removing the harness. She drops it to the floor somewhere and climbs back on the bed, pulling Dana into her arms. They kiss messily, and Dana’s hands move down her wife’s body to between her legs; the same fingers that were just in you are now inside of Cassie.
“Daddy needs to feel good now,” Dana hums. “You gonna help, sweet thing?”
“Uh huh,” you whimper, pushing yourself up on shaky arms. You crawl over to them, and Cassie pulls you in for a kiss as Dana pumps her fingers into her. “What can I do to help?” you ask sweetly, and Cassie chuckles.
“Come sit on my face, sweetheart.”
“But–”
“Trust me, it’ll help me cum,” she insists, pulling you up towards her face. “Please.”
“How could I ever say no to you, daddy?” you ask, climbing over her face and gently lowering yourself down. Her tongue connects with your soaked pussy, and you gasp as she pulls you down by your hips until you are fully seated.
Dana smirks, crawling between Cassie’s legs and sliding her own tongue against her clit as she fingers her. The sound of wet pussies and gasps fills your small bedroom, and you grip onto the headboard as Cassie eats your pussy like a woman starved. She licks, sucks, bites, her tongue getting in every crease and crevice. Her hands hold open your shaky thighs, and you look down between your legs, watching as her blue eyes roll into the back of her head each time Dana swipes her own tongue.
This was what you wanted: someone who loved you as much as Dana and Cassie loved each other. Someone as devoted to you as they were. As Cassie sucked your clit harder, the pleasure and the thoughts became overwhelming, and you came with a strangled cry, tears rolling down your face at the realisation that nothing would ever compare to this. To them.
Cassie cums seconds later, moaning into your cunt as she laps up your juices, and you climb off her face quicker than you can say boo. Your legs almost give out as you walk to the bathroom, and you close the door behind you before dropping onto the lid of the toilet and sobbing.
“What did you do?” Dana asks her wife accusatorily, and Cassie gasps.
“Me? I didn’t do anything!”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Dana says, kissing Cassie quickly.
Dana gets off the bed and wanders over to the bathroom, knocking gently. “I’m okay,” you say, but your voice trembles and the older woman knows you well enough now to know you’re lying.
“Sweetheart, please come out. We should talk.”
“I’m just being stupid,” you sniffle.
“We’ll be the judge of that,” Cassie says. “Come on, hon.”
Reluctantly, you get off the toilet and open the door, your hands hiding your naked body as best you can. “Don’t hide from me,” Dana says gently, taking your hand. “Come sit with us.”
You let her drag you to the bed, onto her lap, and she settles in next to Cassie with you in her arms. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you say.
“Of course it matters,” Cassie insists, taking your hand. “We care about your feelings.”
“My feelings are fucked,” you laugh tiredly. “I know this can’t be more than sex; I know that.”
“Why not?” Dana asks.
“You’re married. To each other,” you say. “And I’m just me.”
“You mean the most beautiful, kind, sweet girl we’ve ever met?” Cassie asks.
“You’re just saying that because you’re naked in my bed,” you say.
“No, we’re saying that because… we love you,” Dana says, looking at Cassie and then back at you. “We’re in love with you, kiddo.”
“You are?” you ask, breath hitching.
Dana presses a soft kiss to your cheek and nods. “Yeah, baby. Have been for a while, actually.”
“Last weekend kinda just solidified things for us,” Cassie says. “We’ve been trying to figure out how to navigate these feelings, hence why we’ve been distant the last few days.” She touches your face. “I promise it wasn’t anything you did.”
“And did you? Figure it out?” You ask, voice shaky as Dana strokes your arm and Cassie your cheek.
“We’d like you to be our girlfriend,” Dana smiles. “Would you like that?”
“How would that work?” you ask curiously.
“Just like this, except we also take you out on dates and tell our friends,” Cassie smiles. “Make sure everyone knows you’re ours.”
“Won’t people think that’s weird?” you worry.
“Who gives a fuck?” Dana asks. “We love you, sweet girl. Let us love you.”
You look between them, into their eyes, and you can see it; you can see them looking at you the same way they look at each other, and a lump forms in your throat as you struggle to find the words, tears pricking your eyes.
“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” Dana says, kissing your cheek.
“Get some sleep,” Cassie suggests.
The brunette woman shuffles closer, pulling a blanket over the three of you as you cry quietly in their arms, trying to figure out whether to proceed with your head or your heart.
“Maybe you should go,” you suggest. “I don’t think… I can’t think with you here.”
“Sweetheart,” Dana says gently, touching you, and you recoil, getting off her lap. You grab the blanket and cover yourself with it.
“Please,” you say. “Please leave.”
“Come on,” Cassie says to Dana, looking at you as she reaches for her wife. “Dana.”
“No,” Dana mumbles, looking the most broken you’ve ever seen her. You can see the hurt in her eyes, and you look away because you cannot process these feelings right now.
“Dana,” Cassie says more firmly. “We said our piece; now we should go.” Cassie pulls on her clothes and gathers Dana’s things, and you slip back into the bathroom wrapped in the blanket. They can see themselves out. At one point, you think you can hear Dana crying, and it breaks your heart, but you can’t think about anything while you’re naked and between them.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper into your hands, crying softly as they shuffle around your bedroom. And then you hear the front door slam, and suddenly the apartment feels much too quiet, and you’re not sure whether the quiet was what you really needed after all.
Tags: Slow Burn Romance, Friends to Loves, Fluff and Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Yearning, Lesbian OC, Bisexual Melissa
Summary:
You're the new first grade teacher at Abbott, having abandoned your previous dream job as a firefighter. You're actually settling really well in to teaching -- except the teacher from the classroom next to yours, Melissa Schemmenti, doesn't seem interested in being friendly with you at all.
Until one day, you manage to finally make conversation with her and you bond over your Italian heritage. Since then, you and Melissa start getting closer. Dinners at her place watching Real Housewives, getting invited to her big family Christmas dinner, sharing moments that make you question whether your feelings are really one-sided after all...
Because it's undeniable: you're falling for her. Hard. But do you really stand a chance?
Anon’s synopsis: You’re the quiet girl, known for dating the university’s popular quarterback, but youre secretly pulled toward his best friend: a strong, charismatic hockey player. She’s infamous for her hookups and late partying. Yet, lately, her attention has been entirely on you...(I had to crop half of the request cuz it’ll spoil the whole thing T_T )
Thank you so much for the request. <3 I hope you enjoy and this was what you expected from me. 💋💕🫂
Imagine 25: "I saw you stare from my peripheral, yeah...Find out how it feels to let go of everything, be free, when you're here with me"
❀✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ moonlight - kali uchis ❀✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊
(University AU - introverted!reader - filmstudent!reader - slight slow burn - insert female love interest - infidelity and selfishness - reader has a boyfriend - use of y/n like once - wlw - smut w/ plot - switch!reader - 2 part story - added background character - proof read once :'D - 11.9k words )
You crouch behind the lens, shaping out the scene without blinking. The loud click of the shutter cuts through the cold air, capturing motion frozen in time. Your fingers fidget over the camera controls, adjusting focus on the center of the rink.
The assignment was simple: photograph the women's hockey team for the university's website. A straight forward job. Your professor handed you the sports roster, a few notes from the marketing department, and a deadline.
You arrive early, checking your camera settings while the players lace their skates and adjust their pads. The ice weirdly smells faintly of antifreeze and detergent, the cold air stings the inside of your nose. You stay near the boards, letting the edge of the plexiglass be your view.
She stands out immediately. Not just because she's captain, but because of the way her presence commands the frozen water she stand on. Her voice carries, low and steady, as she gathers her teammates into position. She glides around, stick under her arm. She's scanning the team with an judgy stare, focus enough to catch the smallest mistake.
"Lets go. Line up for the shot," she firmly calls without being harsh. A couple of girls laugh, moving too slowly, and she skates over to them quickly. Her voice drops, low enough you can't hear the words, but the effect is instant; they straighten, correcting their formation, stop fidgeting.
Your camera lifts almost without your permission. Through the viewfinder, she's a perfect photo: the stiffness of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin, the concentration in her eyes when she continues to adjust her teammate's stance. Your lens takes her in frame by frame. Gloves hands brushing frost bits from her jersey, the faint smile when someone finally does what she wants. Her eyes sweep across the rink, scanning and calculating.
She makes eye contact. Her gaze finds yours...or the camera's. You're looking at each other from the viewfinder. You don't look away...not until you realize you're just pointing the camera at them without doing anything.
Until she glides right in front of you.
You quietly exhale. Clear your throat, "Hey. I'm here--"
She speaks over you, looks at you, expression unreadable at first. "You're here to make us look good, right?"
"Y-yeah," you say, voice steady despite the sudden tightness in your chest. "I'm here for the website pictures. Just need some shots for the sport sections."
Her unreadable expression softens, she introduces herself, lets you know she's the captain. Offering a hand that's calloused from the stick. You shake it, aware of the contrast between your cool skin and the heat coming from her palm.
You give her your name, purposely straight foward.
Her gaze lingers on you longer than necessary, then she gestures towards the rink. "Alright, Y/n. Let's give you something worth putting on the internet."
Your morning is spent with you staring through the viewfinder. The scrapes of blades and the harsh slap the sticks give the pucks. Between shots, your eyes keep finding her, sometimes from behind the camera, sometimes when you're cleaning the lens and think she isn't watching.
Every photograph you take, you're trying to capture not only her image but the way she controls the air around her. The way she's so completely herself in the middle of everything. You tell yourself it's about the job: 'capture the dynamic energy of the captain and her team.'
There's something about her that absorbs everything, pulls everything else into focus. When she laughs, it's sudden and real, shaking off whatever tension.
You capture too much, you see more than the captain, more than the sporty chick. You capture the way her shoulders relax when no one's watching, the way her fingers brush her hair in a nervous tic. Capturing moments you don't want to forget, camera keeps clicking.
By the time you pack up your gear, you see people exiting the rink for lunch. She approaches, helmet in hand, cheeks flushed form the col and hard work.
She asks to see the photos:
"You got a good eye." she says quietly. "Maybe we'll see you around."
You watch her walk away with two other members. You let go of the air you didn't know you were holding.
That night you lie awake, the rink's cold air replaced by the warmness of your small apartment. Your mind replays her every move, the way she took control of her teammates, the tilt of her head when she caught you watching.
You drift into sleep, but she doesn't leave your mind.
❀-
The field is already buzzing when you arrive, the late afternoon sun reflects across the grass. Your camera hangs from your neck, heavy with weight of the day's work, but you float when you walk.
You spot your friend, Olivia, waiting near the sidelines, lens training alongside the football players, jogging.
"Liv!" You wave at her.
"Hey," she smiles. "You ready?" Olivia nods toward the center of the field where the quarterback is warming up, tossing the ball back and forth with ease.
She texted you earlier that day if you could take her place for this shoot. She was in charge of capturing the football team. You agreed because you "needed some Vitamin D," and because you had nothing else to do.
You take your place behind the lens, searching for the perfect shot. The quarterback moves effortlessly. every motion precise, eye glance confident. His eyes catches yours, he smiles: warm--genuine.
Later, when practice breaks and the players scatter, he approaches, hands in his pockets, that easy charm in his stance.
"Hey, you're the photographer? Or is it the other person?" His tone was soothing.
You nod, "I'm just taking over for a bit, she'll be back," you brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
"Oh...” silence. Then: “I'm Christopher," he says, offering you a hand. You take it, you're well mannered.
"Your camera is pretty cool. I'm sure you're like really good with them."
You chuckle, a little meekly. "Thanks."
You two talk for a bit. About your major in Film and why you chose it. And his focus on football, how he wants to be a professional. He is gentle and a little bit like you: unsure, quiet.
You know he's more confident though.
Especially when he leans in slightly, "Maybe I could take you out sometime? Off the field. I mean, if you're not busy."
Your heart skips, surprised and excited. You manage to smile. "I'd like that."
❀-
Months slipped by since those first shoots at the rink and on the field. You've gotten used to your new little routine: morning classes, afternoons hidden behind your lens, and evenings spent with Chris and his friends.
You find yourself walking the line between two words.
One side, there's Christopher and his friends. A cute-lovely tight knight group who welcomed you with open arms.
Christopher, himself, perfect in his role of Quarterback. His laugh bouncing off the walls, the weight of his arm around your shoulder in the quad.
You know his friends well enough to say hi, share a joke, or pass the popcorn during game nights. Well enough that they nod at you in passing, throw teasing jabs about your quietness. At first you didn't like the label of, "The QB's shy girlfriend," but you got used it. Even if sometimes you almost become invisible among the loud convo and easy friendship of the football team. It's a strange place for someone like you, quiet and careful. Yet, you fit neatly into their loud, confident world.
They grown used to your quiet presence. Chris friends like you because you don't demand attention, because your smile is soft but real, and you never embarrass Chris. During parties, you hang in the back, sipping soda on the sides. A silent observer of the loud music and reckless atmosphere. Your world feels ordered, predictable, and safe.
But then there's her: the hockey captain you dreamt of for a few days. Your boyfriend's best friend.
Everyone knows her. She's a genius in her sport. A force of nature who commands her team with a quick look and effort. Everyone respects her; professors greet her when she walks around campus or into class, teammates obey, and academic advisors praise her discipline. She's straight A student, an athelte through and through.
That's why the contradiction of her fascinates you. The other side of, the one the campus whispers about. Wild parties, casual hookups, stories that end up on the university's confession page. She's always been reckless, fearless, untamed...queen of the night you might say. Parties that go on forever, girls trailing after her like puppies. She is chasing excitement and someone is chasing her.
You find it impossible to make sense of those two images.
You watch from afar sometimes, catching her at the front of those parties, center of every curious girl's attention. Laughing loud, drink in hand, hair loose, eyes sparkling with fire...untouchable. The same fire you saw through the viewfinder during the rink photoshoot months ago, but somehow hotter, and chaotic.
You can't help but admire it. You wonder if maybe there's a part of you that craves a taste of that freedom. But you hide it quickly, because you know who you are. You like your silent evenings, your hand built world.
One night after your 2 P.M class, you find yourself sitting on the bus stop bench, gripping your bag, when you hear laughter across the parking lot. It's her walking in the distance with two girls, her arms thrown around their shoulders, her voice loud and alluring.
You catch her eye for a moment. She smirks, a flash of something ambiguous. Mixture of a challenge and secret mischief, maybe. You don't know, you look away quickly, heart thudding. Deep down you're starting to realize you WANT to know her better. Whatever is underneath the reputation. The beautiful mess no one gets to see.
❀-
The text from Chris appears on your phone late in the afternoon. Maybe around
7:15 P.M.
[ Christopher: Hey babe, can you do me a favor? ]
He asked a simple question. To pick her up from practice...
7:16 P.M.
[Christopher: I was hoping you could pick her up after. You're my two favorite people, gotta get you to get along, right?]
You stare at the message, your heart skipping just a bit. He doesn't say much more, but you can almost hear the hopeful tone behind the casual message.
You typed back quickly:
7:16 P.M.
[You: Sure, I can do that:)]
Later, as the night began to settle over campus, you find yourself standing out the rink, the cold poking you through your jacket. The building is mostly empty now. Faint echos skates scraping ice and muffle thuds of sticks against the boards.
Pushing open the heavy door, you step inside the chill washing over you. Your breath fogs in the air as you make your way down the bleachers to the edge of the rink. And there she is, alone.
Her figure glides smoothly across the ice, movements precise but effortless. The fluorescent lights overhead created long shadows, framing her in a spotlight of determination.
You twitched to grab the camera forgotten at your side (Not your professional-project-necessary camera, but the camcorder you carry like they're keys) You're still, mesmerized.
Her breath clouds the air in pattern puffs as she continues the same sequence over and over. Swifts turns, sharp stops, direct power. Her face is concentrate, like a mask, but you catch the smallest curve of a smile when she nails a difficult move.
You don't want to interrupt and break this moment. You watch her skate, the way her eyes narrow slightly when she is pushing harder. Subtle trembles of exhaustion in her hands.
She senses you eventually, her sharp gaze looking up.
Your body wants to react but you keep it still, letting her have this moment. When she finally stops, she slides to the boards. You approach quietly giving her a small smile.
"Hey," you says softly. "Practice almost over?"
She shrugs, her usual confidence softened by fatigue. "Just finishing up."
You nod, suddenly aware of how close you are, how the smell of ice and sweat dance in the cold air between you.
Chris had said you two should get along.
Maybe this is the start of the low sort of routine.
Every few nights, he'll text:
[ Christopher: Hey can you grab her after practice?]
...and you find yourself back at the rink, leaning on the boards while the rest of the team leaves.
The first few pickups were quiet and polite nods. The occasional "thanks" before she slung her gear into the backseat.
As the weeks went by it became easier now. The awkwardness has thinned, replaced by short conversations about her day, about your classes, about how her car broke down and been working to get it fixed, or about nothing in particular. She lingers by the boards and teases you for always wearing the same scarf.
Tonight, practice runs later than ever. You wait at your usual spot, sitting by the boards (sometimes leaning on the railing) watching her skate the whole rink. She's faster than usual, hair messy under her helmet, movements more rough and calculated.
You mentally captures things about her: she never leaves her stick propped up on the bench without cleaning it, the faint red marks along her chin from the helmet strap, the crease between her eyebrows when she's thinking. Her mouth flips in that lopsided half smile you started to familiarize with. She skates towards you and stops so abruptly that a spray of ice dusts your jacket.
"You ever been out here?" she asks, leaning on her stick.
"Out here as in...the ice?" You tilt your head, blinking.
"No," she says dryly. "I meant the moon," she mimics you and tilts her head as well. Her smirk deepens when you roll your eyes. "Yes, the ice. Ever skated before?"
"Not since I was like...ten." You glance down at your sneakers. "And I'm not dressed appropriately for it."
"Sighh...That's a shame," she lightly says, yet her eyes studying you in a way the makes your chest feel tight. "You look like you're scared to step further than the boards."
"Pfft, I'm not scared."
"Oh really?" she challenges.
You scoff about to backpedal, before you can, she reaches over the railing and hooks her gloved fingers gently around your wrist. "Cm'on. One step in won't kill you."
A cold shock of her palm through the glove seeps into your skin. You hesitate, glancing toward the empty stands like someone might be watching, but she's already pulling you forward.
The second your shoes touches the slippery surface, it slide a little and you grab her arm instinctively. She laughs, not mockingly, brightly and genuinely. And she steadies you with both hands on your waist.
"You're fine. Just...lean onto me."
"That's easy for you to say," you mutter, your hands find her shoulders anyway, fingers curling into the padded fabric of her jersey.
For a while, she just pulls you slowly across the rink, wanting you to get used to the glide. The sound of your sneakers squeaking lightly against the ice is ridiculous, but she doesn't seem to care. Her smirk gets softer into something warmer.
"You're better at this than you think," she says, spinning you gently so you're facing the far end of the rink. "See...not so bad." She starts to skate backward slowly, pulling you along by your hands. Your sneakers squeak and slip but somehow she keeps you upright, guiding you in a slow awkward half circle.
You're laughing despite yourself, the air cold in your ribs. "This is so dumb."
"This," she's still smirking, "is you proving me right."
You roll your eyes, but the feeling growing in your chest betrays you. You almost feel steady until your toe catches on an uneven part, suddenly you're weightless for a second before landing flat on your back with a thud.
Her laughter bursts through the quiet, echoing across the empty rink. She skates over and crouches down besides you, still grinning, cheeks red from the cold and amusement.
"You okay?" she asks, not even pretending to hide the chuckle.
"Fine," you mumble, faking annoyance and pride. She continues to laugh and you can't help but try to hold back your own.
"Good." She holds out her hand, warm even through the glove. "Because that was the funniest shit I've ever seen."
You take her hand, letting her pull you back up and she doesn't let go right away. For a single frame, you're just standing there, breathing in the coldness, close enough to see the details in her eyes.
And then she skates backwards again, tugging you for another round.
❀-
That night, she insists on buying you food.
"I'm starving," she says as you both step out the rink, still a little giddy from your clumsy-sneaker-skating adventure. "And if you drive me home on an empty stomach...I'll probably pass out before I can even thank you."
You laugh, your cheeks ache from smiling, your palms are still tingling where they'd rested on her and you're cozier than you have any right to be in a building this cold.
"You don't need to thank me."
"Too bad. You're getting fries out of this whether you want them or not."
Fifteen minutes later, you're parked outside a 24 hour burger place. The smell of fast food filling the smell space of your car. She passes you a bag, the wrapper hot against your cold fingers. Your radio plays low; something with an easy steady beat, and the overhead light catches the edges of her damp hair where it's transforming to it's natural state--slightly from the melted ice.
You eat with the windows cracked just enough for the night air to cool the car. She's relaxed in the passenger seat, hoodie pulled over her head, one leg bent up against the dashboard in a way you would normally scold anyone else for, but you let her.
"You're quieter when you're off the ice," you tell her between bites.
She tilts her head at you. "Quieter good or quieter bad?"
"Good...quieter good," you admit. "You're easier to...I dunno...talk to."
A slow smile spreads across her face. "So you're saying you like me better now than when I'm yelling at my teammates."
You shake your head with a laugh. "That is so not what I said."
She's still smiling when she leans back, chewing on a fry. "I'm having fun," she says finally, voice softer now. "Haven't done something like this in..a while."
You don't answer right away, because you're having fun too. Too much fun for what this is supposed to be: picking up your boyfriend's best friend after practice.
Sitting in your car eating fast food and laughing at nonsense isn't a crime, but in your chest, it feels like it might be.
Her phone buzzes against her thigh. She glanced down at the screen and roll her eyes slightly, answering with a boring: "Hey."
The voice on the other end is muffled, but you hear the playfully flirty tone.
She leans back further in her seat, the hoodie shadowing her face as she says, "Nah, I'm not doing anything. Yea....mhm, yeah I can meet you in a bit." Her eyes flick towards you for the briefest second, then look away.
Your fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel even though the car is in park. You force a small smile when she hangs up, slipping her phone in her pocket.
"Ready?" you ask, your voice more preppier than you feel.
"Yeah. Sorry...early morning tomorrow," she says, as if that's all the call was about.
The drive to her apartment is quiet except for the hum of the tires and the low music. When you pull up, she thanks you again, grabbing her bag and flashing you that same smirk that made the rink feel warm hours ago.
"See you," she says, shutting the door.
You watch her walk under the streetlight until she disappears into the building, the paper bag of leftover fries and your half eaten burger cool on the passanger seat.
You sit there for a moment long, feeling the guilt creep in. Not because you did anything wrong, but because you WANTED to.
❀-
The frat house is full of the familiar social energy. With the music humming low from the speakers in the corners, laughter from the kitchen where the drinks are spread, and the scent of beer and pizza hanging in the air. You stand near the back wall, clutching your cup a little too intensely, trying to keep your energy light as Chris chats with a few guys about an upcoming game.
Around you, the crowns spins, something feel different.
Maybe it's how you feel a little smaller here. Like you're watching a film, while shrinking. A sitcom of how all the friends feel out of reach, enjoying their convos and inside jokes.
She's here too, but not alone. Leaning against the wall, fingers tangled in the hair of a woman... a sexy woman wearing red lipstick. The two of them move together like they're the only ones in the room, close, whispers that flip into quiet laughter.
Your heart drops when you catch her hand slip lower, tracing a line up the woman's thigh. The woman's fingers curls around her wrist, pulling her even closer. The energy between them is electric, shameless, and public.
You watch, feeling a knot form in your stomach. It's not jealous really, more like a small ache that run just under the surface when you're in a room full of noise but feel totally-completely alone.
Chris notices your silence and nudges your side. "Hey, you alright?" he asks, only you can hear him.
You force a smile. "Yea...just tired, I guess."
He doesn't push it.
Your eyes keep drifting back to the pair: her and the woman, exposing their voyeurism, P.D.A (public display of affection). They're so open and alive. You wonder if it were you on the place of the woman, if you could be so certain or free.
You sip your drink, hoping to drown inside with ease.
❀-
About forty minutes later, your nerves soften turning into a gentle sensation. You're definitely more tipsy than usual, enough to feel a little loose, but still have control of yourself. You take steps upstairs, leaning your head against the wall feeling the music pulsate from downstairs. A pressure building low in your abdomen: You need to pee.
"Go piss girl," you joke to yourself out loud, getting a side eye from a stranger.
The hallway upstairs is quieter, illuminated only by the dull glow of a few lamps and the moonlight through the windows. You step carefully, trying to keep your balance as the warmth in your cheeks deepens.
After you finish, you move toward the sink to wash your hands, your reflection looking a little flushed in the dirty-foggy-mirror. You notice the door door across the bathroom, slightly cracked open.
"Curiosity killed the cat," is the saying.
And right now, you were walking closer, drying your hands on your jeans. Soft sounds coming inside.
You take a peek:
There she was, sitting on the bed. Fingers moving slowly and expertly between the woman's legs. The woman's head is thrown back, eyes closed, lips apart in soft moans; her hips lift, grinding against her thighs.
Her lips on the woman's neck, teeth grazing as her hand moves faster, stroking. Moans from the woman are desperate for more, pulling her closer.
Your skin tingles, your ears are burning as you watch. A live porno, right in front of you, the sound and movement amplified. You are frozen, but burning with desire.
You keep watching, capturing her, eyes closed in pleasure, but when her gaze snaps open and lands on you, the slow, wicked smile that takes over her lips sends shiver down your spine.
Caught.
You don't know what to do, your heart pounds, a flood of desire, jealousy, confusion hits you all at once. You swallow hard and stumble downstairs. Covering your ears since the sound of their intimacy still rings in.
❀-
The next time you pull to the rink to pick her up, there's no teasing your scarf, no light banter. No emotion in her voice. She slips into your car, eye focused straight ahead, lips pressed in a thin line.
You don't ask whats wrong. You don't want to push.
The drive back is silent except for the engine's low hum and the few awkward re light stops. You both sit with a careful distance, the air between you charged but unspoken.
Later that week, Chris's frat house is loud again, another party. This time you find yourself there, pressed close to him in the dim light, his hands on your waist.
But the excitement you expected isn't there.
You do like Chris. You really do. But tonight as you sit beside him in the aftermath, your mind drifts elsewhere. To the cold rink. To her smile. To the fire you saw in her eyes.
You don't say anything. You close your eyes and just try to bury the questions deep inside you.
❀-
You've started to notice something:
The way she hardly ever laughs with Chris and their friends anymore. The way she slips away from the group early. Eyes distance and a bit pissed.
Tonight, when you pull up to the rink after practice, she's waiting outside, tying her sneakers. Her usual confident posture toned down. You smile, trying to keep everything light.
"Hey," you fidget you car keys, "do you mind if we make a quick stop on campus? I need to pick up some photos."
Her brows arches just for a second:
"Yeah," she says after a pause, voice low. "Sounds good."
You both settle into the car, the air between you tense but easier than before. As you drive towards campus, you can feel her relax just a little.
The darkroom is quiet, dimly red, stinking of chemicals and paper. You reach for your envelope of prints, and she watches, curious but quiet.
You hold them carefully, feeling a bit exposed without your camcorder or professional camera between your fingers. Just the results of it.
You clear your throat, trying to break the uncomfortable silence. "Uh, this is where the magic happens."
She smiles, a slow, easy curve of the lips. "Looks like it."
You shuffle your feet, trying to think of something else to say. "I don't come here much. Usually just drop off film and pick up prints."
"So...You come here often?"
She snorts quietly, leaning against the counter; which you deeply want to tell her to not, but you stay silent.
"Not really. Only when I get out of practice early and my ride stops here."
You chuckle softly, glad she didn't laugh at your awkward attempt at humor.
"Yeah, the darkroom's kinda intimidating," you admit. "I-It's like a secret club for people who know how to mix chemicals for pictures."
Her smile curves into something genuine, eyes softer. "You're pretty cute when you're nervous."
Your cheeks heat up, but you keep going, encouraged. "I'm usually better with a camera in my hands than words."
She steps closer, the space between you shrinking in the red light. "Well, I like the sound of your voice. Even if your stumble a bit."
For the first time in weeks, the tension eases. You talk about simple things, her practice, your classes, favorite music, and for a little while, the complicated shit melts away.
She catches your eyes and smirks. "Maybe we should hang out more. Outside the rink...and darkrooms."
You swallow, nodding. "Y-yeah. I'd like that."
❀-
The days after the darkroom visit blur. You start seeing her more, sometimes at the campus cafe between classes, sometimes on empty benches where you share music and talk about everything and nothing. The world outside the rink feels less like a labyrinth when you're with her.
One afternoon, she texts you from practice:
6 P.M
[Her: come skate with me ]
You hesitate. Skating's never been your thing...especially the last time. Sneakers and ice do not mix well, and you'd probably fall flat on your face again.
She has a wide grin and bright eyes full with mischief. You just arrive and she's waiting by the boards...not in uniform, just casual clothes.
"Don't chicken out," she points a finger at you.
You laugh nervously, sitting next to her duffle bag, letting her help you strap on the skates. The cold bites at your cheeks as you wobble onto the ice.
You want your sneakers back.
She's patient, steadying you with gentle touches, teasing you when you stumble.
"Dude, you're not doing bad," she grins, skating around you effortlessly.
Those moments on the ice with laughter, your fingers brushing when she helps you balance. They feel like tiny acts of rebellion against the world you thought you knew.
The world with dull days that slips by, pulling at you.
You're still you. The quiet, easygoing girl who laughs at your boyfriend's jokes, who sits among his friends at parties, who smiles politely at the group chats and group texts where you're expected to play the part.
You notice how natural it all seems for the. Well, of course, the bond of years spent playing the same game is unspoken.
You try--laugh a little louder than usual, nod at conversations you barely follow and remind yourself to 'be fun, be easy, fit in.'
You aren't ignored or pushed out, no one is cruel or outright hostile. Yet, you're aware of the way you stand slightly apart. Like a character in a film, playing the role of the quarterback's girlfriend, a carefully written script you're now supposed to follow.
Some times, when Chris friends joke about "keeping her in line" or tease you about "being the good quiet girl," you smile feels too tight, your heart too heavy. You see the way they expect you to be: meek, shy, loyal, perfect, artsy....And you wonder who you're supposed to be when the night ends and you're alone.
With her...the captain of the women's hockey team: Everything feels different.
You're not pretending. There's not script, no expectations, no roles to play. Just moments stole between car rides, music shared, laughter with no caution.
What scares you the most is that:
...the world you live in is twice as big. One half you as 'Christopher's girl,' and the other, slowly, is beginning to see the real you...the one who skates on ice despite the lack of skill and fear, who listens, who dares to be messy and uncertain.
❀-
You step into her apartment, a small cozy space filled with mismatched furniture and smell of pine cleaner and something warm, maybe cinnamon from a candle burning low on the windowsill. The glow from the city lights filters through the curtains, creating shadows across the room.
She kicks off her shoes but the door, dropping her keys in a bowl on the table. The hum of a playlist murmurs in the background; Slow R&b, maybe. Slow, rhythmic and familiar.
You settle on the couch, your legs curling beneath you, the weight of the day beginning to lift. After a pause, you finally ask, voice gentle and curious:
"Hey...so I've been meaning to ask...why haven't you been hanging out with Christopher and the others lately?"
She looks up from the book in her lap, eyes steady but unreadable. For a moment, she doesn't answer. Then shrugs, voice casual but with hint of something deeper under, "I guess I'm just busy...And I need a break from them."
You nod slowly, sensing there's more she's not saying but not wanting to push. "Yeah?" you say softly.
She gives you a small, a little wry as if amused but the concern. "Nothing personal. Just...sometimes you have to step back to breathe."
You watch her for a moment, the way her shoulder tense ever so slightly, the look in her eyes. You want to ask more, to understand. Instead you reach out, brushing your fingers lightly over hers.
Her gaze drops to your lips and the image freezes. The room holds its breath. Then, without warning, she leans in: purposefully slow. Your heart thunders, caught between shock and desire.
Your lips meet hers, soft at first, testing the waters. The world narrows until there's nothing but the heat of her touch, the wildfire spreading through your body.
Pulling back you both blink, eyes wide.
"Oh no," you whisper, voice trembling. "What about Chris?"
She bites her lip, nodding. "Yeah....him."
But the, as if the question wasn't strong enough to hold you apart, her hand slides behind your neck, finger tangling in your hair.
Before you know it, you're kissing again. More deeper. More wild. Letting the tension and the moment drown out the worries, the guilt.
It's selfish.
It's reckless.
But right now, nothing else matters. Just the taste of her, the way her breathing hitches against yours, the desperation hidden in every touch.
For once, you give yourself permission to be selfish too.
❀-
It starts quietly, almost unknown at first.
On rare occasions when she's around everyone, a brush of her fingers lingers yours when she passes you a drink at Chris's place. The heat of her thigh pressing against yours on a too crowded couch. Her gaze lingering a breath too long across the table, the corner of her mouth lifting in the smallest, most troubling smile.
You tell yourself no one notices. You PRAY no one notices.
When she texts:
9:30 p.m.
[ her: come over ]
You go. Slipping into her apartment feels like stepping into another life. The one where you're not the QB's quiet girlfriend, where the rules don't apply, where she's the only thing you have to answer to. Where she looks at you like you're not a quiet character playing any role in a film.
In public, it's stolen glances, her eyes meeting your across a room full of people, saying more in a second than anyone else could in an hour.
In private, it's her lips on yours before the door has even closed. The way she kisses you like she's memorizing you, like each time could be the last.
Between the touches, the gasps, the whispers pressed against your warm skin, there's something else growing: a knowing. She learns the way you stir your tea without looking. You learn the way she taps her pen twice before making a decision. She tells you about the first time she stepped onto the ice as a kid, hands trembling. You tell her how sometimes you feel like you're playing someone's role, and prefer to capture, rather than BE captured.
She always listens.
And you realize that somewhere in the middle of the lust and the danger, you're also building something you don't have words for yet.
But whenever Chris arms slides around your shoulders in front of everyone, you feel her eyes on you and you know she's thinking the same thing you are: that this can't last, but you're not ready to stop what you've just started.
❀-
You've never driven this far out of the city with her before, and the windy road seems to whisper it's own secrecy. She's got one hand on the whee, the other tapping along to some playlist you've been passing back and forth for weeks. Her sunglasses pushing her hair back, that lazy smile tugging at her mouth every time she glances at you.
Before you left, you smooth your dress (the burgundy one you bought right after she asked you out). You pretend you didn't spend extra time trying to tie the ribbon perfectly on your hair. But when she caught sight of you at the curb, her quiet whistle made your cheeks warm instantly.
The air is crisp and sweet, like cold water, except it wasn't cold. Her hand takes your hand and walks with you. She spreads the blanket out on a sunny patch of grass overlooking the drop: a view that goes on for miles, all rolling hills and valleys.
"You're spoiled," she says, opening the picnic basket she packed herself. "Not everyone gets the deluxe treatment."
You laugh, pulling your camcorder from your tote. "Gotta get this on record. Future gens need to know about the legendary hockey captain who makes a decent sandwich."
She grins and leans towards the camera. Her face taking up the who frame, blocking the view with her face. "Tell the people I'm amazing."
"I'm not lying on film."
She gasps, fake offended, and tosses a grape at you. It misses rolling into the grass, and she shakes her head. "Waste of a good grape, especially in this economy."
You film little snippets: between bites of food, her pretending to fall off the blanket for dramatic effect, her grabbing the camera talking into it, shielding her eyes from the sun like an explorer spotting civilization. She grabs your camera at one point and turns it on you. You blush.
"The talented film maker, behind the scenes." She stands up, looking at you through thew viewfinder. "Dark red dress, mountain background," she narrates. "The most beautiful view here, hand down."
You duck your head, smiling into your lap, but you cant hide the way your heart beating too fast.
When the food's gone, you both lie back on the blanket, the sun warm on your faces, fingers brushing in the grass. She turns her head toward you, her voice soft.
"Thanks for coming with me."
You glance at her, her expression is almost shy. "You didn't really give me a choice."
"Yeah..." she says, a slow smile spreading. "But you said yes."
The camcorder sits between you, still recording the mountain breeze and the sounds of your quiet laughter.
After laughing and bantering for a while, you raise the camera and kneel on the blanket. Capturing her frame against the skyline. The wind tugging your and her hair.
You think to yourself, you've never seen her look so unguarded.
She shifts, lowering her sunglasses, gaze steady on you, "You always filming me," she says half teasing.
"It's for...memories," you murmur, pressing the shutter again.
Her smirk deepens. "Memories, huh?" She sits up, leaning toward you until her shadow falls across your lap. Her finger trail over the edge of the camera, then gently push it down. "Or maybe you're into something else."
"What?" you furrow your brows.
"Voyeurism." The word floats, thick and slow. "You film everything...and---" her stops to sharpen her smile,"--that one time, you peeked at me with that girl."
Your cheeks flare hot instantly, like she's just reached inside your brain and projected the memory into display. "I...that wasn't---."
"Wasn't what?" she interrupts, leaning in so her breath brushes your ear. "Wasn't you watching me? Watching her?"
The world flips a bit: sky too blue, the grass too her, she's too close.
"You liked it," say says, matter of fact. "You still think about it?"
You swallow your meekness turnt ten percent. You can't lie. "...S-some times."
her eyes narrow, darken, like you've given her permission without meaning to. She pushes the camera fully aside, her hand coming up to cup your jaw, tilting your face towards her. The first kiss is deep, un hurried. Something thicker, heavier, fed by the openness of the mountain...nothing compared to the frantic stolen moments in her apartment.
When she pulls back just enough to speak, her thumb brushes your lower lip. "Then watch me now."
You look around, completely isolated. Looking at the birds as if they have cameras: "O-out here?"
She grins, wicked: "Out here."
Her gaze lowers to your mouth. "You've been filming me all day," she murmurs, thumb brushing your lip. "Guess it's only fair I give you something worth watching."
Before you can ask, she shifts her weight, lowering you gently onto the blanket. The burgundy dress rides up your thighs, the fabric tickles against your skin. You glance towards your camcorder on the grass. It's aimed towards you, the tiny red light winking. You didn't turn it off.
Your pulse skips. "Wait it's still--"
"I know," she answers, smirk curving her lips. "Now be good and let me see you."
She kneels between your legs: running her hands up your calves, slow, like she's savoring the path. The drag of her fingertips over your skin sends shivers straight down. She pushes the dress higher, bunching it at your waist until your panties are the only thing between her and the wetness.
Her eyes lock with yours as she hooks her fingers into the waistband and pulls them down. The cool air hits your bare skin, and feel yours clench around nothing.
She settles on her stomach, her hands sliding up to separate apart your thighs. She blows over you, teasing: "Pretty," she whispers like it's a secret just for her.
The her is on you, one long, slow lick from your entrance to your clit. Your back arches instantly, she hums at your reaction, mouth already moving with purpose. Dragging over you in deliberately, patterned strokes.
The blanket rustles under you as your hips twitch. You scoot back a bit, your legs threaten to close, but she's firm one arm curling over your stomach to hold you still. "Stay," she says softly against your skin, the word vibrating through you.
Your fingers find her hair, clutching without thinking as her mouth works you, her tongue circling, pressing, flicking just enough to make your toes curl under you ruffle ankle socks. Every so often, she pulls back to watch you. lips coated with you, pupils blown wide.
Her eyes are lenses, you're in front of the camera now;
"You like when I look at you?" she asks, and you can only whimper in answer.
Her kisses your thigh and dives back in, her focus narrowing until the world is just wet warmness of her mouth and the mountain breeze against your flushed skin. She sucks your clit gently, then harder, just enough pressure to your thighs tremble.
The camera is still rolling. You can't stop thinking about it, about you seeing it later. That thought pushes you closer, faster.
She feels it, the way your muscles tense, and she doesn't stop. Her tongue moves faster, her arm pressing you down when your hips jerks. Your breath turns ragged, breaking into high desperate moans, until you shatter beneath her. The pleasure crashing through you and you can't stop.
She stays there through it all, licking you through the aftershocks until you're trembling and over sensitive, pushing weakly at her shoulder.
When she finally crawls up next to you, her lips shin and her smile is almost smug. She kisses you, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.
"Now that," she says, brushing your hair from your face, "...is worth filming."
❀-
You're behind the camera, adjusting focus for your short film project, trying to lose yourself in the world you're creating. The studio is dusty, sunlight filters through tall windows. The projectors fills the room with it's buzz.
Actors move into place, reciting lines with a big degree of conviction, and you stay focused on capturing every detail. From the hallway, voices enter, light, giggly, gossipy. You pause, lens half raised, and your eyes catch movement outside the frame.
Two girls from the drama department are chatting, waiting for their turn to audition. Their conversation is careless, loud enough to catch your attention.
"I swear, I'm gonna get with her no matter what it takes," one says, voice full of pride.
"Who?" the second girl asks.
"You know her! She's the hockey captain, I heard she's into girls."
The second girl giggles, biting her lip. "Oh yeah. But she's kinda selective though. Turned me down last week. Can you believe it?"
Your heart beats when you hear her name.
They don't notice you watching from the shadows, heavy camera forgotten in your hands.
"She's like, the hottest thing on campus...when it comes to girls," the first girl continues. "Last year, everyone seemed to get a piece. Everyone still wants a piece. But nah, she's holding out for someone better, I guess."
You tuck the camera under your arm and step back, letting the girls pass by, their laughter ringing sharp and careless.
Your chest tightens with something you can't name: protectiveness, jealously, fear? Because out here, away from the rink and the mountain.
Her world is a spotlight...same with Chris; and you are just trying to stay behind the scenes.
Later that night you sit on your desk. Your computer breathing gently, the camcorder sitting next to you. Tonight, you're determined to clear space, move footage onto your USB, keep things organized.
Clicking through files, thumbnails flicker past: candid shots of friends, a few practice pictures, anything really. Then one file catches your eyes, a timestamp from the mountain picnic a few days ago. All the thumbnails were similar from that day...but this video wasn't one minute long or a few seconds. You hesitate, heart already pounding.
You double click. The screen flickers to life.
The footage's not perfectly focused (which triggers your perfectionist side a bit), but the sound are unmistakable: your breath stuttering, the soft drag of fabric, the faint rustle of grass. You see yourself, hip shifting, the curve of your dress riding up and her hands moving over you, gentle but sure.
You feel shame. From neck up, heat floods.
Your phone buzzed a few minutes ago, a message from your boyfriend.
10:00 P.M.
[Christopher: Hey, just checking in. How's your night?]
Your fingers tremble. the world narrows to just that notification and you're shaking in guilt. Without thinking, you press pause, then tap the delete icon. The file disappears with a quick confirmation beep. You breathe out slowly, the room suddenly too silent, too still.
The memory lingers: a secret kept safe for now, but at what cost?
❀-
They days blur between your film project and Christopher's training schedule. When you're not behind the camera, you're usually in the editing room, headphones on, fingers stiff from cutting up clips. When he's not in class, he's on the field, running drills in the heat until his shirt is plastered to his back.
You try to keep in touch.
TRY
Quick texts between takes. A couple of voice messages before bed. The occasional lunch squeezed into both your calendars. It's not that either of you stopping caring, you just keep missing each other in the gaps.
Sometimes you watch the three dots of him typing, only for the message to disappear. Sometimes you do the same.
When you do talk, it's fine. Comfortable, but there's a subtle disconnection under everything.
The evening starts with a gentle hum of excitement beneath you skin as Chris pulls up to the fancy restaurant in a black car that gleams under the streetlights. The city feels different tonight: softer, wrapped in warm glows from the street lamps lining the sidewalk.
He steps out first, opening your door with a smile that reaches his eyes. "Ready?" he asks, voice low and easy.
You nod, smoothing your well tailored trousers, feeling a mix of nerves and something else, anticipation, maybe. The inside of the restaurant is even more beautiful than you expected: deep mahogany tables, candlelights casting shadows on the walls, the faint clink of cutlery and glasses, murmurs of other couples.
Christopher guides you to a table by the window, where the city lights extend out like a glittery blanket beneath you. The waiter arrives swiftly, and as menus are passed. You catch Chris's gaze, warm, attentive like you're the only person in the room.
Conversation flows easily at first, stories from his football season, your film project, the silly things that makes you laugh. You sip your wine carefully, feeling (guilty), lightheaded but good caught up in the moment.
After dinner, Chris suggests a walk. You stroll through quiet streets, hands brushing until he finally slides his fingers into yours.
Eventually, he takes you back to his place: the frat house. You get the familiar greeting as you step inside. The house is surprisingly quiet for a weekend. Nonethless, it was still a world away from the intimacy of the restaurant.
He pulls you aside, into an even quieter room. His hands find you waist, fingers tracing slow patterns on your skin. His eyes search yours, asking without words.
He starts to kiss you, and touch you softly. You kiss back but feel your stomach drop. Your eyes are open while his are closed. He pushed you down gently on the bed, getting on top of you.
Your heart races, but you pull back slightly, voice soft but firm. "Chris...I need to tell you something."
He nods, concern flashes across his face.
"I'm...I'm a virgin."
"I don't wanna rush anything. Especially not with you..." The words were fragile and heavy. "O-or anyone really..." you added quickly.
His expressions mix: surprise, maybe a little hesitation, but the softens returns.
"That's okay," he says quietly. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
You breathe out, relief washing over you.
He leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle, like he's thanking you for trusting him.
And you feel sick to your stomach. Not because you were lying, no you truly are a virgin...But because you didn't want to have sex with him.
❀-
Coffee is being sold by the vendor across the street. The park smells of wet leaves. You adjust the camcorder strap on your shoulder, the tripod digging into your other stand. Your classmates: Kevin and Maia are already fussing over their notes. They hover near the actors discussing angles in loud, confident voices. They're not unkind, but they speak over you without realizing, their words moving fast enough to leave no space for yours.
"I think if we start with the wide shot here..." you start. Your voice careful, but Maia is already mid sentence, pointing toward the far bench.
You go quiet again, the suggestion just drifting in the air. You've been on sets like this before, where you're not exactly unwanted, just overlooked.
She's leaning against a lamppost a few feet away, sunglasses hiding her eyes, hands in her varsity jackets pockets. Watching. You'd invited her to see the scene come together, one hand is because of pride, the other is wanting her near you.
Kevin laughs at something Maia says, then waves at you to start recording. You obey, slipping behind the lens, framing the shot just right despite them not listening.
You focus on the viewfinder, doing your job, keeping your voice even when you ask the actors to shift a little to the left.
You're halfway through another take when Kevin starts giving the actor advice you already explained earlier WORD FOR WORD, except now its HIS IDEA.
From the corner of your eye, you catch the smallest movement. She was now sitting on a bench...well she was until she stands and take sone step forward.
"I think she already suggested that," she says lightly, nodding towards you.
Kevin blinks, then looks at you like he's only just remembered you're here. "Oh. Yeah. Right. Good call."
It's not much but it settles everything.
Later when the others are rearranging props, she leans in so only you can hear. "You've got a good eye," she murmurs. "You need to stand up for yourself." Her tone is the softest you've ever heard it. The kind of soft tone that makes your chest ache.
"I mean it's fine..." you shrug, eyes on your camera.
"No it's not," it didn't feel like scolding, her tone. was the same. "You're one with the best talent here. Don't let them forget that." You two still kept a safe distance that can be interpreted as friendship.
You nod, not sure you can do it, but when Maia starts rearranging the actors again, you find yourself stepping in (a little hesitate).
"Wait...the light's not right," you say, louder than you thought possible. "If we move them two steps to the left, we can actually still catch it."
They pause, exchange a glance and an agreeing shrug. They actually do it.
You look at her shyly and smile. She smiles back from the sidelines, small but it's all for you.
You film until the sky goes deep blue and your breath fogs in the air. The last scene plays, and you know...you KNOW, it's exactly how you pictured it; and wanted it this morning.
❀-
The bass hits you before you even step inside. It's the kind of beat that you can literally feel in your bones, vibrates up through the sole of your shoes. Neon lights flicker across the dancer in flashes of pink and bright blue.
You're walking between Chris and her, the heat of too many bodies pressed close already makes you overwhelmed. Christ has one arm loosely around your waist as you all squeeze through to the V.I.P section the guys managed to sang. A semi circle booth hidden away just enough to breathe properly.
Chris stays comfortably around your you as your group talks a bit. She slides into the seat across from you, dark wide jeans ripped at the knees, a fitted black shirt clinging to her braless frame. Her hair's a little messy, damp at the ends like she'd just showered after practice and pulled up here.
She looks unfairly good.
The whole crew is here. Drinks clinks against the table, laughter shouts over the music, and with in minutes, people are scattering towards the dance floor or. the bar.
Everyone notice it right away: the absence..difference.
Normally, she disappears in places like this. The life of the night. She's the one who was the main character of the stories you've heard about. Dancing with strangers, kissing girls under flashing strobe lights, vanishing for twenty minutes to return with lipstick smudged and a smug grin.
But tonight? She stays in the booth, one arm draped casually over the back of the seat, eyes scanning the crowd but not lingering on anyone. There's no calculated seduction in her posture, no hungry searching for a hookup.
One of their friends, Quinn leans across the table towards her, grinning. "Not gonna pick out your victim for the night?" she teases over the thumping music.
She smirks, lifting her glass for a sip. "Not feeling it," she says simply.
Less than 15 minutes later when Chris and another male friend return with more drinks, they slide in and their eyes are wide.
"Yo, you're actually just sitting?" Mason (the friend distributing the drinks) calls over the music laughing. "Did hell freeze or something?"
She rolls her eyes, shrugging. "Guess, I'm sustaining myself."
"Sustaining yourself?" another chimes in, mock shock in his face. "Since when do you not leave the club with someone?"
They all exchange looks of surprise and curiosity. Then laughter around the table, but she just sips away. Her eyes flicking to yours for the briefest moment. You feel it like electricity on your fingertips, a spark that has nothing to do with the alcohol.
Chris doesn't seem to notice the exchange, leaning in to ask if you want a drink. You nod, giving him your order. Your gaze, on the other hand, strays back to her.
They all eventually let it drop.
As the night wears on, people dance, drink disappear, and the booth empties and fills and empties. She gets up to go to the bar only at first. You get up a few times, once because one of their girl friends dragged you on the dance floor; another time you got up yourself to stretch your legs.
She never moves toward the dance floor with anyone who isn't in your group. When someone: a tall girl in a sparkling top leans over to ask if she wants to dance, she smiles politely but shakes her head.
You catch the way Mason's eyebrow rise, curiosity all over his face... "Damn, you're for real on a dry streak, eh?" Mason nudges your shoulder, it was only you three on the booth.
"Maybe I'm just not into random girls tonight," she so smooth, not breaking eye contact with you. Your cheeks heat and you're grateful for the cover of the dim lights.
You stand up a couple of minutes later. To the restroom, that is warmer than it should be, thick with the smell of vanilla body spray and hookah. The music from the club outside is muffled, just a dull, persistent beat under the chatter of women fixing themselves and hyping each other up.
You look look the women in the mirror, adjusting their dresses. You're not used to wearing something like this, like the woman: short, dark, revealing, clings in ways you're still not sure you can pull off. Deep neckline showing just enough skin to make you hyperaware of every glance in your direction.
But you have to admit to yourself, you looked good. You check yourself out through the mirror.
You look right besides you. She was there, you kew it. She close enough that her arm brushes your, catch the faint smell of her cologne beneath the smell of the restroom.
She's checking you out through the mirror.
You knew, she knew, you looked good, since the tie you first entered the club and her gaze dropped, smiling like she wanted to say something.
Her hand ghosts against the small of your back like she's guiding you. Then she tilts her head toward the far end, "C'mon."
You don't think, just follow. The stall door clicks shut behind you, and the air feels instantly closer. The bass shakes the stall faintly. She's leaning back against the door eyes dropping briefly to curve of your dress before meeting yours again. The space between you is almost nonexistent.
"Well," she murmurs, glancing around, "at least it's not one of those horror movies bathrooms." Her smirk is lazy, teasing, but there's an undertone in her voice that makes your stomach twist.
You giggle and look around the stall. It was surprisingly cleaner than expected, no suspicious puddles or toilet paper stuck to the floor.
Before you can think of something clever to say, she leans in and kisses you. Lips are warm, tasting like the cocktail she had earlier, and then the kiss depends, her hand cupping the back of your neck.
You've kissed her before, of-fucking-course, but here in this tiny stall, with stranger just feet away, it feels hotter, heavier.
Without thinking, you press forward, your hands finding her hips. You let your hands slip lower, fingers brushing over the front of her jeans. You feel her gasp just slightly against your mouth as you put pressure.
You've been with girls before...kinda...a handful; yet you were still not as experienced... and none of those girls were like her. Your palm presses more firmly, rubbing slow over the denim. She groans, the sound vibrating against your lips.
"You tryna start somethin' here, princess?" she murmurs, her voice husky and quiet.
You explain yourself in stutters. "I dunno what ...I mean I do but....you know I'm not sure how...ugh."
She smiles and leans closer, her warm hands from your body down to the waistband of her jeans. With a slow, deliberate pull, she unbuttons and lowers them just enough to reveal the curve of her hip and the edge of her black underwear.
Her fingers find yours, guiding your hand down until your palm brushes over her underwear. "I'll teach you," you can feel the outline of her through the thin fabric.
"Here," she whispers, low and teasing. You trace the line, your other hand grazes the soft curve of her hip. She sighs softly, encouraging you, finger tighten around yours to lead the movement.
She takes your finger, feeling the subtle swell. She shifts slightly, pulling her underwear to her side, just enough to expose more skin.
"Now...keep the pace...y'know gentle," she instructs softly, "...use your fingers to find my clit." You blush, hesitate, but then move as she guides them, brushing and circling the sensitiveness with increasing confidence.
She's warm and wet, and your head is spinning. You glance towards the door of the stall, as if it's going to open wide and expose you both. You with your hands in her pants and her fingers around your wrist.
"Relax. Just...follow me." She is patient with you.
"Right here?" you question. Your fingers are being guided so your index and middle finger slide along her folds.
"Slow...don't rush," she whispers. You slide inside her, shallow at first, feeling the tight warmth around you.
Her hips shift forward. "Two finger...yeah, that's it baby. Keep them together..." her own finger press you closer, making you feel the slipperiness.
"Curl your fingers a little...mhm, right there." Her voice is barely a whisper, laced with encouragement and want.
Her fingers move with more certainty now, curling just as she guided. The wet warmth around you deepens, every slight motion sending shivers up your arm. She breathes out a low moan, her shivers vibrating against your wrist.
Her hips press harder against your hand, grinding slowly in time with your touch. You feel the slipperiness spread beneath your fingers, your nerves melting away under the weight of her want and trust. Her other hand slips around your neck, fingers weaving through your hair, pulling you closer in a gentle yet insistent grip.
The small space makes everything feel bigger: the soft moans she lets slip, your own uneven breathing. The risk of being caught, the closeness, the secrecy makes your pulse go faster, the adrenaline taking over your body.
You trace your fingers inside her, finding the spots that make her hips jerk and her breathing hitch. "You're doing so good," she murmurs.
She shifts, grinding harder now, guiding your hand with hers; both teaching and needing. You can hear your heart beating, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment and the softness of her skin beneath your touch.
"You feel good." You rest your forehead against hers.
"God, YOU feel so good," she whispers, voice breaking.
You lean in, your lips brushing hers in a slow, feral kiss. Tongues swirl, teeth nibble lightly, and you lose yourself in the softness of her mouth.
Her hands tighten around your wrists gently, pulling your fingers just a little deeper, and she shivers, a quiet, desperate sound escaping her lips.
She clenches around your fingers, a soft gasp breaking past her lips as her body jerks once, twice, then melts against you. Her thighs tremble, her nails digging lightly into your arm as she rides it out, pressing her forehead into your shoulder. You can feel her heartbeat pounding against your chest.
Slowly, her breathing evens out. She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and there’s that slow, almost cocky curve to her mouth. She takes your hand, guiding it gently away from her, and you watch as she pulls a tissue from the dispenser to wipe herself. Then with deliberate care, takes another to clean your fingers. She flushes the tissues away, smoothing down her top as if the past few minutes never happened.
You're still, eyes a bit widen, lips ajar, head spinning. She looks at you with an unreadable expression before she smirks softly and says, "Give it a minute, then come out." She slips out the stall, disappears.
When you finally push out of the bathroom and squeeze through the dance floor, the table comes into view.
Chris is there, leaning back in his seat, that big smile breaking across his face when he spots you. He pulls you into his side and presses a kiss to your lips. And you let him, your head STILL spinning from the bathroom.
But before you can even think, a shadow falls over the table. You look up and there she is.
Her
Hair a little messy, (your) lipstick smudge faintly at the corners, jeans unbuttoned like she barely bothered to fix them before walking back. Her gaze briefly focuses from you to Chris, slow and a bit bothered. She nonchalantly drops into a seat like nothing’s out of place. Like you two weren’t just in the bathroom stall touching each other.
Mason lets out a knowing laugh, shaking his head. “Knew you couldn’t help yourself,” he say. The others laugh in agreement, glancing at her with a mix of teasing and admiration.
She just smirks, leaning back in her chair, eyes locked on you in a way that makes your skin burn. The whole table might as well not exist.
❀-
No matter how busy things get, you can feel the change more and more.
Chris and her still hang out…kinda, it’s not the same. Their usual easy banter has become into awkward silences and clipped exchanges. Where they used to shove each other in the hallway and laugh about it, now they just exchange nods, like strangers with history.
It’s not about you (you know that much). There’s something else under the surface. Something they’re not saying. And it’s making everything more fragile.
You notice it most when you’re with her. She’s always been intense, but lately, there’s an edge to her attention: the way her gaze lingers too long, the way her hands fist when Chris joins the group and you’re still standing beside her. She doesn’t touch you in public, doesn’t give herself away, but she’s there. Always close enough that you can feel her body warmth.
Once, during a movie night at the frat house, you slide onto the couch next to Chris, and before you can even get comfortable, she’s settling into the other side of you. Her arm drapes casually along the back of the couch, her fingers brushing the top of your shoulder as she reaches for the popcorn. She’s looking at the T.V, but you know she’s watching Chris in her periphery.
Chris, for his part, seems… tired. Distracted. His laughs don’t come as easily anymore, and when his eyes go towards her, there’s no warmth there, just something unreadable, maybe even resentful.
The tension between them sits heavily THICK. And even though you try to pretend you’re not caught in the middle, you can feel it. Your arms being pulled in both directions, the way she watches you like she’s daring you to move closer, the way Chris hesitates like he’s already lost something.
One evening:
Chris is sprawled on your couch, his shoes off, tapping the heel of one socked foot against the cushion like he’s burning off energy. The late afternoon light slants through the blinds, making his face shadow gold stripes.
You’re sitting cross legged on the other end of the couch, your laptop open on your knees, pretending to focus on your editing software while he talks.
“I don’t get her sometimes,” he says, leaning his head back against the cushion. “We’ve known each other forever, right? And it’s always been like…” He waves a hand between you, like the gesture will find the word for him. “…like we’re siblings, in a messed-up, competitive way. We fight, we make up, we try to outdo each other. It’s… whatever. That’s just us.”
You hum in acknowledgment, eyes flicking toward him over the edge of your screen.
“But lately…” he sits forward, elbows on his knees, the movement sharp with frustration. “She’s different. I don’t know if she’s pissed at me, or just… pulling away. And I don’t know why. I feel like she’s just… shutting me out.”
You close the laptop a little, giving him more attention. “Maybe it’s not about you,” you suggest, careful with your tone. Inside guiltless fills.
Chris huffs. “It’s always about me and her. That’s the problem. We can’t just…” He breaks off, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You probably think we’re both idiots.”
You let out a soft laugh. “A little.”
That earns you a half-smile, but it doesn’t last long. He leans back again, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just… I don’t want to lose that. She’s like…”
He pauses, searching for the right word again. “She’s like my other half in a totally non-romantic, totally ‘I’d push her into a pool’ kind of way. And I don’t know what I did to make her act like this.”
You want to tell him that you’ve seen the way she looks at you. That whatever’s happening between them might not have anything to do with sibling rivalry and everything to do with the things you and she don’t talk about. But instead, you just nod, murmuring something vague about how maybe they just need time.
Chris sighs, sinking deeper into the couch, but you can feel his eyes on you for a moment before he finally looks away.
4 days later
You’re lying shoulder to shoulder on your bed, your phone propped up between you and her as some weird ass YouTube video plays: a guy attempting to do life hacks. The sound is tinny from the speaker, the glow of the screen bouncing off the ceiling.
She is half watching, half tracing absentminded shapes along the back of your hand with the pad of her thumb. Every now and then she laughs under her breath, not quite in sync with the video, like her mind is elsewhere.
A notification banner slides down from the top of your phone screen.
6:26 P.M.
[Christopher: You free tomorrow? Practice got cancelled.]
You feel her thumb still against your skin. She glances at the text without saying anything at first, but her jaw tenses.
You swipe the notification away, pressing play again on the video, but she’s not looking at the screen anymore.
“I hate that guy sometimes,” she says finally, the words low and flat.
You glance at her. “The YouTuber?”
She doesn’t answer.
“oh…..Chris…”
She doesn’t look at you, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “Yea. Is like… no matter what I do, I’m always second to him in someone’s eyes…in everyones!” She gives a short, humorless laugh.
“Hell, even my own parents liked him better when we were kids. He was the golden boy. Football, good grades, charm cranked up to eleven. Everyone loved…loveshim.”
You shift slightly so you’re facing her more, but you don’t interrupt.
“And I thought I didn’t care. Like, whatever! He can have his spotlight, I’ll do my thing. But it’s different with you.” She finally looks at you, eyes with emotion even in the dim light. “With you, it’s like… I can feel it. Everytime he’s around. Everytime he texts you. I’m… there, but I’m not first. Not the way I want to be.”
Your breath hitches. You’re not sure if she’s accusing you or just spilling something she’s been holding onto.
She notices the hesitation in your face and smirks faintly, though it doesn’t reach her eyes.”Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you. I just…” She shrugs, but her grip on your hand tightens. “I don’t like feeling like the understudy in my own damn life.”
The video on your phone continues in the background, a burst of laughter from the YouTuber, but neither of you are watching anymore.
Here’s Part Two
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A/N: I had to break it into two parts. Already written the full thing and once I was on my Google docs and realized how long it was. Whew! I just wanted to say this one THIS ONE took long. Had to be my longest. Started August 10th @ 5pm. Ended August 18 @ 10am. Important note: main character isn’t meant to be a good person, none of the characters really.
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Tags <3 also tysm for all the support & the reblogs.
Summary: When Olympic champion Alysa Liu finally gives Amber Glenn her twin sister’s number after months of begging, Amber expects a harmless fling — not to fall completely for the quieter Liu twin who wants nothing to do with the spotlight. But as secret visits and late-night calls turn into something real, Amber realizes getting the girl was easy. Keeping her heart safe is the hard part.
Start at the Beginning | About the comic | Tip-jar
Hello! Thank you for reading Holly & Macy up to this moment. This is the finale of Chapter 4. As such, the comic is going on hiatus. Please read below the cut for more info.
We made it! Chapter 4 has been the longest chapter yet, ending with almost double the number of pages of the average HAMAEE chapter. Overall, it took 3 ½ years to write and draw. I’d like to thank my trusty editors Maddie and Gray for their invaluable help and insight, as well as my lover Devon for their unwavering support. And of course, thank you to all my readers for staying along for the ride!
So, HAMAEE is once again taking a hiatus. This will give me much-needed time to relax, edit the script for Chapter 5, and replenish my buffer. Chapter 5 will be the final arc of the comic, so it’s very important to me that I crash this train smoothly into the station and give us a satisfying ending. There is no hard deadline for when the hiatus will end. As you may recall, the previous hiatus lasted about 11 months. We can expect it to last that long again. Holly & Macy will return in early 2027.
As always, I will be around to provide updates on my progress. The best places to find updates are my website and my patreon (which you can join for free).
The older I get, the fuller my life becomes, and my webcomic always comes with me. I love Holly & Macy dearly. I am so happy that you enjoy their story. There is one chapter left, and I promise to give it my all. Thank you for reading! Me and the girls will see you again soon.
