I am a little impressed with the authors who write fanfic about jack abbot, usually the summary has a considerably simple theme and then BOOM a story with 10k or 20k words (and I'm here for it)
normalize being dogshit amateur at your special interests and hyperfocuses. no more autistic savants. yes i am very into that topic no i am not good at it. we exist <3
pairing: vi x fem!reader
word count: 12.9k
summary: history might say that you and vi were only best friends, but the real story is much more complicated. (or: you and vi celebrating valentine's day
warning: friends to lovers arc, lots of sapphic yearning, brief mention of homophobia and bullying....but mostly cheesy domestic fluff and sappy lesbian monologues and lots of smut [oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), thigh riding, strap usage(r! receiving), needy+possessive! vi and slightly (?) dom! reader] (18+) !
a/n: happy (belated oops) valentine's day girls and gays <33 been working on this for a while and hoped to get it out like....actually in time for love day but such is life. ANYWAYS this is set in the same universe as this x-mas themed fic (and kinda a modern au of this one?? reader has the same nickname and there's a friends to lovers arc so....). hope y'all enjoy!!!!
♪: "glue song" by beabadoobee ft. clairo (sun); "home by now" by MUNA (moon); "love is a kaleidoscope" by chappell roan (rising)
also - header image was cropped from a gifset from @arcanegifs , pls check out their beautiful work !!!
track 1: “feeling you” by cat burns
(now)
"fuck, vi," you moan as her tongue splits your folds. "we don't have time for this...."
you have to get to studio and vi has to get to work, but the combination of the hot water hitting your skin and vi’s mouth on your cunt was something you did not want to give up just yet — even if you didn't want to admit it.
"baby," vi pouts, looking up at you innocently, as if she wasn't the one who decided to push you against the tile wall and get on her knees in front of you. "it was your idea to shower together this morning.”
"well, sorry for wanting to save water," you breathe, your grip tightening on her hair when she wraps her lips around your clit. "the planet is dying."
vi pulls away from you once more, lips shining with your slick. "well, excuse me for thinking you wanted to start today with a bit of romance. if all you care about is the environment...." she gets up and reaches behind you to turn off the water. "we better get going, pretty girl."
you whine at the sudden loss of warmth and clench your thighs together at the nickname, something that does not go unnoticed by vi. she licks her lips before leaning forward to kiss you, your back pushed against the cool tile once more and the taste of yourself faint on her tongue.
hearing your alarm go off reminds you that there are other responsibilities you each have to attend to. reluctantly, the two of you dry off and make your way to your shared bedroom. you put on a fuschia boyshort / bralette combo (your favorite set because, yes, it matches your girlfriend’s hair) before slipping on some dark jeans and a heart-printed turtleneck, and moving on to your makeup. in the meantime, vi had been in the kitchen making coffee, and reemerges now with two mismatched mugs. she sets one on the desk next to you, kisses the top of your head before getting herself ready for the day.
you swipe some eyeliner on your waterline, watching in the mirror as vi searches in the closet for something to wear, still only dressed in black briefs and a sports bra. you smile as you see the stars tattooed on her upper thigh, sparkling with every movement she makes. once she picks out an outfit, her eyes catch yours.
"what?" she asks with a lazy grin, slipping on a tight black henley.
you smile, adding some pink glitter to your eyelids.
it’s only been two weeks since you’ve moved into this new place. there are still plenty of unpacked boxes, and you still get a bit lost navigating around the neighbourhood, but otherwise, it’s been a dream.
you love seeing your clothes woven together in the same closet; you love waking up with her arm around your waist, doing laundry together, and coming home to vi having tried a new recipe for dinner. you love how you sometimes wear each other’s rings because you keep them all in a pile on the nightstand, how she falls asleep with her head in your lap during movie night, how her skin smells like the rose body wash you picked out together at lush.
you love this — this home you’re starting to build. you’ve known vi for so long, but your lives are intertwined now more than ever.
"nothing," you respond, finishing with a layer of vanilla lip gloss. "want me to do your eyeliner?”
it’s a familiar position: vi sits on the edge of the bed while you straddle her hips. she leans forward and presses a kiss to your sternum before you hold her chin between your thumb and pointer finger.
“so….tomorrow’s valentines day,” vi suddenly points out, though, really, you didn’t need the reminder.
you’d spent these past few years apart and this is your first valentine’s day since the break-up.
you both agreed — no pressure — but…..there’s definitely a bit of pressure. you’d been working on your gift for her for weeks, and you’re really hoping that she likes what you’ve planned.
“i thought it would be nice to get dinner tonight at bacchus. i called earlier this morning and got us a reservation for 7:30.”
you hum in appreciation.
vi might be taking a break from the band, but she’s still the violet lanes, the pink-haired rockstar of every lesbian’s dreams who’s written award-winning songs and sold out entire football stadiums. there are new perks of being her girlfriend this time around, like a nice apartment in new york and getting a day-of-reservation at the most expensive italian restaurant in the city.
“valentine’s day is tomorrow,” you repeat, a playful lilt to your words. you swipe your thumb near the corner of vi’s eye where you’d smudged an otherwise sharp wing of eyeliner. “someone’s eager to get a head start.”
with that, you snap the tube closed, press a kiss to the tattoo on vi’s cheek, and get up to gather your things for studio. you’re tucking your sketchbook into your messenger bag when you feel vi’s strong arms wrap around your middle.
“you always said i was impatient,” she teases. you can feel her smirk against the star-shaped birthmark behind your ear before pressing a gentle kiss to your skin and whispering: “can you blame me, stargirl? for wanting to get dressed all fancy and go somewhere nice and romantic with the prettiest girl in the world?”
“of course not.” you crane your neck back until your lips practically brush against hers as you speak. “except, you’re the prettiest in the world, baby.”
a beautiful blush spreads across vi’s freckled cheeks, the way it always has whenever you comment on vi’s beauty.
she clears her throat, still a bit flustered. “agree to disagree?”
you pretend to think about it for a second, nudging your nose against hers. “agree to disagree,” you reply, teasing her by continuing to hover above her lips, just a sliver of air between you.
yeah, vi’s impatient — but, sometimes, you love it. like, right now, when she turns you around to face her so she can close the gap, deepening the kiss by sliding her tongue into your mouth without any preamble.
vi groans as another alarm goes off from your phone. "i will never get used to how many alarms you set."
you giggle, and pull away slightly to swipe the cancel button. vi takes the opportunity to move your shirt slightly and leave bites on your exposed collarbone. you check the time on your phone.
you can spare a little more time. it is valentine’s day, after all.
(age 13)
“vi, your precious stargirl is on the phone for you!”
at the mention of your nickname, vi flinches, inadvertently failing to dodge a lethal attack. green goblin crashed his glider into her spiderman avatar, and the words GAME OVER fill the screen in an angry red font.
vi groans, throwing her playstation controller on the couch before heading to the kitchen.
powder is sitting on the counter, twirling the telephone cord around her finger and yapping away before vi takes her place.
“hey.” vi clears her throat, tries to sound casual. “what’s up?”
“so, my mom promised to make something for ekko’s valentine’s class party, but she just got called in for a shift….which means i’m stuck baking 30 rainbow confetti cupcakes, and hoping i don’t give any eight year olds food poisoning. you doing anything right now?”
“oh - i’m actually, uh, busy! i have homework, and….”
and she’s busy avoiding you, ever since she heard something about you — from drea, of all people — and wondered why you wouldn’t confide in her, your supposed best friend.
“please, vi,” you coax. vi’s heart beats a bit quicker as she pictures your bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “can you come over and help me bake? it feels like forever since we’ve actually hung out. i miss you.”
vi is certainly not god’s strongest soldier when it comes to you, so of course, she caves. rainbow confetti cake is her favorite, so that’s a bonus. she and powder throw on their coats and head next door to yours; powder and ekko keep each other company in the living room while vi joins you in the kitchen.
“hey,” she greets.
“there you are!” your face lights up with the sweetest smile, causing the butterflies in her stomach to flap up a storm.
gods — do you realize the effect you have on her?
there’s already flour dusting your cheek; vi has to resist the urge to brush it away with her thumb, wanting to feel how soft your skin must be.
she snaps out of it though, as you instruct her on what needs to be done, and the two of you work in a comfortable silence, the sounds of your siblings watching cartoons in the other room filling the space between you. at one point, probably realizing that vi isn’t in the mood for talking, you switch on the radio. vi catches you smiling at her as she hums along to freddie mercury, but you’re quick to blink away and get back to work.
you’re sifting confectioner’s sugar into room temperature butter for the icing while vi slides the first batch of cupcakes in the oven, starts prepping the second, her mind starting to wander.
you and vi are playing the leads for your final english project, where you have to reenact scenes from romeo and juliet. powder caught the two of you rehearsing last week, and spent the whole night singing that stupid playground chant. now vi can’t get it out of her head: you and her, sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G —
“the rumor’s not true, by the way,”
vi looks at you as she pours batter into another cupcake liner, which accidentally overflows onto the counter.
“shit,” she groans, but you slide over to the other side of the kitchen counter to bring her a towel.
you don’t elaborate on what you’ve just brought up as you wipe up the thick batter. vi figures you’re waiting for her to say something.
“what rumor?”
it was never vi’s instinct to play pretend with you, but frankly she had no idea what else to do without letting her emotions burst into flames and inevitably burn you.
“vi,” you sigh. “i know you’ve heard it. the whole school has. it’s not true, though. i wasn’t kissing james.”
oh. the spark of envy in her gut simmers down.
“did he ask you to the sweetheart dance?”
you shake your head, and the spark extinguishes completely. “even if he did….i wouldn’t want to go with him.”
“why’s that? not your type?”
you finish wiping the counter, and vi takes the now-sticky towel from you to rinse it out in the sink. as she does this, you get back to frosting duty, stirring in some pink food colouring.
“drea saw me kissing someone with dark brown hair,” you explain. “so isabel started told her that it was james, and that’s what she’s been telling everyone. but really….it was her.”
vi blinks at you. “her?”
“yeah, her,” you smile hesitantly.
“you were kissing isabel?”
isabel was the prettiest girl in eighth grade — though, according to vi, you’d have that ranking, and it would go way beyond the scope of your middle school. you’re the prettiest girl in the world; not that vi would ever have the courage to tell you that.
you nod. “you’re not, like, weirded out that i like kissing girls, are you?”
“what? no, of course not! especially since….i, uh, i like kissing girls too.”
in theory. vi likes to imagine kissing girls, especially when they look like korra from the legend of korra, or shego from kim possible, or hayley kiyoko in lemonade mouth.
or….you.
vi watches intently as you — a very pretty, very real girl — swipe your finger through the fluffy pink frosting and taste it, flashing her a sugary smile.
“good to know.”
(age 16)
when josie asked her out, vi had completely neglected the fact that dinner on friday would mean dinner on february 14th.
which is how vi finds herself getting ready for a date with someone she met during your short-lived attempt at starting an all female fight boxing club. josie is sweet and vi felt bad cancelling on her, so like the gentleman she is, vi promised to pick her up at 7:30pm. on friday, february 14th.
it’s 6:44pm, and vi is in your room. you helped her pick out an outfit — something nice but not too formal — and you’ve moved on to makeup, carefully applying her eyeliner.
vi tries not to stare at your lips — which are slightly red from the cinnamon hearts you’ve been eating — so she keeps squirming, and you keep gently guiding her chin towards you. her eyes wander to your decorated walls, filled with posters and photos and other things you’ve collected throughout the years. she’s featured in quite a few, and she catches a glimpse of an old valentine card she’d given you in elementary school.
“it’s weird that we won’t be spending valentine’s day together,” you comment as though reading her mind.
you’d never spend the holiday as anything other than friends, but it does still feel strange, not spending it with someone she knows for sure she loves.
(again — like a friend loves a friend.)
“yeah, definitely,” vi agrees. “do you have anything planned for tonight?”
“huge plans, actually.” you pop another cinnamon heart in your mouth. “i’ve got a super romantic date with the prettiest girl in the world.”
vi tilts her head in confusion — did you mention this to her? — which causes you to shake your head with a lighthearted laugh and guide her towards you once more.
“really? with who?”
you roll your eyes. “i’m kidding!”
“oh.”
“it’s cute how gullible you are,” you whistle. by now, you’re done with her eyes and move on to dusting her cheeks with some sort of shimmery powder. “i’m probably just gonna put on a rom-com and finish — well, start — writing my english essay on romantic literature. lowercase ‘r,’ because ms. chavez was feeling festive. i’m leaning more modernist, but that’s only because i want to write about virginia woolf.”
it’s inching towards when vi should leave, but vi doesn’t care what time it is — she’d listen to you talk forever if she could.
“what’s it about?”
you pull away to examine vi’s makeup one last time.
“the movie, or my essay?” you nod once in approval and give the compact you’re holding to vi so she can take a look. “you look beautiful, by the way.”
vi watches her reflection blush, almost enhanced by the makeup you put on her.
“thanks, stargirl.” vi clears her throat and decides to get back to your original conversation. “the movie and your essay, i guess.”
you offer vi a cinnamon heart, which she accepts, the candy burning sweet on her tongue. you then reach into your backpack, for the ring pop that vi had left in your locker this morning, just before you handed her a box of rainbow confetti cupcakes. you slip the candied jewellery onto your right ring finger before answering.
“i want to analyse the letters between virginia woolf and this other writer — vita sackville-west. they’re essentially love letters, but, you know.” you give an exaggerated shrug. “history says they were only best friends. at least, according to ms. chavez’s interpretations, along with most of the class.”
vi chuckles. “thankfully, you’re here to prove them all wrong.”
“exactly.” you nudge your shoulder against vi’s, the feeling of your body familiar next to hers. “and, for the movie, i’m thinking when harry met sally, which i remember watching with you for the first time.”
vi definitely remembers watching that with you, too. the whole question of whether or not men and women can be friends without romance getting in the way brought up another, much more relevant question in vi’s mind: can two sapphic women be friends without any complicated feelings?
it’s definitely possible.
“so….you excited for this date?”
vi shrugs. “yeah.”
“wow. i totally believe that,” you say, words dripping with sarcasm.
“it’s just….it’s valentine’s day,” vi whispers. she starts fiddling with one of her rings — you’d gotten it for her last valentine’s day, a silver thumb ring with a star in the middle. “what if she wants to kiss me tonight?”
“well, you kiss her back, if that’s what you want.”
“that’s what i want,” she responds, way too quickly to be true. “it’s just — i’m not sure i’ll be any good.”
“you’ll be fine,” you assure.
“but — i mean, i’ve never…..”
“oh.” your eyes widen and your lips part in shock, the blue-raspberry of the ring pop turning them from red to purple that’s intoxicatingly close to violet. “oh.”
“what! it’s not, like the end of the world.”
“of course not! it’s just — you’ve gone out with a bunch of girls, so i just figured….”
vi shakes her head, her cheeks heating up. “guess i never found the right one. i know it’s cliche, but i kinda wanted my first kiss to be —”
“special?” you guess, and vi nods.
“and now, there’s all this pressure, i’m worried that i won’t be good.”
you clear your throat. “right. well, if it helps relieve the pressure….i could show you….how.”
“show me?”
“well — i mean, like teach you, i guess. plus, then i can let you know whether you’re, like, a good kisser or not.”
that’s how you find yourself practically in vi’s lap, slotting your lips between hers. it started off with a quick peck, but clearly, you’ve both decided that this lesson requires a bit more.
every single one of vi’s senses is heightened: the stickiness of your glossed lips, the sugar on your tongue, the giggles rumbling through you and bouncing down vi’s throat. time seems to slow down — no, freeze entirely — which is a stark contrast to the burning in her lungs.
needing air, vi pulls away.
“h-how was that?” she breathes, her words warming your mouth.
“good.” you smile, almost shy. you’re so close together that vi can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage. “maybe….a bit gentler this time.”
“gentler?”
“slower,” you suggest.
so, you kiss again. gentler, this time.
“your lips are a bit chapped,” is your next note. you reach for the tube of lip gloss in your pocket. “can i?”
“go ahead, stargirl,” vi whispers. “you’re the expert.”
you paint a layer of sticky vanilla glitter onto vi’s lips.
“there,” you sit back after swiping your thumb underneath vi’s bottom lip.
vi blinks at you. her lips feel like they’re coated in honey. “how do i look?”
“really pretty,” you reply, with a small smile. you sigh, glancing at the scooby-doo alarm clock on your nightstand, the one you’ve had since you were six years old. “you better go. have a good time with josie, okay?”
“okay.” vi gets up and grabs her jacket, tugs on her shoes. “and, thanks again for, well, you know.”
you shrug. “that’s what best friends are for. happy valentine’s, vi.”
vi hesitates just as she’s about to climb out your window. “look, stargirl, i don’t have to – i mean, i’m perfectly happy canceling my, uh, date, and just hanging out with you.”
“you’re sweet, vi, but i’ll be fine. go — have fun.” you walk closer to her so you can slip your tube of lipgloss into vi’s button down shirt pocket. you pat her chest affectionately. “and remember to be gentle, yeah?”
later, when she’s making out with josie in the backseat of her dad’s car, vi tries not to think about your soft voice guiding her through the movements, or the dizzying taste of your lips — cinnamon hearts and sour candy and sweet, sweet vanilla.
history might say that you and vi are only best friends, but the real story is much more complicated.
___
[image: a cartoon scooby-doo, holding a bouquet of hearts. the message reads: BE MY VALENTINE!]
to: stargirl <3
from: vi
___
track 2: “you’re my best friend” by queen
(age 7)
“mom?”
“yeah, kiddo?”
“can you be in love with your best friend?”
her mom, felicia, smiles knowingly, the question hanging in the air until the end of song. it’s part of an old mixtape that felicia plays sometimes, mostly glam rock like queen and david bowie. she put it on this afternoon while her and vi get ready for the valentine’s class party tomorrow. vi scribbles names on cards while her mom fills clear heart-printed bags with candy. powder’s fallen asleep on her lap.
“definitely,” felicia finally answers, reaching over to tap vi’s nose playfully. “love, violet, can be a million different things. that’s the fun part.”
felicia pinches vi’s cheek affectionately. vi frowns, thinking about this whole love thing.
love is definitely not the next classmate whose name she’s writing — drea, who always cheats during sports and teases vi for being a tomboy. she’s tempted to just leave her out, but the policy of ms. julie’s second grade class is that everyone needs to get a valentine. so, that’s not love, either.
instead, vi thinks of her family — her mom, vander, powder, and even ekko; movie nights and lively dinners and warm hugs. she thinks of her friends — mylo and claggor; laughter and skinned knees and running so fast it feels like flying.
when she thinks of you, though, her heart beats differently.
vi thinks about how you always carry around a spiderman bandaid because she always scrapes herself during recess, and the nurse only carries plain, boring bandages. she thinks about how you ‘accidentally’ spill paint on drea’s art project after she calls vi mean names.
she thinks about how you doodle on her arms during math or braid her hair as you watch cartoons and eat sugary cereal on saturday mornings.
she thinks about the star-shaped birthmark behind your ear, the perpetual marker stains on your hands, the dimple on your cheek.
you’re her best friend, and your smile alone wakes up a million butterflies in her stomach.
vi’s mom suggested spiderman valentine’s cards, but vi wanted to pick out something that you’d like; vi knows that scooby-doo is your favorite show, so that’s what she went with. she adds a ring pop to your bag of candy, because she knows they’re your favorite candy. she adds a little heart by your nickname, too.
the next day, everyone is decorating their shoeboxes, transforming them into mailboxes before exchanging valentines. vi’s hands are sticky with glitter glue when you walk over — ms. julie said that you and vi distracted each other, so she assigned you to desks on opposite sides of the room.
“happy valentine’s day, vi,” you say, sliding a card into her mailbox and smiling ear to ear before moving on to the next person. vi eagerly reaches in for the valentine.
it’s spiderman-themed, and there’s a heart next to her name.
(now)
when you walk through the door, you’re engulfed in the scent of warm garlic bread and sweet, ripe tomatoes. the restaurant is bustling with waiters delivering colourful dishes, everyone wearing crisp suits and silk dresses. someone’s playing piano, soft music dancing throughout the room, and the overhead lights are dimmed, with each table illuminated by a candle in the centre.
the maître d' greets you with a welcoming smile and settles you into a table. once they’re gone, vi reaches across the table for your hand.
“you look beautiful, stargirl.”
vi’s skin is always warm, but the cool metal of her thumb ring sends a shiver through you as she brushes over your knuckles. the flame between you flickers, darkening vi’s powder blue eyes as she gazes at you lovingly.
“you let me borrow your clothes,” you point out. “i’m wearing one of your suits.”
“what can i say….” vi winks, releasing your hand so she can open the menu in front of her. “i have good taste. looks better on you, anyways.”
“were you always this much of a flirt?” you tease.
vi smirks. “like a fine wine, i just get better with age.”
“you are so corny,” you say with a slight laugh.
“well, some people do think my love songs are cheesy.”
“even the ones written about me?”
vi looks up from her menu, one eyebrow raised. “baby, they’re all about you.”
your cheeks heat up at vi’s confession, and you take a sip from your glass, ice water trickling down your throat, in hopes of steadying your heartbeat.
a waiter comes by; you each order pasta dishes and vi orders a bottle of wine for the table. the wine arrives quickly, but given how busy the restaurant is, you anticipate the food will take longer.
you fill the time easily, catching each other up on the details of your lives since this morning. you start by telling her how hectic your art studio has been as you prepare for your big spring exhibition, but how excited everyone is. you’re especially excited since you get to explore different mediums along the way; these past few weeks, you’ve been learning how to use a pottery wheel. you went through the final step of the process today — glazing — and you’re happy at the end product.
“i don’t think i’m gonna include it in my exhibit, though,” you conclude.
“well, it’d be nice to have some of your art on display all the time.” vi smiles. “you should bring whatever you made home.”
“that’s the idea,” you muse, a twinkle in your eyes as you take a sip of wine. “how was your day?”
vi started teaching guitar at the local community centre. some adults take lessons, but it’s mostly little kids with too much energy and too little patience. still, no matter how chaotic it can be, it’s clear that vi has been loving her job.
“i swear, this one girl, marceline, is a budding rockstar. i taught her a jimi hendrix song and she picked it up —” vi snaps her fingers, smiling proudly. “like that. such a talented kid.”
“you would know, pretty girl,” you praise.
your waiter arrives to bring plates full of pasta. you and vi thank them, your stomach grumbling at the delicious smell, a reminder that you had barely eaten all day. you’re so ready to dig into some quality fettuccine alfredo.
you and vi eat in a comfortable silence, until you hear an unfortunately familiar voice grate at your ears:
“oh my god, it is you! i saw you from the other side of the restaurant and just had to come over and say hi!”
you don’t need to glance to know who it is, but you do anyways, and so does vi. your stomach drops as you watch her bite back a scoff before turning back to her food.
“hi, drea,” vi clips before taking a big gulp of wine. she continues eating, barely sparing the woman another glance.
drea continues to hover. she’s wearing dark lipstick, her black hair cut into a classic bisexual bob, and her amber eyes silently pleading at you to break the ice.
“hey, drea,” you greet with a stiff smile, and drea relaxes her shoulders at your veil of friendliness.
“nice earrings,” she winks, reaching over to tap the dangling purple gem. “thought you might have gotten rid of them after we broke up.”
vi chokes on a sip of wine. “broke up?” vi coughs, reaches for her water glass. “since when did you two date?”
you open your mouth to respond, but drea beats you to it, clearly too focused on being the centre of attention.
“maybe like a year or so ago.” drea turns to you. “right, starlight?”
vi’s jaw clenches, and she drops her fork, metal clattering against the plate.
“starlight?”
“yeah, because of the star-shaped birthmark behind her —”
“i know,” vi snaps. her eyes are locked on you, and slightly glazed over. “you never told me you dated drea.”
“i-it was only 3 months,” you stutter.
“that hurts,” drea groans, clutching her heart. she always did have a flair for the dramatic. “it was 4 months, babe.”
“you dated for 4 months, and i’m just hearing about it now?” vi seethes, trying to keep her voice low. the tables around you have already taken note that something is happening, though, their conversations hushing down to an idle whisper. “did you somehow forget how much of an asshole she was in high school?”
“um, i’m right here?” drea chides, still not taking the hint that neither of you are interested in a happy reunion.
“we need a minute,” you and vi say simultaneously. drea rolls her eyes and mutters something you don’t care to hear; you’re too concerned with explaining yourself to vi, whose cheeks are burning with a deep shade of red. whether it’s jealousy, anger, or embarrassment, you’re not quite sure.
“vi, just let me —”
you reach out for her hand, but as soon as you make contact, vi pulls away abruptly.
“i…i need….to not be here right now,” vi mutters. the last thing she wants is to make headlines tomorrow morning — violet lanes, caught having argument with girlfriend at upscale restaurant during on valentine’s eve. flip to page 6 for the full story! — so, she gets up and slips on her jacket.
“please, baby, let’s talk about this —”
“order dessert, if you want. don’t rush home.”
her voice cracks at that last word before she storms out the door, leaving you with two unfinished meals and stomach heavy with regret.
___
[image: notebook opened to a page filled with chaotic, scribbled writing]
FOR STARGIRL (FINAL DRAFT!!! COME UP WITH TITLE LATER!??!!)
i’m stuck on you, baby
you taught me what love is
sugary sweet kisses,
frosting on your lips;
first tattoos,
promises on our skin
i’m stuck on you, baby
have been since we were kids
you’re not just the sun or the moon
you’re all my stars
know that i’ll love you
wherever we are
___
track 3: “true romantic” by indigo girls
(age 18)
the auditorium is decorated with red and pink streamers, heart garlands and bouquets of roses. a red spotlight shines on the stage, painting each performer with a pink hue. there are small tables and chairs arranged to make the space feel more like a parisian cafe, instead of where drama club rehearses for the spring musical.
you’re sitting at one of the tables, inhaling all the free coffee and pastries you possibly can and chatting with viktor and jayce, like you’ve done for the past three years at your highschool’s annual valentine’s day coffeehouse.
the first time vi performed, during your freshman year, she was all nerves, her fingers fumbling at chords and voice trembling through the lyrics of a joan jett song she had played for you perfectly that morning. when her eyes landed on yours in the crowd, you gave her a thumbs-up — you’d been just friends at the time, after all — and vi seemed to warm up, finishing to enthusiastic applause.
now, vi walks on with confidence right away, electric guitar the same pink as her hair, with a constellation of stars scribbled on its body with black sharpie. she’s grown out her hair, still keeping it shorter on one side to display her growing collection of piercings. the newest addition is a silver loop in her nostril, which glints underneath the spotlight as she leans closer to the mic. she’s wearing lowrise jeans and showcasing a sliver of her hips; you can’t help but think about what’s hidden just a bit lower, the stars sparkling along her upper thigh, etched into her skin at the same time you got violets blooming between your ribs.
“hey everyone. most of you know me as the captain of our hockey team —”
beside you, jayce whistles and there’s a scattering of applause for the team, who just made it to nationals. vi landed an athletic scholarship, too, to play at university of piltover. even though you have a hard time picturing your girlfriend as an enforcer, you’re so proud of her. plus, it’s only a twenty minute drive from zaun university, where you’ve decided to go so you could be close to your family.
“but, i’ve been writing songs, too,” vi continues. “i realized that i’ve gotten up here every year to sing someone else’s love song to a girl i’ve had a crush on since before i even knew what a crush was. but this is a song i’ve been writing, for and about her, for years. and now that we’re actually dating….well, i wanted to do something special for our first valentine’s day. ” vi looks at you with a toothy grin, and you blow her a kiss. “wait, actually, can we get a spotlight on my girlfriend? right there?”
vi gestures in your general direction, and suddenly you feel the heat of the spotlight and 50 pairs of eyes on you. your cheeks flush at the attention, but you play along and wave nonetheless.
“there she is,” vi gushes. “my beautiful stargirl. i wrote this song —”
“oh my god, we came here for music, not your sappy lesbian monologue!” drea, current goalie of zaun high’s hockey team and perpetual pain in vi’s ass, groans. “hurry up and play the song already!”
one of the teachers hushes the bubbling laughter, and it dies down just as quickly as it emerged.
vi rolls her eyes. “as i was saying, i wrote this song-slash-sappy-lesbian-monologue for you, stargirl. i hope you like it. happy valentine’s day.”
you don’t know what makes your heart soar more — the sweet lyrics falling from the lips of the girl you love, or the girl herself.
later, vi is falling asleep in the middle of chemistry class when she hears a light clink against the window. she glances outside and sees you waving at her, smile as bright as a shooting star. you have paint stains on your jeans that weren’t there earlier and you’re gesturing at her to follow you. vi just shrugs and nods her chin towards the front of the class.
your bottom lip juts out into a pout, and you curve your hands into a heart before disconnecting them. vi snorts at your antics.
“ms. lanes, are my slides on organic compounds amusing to you?”
“uh, no mr. michaels. of course not.” vi clears her throat, whips her head back towards the smartboard. “may i, uh, go to the bathroom?”
vi checks her phone as soon as she closes the door behind her.
stargirl
hurry UP!!!
dyke spiderman <3
easy romeo
i’m omw
where should i meet u???
stargirl
our spot
“wait!” you call as soon as vi reaches the bottom of the staircase and starts to turn the corner. “close your eyes!”
“how’d you know it was me?” vi laughs, but does as she’s told nonetheless.
“the axe body spray is a pretty dead giveaway,” you deadpan.
“hey, i stopped using that in middle school. can i look now?”
you ask her to wait one more time. vi feels you shift behind her, wrap your arms around her waist. on instinct, vi reaches a hand down and laces her fingers through yours, your skin slick and cold.
“okay,” you whisper, your breath hot against her ear. “open your eyes.”
and when she does, vi is glad that you’re holding her, because she’s suddenly weak in the knees at what’s gracing the wall before her: a small mural reminiscent of klimt’s famous painting, ‘the kiss’. except — it’s the two of you, surrounded by stars and violets.
“happy valentine’s day, vi.”
you untangle yourself from her, but vi doesn’t let go of your hand, even when she realizes it’s wet with fresh paint.
“you….you did this?”
“yeah.”
“wow….it’s amazing. beautiful.”
vi squeezes your hand, still in awe at how you beautifully swirled together each color, the loving expressions you managed to portray with each delicate stroke of your paintbrush.
“i’m glad you like it.”
“like it? i love….” she turns to you. “i love it. you didn’t have to do all this though, it must have taken you forever.”
“you’re worth it,” you muse. “like you said — it’s our first valentine’s day. as a couple at least. i wanted to do something special. i made us a playlist, too.”
so, even though it means she’s skipping chem and you’re skipping history, the two of you curl underneath the staircase, a pair of earbuds split between you.
“i’m gonna miss seeing you every day after we graduate.”
vi hums in agreement. she gently lifts your head from her shoulder, holding your chin between her thumb and pointer finger. “you know i’ll love you wherever we are, right?”
“i know, i heard you early on stage,” you swoon, settling back against her shoulder. “seemed a bit dramatic for only being, like, 20 minutes away from each other. though, i guess that is the farthest apart we’ve ever been.”
vi takes a deep breath, as your fingers dance along the doodles decorating her skin, the ones you had drawn on in sharpie during calculus. “except…. it might be further than that, depending on how things go.”
your pointer finger pauses halfway through an outline of a heart. “what do you mean?”
“i’m, uh….i don’t want to go to university of piltover. actually, i don’t want to go to college at all. i turned down the scholarship; made the official decision two weeks ago after the big game.”
“you did what?”
“i wanna move to l.a. or london, pursue this whole music thing. i think it could really take me places.”
“right,” you clip.“and why are you just bringing this up now? have you told vander? have you talked to anyone before making a huge, life-changing decision?”
you continue shaking your head in disbelief as you gather your backpack and turn the corner, emerging from underneath the staircase; vi follows you.
“no, but it’s my life — and i know what i want.”
“and it’s always about what you want, right?” you scoff.
“what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“it’s just — did you ever think about your family in all this? how powder might feel having her sister so far away just as she’s starting high school?”
“i’ve spent the past 13 years of my life worrying about powder, taking care of her especially after our mom died,” vi reasons, trying to keep her voice steady. “i need a break. my dreams are bigger than this town.”
“do you…” you trail off, hesitant to even speak the words aloud, but the coil in your gut tells you it’s unavoidable. “do you need a break from us?”
“stargirl.” vi whispers your nickname like a promise itching to be broken. “i thought you’d love having a rockstar girlfriend,” she teases, trying to lighten the mood.
“don’t,” you grumble, brows furrowed. “if you wanted to make things work between us, you would have at least talked to me about this.”
“i am talking to you,” vi counters. she grabs her hands in yours. you pull away.
“but, you spent these past two weeks listening to me imagine our future together, while you had already made other plans. what does that say about our actual future?”
before vi can respond, someone clears their throat from the top of the staircase. your principal, looking down on you with an expression that can only be described as disinterested, addressing you by your last names.
“pro tip,” she continues. “if you want to skip class and have a lover’s quarrel, make sure it’s not somewhere that carries sound directly to the office.”
you and vi get assigned detention that afternoon. you’re told to sit on opposite sides of the room, but that doesn’t stop vi from throwing a crumpled ball of paper your way.
glancing over at your girlfriend, you have to admit that you find yourself melting at those puppy dog eyes of hers, pleading and so full of love as she waits for you to respond to her message.
even though the future feels uncertain, you scribble something back, then toss the paper towards her desk discreetly. it lands on the floor. vi unfolds it and smiles as she reads the note, cheeks tinted a light rose.
___
[image: a crumpled ball of paper. unfold it, and it reads….]
(in hot pink gel pen)
I WANT TO MAKE THINGS WORK BETWEEN US
I LOVE YOU
(in black sharpie)
I LOVE YOU TOO
OF COURSE WE’LL MAKE IT WORK
I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A ROCK STAR GF, BTW
BUT ONLY IF SHE’S AS HOT AS YOU
___
track 4: “home by now” by MUNA
(age 21)
“wait, hold on — what does that sign say?”
violet lanes, will you be my valentine?
“i’m flattered,” vi chuckles. “but, sorry ladies — i’m a happily taken woman. i’ve got a pretty girl waiting for me in the crowd.”
“and, lemme just say, it’s a good thing we’ve all got separate hotel rooms this time,” caitlyn groans.
vi rolls her eyes. “anyways. this is a very special night because it’s the first time my girlfriend is watching us perform live! she’s over there, looking as beautiful as ever. everyone, say hi!”
the spotlight shines on you, and you giggle shyly. the necklace she’d given you this morning practically glows between your collarbones, illuminates your skin with a violet hue.
“isn’t she the cutest?” vi gushes. “the first time i performed this next song was to celebrate our first valentine’s day as a couple. and — fun little easter egg — when we released this as a single, the cover was a painting she had made for me on that same day. she’s just so talented, kicking ass at this fancy art program….she’s basically the frida kahlo to my joan jett…..and i’m just rambling, now, sorry guys. i could probably talk about my girl all day.”
“oh, and she does,” maddie grumbles.
“the fans love sappy-lesbian-monologues, don’t they?” the crowd roars, and vi flashes maddie a winning smirk. “so, yeah, i love my girlfriend every day, of course, but today it’s with roses and ring pops and those cheesy cards kids hand out to each other in elementary school. happy valentine’s day, stargirl. this one’s called — stuck on you.”
when the show’s over, and the band’s played not one, but two encores, you’re flinging your arms around vi’s neck before she even has the chance to put down her guitar. she’s all sweaty, white tank top sticking to her torso. her ears are still ringing and her throat a bit sore, but all vi cares about is the feelings of your soft lips kissing across her cheeks.
“you’re so fucking amazing,” you gush, pecking her lips delicately. “i mean, i’ve seen you play before, but never like this! vi, you’re….wow. electric, fucking radiant. you must be exhausted, though, ahh —”
vi kisses you, sweaty and breathless, until she’s practically sucked all the air from your lungs.
“not at all,” she replies with a cocky grin. “we’ve got all night and i’m not planning on getting any sleep.”
“ugh, gross. get a room,” caitlyn scoffs, playful but with a bit of an edge.
“oh, we will,” you reply coolly. maybe you’re a bit jealous with how seamlessly caitlyn fits into vi’s new life, how much she’s able to see your girlfriend much more than you’re able to. she hasn’t been particularly friendly since you’ve gotten here, and she’s been a bit too touchy with vi in the tabloids lately. “i’m guessing you don’t have any valentine’s plans?”
caitlyn narrows her eyes at you.
vi laughs, probably about to make a lighthearted comment to diffuse the tension between you and caitlyn, but she’s called aside by their manager for a quick chat before she gets the chance.
“i’ll be right back. cait, stargirl — play nice,” she advises, like you’re children fighting on the playground.
once she’s gone, caitlyn’s frown turns into a smirk.
“stargirl, huh? guess that explains her thigh tattoo. i didn’t think vi was that sentimental, though, so it must have been at your request.”
you straighten your back, trying to mirror caitlyn’s combative confidence. “i think i know her better than you.”
“maybe before, when you were kids growing up in that nothing town. things change, darling. people change — who they are and what they want. if i were you, i’d accept that sooner rather than later,” caitlyn snarks as she finally walks away, bumping your shoulder just as vi returns to the pair of you.
you don’t quite have the time to register the interaction, not with vi intertwining her fingers with yours and tugging you towards her body.
“let’s get out of here, yeah?” she brushes some hair behind your ear. “we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”
and, there was so much time to make up for — the days that have turned into weeks, turned into months, turned into years since you’d last seen each other in person, sometimes only speaking to each other once every month, for only two minutes at a time.
you’d gotten so used to being apart that being together feels like a dream.
vi’s warm body presses against yours, barely making it to the bed. you just couldn’t resist pushing her against the door of the hotel room as soon as you were inside, lodging your thigh between her legs.
“i, uh, i have a surprise for you,” vi breathes, groaning as you hum and start to suck bruises down her neck.
“yeah? what is it, pretty girl?”
blushing and slightly flustered at the nickname, vi removes her shirt and sits back on the bed, gesturing at you to follow her. you hover on top of her and take in her naked form.
“you…got your nipples pierced.”
vi grins.
“can i touch them?”
she nods enthusiastically. you brush your thumb over one and she shivers, causing you to pull away.
“no, it’s okay,” she assures, guiding your hand back towards her. “feels good.”
you start kissing her again. “you’re so fucking beautiful.” until you reach her chest. “can i?”
vi blinks up at you, eyes glazed over with honeyed want. “please. f-fuck,” vi moans when you latch your mouth to her nipple, rolling the cold, silver piercing along your tongue.
“you’re so sensitive,” you coo. you release her nipple with a pop, a string of saliva still connecting it to your wet lips. your fingers slip underneath vi’s underwear, gliding through her soft curls and down into her sticky heat. “so wet. you really missed me, yeah?”
“course i did, stargirl,” vi lets out a shaky laugh. “i want to show you just how much.”
you pout, and vi has the urge to capture that beautiful bottom lip of yours between her teeth. “but i wanted to show you how much i missed you.”
“well, like i said — we have all night.”
three orgasms later, and you’re nearing the point of exhaustion, but you’re determined to keep going, if anything because of how full you feel with vi’s fingers fucking into you at a truly impressive pace. the pads of her fingers are rougher than before, calluses from playing guitar so often, but she still knows exactly how to curl and curve them in every way that makes you unravel. her lips are shining with your cum, and you still taste her sweetness on your tongue.
she grinds her bare cunt against the soft skin of your thigh as she brings you closer and closer to your peak while desperately chasing hers.
“you close, pretty girl? gonna cum for me again?”
vi whines, nods eagerly. “i’m so fucking close. fuck — i don’t know what i’d do without you.”
you groan when vi starts sucking at your pulsepoint, running her tongue over the chain of your new necklace. you reach a hand up to tug at her hair, gently coaxing her to look at you.
“don’t worry about that,” you promise. vi takes a deep breath as though inhaling your words and buries her face in the crook of your neck, butterfly lashes fluttering closed and tickling the skin behind your ear. “you’re being so good for me, so messy.”
“s-sorry,” vi sniffles, blood rushing to her cheeks. her body stills while she moves to meet your gaze, her puppy dog eyes shining with desire and desperation.
you shake your head and dig your fingers into the plush of her hips, urging her to keep going.
“i love it,” you clarify, prompting vi’s face to brighten, her smile pure sunlight and sugar.
you run your thumb over the scar on her lip that stretches with such familiarity, before crashing your lips against hers. vi welcomes your slick tongue into her mouth, swirling around every crevice until your tastes combine into one. the knot in your abdomen tightens and you, somewhat reluctantly, pull away to admire your girlfriend.
“i love how gorgeous you look on top of me, fucking me while using my body to get yourself off,” you continue, words flowing from your mouth like thick, sickly-sweet nectar. “i want you to cum with me one more time, yeah?”
vi whimpers into the crook of your neck, the vibrations intensifying the waves of pleasure crashing throughout your body. it doesn’t take long for vi to feel you clench around her fingers, and for you to feel her gush against your skin, staining the bedspread beneath your entangled bodies.
vi pulls away her fingers — you whimper this time at the sudden emptiness — but she places the softest kiss on your lips as an apology before adjusting to lay down on her side. she nestles into the curve between your neck and shoulder. her teeth graze your pulsepoint as you run your hand through her damp hair.
you should probably take a shower — the two of you drenched in each other’s sweat and saliva and cum — but all you want to do is to melt against her. maybe if you stay in bed, then time will slow down.
“i wish you could stay longer.”
“me too,” you whisper, idly tracing your fingers down her body.
“you know, the art scene in this city is amazing,” she mumbles. “lot of galleries where you could show your work. nice, big apartments where you could have your own private studio space. you could move here after graduation.”
you laugh. “maybe in another life, where i could afford a place in new york. plus, at this point, i think it’d be best for me to move home after i graduate. but, hypothetically speaking — yeah, that would be cool.”
“well, hypothetically speaking, you would share rent with the pink-haired butch of your dreams.”
“you mean the one whose cum is drying on my thigh right now?”
“the very same,” vi nods with a cheeky grin. she throw her arm around your waist, pulling you in closer.
you nudge your nose against hers. “paint me a picture — what does this dream life with my dream girl look like?”
“well, we get a place in an artsy neighbourhood, obviously, surrounded by a strong, welcoming community of queer artists, who are all quirky and colorful in their own way.”
“we’d actually be friends with our neighbours — host dinner parties and have movie nights and dance all night at gay bars. our apartment would have an open-floor plan, and we’d have big windows that give us a ton of light and a great view.”
“a beautiful kitchen, too. one that’s a little outdated, but we prefer the term charming,” vi adds. “and there are always fresh flowers on the counter, in a gorgeous vase.”
“we thrifted most of our stuff, so the furniture is all mismatched furniture and in every color of the rainbow —”
“but it works.”
“it works,” you echo, heart glowing. “we adopt a dog, too.”
“and, the dog’s name?”
you think for a second. “scooby.”
“of course,” vi agrees, her smile suddenly sad. “sounds like a nice life we’d have together.”
“yeah. it does.”
you swallow down those dreams with a bitter dose of reality. you’ll be on a plane tomorrow, heading back to your childhood home, while vi continues travelling the world, performing to sold-out stadiums.
i don’t know what i’d do without you.
the sad truth is that vi does know what to do without you, and you know what to do without her. that’s what this relationship has become: together, in theory, but growing into your adult selves and towards lives that don’t necessarily include the other.
the vi beside you, hair a mess and eyeliner smudged, looks the same, give or take a few new tattoos and piercing. but, you wonder about all the little ways she’s changed that you might not ever have the chance to appreciate, about all the details of her day that you’ll never get to hear about.
you wonder if, possibly, caitlyn is right. you know that people change — who they are, what they want. you want to believe that you and vi are the exception, that no matter how much you changed, you’d always be together. always.
you then remember something else that caitlyn had said, and abruptly stop tracing designs onto vi’s skin, your eyes lingering on the stars on her upper thigh. vi must notice how you stiffen, because she cups your cheek, prompting you to meet her gaze.
“hey — are you okay?”
“i just — don’t take this the wrong way — but….has anything ever happened between you and cait?”
vi freezes. “why….why would you ask that?”
“o-oh, it’s just….she mentioned something about your star tattoo and, i, uh, i don’t know. seems like the type of thing she’d only know if the two of you had —”
vi shuffles away from you beneath the sheets and sits up. “you think i’d cheat on you?”
“you aren’t answering the question,” you notice, watching carefully as a nervous blush blooms across her freckled cheeks. “did anything happen between you and caitlyn?”
“why does it matter? why are you asking?”
“i’m starting to think i have a good reason to.” you get out of bed in a huff and slip on her oversized graphic tee, starting to pace back and forth.
“i — look, i was going to tell you, at some point — we, uh….well, nothing actually happened.”
“well? what didn’t actually happen?”
“baby, just let me explain —” vi catches your arm to stop you. “we were both drunk and high and sharing a cigarette by the pool and….she….we….almost kissed.”
you scoff. “so that’s what this weekend was all about — you felt guilty, so you put on this heart-eyed romantic act to make yourself feel better. everything — this last minute trip, the shoutout at your concert, the fucking necklace you got me — was all because you felt guilty.”
“maybe that’s part of it,” vi admits. “but, mostly, i wanted to see you. i miss you.”
you don’t confess to missing her, too. instead, you say:
“maybe we don’t know each other as well as we used to. maybe….things are changing a bit too much.”
“what does that even — where is this going?” vi drops your arm like its a hot coal, red-hot and blistering. “do you wanna break up?”
the tension hangs in the air, a cloud of smoke and darkness between you and the girl you’ve always loved.
“do you?”
you get on a plane the next morning, bone-tired and heart-heavy with deja vu.
you kiss each other goodbye, promise that you’ll make things work.
you don’t. can’t.
a few months later, you’ll break up.
___
[image: postcard reading GREETINGS FROM PARIS! messy handwriting and misspelled words on the other side]
stargirl,
i promised powder id send her a postcard from paris but im really really drunk rn and urs is the only address i can rememer
they say this is the city of love and it’s the most romantic day of the yer but it means nothing without u. i miss u.
that mesage was 4 u not powder. just tell her i say hi.
xxx
vi
p.s. i know were not together anymore, but i still love u.
___
track 5: “i’ve loved you for so long” by the aces
(now)
“vi?”
all the lights in the apartment are off, the only sign that vi is home being her discarded doc martens strewn by the door. there’s a chill in the air, too — the window to the fire escape is open, so you head outside.
the string lights twisted around the railing flicker like fallen stars, and the city sparkles in the late winter night. vi perches over the edge, her silk shirt unbuttoned at the top, her dark lipstick faded, and a cigarette smouldering between her ringed fingers.
“i stopped at magnolia’s on my way home – got us a slice of confetti cake for dessert,” you try, keeping your voice light in hopes of avoiding a fight. you hoped that the sweet treat would be a welcomed peace offering; that maybe you could sit down in your shared kitchen and actually talk through the conflict like the well-adjusted adults you’re trying to be.
instead, time collapses into itself; you’re both teenagers again, keeping secrets from each other in hopes to ease future pain, and you have a feeling you’re about to bicker like an old married couple, fall back into familiar patterns.
“sure you wouldn’t want to share it with drea, instead starlight?”
you don’t take the bait; you know vi wants to push your buttons, and you know that she knows exactly how.
“didn’t realize you still smoked,” you say, moving to lean against the railing next to her.
“whenever i get stressed.” she takes a drag to prove her point, exhaling smoke into the ink-black sky. “guess we don’t know each other as well as we used to.”
“vi, please,” you sigh. “can we actually talk about this without you lashing out like a wounded dog?”
and, it’s true — vi’s instinct when she’s upset has always been rushing to sink her teeth into something to protect herself from more harm, or gnawing on old wounds until fresh blood emerges.
“what’s there to talk about?” she snarls, tapping her cigarette, ash falling down into the abyss below you. “how you lied about dating drea?”
“i didn’t lie,” you huff. the winter night shivers down to your bones, but you cross your arms over your chest to keep yourself steady. “i just didn’t tell you that i’d gone out with her, specifically. we each admitted to seeing other people after our break-up. you never gave me a list of every fangirl you took to bed.”
“i told you about caitlyn —”
“the tabloids told me about caitlyn,” you counter.
“you knew how much i hated drea!” vi barks, finally whipping her head to look at you. “do you not remember how much of a homophobic asshole she was? how she told the entire hockey team that i cornered her in the showers one day and tried to kiss her?”
you bite down on the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste copper.
“vi, if you just let me explain — she meant nothing to me.”
vi laughs, cold and bitter as the winter air. “i mean, jesus christ, you still have and wear the earrings she got you. meanwhile, you never wear that necklace i’d gotten you. as soon as we broke up, you were perfectly happy getting rid of me.”
“please, vi —”
vi’s eyes shine under the starlight, and she clenches her jaw so tight that you’re worried the bone might shatter. “did you not care about me at all, even after all that time, everything we’d been through?”
you uncross your arms and reach out to her, but she flinches away.
“violet —”
“no — you stopped caring about me to the point that you dated someone who made my life a living hell.” vi takes a shaky breath, and she chokes out your name. “we were best friends first, and i thought….god, i thought that meant we’d always love each other.”
the words hang heavy in the air, your heart pierced by her icicle-sharp words. in a haste, you wipe away the cold tears burning on your skin, turn around on your heels, and storm back inside.
vi finds you a few minutes later in the living room. you’re using the swiss army knife you usually keep clipped to your belt to tear through unpacked boxes. though she’s not sure what you’re looking for, vi turns on the lamp to help your search.
“what are you —”
you finally pull something out and offer it to her without a single word.
vi’s fingers are still slightly frozen as she holds it, her eyes following the precise swirls and crisp lines, designs similar to the tattoos on her back. you must have drawn them on the worn cardboard.
“what is this?”
“open it,” is all you say before sitting cross-legged on the velvety purple couch, which the two of you had lugged up three flights of stairs from the street corner just the other day. you pick at one of the tears in the fabric as you wait.
vi stays standing while she carefully cracks open the lid, well aware that it could disintegrate in her hands like sand through an hourglass.
what looks like a forgotten, ready-to-be-recycled shoebox turns out to contain much more than old sneakers:
valentine’s cards she’d given you in elementary school; notes you passed to each other during class or detention; her first songwriting notebook she must have left at your place; a jolly rancher lollipop wrapper from the halloween party where you first…you know. little trinkets vi had given you throughout the years. receipts, movie tickets, photobooth strips of your younger selves. so carefree and full of love.
her anger, her hurt, melts away into sappy affection; knees turning to jello, she slides onto the couch next to you.
you watch through the corner of your eye as vi rustles through contents of the shoebox-turned-time capsule, teeth worrying at your bottom lip.
“you….you kept all of this?”
“i put this box together on the first valentine’s day after our break-up. i was going to set it on fire,” you timidly admit, rubbing the back of your neck.
vi snorts. “seriously?”
“some sort of stupid ritual i read about in autostraddle, to get rid of your ex. but when it got to that point…all of this — all these memories — i couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. i didn’t want to get rid of you.”
you reach into the box and pull out a faded, drunkenly-written postcard, chipped-polish nail fiddling with the french stamp in the corner.
“what about the necklace?” vi can’t help but ask. she runs her fingers through the delicate, dried violets from your corsage, which your mom had helped vi pick out a week before prom.
“ekko wanted new sneakers for his birthday, so i did the nobel big sister thing, and sold my most expensive piece of jewellery to pay for them,” you explain. you and vi had instinctively shuffled in closer together, the shoebox balanced on one leg from each of you, your knees touching. “plus — yeah, i was mad at you. god, i hated you — which probably was the reason i started going out with drea in the first place, and i’m really, really sorry that i did. but, i need you to know — i never stopped caring about you. i never stopped loving you, violet, and i don’t think i ever will. ”
silence stretches between you. vi stares at you in the warm living room light — how your eyes are darker, your lips parted, shoulders curling in to protect your bleeding heart. vi gently takes the postcard from you and places the shoebox on the floor.
“i never stopped loving you, either,” she promises, placing her now thawed hands on your cheeks. “and i don’t think i ever will.”
you smile softly as vi leans in closer, her eyes flickering between yours and your lips. you nod; vi presses her lips to yours, a tender vow that grows into something hungrier, something with teeth.
“gentler,” you tell her as you pull away slightly. you want to take your time, inhale the dizzying nicotine in her lungs, savor the acidic red wine on her tongue.
“gentler?” vi’s already eager, though, her hand inching up your thigh.
“slower, violet.”
vi shudders as you trail your fingers over the tattoo on her neck. “have i ever told you how much i love it when you say my name?”
“drea definitely wasn’t a fan of that habit,” you confess with a guilty grin. “one of the reasons we broke up is because, well...i kept accidentally saying your name during sex.”
“really?” vi chuckles darkly, a lightning bolt of possessiveness striking through her. “fucked you so good that i ruin you for other girls, hm?”
you roll your eyes, then suck in a breath when vi dips her fingers beneath your underwear, finding you wet and waiting.
“oh, sweetheart, you’re soaking. all this, just for me?”
“hm, i don’t know. drea did look pretty good in that dress,” you tease — because you know how to push vi’s buttons, too. “i have to admit, she was a pretty decent fuck.”
“don’t,” she warns, but her eyes are burning with desire.
you smirk, slipping your hand underneath her shirt. her skin is always warm, but, right now, it’s electric. her abs are sculpted by the gods, pave way to a thick haven of curls between her legs.
“maybe you need to remind me why your name always fell from my lips whenever she’d make me cum.”
vi’s cheeks are red-hot, her heart pounding against your chest as she pushes you onto the couch, and presses her body into yours.
“it would be my genuine pleasure.”
everything else to ash, and you’re left with this: your lace underwear dangling off your ankle as vi pushes your legs over her shoulders. her slick, skilled tongue sliding through your folds and her rough fingers squelching into your hole at an expert pace.
“f-fuck, vi,” you moan, running your fingers through her messy hair. you don’t miss how eagerly she grinds down onto the butter-soft velvet once you start tugging at the strands more firmly.
“feels good, yeah?” she moans like you’re the one fucking her. “i’m the one making you feel good?”
“yes.” you exhale sharply when she sucks on your clit. “i’m close, vi.”
“i know, baby,” she drawls, smirking against your skin.
“don’t stop.” you plead as she sucks a bruise into your thigh, fingers curling into you. “don’t stop, don’t stop —”
and, she fucking stops.
“vi,” you whine.
“uh-uh, you don’t get to cum quite yet, pretty girl.”
she sucks her honey-soaked fingers into her mouth as she gets up from the couch.
you pout, licking your lips even though you wish you could lick hers. “why not?”
“i’m still mad at you,” vi states. “you really did hurt my feelings. how do you plan on making it up to me?”
vi tries to resist, play the part of the jealous, possessive girlfriend — but, god, it’s hard, with how fucked out, how beautiful you look right now: your lips the color of ripe plums, swollen and stained with vi’s lipstick; the curls between your legs twinkling with droplets of your desire; and your eyes glazed over with lust as you gaze up at her from the couch.
“that new strap we got,” you suggest, still breathless. your breasts strain against the now-wrinkled silk of the shirt you’re wearing. vi’s thankful that it’s hers, because she wants nothing more than to rip the fabric off your body. “you — you can fuck me with it.”
“is that what you want?” vi hums, fire burning in her abdomen as she watches you nod eagerly. usually, you’re the one who takes control, and that’s perfectly fine with vi, but tonight….
tonight, she has something to prove.
you’re both naked by the time you reach the bedroom, clothes thrown across the apartment floor as you take turns leaving bites and bruises on exposed areas of the other’s skin. you get down on your knees, the shag carpet shocking your skin as vi looms over you, gnawing at her scarred, kiss-swollen lips. you help her adjust the harness and attach everything accordingly, leaving a kiss on each star glittering across her thigh once you’re done. she makes you wait patiently as she coats the dildo with a healthy amount of lube.
vi offers you her hand, sticky with lube and your essence from earlier, and lifts you to your feet. she kisses you sweetly before pushing you onto the bed.
"turn around," vi instructs. "on your knees."
you comply, already feeling yourself dripping onto the comforter in anticipation. vi kneels behind you on the bed, grasping the plush of your hips between her strong hands. you gasp when she spits onto your hole and starts to fuck into you, inch by inch.
"you okay, baby?" vi asks once she’s halfway inside you.
"yes," you breathe. "keep going.”
so, vi continues gliding further into your silken heat, and once she’s nestled inside you completely, her thighs meeting your ass — that’s when she turns on the vibrations. vi moans, so loud that you’re sure the entire building can hear. she starts grinding into you, but otherwise doesn’t move.
“violet.” you snap your neck back as far as you can, appreciating how perfectly dishevelled vi looks behind you, eyes rolled up to heaven, drool trickling from the corner of her plump lips. “are you gonna keep fucking me any time soon?”
“it’s just so much,” she whines, and continues rutting against you.
it is so much — the waves of pleasure quivering from her body to yours, the subtle burn of her happy trail rubbing against your skin, the melodic timbre of her voice — but it’s not enough.
“i know, baby. but i need more. if you don’t do something now….maybe there’s someone else i can call…”
your words effectively reignite that spark of jealousy, and she growls. vi slips out slightly, only to thrust back in, over and over, until you’re a moaning mess beneath her. your body starts to shake, but before you almost collapse onto your elbows, so vi reaches one hand to your neck and lifts you up so that her pierced nipples brushed against your back.
she kisses the back of your neck, trailing her hand down to pinch one of your nipples and you hiss, dizzy with pain and pleasure. she moves her other hand below the harness, rubbing her swollen clit in tight circles and gathering as much slick as she can. she brings those same fingers, glistening in the moonlight, to your lips, and you let her shove them into your mouth so you can finally taste her.
"this enough for you, greedy girl?" she taunts.
you are greedy, when it comes to her, suckling on her digits like a lollipop while she stretches you open so deliciously, the obscene squelching of your pussy accompanying a symphony of moans and curses.
"yes, violet. f-fuck, yes!"
you feel vi groan against the crook of your neck, where her teeth had been nibbling at the sweat-soaked skin.
“fuck — i need to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."
with that, vi flips you over, so she can watch you unravel. she hisses when your nails find purchase on her shoulders, digging down her tattooed back.
“you’re so fucking hot. so gorgeous. i’m so lucky that you’re mine.” vi’s voice is still rough and coarse with lust, but she’s looking at you all wonder-filled and soft-eyed, like you’re a work of art displayed at the louvre. “you….you are mine, right?”
the question is shockingly vulnerable from the woman who’s fucking you at a truly brutal speed, deep enough that you’re sure you’ll feel the lucious ache of her for days now.
you bring your hands to gently cradle her face as you wrap your legs around her hips. vi snakes one of her hands down to rub at your throbbing clit, while the other rests lovingly on your tattooed ribs, where delicate violets bloom.
“i’m yours,” you assure, and your heart glows when she beams above you. “you’re mine too, right?”
vi nods, damp strands of her hair tickling your forehead.
“i’m yours.”
there’s a mess pooling underneath your entangled bodies by the time you’re both finished.
for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, until vi breaks the silence:
“did you say that you brought home a slice of cake?”
the two of you throw on some clothes, throw the sheets in the wash, and vi pulls you into her lap as you share the slice of cake at the kitchen table, chattering about everything and nothing for however long, until vi glances at the oven clock.
“shit — it’s midnight already. guess time flies when you’re having fun.” vi wraps her arms around your middle, and kisses your shoulder. “happy valentine’s day, stargirl.”
“happy valentine’s day, vi,” you smile, weaving your fingers through hers. you crane your neck back so you can feed her a bite of cake. “you’re the sweetest.”
“this cake’s pretty sweet, too,” vi jokes. she peppers kisses across your face until you’re giggling, skin sticky with frosting.
“i’m glad you like it,” you laugh. “they do wedding cakes, too, but i think we should explore our options before settling on one for ours.”
vi’s lips pause just as she starts to kiss underneath your jaw.
“do you mean for our wedding?” she smirks. “is there something you wanna ask me, stargirl?”
“damn it —” you cough, almost choking on a mouthful of cake. “i - i had this whole thing planned - wait, let me —”
you disappear into the bedroom and reemerge with an intricately painted vase. you hand it to vi and sit in the chair next to her.
“this is what i made in my pottery seminar,” you explain. “it’s supposed to be like —”
“that mural you made of us senior year,” vi finishes, looking between the vase and you with stars in her eyes.
“exactly. except we won’t have to spend saturday detention painting over it.” you chuckle at the memory as vi shakes her head with a small smile dancing across her lips knowingly. “i was gonna promise to bring my beautiful wife fresh flowers for this vase every week and then i was gonna ask you to look inside….” you gesture at vi to do so, and she reaches in to pull out a velvet box. “and then i was gonna get down on one knee —”
“it’s okay — you’ve already done plenty of that tonight,” vi laughs, and you bump her shoulder playfully.
“and i was gonna tell you that i love you, that i have for basically my whole life, and that i want to spend the rest of it with you,” you finish, heart fluttering in your chest.
“i can’t believe you were going to propose to me.” vi places the vase on the kitchen counter behind her, smiling at you softly.
“is that a yes or….?”
instead of answering, vi walks over to the couch, reaches behind and pulls up a heart-printed gift bag, and hands it to you. she watches intently as you pull out a turquoise-blue collar.
“damn, i did not know you were this kinky.” you raise an eyebrow at vi. “so, is this a yes to my proposal or….just something you just wanna try in the bedroom?”
“w-what? no!” vi stutters, her cheeks blooming pink. “i mean, yes! well – okay, i also had this plan for valentine’s day.” it’s very endearing, how vi’s scrambling to find the right words. your punk rock girlfriend, flustered and lovesick for you. “okay — there’s a dog at the shelter i thought we could adopt. i brought home the paperwork for us to fill out, if that’s what you want — it’s all in there. there’s a picture of him, too.”
you reach in the bag again and find a printed photo of an adorable brown lab with the warmest eyes.
“he’s adorable,” you squeal. “does he have a name?”
“scooby, of course.” vi grins. “so, do you wanna adopt a dog together?”
“i do.”
“i love the sound of that,” vi hums. “there’s one more thing in there for you….”
it’s a ring pop — and you’re not sure if it’s the sugar rush, or the woman getting down on one knee and asking you, so tenderly, so sweetly, to marry her, but your heart is absolutely soaring.
“we might have to tell our kids a more pg version of the night we got engaged,” vi whispers later, when you’re back cuddling in bed under fresh sheets.
“kids?” you twist around in vi’s arms to find her grinning at you. “is there something you want to ask me?”
“is scooby not our first child?” vi guffaws and you poke her ribs at her cheekiness.
“true.”
“besides, you know what they say, stargirl,” she practically sings. “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes —”
you cut her off with a sugary, confetti-flavored kiss, your smiles melting into one.
❛ i’ve been in love with her for ages, and i can’t seem to get it right. ❜
spencer reid x reader.
summary: you’ve always assumed spencer reid’s love language was acts of service. flowers left at your desk. notes written only to you. every tuesday, he gave you your favorite bagel from downtown. you knew he was like this with the rest of the team, too. you didn’t sweat it. you were focused on your job, and your job only. but when multiple instances occur over the course of a case, it’s hard to ignore both of your feelings for each other.
tags: grumpy fem!character x sunshine!spencer reid, friends to lovers, everyone knows but them, the bau literally bets when they’ll get together, no use of y/n, afab character, found family if you squint hard enough, spencer’s obsessed with her but won’t admit it to the public (the public is morgan), based on me & you together song by the 1975 btw, i wrote this while eating a doritos loco taco
word count: 2k
notes: i asked my best friends to give me a character and a trope. happy first post!
When you first landed the job as an agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, you first told yourself not to get too attached. This was a job, after all. A career. A high risk one, that could end in fatalities and wounds that might never heal, cuts that will always bleed for the rest of eternity. Once you made it clear to yourself that you were to be civil with your coworkers —close enough to be friendly, but not enough to go out for drinks on Saturday nights— and most important of all, do your job, and do it damn well, you poured yourself a glass of wine and watched the rest of the season of the sitcom you’ve been meaning to finish.
However, with all of the ups and downs your job gave you, it could not have allowed for you to expect the boisterous chaos that were your coworkers. They welcomed you in not only with open arms, but open minds. They respected your boundaries, your ideas, everything about you. Your attempt at remaining just civil became useless after months, but looking back, how could you have tried any longer? Penelope gave you a big kiss on the cheek every week, exclaiming that she loved your outfits and needed to go shopping with you right that minute. Morgan ruffled your hair whenever he brought you coffee (despite your incessant dismay that now you needed to brush it again). Hotch, though not a fan of public displays, would murmur a reassuring, you’re doing well every time he returned a file back to you. And then there was Reid.
Spencer Reid.
Well, what was there to say about him?
Over time, you’ve assumed that his love language must be acts of service. He brought you a bagel every week, sometimes more, from your favorite bagel shop downtown. Every Tuesday, a poppy seed bagel with extra plain cream cheese, extra toasted, cut in half so you could eat the middle dollop of cream cheese first. He made you mugs of tea whenever it grew past five pm because you told him that you had trouble falling asleep once months ago. Sometimes, small bouquets of wild grown flowers were left on your desk. At first, you thought it was Penelope being extra kind to you, or even Morgan playing a small joke on you. Both denied, but still giggled as you walked away. Whatever that meant. Behind your back, they secretly slipped each other five dollar bills.
You were sure he did the same for the rest of his coworkers, too. You’ve seen him refill coffee pots whenever Emily mentioned starting a new brew, and work extra hard on his reports in his free time to make sure Hotch or JJ didn’t stay too late. You were on the same page, anyway. Friends. Civil. It didn’t matter.
You huffed as you walked into the BAU, which was deemed more of a half jog, half marathon sprint. You hadn’t bothered to check the weather before leaving, and on the walk from the subway station to the office, it had started downpouring. The sudden drops of cold from the sky had caused you to drop your half empty cup of coffee, and you had forgotten to grab the breakfast you made yourself the night before in the fridge. Not even Harry Styles’ album blaring in your ears could have stopped you from turning the morning around. You grumbled simple good morning’s to everyone as you shook off your coat. Expecting to see your desk surrounded with papers that you were too tired to file in their intended drawers yesterday, you instead found a clean one; the papers were stashed in their designated places (in alphabetical order), the pens were compiled in the pouch you bought at Daiso years ago and cherished, even the trash under your desk was taken out. The only thing left to be seen on the wooden desk was a small brown bag that smelled of heaven and happiness and a folded piece of paper. You reached inside to find your usual poppy seed bagel the same as it always was. To make your Tuesday better. For you, always, the note read. You didn’t need to decipher whose scribbles those belonged to. You forgot it was Tuesday.
“Where’s my bagel, lover boy?” Morgan’s voice boomed as the man sat on top of your desk, snatching the bag with a grin. Spencer only swiftly passed by the desk with ease, choosing to make eye contact with the carpet.
“Good morning, Dr. Reid. Happy Tuesday.” Spencer’s eyes divert to yours quickly. He only nods, responding with the same greeting. Happy Tuesday, honey.
Morgan’s laugh carried throughout the room, swinging his legs as he spoke. “You two make me sick, that’s for sure. Can I have some of your bagel?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You furrowed your brow in annoyance, which only made Morgan smile widely.
“Do you need to get your glasses checked again? You know, there’s an optometrist across the street—”
As you started to speak, Hotch walked from his office, announcing a new case and to meet in the room immediately. You got up swiftly, grabbing your bagel from Morgan’s hands with a muttered asshole falling from your lips. It only made Morgan cackle loudly. You remind yourself to write a psych evaluation on Morgan after the case is over with.
On the first day of the case, you realized it was going to be a more difficult one than usual. You didn’t panic. You never do. The second day, you worked harder than ever only to see little to no result. You continued not to sleep. It was like clockwork. Work, coffee, repeat. After three days, the case was far from settled. In fact, it seemed to only be getting worse with no ending in sight. Everyone was continuing to work in hopes that they would be home for the weekend. The fourth day, though, seemed to be the worst. The killer was getting more spontaneous with their kills, and the team seemed to keep showing up minutes after the kill had occurred. You were running on little to no sleep and were getting more frustrated with each move the killer made in silence. Near the end of the day, as you stared aimlessly at the wall in front of you, hoping it would make some sort of answer appear in front of your eyes, Hotch put a hand on your shoulder, You jumped slightly, trance be gone, when he told you to get back to the hotel immediately.
Immediately, you persisted. “I’m fine. I’ve almost got something. I’m sure of something.”
“I’m not asking you.”
“Hotch—”
“I’m ordering you, not only as your boss, but mostly as your friend. Your dark circles are getting concerning.” You tried to budge once more, but as Hotch gave one of his stern glares, you knew you were done with work for the day. “I’ll get someone to drive you back. Wait here.”
Within seconds, Spencer appeared, replacing the previous figure of Hotch. Gently tapping your shoulder, he signaled for you to get up. With a flick of a wrist and a soft grin, he spun around a set of keys around his fingers. “Hotch is letting me drive.”
You smiled. “Don’t want Morgan to ‘vibe it?’”
“His definition of ‘vibing it’ is just turning on the sirens when he doesn’t want to stop at a red light.” You walked side by side to the car. Your shoulders brushed ever so slightly due to Spencer’s hands in his pockets, but you didn’t mind. You welcomed the warmth.
“Your definition is turning the volume up to 13 and calling it loud.”
“I would like to be able to hear when I’m old, thank you very much. Any decibel over eighty and poof. Hearing. Out the window.”
“I really don’t think playing Queen at any volume above 13 will kill you, Spence.”
“You never know, honey.” Spencer opened the door for you, ushering you in before closing the door and getting in on the driver’s side. He pulled a cassette tape from his bag and pushed it in the radio; it started to softly play Queen while Spencer messed with the volume, setting it at 13 before driving away. It made a soft smile appear on your lips as your head leaned against the cool glass. Between the constant, soothing movement of the car or the way Spencer’s lips mouthed the lyrics of Good Old Fashioned Boy, it was hard to tell when the lines blurred and sleep drifted you away. The only thing you recognized before falling asleep were the unmistakable words that left Spencer’s mouth.
“Good night, honey. Love you.”
You woke up with a start the next morning. You had no idea how you got back into your hotel room, or how you were wearing your favorite sports shirt that you find comfort in sleeping in all of these years, though your mind directed each question back to the same person, of course. Your mind wandered to the night before; it was the most relaxed you had been all week, even if it was just the simple act of driving with Spencer. You had done it before in past cases —even driven him back to his hotel at times— but this time felt different. Maybe it was the words that left his mouth.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Spencer suddenly walked in, holding bags in his arms. He set them down on the table, pulling out various assortments of breakfast foods and handing them to you. “No bagel shops around here, but I did find some good pancakes if you want to eat now.”
“Spence.” You suddenly sat up straight, as if a revelation hit you.
“What? No pancakes? It came with hashbrowns, too.”
“Spencer.” You emphasized, getting him to look at you.
“Yeah?”
“Why do you do all of this for me?”
“What?” His head cocked to the side, not understanding.
“Why do you… I mean… you go out of your way to do things for me. Unnecessary things. I need to know why.”
“Unnecessary…?”
“You… you leave me flowers that are like, hand picked from a garden or the forest, or something not from the city. You clean my desk for me when I’ve left it too messy. You make me my favorite tea when I’m at the office too late. You write me notes that are alluding but you won’t say what. I mean, Spence, you get me my favorite bagel every Tuesday. Why?”
His face suddenly turned serious as he sat next to you on the bed. “You want to know why?” He repeated.
“I know you do these things for the rest of our team, but I just, I just don’t get it.”
“Because I’m in love with you.” Spencer stared at you. “I’ve been in love with you. I think I’ll always be at least a little in love with you, if I’m being honest. I thought you’d catch on by now.”
“…What?”
“Yeah, honey. I thought I was pretty obvious.”
“So you meant what you said last night, then?” You said softly.
“I didn’t mean for you to hear that. Really. I would’ve said it better if I had known you were awake.”
“But I did.” Your face grew closer to his. “And I’m not upset about it. Because I’m in love with you, too.”
Just as your lips began to brush, Spencer began to smile. “You know what day it is, honey? It’s our day.”
You smiled, too. “Happy Tuesday.”
You both tried to be subtle about it for the rest of the case. Weeks had passed by without the team knowing, but one slip up of a kiss on the cheek from Spencer on a Tuesday morning had led to an entire office full of chaos (and a meeting on workplace romance and consent from Hotch). You two didn’t mind, though. It was bound to happen. Until Penelope turned to Morgan and yelled at him to cough up the fifty dollars he owed her, of course.
SUMMARY: your entire life rafe had been giving you roses in different colours, but you never knew what he really wanted to say
WORD COUNT: 3957
GENRE: fluff!
CONTENT WARNING: english is NOT my first language, soft!rafe cameron, oblivious!reader
rafe cameron was the kind of kid who never sat still. always running, climbing, jumping off something too high just to prove he could. but there was one thing he always slowed down for: you.
you didn’t know why, back then. it wasn’t like you’d done anything special. you were just the girl who lived two houses down, the one who tagged along on all his adventures because you were good at keeping up. you’d follow him through the woods behind the cameron house, across the sandy dunes near the water, and even onto the roof of the clubhouse his dad had built in their backyard.
but every so often, he’d stop, like he’d remembered something important, and he’d disappear for a minute or two.
the first time it happened, you were seven. you’d been playing hide-and-seek in the cameron yard, and you’d been crouched behind the garden shed for what felt like forever, waiting for him to find you. when he finally did, he was grinning, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead. in his hand was a single yellow rose.
“what’s that for?” you’d asked, wrinkling your nose.
“it’s for you,” he said, holding it out like it was no big deal.
“why?”
he’d shrugged. “just ‘cause. you’re my best friend.”
that became his thing.
when you scraped your knee climbing a tree, rafe handed you a yellow rose from his mom’s garden and said, “it’ll make you feel better.”
when you had to spend a week at your grandparents’ house and came back sulking about missing the beach, there he was with another yellow rose.
“what does it mean?” you’d asked one day, sitting cross-legged on his bed as he sorted through his pokémon cards.
“what?” he asked, not looking up.
“the roses. why do you always give me yellow ones?”
he paused, his hands stilling. “it’s just… you know. the prettiest one i could find.”
“oh.”
he’d gone back to his cards, but you’d stared at the flower on the bedside table, something about it making your chest feel funny.
by the time you were ten, the roses felt like part of your routine. if you had a bad day at school, rafe would show up with one tucked behind his ear, waiting for you at your front door.
“here,” he’d say, handing it over with a grin. “it’s magic. makes everything better.”
“that’s not how magic works,” you’d reply, but you always accepted it anyway.
it wasn’t just the big moments, either. sometimes he gave you roses just because. like when you’d meet him at the playground on a sunny afternoon, or when he’d knock on your window late at night to tell you about a new fort he wanted to build in the woods.
“another one?” you’d tease, twirling the stem between your fingers.
“yep.”
“what’s it for this time?”
“i dunno. just wanted to give it to you.”
you never questioned it. rafe was rafe. the roses were just part of the deal.
but one day, when you were twelve, something changed.
he’d been quiet all afternoon, which wasn’t like him. usually, rafe was the loudest person in the room, always cracking jokes or talking a mile a minute. but that day, as you sat side by side on the dock near his house, he barely said a word.
“what’s up with you?” you asked, nudging him with your elbow.
“nothing,” he muttered, staring at the water.
“you’re lying.”
he looked at you then, his blue eyes serious in a way that made your stomach flip. after a long moment, he reached into his bag and pulled out another yellow rose.
“here,” he said quietly.
you took it, studying his face. “rafe, what’s wrong?”
“nothing,” he said again, but this time, he gave you a small smile. “i just wanted you to have it. that’s all.”
you didn’t push him. instead, you leaned your head against his shoulder, the rose resting in your lap.
“thanks,” you whispered.
“anytime,” he replied.
by the time you were twelve, the yellow roses were a part of you. a part of him. they showed up in places they didn’t belong—pressed between notebook pages, tucked into old shoeboxes, even wilting in jars on your windowsill. you didn’t really know why you kept them, but you couldn’t throw them away. they were yours.
but then, something changed, again.
it happened on a random summer afternoon. the sun was blazing, and you were sprawled out in the cameron backyard, sipping lemonade while rafe fixed the broken tire swing.
“you’re gonna break your neck,” you called out, watching him balance precariously on the wooden frame.
he rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. rafe never did listen to you when it came to stuff like this.
when he finally hopped down, covered in dirt and grass, he didn’t head straight for the lemonade like you expected. instead, he disappeared into the house without a word.
“what are you doing?” you shouted after him, but he didn’t answer.
a few minutes later, he came back, holding something behind his back.
“close your eyes,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips.
“why?”
“just do it!”
you sighed but obeyed, covering your face with your hands. “this better not be another bug.”
“it’s not,” he promised, laughing. “okay, open.”
when you did, he was standing there with a single white rose.
“what’s this for?” you asked, staring at the delicate petals.
he shrugged, looking almost shy. “just thought you’d like it.”
“but… why white?”
“i dunno,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.
you didn’t know what to say, so you just smiled and took it from him, your fingers brushing against his for half a second. you didn’t notice the way his cheeks turned pink, or the way he stared at you a little too long before turning back to the swing.
that was the first white rose.
after that, the yellow roses didn’t come often anymore. instead, you’d find white ones—on your doorstep, in your locker, or handed over with a casual, “here, this is for you.”
you never asked why.
by the time you were fourteen, white roses were the new normal. rafe had grown taller, his voice deeper, his confidence sharper. but when he gave you roses, he was still the same boy you’d known forever.
“for me?” you asked one day, twirling the stem of yet another white rose.
“who else?” he replied, grinning.
then came your sixteenth birthday. you didn’t expect anything big—just a day at the beach with rafe, like always. but when he showed up at your door, he wasn’t empty-handed.
“what’s this?” you asked, staring at the bouquet of pink roses in his hands.
he shrugged, but his usual confidence was missing. “birthday gift,” he said, thrusting them toward you.
you took them, your heart racing. “they’re… really pretty.”
“yeah, well. so are you.”
the words hung in the air, heavier than they should’ve been. you stared at him, your cheeks burning, and for the first time, you didn’t know what to say.
by the time you were seventeen, things had changed. it wasn’t just the way you and rafe had grown up—it was the way he’d changed.
you could see it the moment he introduced her—lily, the new girl with the perfect hair and the perfect laugh and the perfect smile. she was everything you weren’t, and you hated how easily rafe seemed to fall for her.
but that wasn’t the worst part.
the worst part was that the roses stopped.
it was a sudden thing. at first, there were other flowers—a bouquet of daisies here, a random tulip there—but never roses. not the yellow ones you’d grown used to, not the white ones or the pink ones that had become a quiet declaration between the two of you. just... no flowers.
at first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. it didn’t. rafe had a girlfriend now.
he didn’t owe you roses anymore.
but you missed them. you missed the thoughtfulness, the friendship, the feeling that, no matter what, you still had a place in his life.
and then the your biggest fear came true—he stopped being your friend altogether.
lily didn’t like how close you and rafe had been. she didn’t want him hanging out with his girl best friend anymore. so rafe, being rafe, did what he always did when he felt cornered: he let go.
you didn’t get it at first. he’d stopped answering your texts, stopped showing up at the usual spots. at school, he’d walk by you without even looking up. you’d sit at lunch, watching him and lily from the other side of the cafeteria, and it made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t explain.
there were no more texts to plan beach trips or late-night talks. no more spontaneous hangouts. nothing.
you tried reaching out once, twice, even three times, but it was always the same—short answers, distant replies, the kind that made it clear he didn’t want to try anymore.
it was too painful. so you stopped trying.
instead, you focused on other things—other people.
it wasn’t like you didn’t have friends, but the friends you had before had always been people who had fallen into your life by default. you had never needed to work for them. they were always there, easy to hold on to. but now, as you walked down the hallway of your high school with a new group of girls—girls who wanted to be your friends, who made an effort to include you, to laugh with you, to spend time with you—you realized something important.
you were learning to let go too.
the girls were different. they were fun and supportive in ways you hadn’t realized you were missing. no one ever told you to back off from their boyfriends. no one ever gave you that uncomfortable look when you were laughing too loudly with one of the guys in the group.
it was easier, in a way. no complications. no unspoken feelings. just fun, carefree friendships.
but you couldn’t help but feel that gnawing ache in your chest whenever you saw rafe and lily together. it was like a quiet reminder that everything between you and him was over.
and then, one day, you saw it.
lily posted a story on instagram—a picture of a vase of flowers. they were bright and pretty, but there was something painfully obvious about them. they weren’t roses.
never roses.
they were daisies. lilies. tulips.
anything but roses.
you looked over at your new group of friends—laughing at something ridiculous, pulling you into their conversation—and for the first time in a long while, you realized something important: you were okay.
no, you weren’t fine. you missed rafe. you missed your best friend. but you weren’t going to stay in the past.
there was a part of you that hoped rafe would realize what he’d lost, that maybe, one day, he’d come back and apologize. but for now, you had other things to focus on.
and maybe that was enough for now.
but still, you didn’t expect to see rafe cameron waiting for you after school.
the day had been uneventful—just the usual classes, the usual laughs with your friends, the usual reminder in the back of your mind that rafe wasn’t part of your world anymore.
but there he was. leaning against the wall near the parking lot, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his hair a mess like he’d been running his fingers through it all day.
your first instinct was to ignore him. he hadn’t spoken to you in months. months. he’d chosen lily, chosen her rules, chosen to let go of everything you’d shared.
but something about the way he looked—lost, broken, sad—stopped you.
you stepped closer, hesitant. “rafe?”
his head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. for a second, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.
“hey,” he said finally, his voice hoarse.
“what are you doing here?” you asked, your tone sharper than you meant it to be.
he flinched, but he didn’t back down. “i... i needed to see you.”
“why?”
“because—” he broke off, running a hand through his hair. “because i screwed up. and because i didn’t know where else to go.”
you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way your chest tightened. “what about lily?”
he laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “she’s gone. we broke up.”
“oh.”
you didn’t know what else to say. part of you wanted to walk away, to tell him it wasn’t your problem anymore. but the other part—the bigger part, the one that still cared—couldn’t do it.
“come on,” you said, jerking your head toward your car.
he blinked, surprised. “really?”
“yeah,” you muttered. “let’s go.”
the drive back to your house was quiet, the air between you heavy with things unsaid. when you got home, you led him to your room, just like you always used to.
he sat on the edge of your bed, looking around like he couldn’t believe he was there again. “you changed it,” he said, his voice soft.
“yeah,” you replied, sitting cross-legged on the other side. “it’s been a while.”
he nodded, staring down at his hands. “i’m sorry.”
“for what?”
“for everything. for shutting you out. for choosing her. for being an idiot.”
you didn’t say anything, letting the silence stretch between you.
“i missed you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
you looked at him then, really looked at him, and you saw it—the boy you’d grown up with, the one who used to make you laugh until your stomach hurt, the one who always brought you roses.
“i missed you too,” you admitted.
his head snapped up, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name. “yeah?”
“yeah,” you said, smiling faintly. “but you’re still an idiot.”
he laughed, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed.
you talked for hours, just like you used to. about everything and nothing, about the way life had shifted and the things you’d both been through. it was easy, familiar, like slipping back into an old rhythm.
when he finally stood to leave, you followed him to the door, your heart heavier than you wanted to admit.
“thanks for... for letting me in,” he said, his hand lingering on the doorknob.
“you’re always welcome,” you said softly.
he nodded, gave you one last look, and then he was gone.
when you turned back toward your room, something caught your eye—a splash of color on your bed.
frowning, you walked closer, and your breath caught in your throat.
a single purple rose rested on your pillow.
you picked it up, your fingers trembling as you held it to your chest.
you sank onto the bed, staring at the flower, your mind spinning.
he hadn’t said it, but he didn’t need to. the rose said everything he couldn’t.
and for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you and rafe weren’t finished after all.
by the time you were eighteen, you and rafe had found your way back to each other.
it hadn’t been easy, not at first. there were awkward silences, half-finished sentences, and moments where you both stumbled over how to act around each other. but slowly, the cracks healed. the space between you shrank. and before you knew it, you were best friends again, just like you’d been before everything fell apart.
except now, things were different in a way you couldn’t quite put your finger on. it wasn't different as in your roses changed from yellow to white, it was just... different.
rafe spent more time with you and your friends than he did with his own. he’d show up at your place unannounced, invite himself to girls’ nights, and make himself at home in your little world. your friends loved him—who wouldn’t? he was funny, charming, and could win over just about anyone with a crooked smile and a well-timed joke.
and then there were the roses.
at first, it had felt like slipping back into an old routine. rafe had always given you flowers—yellow for friendship, white for something deeper, pink for gratitude and love. so when he started showing up with four roses every time he saw you, you didn’t think much of it.
a pink rose, soft and sweet.
a white rose, pure and delicate.
a yellow rose, bright and cheerful.
and a dark pink rose, richer, deeper, full of meaning you didn’t quite understand.
“what’s this for?” you’d ask every time, your voice teasing.
“do i need a reason?” he’d reply, smirking as he handed them over.
you’d roll your eyes, tuck them into a vase, and move on.
it wasn’t until one friday night, when rafe wasn’t there, that your friends brought it up.
you were sprawled out on your living room floor with your two best friends, abby and jen, eating popcorn and flipping through magazines. the absence of rafe’s usual presence was noticeable, but you didn’t mention it.
“so,” abby said, sitting up and tossing a kernel into her mouth. “are you and rafe, like... a thing?”
you blinked, startled. “what?”
jen raised an eyebrow. “you and rafe. are you dating?”
you laughed, the sound a little too loud. “no. what? no way. we’re just friends.”
“just friends?” abby repeated, her tone skeptical.
“yes,” you said firmly. “we’ve been best friends since we were kids. that’s all it is.”
jen exchanged a look with abby, then turned back to you. “okay, but... the roses?”
“what about them?”
“he gives you flowers every time he sees you!” abby said, throwing her hands up.
“so? he’s always done that.”
“always?” jen asked, her eyes wide.
“yeah,” you said with a shrug. “since we were six.”
both girls gaped at you like you’d just confessed to a crime.
“you’re telling me,” abby said slowly, “that rafe cameron has been giving you flowers for twelve years, and you’ve never thought it was weird?”
“it’s not weird,” you said defensively. “it’s just... a thing we do. it doesn’t mean anything.”
“it definitely means something,” jen said, crossing her arms. “guys don’t give roses to their best friends for over a decade unless they’re in love with them.”
“he’s not in love with me,” you said, rolling your eyes.
“babe,” abby said, leaning forward. “dark pink roses? those mean, like, admiration and gratitude, but also... y’know. romance.”
you opened your mouth to argue, but the words stuck in your throat.
“and white roses? purity. pink? love. yellow? friendship. he’s literally giving you every part of him in flower form,” jen added.
you stared at them, your mind racing.
“he’s... he’s just being rafe,” you said weakly.
“exactly,” abby said. “and rafe is in love with you.”
their words echoed in your head long after the conversation ended, and when you went to bed that night, your eyes drifted to the vase on your desk.
four roses. pink, white, yellow, dark pink.
you’d never questioned them before. but now, for the first time, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was more to them than you’d ever let yourself believe.
your nineteenth birthday was minutes away, and you were already in bed.
well, technically you were sitting on your bed, legs crossed, scrolling through your phone while waiting for the clock to hit midnight. your hair was twisted into perfect heatless curls, your nose strip was firmly in place, and your face was freshly moisturized—your skincare routine impeccable as always.
you weren’t expecting anything. your friends had already promised to make a big deal out of it tomorrow, and you figured the actual moment of your birthday would pass quietly, just you and your phone and a sleepy smile.
but then you heard the faint scrape of your window.
at first, you froze. was someone trying to break in?
“relax,” came a familiar voice, low and teasing. “it’s just me.”
“rafe?”
you slid off your bed, rushing to the window to find him perched on the ledge, one hand gripping the frame, the other holding something behind his back.
“what are you doing?” you hissed, trying to keep your voice down. “it’s midnight!”
“exactly,” he said, flashing that boyish grin that always got him out of trouble. “happy birthday.”
you blinked, completely thrown off. “you climbed up here for that?”
he shrugged, effortlessly pulling himself through the window and into your room. “you’re worth it.”
“you’re insane.”
“and you’ve got... something on your nose,” he said, his gaze locking onto the strip.
your cheeks flushed. you’d completely forgotten about your skincare situation.
“oh my god, i look ridiculous,” you muttered, turning away from him.
“no, you look... like you,” he said, his voice softer now.
you glanced back at him, narrowing your eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“it means i like you better like this,” he said simply. “no makeup, no filters, just... you.”
before you could respond, he brought his hand forward, revealing the bouquet he’d been holding.
“here,” he said, holding it out to you.
you stared at it, your heart doing a strange little flip. the roses were beautiful—soft pastel purple, deep dark purple, a single vivid red, and of course, the familiar yellow.
“rafe,” you whispered, taking them from him. “you didn’t have to—”
“yeah, i did,” he cut you off. “you deserve them.”
“rafe...” you started, but the words wouldn’t come.
he shrugged like it was no big deal, but the way he looked at you told you otherwise. “happy birthday,” he said again, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours.
you stared at him, your heart thudding in your chest. the weight of the flowers in your hands, the warmth in his gaze, the fact that he’d climbed through your window just to be the first to see you on your birthday—it was all too much and somehow just enough.
“thank you,” you whispered, your voice unsteady.
he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as you clutched the bouquet.
“you’re everything to me, you know that?” he said, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t hold them back any longer.
your heart stopped for a moment, then started again, faster, louder.
“rafe...”
he shook his head, his hands moving to gently frame your face. “you don’t have to say anything. just... can I—?”
he didn’t finish the sentence, but you understood.
“yes,” you breathed, barely able to get the word out.
he leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, but you didn’t. when his lips brushed yours, it was soft at first, tentative, like he was afraid you’d disappear.
but then you kissed him back, and something inside both of you broke free.
the roses slipped from your hands onto the bed, forgotten as you melted into him, your arms winding around his neck, his fingers tangling gently in your curls.
when you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing heavily, the world outside your room completely forgotten.
“happy birthday,” he whispered again, his smile so full of affection it made your chest ache.
“best one yet,” you replied, your own smile matching his.
and as he stayed by your side, your head resting on his shoulder, the roses scattered around you, you couldn’t imagine a better way to start a new year of your life.
and for years, you kept them all—pressed between the pages of your favorite books, tucked into jars on your windowsill, little pieces of rafe that made you feel like the most important person in the world.
For my darling boy, Cregan Stark, and obviously, Tom Taylor, since he gave us the 8th wonder of the world (is he an ancient wonder or a modern one? No one knows)
My personal favorites are highlighted
Lord and Lady.
You’re a Stark now.
Happy as you are.
Luck. Part 2, Part 3
Yes, my lady. SMUT
Absolutely not.
As long as she's comfortable. SMUT
May I?
A wolf. SMUT
Indeed, my girl.
Lost.
In time.
howl at the moon.
Warriors.
I'll find you.
Stop.
Cold.
Choose me.
Doll.
A Northern Lannister.
Peculiar. Prequel P2 P3
War.
I promise everything.
In the Godswood. SMUT
In the midst of death and destruction. Part 2
The Warden's fears.
A proper goodbye. SMUT
A gentle wolf.
When it matters most.
Run.
A perfect match indeed.
Dagger.
Heterochromia. SMUT
Only you, pretty girl. SMUT
A brilliant melody.
Manhood. P2. P3. SMUT
Flames in snow.
Direwolf.
Moonblood in the middle of the night.
Snowfall.
A soft spot.
Tradition.
Stubborn man.
Meek.
War Prize.
Too needy.
So eager.
A second wife and a poet. SMUT included.
A sigil of mine.
A King in the North. P2 SMUT
Horrid thoughts.
More wolf.
Fatherhood. P2
All the time we wish for. SMUT
Bravery.
Nesting.
I'll always be thanking you.
Modern!Cowboy!Cregan writings (in no particular order):
Rafe couldn’t sleep without you. Whether it was his bed, your bed, or even the couch, he needed you beside him, wrapped up tight, grounding him in a way only you could. Tonight was no different. The moment you slipped under the covers, he pulled you into his arms, sighing deeply as he buried his face against your chest. After a long, exhausting day, all he wanted was to be tangled up with you.
Usually, he preferred to be the big spoon, wrapping you up in his embrace like a protective barrier against the world. But tonight, he craved your warmth more than ever. He nestled his way down, resting his head on your chest, sighing contentedly as he felt your soft skin under his cheek, the rhythm of your heartbeat lulling him. His hand drifted beneath your shirt, fingers gliding over your bare skin, sending tingles through you.
“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses against the delicate skin just above your heart. His lips traveled slowly across your chest, savoring each inch, each gentle curve. When he finally reached your nipple, he paused, eyes fluttering shut as he closed his lips around it, sucking softly, his tongue flicking teasingly against the sensitive skin. (rafe having an oral fixation > )
A shiver ran through you, and your breath hitched as you tangled your fingers in his hair, feeling the heat pool low in your stomach. Rafe smiled against you, clearly enjoying your reactions as he took his time, lost in the warmth of you. Each slow pull of his mouth was both possessive and adoring, a perfect blend that made you feel cherished.
“God, you’re so soft… so perfect,” he whispered, pulling back for a moment to watch your face, relishing the flush on your cheeks. He pressed his cheek against your chest again, listening to your heartbeat, tracing gentle patterns across your waist with his fingers.
But as the moments stretched on, you felt that familiar pressure building in your bladder, and you knew you’d have to get up. You tried to shift out of his hold, but Rafe wasn’t having it. Even as you tried to ease your way out from beneath him, his grip tightened, instinctively, possessively and with a sleepy groan.
“Where are you going?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, his arms looping around you like a vice.
“I… I have to get up,” you whispered, trying not to disturb him too much. He just groaned, shaking his head as he snuggled even closer, tightening his hold like he thought you might just disappear if he let go.
“Just a few more minutes,” he murmured, pressing a sleepy kiss to your collarbone, his face still buried against your chest. “Stay.”
You chuckled softly, heart warming at how attached he was, even if it meant you were stuck for the time being. But eventually, nature’s call grew too insistent, and you had to put your foot down.
“Rafe, I really have to go,” you said, a bit more firmly this time. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at you, pouting slightly, as if to say how could you leave me like this?
With a defeated sigh, he finally relented, loosening his grip just enough to let you slip out of bed. But as you padded to the bathroom, you felt his presence right behind you, half-awake yet determined to stay close. You glanced over your shoulder to find him trailing you, eyes half-lidded and hair tousled, his expression one of pure sleep-addled stubbornness.
He leaned against the doorframe as you entered the bathroom, his gaze unwavering even as you went about your business. You shot him a look, but he only grinned, sliding down to sit by the door, resting his head against the wall with a lazy smile, as if this was perfectly normal behavior.
When you finally returned to bed, he wasted no time in gathering you back into his arms, settling back into his preferred spot on your chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he sighed in satisfaction.
“You’re not allowed to leave me again,” he muttered, voice muffled against you.
You chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright. I’m not going anywhere.”
And with that promise, he relaxed completely, his breathing evening out as he drifted back to sleep, held securely in the warmth of your embrace.
2087
stormborns
theartofmadeline
izzy806
jacobvanloon
dededos
