#but it all ends in fluff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kamaluhkhan · 7 months ago

Text

IS IT CASUAL NOW?

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 14.6k summary: you and vi are both tired of complicated relationships so try the whole friends-with-benefits thing....and maybe forget the whole point of your arrangement in the first place. warning: lesbian situationships (there is so much angst and yearning), brief mention of (internalized) homophobia and struggles with addiction....but mostly cheesy domestic fluff and smut [oral (vi receiving), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, slight bondage play, switch!vi has my heart] (18+) ! a/n: merry (belated oops) xmas girls and gays <33 i've probably spent way too much time on this but it's my BABY....kinda based on leighton and alicia's plotline in s1 of sex lives of college girls and ofc casual by chappell roan (there are many other chappell references throughout too hehe). also yes i made a mini playlist that consists of the songs that i think reflect this fic's sun, moon, and rising signs....pls enjoy and happy holidays !!!

♪: "angel baby" by troye sivan (sun); "pretty girl" by hayley kiyoko (moon); "casual" by chappell roan (rising)

“not even one week into the new academic year, violet rose atlas, captain of the varsity soccer team, has been suspended from gameplay due to recent unsportsman-like behavior, sentenced to 100 hours of community service, and banned from the local lesbian bar.”

mel removes her eyes from the screen to raise an eyebrow at you. you just shrug and take a sip of your coffee. you glance over at the clock on the wall.

11:09am.

“to top it all off, she’s late,” you declare, trying your best to hide the anticipation simmering in your stomach.

“what’s your deal, anyways? you totally flirt with her whenever she’s at the bar. not even we get that good of service,” gert points out. they’re searching through a stack of cd’s and cassette tapes for something to play.

“that was before.”

you walk over to sit next to gert, taking it upon yourself to choose the music. you settle on jagged little pill; alanis morrissette’s lush voice is a welcomed addition to your conversation.

“our funding is at risk,” you explain. “it’s like the dean assigned her to us because she knew it would end terribly and the board would have an excuse to finally cut us loose.”

“if they need an excuse, they’ll find one,” gert grumbles.

you shrug. “i just think violet is bad news, which is something i’d prefer we avoid..”

“the article does say that she punched maddie nolan in the face during an exhibition game against the piltover knights.”

“see? bad news. literally.”

“well, i think we lucked out,” sky gushes, though her focus remains on finishing her current project. she’s crocheting so fast that you only catch glimpses of her sparkly pink fingernails. you’re sure she’ll be done with this blanket before violet shows up. if she even bothers to show up. “the yellowjackets might’ve lost their captain, but we get to spend quality time with the hottest butch on campus.”

“whatever,” you sigh, though you don’t disagree with that description. you check the clock again — 11:11am — and settle against the worn couch. “since we have the time — mel, why don’t you read our horoscopes? i’m itching to see what the universe has in store for us today.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi spent the better part of last night crying and getting wasted in her bathtub with cheap dye burning into her scalp.

she just couldn’t stand the memory of caitlyn kiramman’s perfectly manicured nails running through her formerly pink locks as they kissed, tugging on vi’s hair to bring her closer —

enough. fucking pull yourself together.

cait’s moved on, that much is clear, with someone more like her. someone whose last name is on buildings all around the university of piltover’s campus.

so far, no amount of bar fights or red cards or late nights in some random girl’s bed seem to mend the heart that caitlyn shattered to pieces, but vi doesn’t give up easy.

soon enough, she’ll be back on the field, leading the yellowjackets to victory at nationals; she’ll finish all her classes, graduate with honors and have a great plan for an even greater future; all while having amazing, mind-blowing sex that won’t lead to serious heartbreak.

relationships are overrated, anyways.

the first step in this plan: spending 100 hours with a bunch of angry, bra-burning lesbians.

maybe vi will fit right in.

so, vi walks into her community service assignment with a wicked migraine and hands that look like lady macbeth plotted to murder an oil spill, but with her usual confident swagger nonetheless, as conversation echoes down the hallway.

“according to your rising, there will be a much needed spark in your romantic life. my guess is a fire sign is gonna sweep you off your feet.”

another voice chimes in, a gentle rumble. “could that be your sweet jules?”

“i’ve never asked about her chart,” an achingly familiar voice replies. it brings back memories of dizzying lights and strong whiskey coursing through her blood, but something else, too. a sky full of stars and too-sweet alcohol on her tongue. “paula was a fire sign, though, and that blew up in my face.”

“paula was a walking red flag.”

“yeah, well, apparently red’s my favorite color.”

“maybe that was just the heartbreak you needed to bring passion back into your life. do you feel that with jules?”

“i don’t know — maybe? we haven’t had sex yet.”

“passion isn’t just about sex, you know —”

“gert, i love you, but i cannot handle a sex therapy session right now.”

someone else giggles, bright and bubbly. “hm, i wonder what sign our pink-haired hottie is.”

vi clears her throat to announce her arrival, leaning against the doorway.

everyone turns to look at her then, with varying degrees of shock, and vi feels like she’s just walked into an after midnight roommate vent session.

she isn’t sure what she expected the space to look like, but zaun university’s women’s centre is well-lived in, defined by a sort of organized chaos. each wall is covered in posters and collages, multicolored flags and fairy lights; there’s a shelf in the corner with assorted trinkets and books piled high, a table next to it with baskets of condoms, pads, and tampons and informational pamphlets, and a door in the opposite corner, slightly ajar. a vintage boombox placed on the coffee table plays 90s alt rock, circled by mismatched seating with patterned blankets and brightly colored pillows strewn about.

someone with dark lipstick and an eyebrow piercing is drawing on their converse; a dark brunette wearing glasses is draping a blanket over the arm of a couch; another person is scrolling on their laptop, a gold necklace glittering on their collarbones.

vi’s attention is stuck on you, though, the origin of the aforementioned familiar voice: the very hot bartender from sappho’s, where vi happened to be kicked out of not even 72 hours prior.

you’re wearing a vintage wonder woman t-shirt tucked into faded blue jeans with a carabiner clipped to a belt loop. the sleeves of your shirt are rolled up, displaying your array of tattoos — vi’s already decided that her favorites are joan of arc holding her sword, a pomegranate that’s been cracked open, and lyrics from bikini kill’s ‘rebel girl’ (which admittedly, vi had to look up when she first saw). it’s everything vi’s booze-soaked brain had apparently memorized after many nights of staring at you across the bar counter, licking up whatever honeyed flirtations you’d spill from your lips. vi always noticed your hands, too: the many rings you’ve stacked on your fingers, the lavender sprig sprouting from your middle finger and venus symbol etched onto your wrist, the nails that are always clipped short and painted black.

one of those nails is tapping anxiously on your coffee mug, which has a picture of hayley kiyoko as lesbian jesus.

“pink-haired hottie, reporting for duty. though, i might need a new nickname.” vi grins; you roll your eyes. “i’m an aries, by the way.”

“good to know.” the brunette winks not-so-subtly in your direction before walking towards vi and extending a hand, gold bangles clinking together at the motion. “i’m sky, she/her. we had electromagnetic theory together last spring. it’s lovely to officially meet you.”

vi makes a big show of leaning down and kissing sky’s hand.

“nice to meet you, too, sweetheart.”

“such a gentleman,” sky giggles and leads vi to the patchwork couch. she curls up like a cat, and vi follows suit — the couch is cloud soft, and vi tries not to sink into the cushions. “i’m our supplies and communications coordinator.” she turns away from vi to look around the room. “okay, that’s my intro. who’s next?”

the person with an eyebrow piercing nods at vi, a sort of effortless greeting. “gert, they/them.” they snap the sharpie shut after writing ‘the future is intersectional’ on the tip of their toe. “i curate and design our newsletter, the black rose. i’m also in a band —”

“the sirens of zaun. yeah, i recognize you. you’ve played a few gigs at sappho’s.”

vi looks at you pointedly, and you take this as your cue to disappear behind the door, which appears to lead into some sort of office.

gert seems pleased, though. “then you might also recognize our lead singer….”

the person with the gold necklace, who vi does, in fact, vaguely recognize but can’t quite name, closes their laptop and waves at vi. “i’m mel. pronouns: she/her. i mostly deal with the finances around here. and, from what i understand, you’re already well acquainted with our fearless leader —”

mel is cut off by the sound of her phone alarm.

“shit — it’s already 11:30. our set at campus radio starts soon.” mel gestures at gert. gert picks up the bright red guitar case behind them and secures it around their shoulder as mel packs up her leather satchel.

“damn, i gotta get to class, too. the space-time continuum waits for no one.” sky gets up and gathers her things, too, stuffing yarn into a fruit-printed tote bag. “it was nice meeting you though.” she pats vi’s head affectionately before throwing out a loud: “see ya later, boss!”

mel and gert offer similar farewells, and you shout goodbye from the other room before the three of them are out the door. vi expects you to reappear a few moments later; when you don’t, she ventures into the office.

it’s smaller, but just as decorated as the lounge space. there’s a desk that seems to be more storage than actual use, littered with piles of books and old copies of the black rose. you’re sitting on a fluffy rainbow carpet that looks like every member of sesame street stitched together, writing something in a sticker-covered notebook.

“so, violet —”

“vi’s fine,” she tells you. she decides to sit on the floor next to you rather than the zebra striped chaise lounge.

you nod, rip a page out of your notebook, and hand it to vi. there’s something a bit too intimate about knowing what your handwriting looks like before even knowing your name.

“this is a run down of everything you’ll need to know, but real quick: we do feminist film fridays and trivia tuesdays on alternating weeks; our radical reads book club meets once a month, along with our slam poetry group, and we have a bunch of other events in between — workshops, art builds, discussion groups, and so on. sky keeps everything in the centre stocked, and occasionally the rest of us will pitch in when organizing a charity drive. our newsletter publishes the third wednesday of every month — gert puts it together, but we print in pairs since it could be a lot of work for one person. we have team meetings once a week to share updates, make sure we’re all on the same page, stuff like that. any questions?”

“wow, okay. that’s a lot.”

you smile. “i’m sure you’ll be able to keep up, varsity.”

“so….where do i fit in?”

“that depends on you, really,” you tap your glitter gel pen on your notebook, thinking. “like, i’m assuming you’re not well versed in feminist literature.”

vi puffs out her chest. “based on what assumptions? i’m not a dumb jock.”

“yeah, i know you’ve made the dean list ever since your freshman year.”

vi raises an eyebrow. “keeping tabs on me, wonder woman?” she teases.

you laugh. “don’t flatter yourself. sky’s the one who mentioned it to me. so, unless you mean your very large, unpaid tab at sappho’s...”

“the bar i was kicked out of, you mean.”

“well, yeah, because you —” you take a deep breath. “not the point. anyways, we don’t have a complete schedule for book club, so you can maybe take the lead on one of our meetings. do you have a favorite author?”

vi smiles at you sheepishly. “ah…..you got me there.”

“thought so,” you smirk and vi covers her blush. “if you’re curious, this bridge called my back is a good place to start. oh, and audre lorde is a classic and a personal favorite…..” you pause when you catch vi staring at you. she wants you to keep talking, to appreciate the way your eyes light up so enthusiastically, but you blink away, and a veil of professionalism falls back onto you. “sorry. anyways, we’re having trivia tomorrow — would you be able to help us out with that?

vi nods. “sure.”

“sweet.” you check your phone. “i’ve got a coffee date, so i should get going.”

“wait — you never told me your name, wonder woman.”

“well, it’s not diana prince,” you quip before finally introducing yourself.

“nice to finally put a name to the face.” vi winks at you, standing up. she extends a hand to guide you up. your hand is cold against her skin, your metal rings even colder.

“i’ll see you around, varsity.” before you’re out the door, you turn back around. “oh, and vi?”

“yeah?”

“don’t be late.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you had stepped away for a quick smoke break — a habit you knew you had to kick — but you’re so fucking drained and it’s only wednesday.

you were up all night bickering with your girlfriend. it started with her admitting that she really doesn’t want to meet your friends, which transitioned into her asking you to not talk to anyone about her or your relationship, which prompted you to make a (maybe slightly insensitive) comment about how she’s welcome to stay in the closet but has no right to push you back in.

needless to say, you did not get any sleep.

you’re about to walk outside, and finally get a moment of peace, when your phone rings. it’s your sibling, and the fact that they’re calling instead of texting tells you that this conversation is about to be (A) exhausting, (B) infuriating, or (C) both.

the correct answer is C.

it’s the same story over and over again: your dad drinks too much, your mom is absent. it hadn’t been this bad when you were growing up, but you suppose you’d been around to ease the damage, or at least step in and take care of your sibling as needed.

“just — take a deep breath. you can come stay with me for the weekend, okay? it’ll be good for you to get away from the chaos for a bit….we’ll go apple picking if the weather’s nice, maybe start working on your halloween costume — whatever you wanna do.”

“you know, i’m not five anymore,” they mumble, stifling a small laugh along with some tears. “but…okay. that sounds nice.”

you smile to yourself, shoulder pressing against the door. “it’s a plan then. we’ll sort out the details later. and, don’t worry about mom and dad — i’ll take care of it. love you.”

you hang up and exhale as you finally push the door open, happy to finally get one moment to breathe.

except, just as you’re greeted by a crisp breeze on this beautiful late september evening, you’re also greeted by the sight of vi pressing someone against the brick wall, their legs wrapped around her waist as she kisses their neck.

something ignites in your abdomen, familiar after many nights of seeing vi at the bar, charming her way into another woman’s bed. except, it’s definitely not jealousy, this time.

(okay, maybe it is; but only a bit.)

they spring apart upon hearing the door slam closed. you recognize who vi’s with — maya, a sophomore who’s frequently attended women’s centre events since last year. she’s always been friendly with the team, but never this friendly.

“oh my gosh, i am so sorry!”

“you don’t have to apologize,” you tell her sincerely. her cheeks are flushed, and she’s busy smoothing down her skirt, clearly trying to distance herself from vi, who’s leaning against the wall nonchalantly. “i just need to talk to violet, so do you mind giving us a sec?”

you wait until maya disappears inside to cross your arms and glare at vi.

“so, it’s violet now, huh?” she teases, wiping red lipstick off her smirk.

“you were supposed to be helping facilitate this workshop,” you note.

“well, it is a queer sex ed workshop.” vi rolls her eyes. “i was giving maya a hands-on experience.”

you grit your teeth together. “and you just had to do that now? like you just had to go down on that third year during trivia last week?”

“well, see, i don’t have a ton of free time, and since i’m not allowed at the local lesbian bar….” she trails off, looking at you pointedly. “i’ve had to resort to multi-tasking.”

“multi-tasking.” you let an exhausted, bitter laugh slip from your lips. “you’ve showed up late to every single event in the past few weeks, and once you’re there, you’re either on your laptop, getting drunk, or hooking up with someone. tell me, violet, as captain of the yellowjackets — if someone on your team was acting like this, what would you do?”

vi narrows her eyes at you, like she can’t believe what you’re asking, and admits, “i’d call them out, tell them to do better.”

“right. and if they kept giving you empty promise after empty promise? you’d have to do something more drastic, even if you didn’t want to, yeah?”

no response.

shaking your head, you take out a cigarette. there’s only silence when you flick the lighter open and light it between your lips. you inhale deeply, letting the smoke enter your lungs, exhale slowly, and decide: “i’m gonna ask the dean to reassign you.”

“fine by me,” vi scoffs, but you swear that something close to disappointment flashes across her face. “clearly, this isn’t working out.”

“clearly.” you take another drag of your cigarette, and as vi walks back inside, you can’t help but try to get under her skin. you’ve had a bad week, between family drama and turbulence in your relationship with jules, and you’re just sick of people not giving a shit. “the year’s already started, so i doubt there’s something available. which means you’ll remain on academic probation until spring.”

and, okay — you do get some twisted satisfaction in how that makes vi stop in her tracks. you’re leaning against the wall, and she strides over to stand in front of you, her jaw and fists clenched.

“i’ll miss the whole tournament.”

you shrug, and blow smoke in her face. “i’ve given you plenty of chances.”

“but the team needs me —”

“you should have thought of that before you fucked up, varsity,” you snap. vi’s eyes widen; you’re usually more level-headed. “you’re cocky, irresponsible — ”

“i lost my scholarship,” vi blurts out, prompting you to pause, the cigarette millimeters from your lips.

you blink at her, blood still roaring in your ears.

“i…don’t know why that’s relevant.”

vi just sighs, so deeply that you feel it in your bones. you haven’t seen this side of her before — no flirtatious smile, no overconfident posture. instead, she slips to the ground, knees pressed to her chest. feeling a bit guilty for pushing her buttons, you slide down next to her. you offer her the cigarette, but she shakes her head.

“i…i’m going through a shitty breakup. i’ve been lashing out, and i lost my scholarship. i haven’t asked my parents for money, because the last thing i want is for them to worry about me. so, i started picking up these odd jobs to make ends meet, and the hours are a bit crazy so between school and practice and — fuck, there’s also shit going on with my sister that i won’t even get into now, but it’s a lot — and i also need to do this because i let my team down and i need to be there for them, whatever it takes, and i’m just so fucking —”

“exhausted, yeah.”

you can see more clearly now — the slump in her shoulders, the shadows underneath her eyes; you see her more clearly. you realize that you might have more in common with violet rose atlas than you initially thought.

“so the laptop —”

“finishing assignments.”

“the drinking?”

vi juts her chin out at your smouldering cigarette. “we all have our vices.”

“and the sex?”

her lips curl into a sheepish grin, and she shrugs. “we all need to relieve stress.”

you clear your throat, blinking away from her gaze and trying to ignore how you can feel warmth radiating from her body, so close to yours. “right.”

vi runs her hand through her tar-black hair. that should have been your first hint — nothing says lesbian breakup more than terribly dyed hair and questionable decisions.

“look, i know i can’t do everything, but i have to, and i’m still trying to figure out how.”

“well….as far as excuses go, it’s not the worst,” you admit. “thanks for telling me. i know that couldn’t have been easy.” you take a deep breath and get to your feet. “i stand by what i said earlier, though — this isn’t working out. you just can’t tell us that you’ll be helpful and not follow through. it means a lot, to a lot of people, that there’s a space like this on campus. mel, gert, sky— they all work so hard to make that happen, and that’s something i need to protect. i’m sorry.”

“wait.” vi grabs your wrist before you can leave. “i’m sorry. really, i am. i promise to do better.”

“you’ve made that promise before,” you point out. “why should i believe this time will be different?”

“because…you’re right. i’ve been too caught up in myself, in what i need, in what my team needs. i can see that you really care about your team, though, and i should have respected that. they’re — you’re — amazing, everything that you do to make people feel safe and heard and loved. i’m sorry for taking that for granted.”

wow. okay.

you did not expect that. you’re hoping that vi can’t feel your pulse quicken at her words, but you’re glad that she’s holding on to you, keeping you steady.

“yeah, well…flattery’s not gonna get you far.” you clear your throat. “but, you’re obviously going through a lot right now, and it can drive you crazy, feeling like you’re the one who —”

“has to keep everything together,” vi finishes, sliding to the ground once more. you follow. “seems like i’m cracking under pressure, this time. fucking everything up.”

“you’ve got a reckless streak.”

“must be the aries in me,” she laughs, softly. “apparently it’s my Ieast attractive quality. along with my stubbornness and selfishness.”

“well, i don’t think that’s the whole picture,” you assure her. vi looks at you incredulously. “i won’t lie and say that your actions aren’t….thoughtless sometimes. you’re more self-centred than selfish—”

“hey!”

“but you obviously feel some sense of responsibility, for your team, your family, for what you think is right. hell — the reason my boss asked me to kick you out is because you started a bar fight with that frat boy who was insisting he had the right dick to set lesbians straight.”

vi scoffs. “asshole.”

“i was about to throw him out, but you beat me to the punch. literally.” you nudge your shoulder against vi’s, and she chuckles. “and, yeah, you’re stubborn, which can be annoying, but it also means that you’d never give up, that you’re willing to keep trying despite the odds, so….”

“so….?”

vi’s looking at you with the widest, softest eyes. fuck, you never expected her to be this gentle, so much so that it you want to melt to her every need.

“i’m hoping third time’s the charm, varsity.”

vi smiles, the most sincere one she’s probably ever given you, and the scar on her lip stretches; for all your talk about responsibility, there’s a part of you who’d risk pushing your already tenuous relationship with your girlfriend to its breaking point just so you could kiss vi, guilt-free, just once. maybe you have a bit of a reckless streak, too.

“thanks, wonder woman. you won’t regret it.”

yeah. you kind of already do.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi would never admit it, but one reason she fought to keep her community service assignment here is because she wanted to keep seeing you.

she likes getting under your skin, seeing those pretty eyes roll whenever she strides in late for a meeting, that kissable jaw clench any time you catch her tangled up with someone else.

it almost makes up for all those nights at sappho’s you’d spent flirting back and forth, some sort of unspoken agreement between you to never go further.

sometimes, it’s just nice to have a crush in your back pocket, to know that they’ll always be there to admire and admire you back while others come and go.

the more time you spend together, though, the more vi realizes that you’re not just a fictional character in her head, in a fantasy she pictures before bed — no, you’re tangible.

vi watches as you bring special tea for gert when their period cramps are particularly painful; she listens to you console mel after another fight with her mother and offer advice to sky when she was hoping to ask out her lab partner. vi notices how you prefer your coffee with a dash of cinnamon; and she learns that you had your first kiss with a girl in your freshman year journalism class, and that your first tattoo was done by the same person. a stick-and-poke star on your ankle.

she can hear your laugh, feel the cool metal of your rings brush against her skin accidentally when you’re squeezing past her in a crowded room, smell your perfume when you hug her goodbye. you have stories and quirks and expectations and opinions that vi subconsciously files away as she gets to know you better.

you’re not just a crush, anymore.

you’re a friend.

vi likes having you as a friend. really — she does!

you’re a friend who makes vi’s heart jump at the sight of your name on her phone. a friend who smirks when vi blushes after you tell her she has the prettiest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. a friend who mentions this vibrator that gave you one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had, so vi orders the same one and maybe still pictures you before bed, imagining that you’re using it at the same time. except someone else might be next to you.

yeah, vi’s pretty sure you’re dating someone, but that’s something she hasn’t gathered enough information on.

not that it matters. she wouldn’t be interested in anything serious, anyways, after the mindfuck that was her relationship with caitlyn, and the damage she’s still having to heal from.

though, if that hadn’t happened, vi would have never gotten into a fight with maddie nolan, the second striker for the piltover knights, who taunted her during an exhibition game about how caitlyn is so much happier now that she isn’t disgracing herself with a filthy zaunite. vi would have never been banned from the first half of the tournament and chewed out by coach sevika for fucking up the yellowjackets’ chance at nationals.

vi would have never been put on academic probation and assigned to 100 hours of community service, either.

she certainly wouldn’t have been here, now, in the women’s centre office close to midnight on a tuesday, folding the most recent issue of the black rose when you walk in.

“oh. hey, v.” you drop down on the zebra-striped couch, your tote bag falling to the ground. “i thought sky was gonna be here tonight.”

vi shakes her head, removing one earbud and letting it dangle from the cord. “she’s got this huge chem report due tomorrow, had to meet up with viktor to get it done.”

“right…” you sigh and lie back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. a few moments pass, and there’s only your steady breathing. “what are you listening to?”

your eyes are closed when vi settles in next to you. it’s a relatively tight fit, but it doesn’t seem like either of you particularly care. vi gently places an earbud in your ear.

you snort, opening your eyes. “you could have just said the cranberries.”

“i’m surprised you recognize them,” vi quips. “it’s not your usual angry girl music.”

“well, sometimes people surprise you. this is actually one of my favorite songs,” you explain. “it’s in one of my favorite movies, too.”

“you’ve got mail?”

you furrow your brows. “when harry met sally.”

vi shakes her head. “no, ‘dreams’ is definitely in you’ve got mail. but, i agree that when harry met sally is a better movie.”

“you’ve watched nora ephron movies and enjoyed them?”

“well, sometimes people surprise you,” vi teases. “i can appreciate a good love story as much as the next person.”

you let out a short, airy laugh. you tilt your head and you’re so close to vi that you’re practically exchanging the same breath. your eyes land on her lips for a millisecond, and vi starts to lean in before you sit up abruptly.

“i could use some alcohol.” you climb over vi and go to the desk, pull out a half empty bottle of fruit-flavored soju from a drawer. you grab two mugs — the hayley kiyoko one, and another with frida kahlo. you stop short of pouring, looking to vi. she nods.

soon enough, you’ve got your legs strewn along vi’s lap, sipping lychee infused alcohol.

“can i ask you something?”

“anything,” vi answers, squeezing your calf.

“why’d you and caitlyn break up?” the question hangs in the air for a second before you add: “if you don’t wanna talk about it though, i understand.”

shit. it’s definitely not vi’s favorite topic of conversation, but….

“i think she thought that i was one of the good ones, that regardless of the way i grew up or the blood that coursed through my veins, i would be her perfect little charity case. people would be like: future president kiramman definitely cares about the poor — just look at the broke angry lesbian she’s turned into her docile wife!”

you suck in a sharp breath. “fuck that.”

“yeah,” vi laughs sadly. “the worst part is that she wanted me to be vulnerable with her, so i was, because i thought the more i opened up, the more she’d love me, but, in the end….i was too messy. i was too much.”

vi hates the lump that starts to build in her throat, the tears that threaten to spill. she cannot cry in front of you —

you grab her hand. your skin is cool against hers, and it eases her quickening heartbeat.

“you’re not too much, v.” your voice soothes her like honey, trickling down her throat. “it sucks, though, when they ask you to rip your heart out of your chest and get mad at you for bleeding out in front of them.”

“shit, i never thought of it so…viscerally, but that’s exactly what it feels like.”

“well you’re not a creative writing major,” you quip. “i know it still hurts — trust me, i know — but your heart was never hers if she treated you that badly. you deserve more.”

is it the alcohol messing with her brain, or does it look like you want to kiss her?

fuck.

vi clears her throat. “why’re you asking?”

you pull your hand away, take a sip of your drink. “jules broke up with me a few days ago.”

you’re single now. good to know.

“what happened?”

“i caught her kissing someone at a bar. a boy.” you roll your eyes. “maybe she just wasn’t ready, which is fine, but when we had it out, she told me that what we had isn’t what romance is supposed to feel or look like, which sucked. especially after being so….vulnerable with her.”

“you offered her that bleeding heart of yours, didn’t you?”

you click your tongue, pouring some more soju into each mug. “course i did, v. and it didn’t mean anything in the end. because relationships suck.”

“i’ll drink to that.”

you cheers, keeping eye contact.

“and you know what?” you take a big, long gulp. “i know that relationships aren’t just about sex, but i’ve been having to get myself off for months now and sometimes, i just want someone else to —”

“take care of you?”

vi sips her drink, watching you mull over her words.

“not sure if i’d put it like that,” you decide. “i just miss that excitement. when another person wants to discover what makes you feel good, and wanting to learn how to make them feel good, too. i miss having that connection with someone.”

“i’m guessing you didn’t have that with jules, then.”

“ha! no. and paula…the girl i dated before….let’s just say, she didn’t give a shit whether i felt good, in any sense.” you shift in your seat; vi senses there’s a story there, but she doesn’t push. “how about future president kiramman — she take care of you?”

vi can’t help but laugh. “nah. i mostly took care of her. she sure liked it when i got down on my knees for her.”

you hum.

“lucky her.”

you wink at vi, and she chokes on her drink.

i would gladly do it for you, if that’s something you want.

“is that a genuine offer? because, if you’re joking —”

shit. did vi say that out loud?

vi’s heart is beating out of her chest, but she sits up straighter to regain some level of composure. she nods.

no use in turning back now.

“i’m serious, wonder woman.”

you stare at her. “i really can’t have another relationship that’s just gonna crash and burn.”

“that’s not what i’m offering. i care about our - our friendship. i care about you.”

you swallow. “i care about you, too.”

“right, and when our friends need help with something….”

“we help them,” you finish. “so, you’re really just talking about casual sex. right now, on this couch?”

“yes,” vi answers. maybe a bit too quickly. “if that’s what you want, too.”

“that’s what i want,” you reply. maybe a bit too quickly, too. “but none of this one sided bullshit: you do me, i do you.”

vi takes your mug, puts it next to hers on the floor, and repositions your bodies so that she’s hovering above you, hips set between yours.

“sounds perfect to me.”

you finally, finally kiss and it feels oddly…familiar. you taste like lychees and nicotine and cherries, burnt sweetness, and your skin is so fucking soft.

“wait.” you tug on vi’s hair and she has to bite back a moan at how fucked out you already look underneath her, all wide-eyed and desperate. “just so we’re 100% clear: just sex.”

vi nods once. “no strings attached.”

“it’ll be casual.”

“we’re not doing the whole relationship thing.”

“promise?”

vi sticks out her pinky, grinning at you sheepishly. you roll your eyes ever so slightly, but still wrap your pinky around hers.

“promise.”

so, you take care of each other. no strings attached.

because that’s what friends are for, right?

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽

are u busy rn? got out of my lab early and im bored

wndr wmn ☆

yeah, im at work

v ⚽️

leave early. im BORED and HORNY

wndr wmn ☆

ofc you are

v ⚽️

pls u love it

u know #6 isn’t just my jersey number ;))

i’m implying that i will give u 6 consecutive orgasms

wndr wmn ☆

yeah i got that

v ⚽️

so….

wndr wmn ☆

….

leaving now

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“you sure about this, v?”

vi hums, looking up at you through hooded eyes. “isn’t it every girl’s dream to get tied up by the lasso of truth, wonder woman?”

you’re straddling her, still wearing your red and gold bodysuit underneath blue shorts that you’ve decorated with silver stars. your makeshift lasso of truth — really, just some gold rope — sparkles, tying vi’s wrists together to the headboard.

the theme of the women’s centre halloween celebration is always the same — dress up at your favorite female icon — but you’d never seen someone look as good as vi does. she dressed as trinity from the matrix, all tight, black leather and vinyl, showcasing her defined muscles as the gods intended.

now, she’s left in a sleeveless cropped top and black boyshorts, with her pants and jacket thrown somewhere on your apartment floor.

you have a feeling she really liked your costume, too, because she practically begged you to take control tonight.

“if it gets too much, our safeword will be —”

“sappho.” the slight whine of impatience in her voice sends a jolt right to your core.

“perfect.”

you kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck, your lipstick leaving angry red marks. you lodge your bare thigh in between vi’s legs, biting your bottom lip when you feel her already warm and wet, when you hear her whimper as you apply more pressure to where she needs you most. you reach into your nightstand for your vibrator and switch it on, teasing vi’s nipples through her shirt.

vi moans, deep and loud. not even thirty seconds, and she’s already pulling at the restraints, the headboard creaking.

“are you gonna be a good girl for me, violet?” you coo, inching the vibrator lower and lower, feeling her shake underneath you. “because we’ve got all night, and you better not break my bed.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“hey, so — i found these in between one of the couch cushions, thought maybe they might be yours.”

you can only spare a glance at the item mel is holding up — you’re grading freshman papers, focused on this one student’s thesis about gender fluidity in shakespeare’s twelfth night.

“oh, those are vi’s.”

“hm. and just how is it that you know what her underwear looks like?”

you stop writing mid-sentence and look up at mel who’s giving you a pointed look.

you and vi had been the ones to clean up after feminist film friday last week, and one thing led to another….

in your defense: vi had been wearing these low cut jeans that showed off her v-line, and you could tell she didn’t have her usual sports bra on because you could see the outlines of her nipple rings through her tight, white tank top. it took everything in you to wait until people cleared out during the credits of the watermelon woman to pin her down and have her whimpering for you.

“i just…guessed.”

“right.” mel rolls her eyes. “so, you and violet are….what? fucking? dating?”

you clear your throat and take a sip of lukewarm coffee.

“we’re keeping it casual,” is all you say.

“are you sure that’s a good idea?”

you just shrug.

“just — be careful,” mel, always the diplomatic one, eases. she walks towards you, sits on the edge of the desk, and hands you the pair of black briefs. “i know we all teased you about it before, but i don’t want to see you get hurt. i’ve seen you get your heart broken one too many times.”

“it’s fine, mel,” you assure her, grabbing the piece of fabric and shoving it at the bottom of your bag. you’re visiting their owner after this, anyways. “vi and i are just friends helping each other out.”

mel raises an eyebrow. “well, you and i have been friends for years and we’ve never gotten that close.”

“that’s different.”

“how so?”

“i appreciate your concern,” you say, avoiding the question. “but it’s fine. nice, actually.”

“it’s your life,” mel sighs. “maybe don’t fuck on our couches anymore, though.”

your cheeks heat up. you turn your attention back to the essay in front of you.

“noted.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi starts showing up at your place after soccer.

she’s allowed back on the field during games now, so she appears with a winning grin, a grass-stained uniform and fresh bruises on her knees. one time, she had the remnants of a bloody nose after a header gone wrong, and you could taste copper when she pressed her lips against yours before she hopped in the shower.

you keep her go-to body wash stocked — bergamot and cedarwood scented old spice — but she always walks out of the bathroom smelling like your mango-vanilla shower gel. sometimes even your coconut shampoo. she slips on one of your oversized graphic tees, drapes a light purple towel around her shoulders to avoid staining your shirt with her cheaply dyed black hair, fading back to pink with each wash. she walks over to the fridge in her soft gray sweatpants rolled at the ankles and cracks open one of the spiced-pear red bulls as you pull ingredients out for dinner. usually something quick and simple, since it’s always a long week and neither of you have capacity for anything more.

vi chops garlic and tells you about her game; you boil water for pasta and tell her about the latest drama between students in your literature class.

you pretend you have all the time in the world.

because you both know that vi’s got the strap packed in her gym bag, that soon one thing will lead to another and she’ll be fucking you with it until you’re both sweaty and spent and exhausted in the best way possible.

you’ve established this routine together, agreed upon several unspoken rules: no pillow talk once it’s over; no actually falling asleep in the other’s bed; no crossing that thin sapphic line between friendship and romance.

no breaking that promise.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

wanna come over? i’m watching bend it like beckham

v ⚽️

MY FAVORITE!!

i would love 2

but lucky fell asleep on me

we just finished devouring an xl pepperoni pizza

wndr wmn

remind me again why your one-eyed golden retriever likes pizza so much?

v ⚽️

come on it’s cute

[v ⚽️ sent an attachment]

wndr wmn

yeah, you’re cute

v ⚽️

come over here instead?

wndr wmn

omw

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi whines, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“come on — hurry up.”

“you practically begged for this, v,” you chide.

“yeah, but you’re taking too long and your hands are fucking freezing.”

“it’s the irony deficiency, babe,” you quip. “now, are you gonna be a good girl and let me finish?”

“fine,” vi grumbles. she does stop squirming, though. you hum, pleased.

you certainly didn’t miss the way her breath hitches at the nickname. vi’s right hand, freshly polished, tightens on your thigh.

you’re not sure why she called you at 1:27am for your help with this, or why she couldn’t just do it herself, but you’re sitting on her lap, painting her nails the color of pomegranate juice, a color she had chosen from the options you brought.

sure, you were about to turn in for an early night, but the moment you heard her voice through the phone, you rushed over to her place wearing nothing but your pajamas — plaid boxer shorts and a spiderman shirt that vi wore last time she was at yours, and you haven’t washed since.

you stretch time out as much as you can, meticulous in every stroke, but painting her nails doesn’t take much longer. you start to move off her lap — it’s probably time for you to leave — but vi grabs your hips, a playful smirk on her lips.

oh, right. that’s the type of relationship — friendship — you and vi agreed upon.

shit. you’re pretty sure that you’re wearing your days of the week underwear. is it a turn-off that you’ve got on a saturday pair on a thursday?

it doesn’t really matter, anyways.

instead of initiating a kiss, vi takes the bottle of polish from you, swaps it for black, and gestures for your hand. you blink at her, until you realize what she’s asking.

“oh! you don’t have to —”

“you do me, i do you.” vi grins at you. “i thought that was our arrangement.”

you laugh, feeling warmth radiate from your chest.

it’s kind of….adorable, the furrow of her brow, the way she curses under her breath when a drop of nail polish falls onto your skin. she’s surprisingly gentle, too, one of her hands holding yours for support while the other paints.

while she focuses on getting the polish onto your nails in even layers, you busy yourself by counting vi’s freckles.

violet rose atlas has a constellation of freckles sparkling across her cheeks. you hope there’s enough time in the world for you to memorize every single one.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽️

do u need more nicotine gum?

im at cvs rn

wndr wmn

yeah that’d be great!!

v ⚽️

i’ll get u the cinnamon one

that’s the one u like right?

wndr wmn

yep!!!

v ⚽️

okay cool

im also gonna get u some of those iron supplements

wndr wmn

my hero 🙏🏽

thank you sm

v ⚽️

ofc

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“that red head was trying to get your number.”

“are you jealous, v?”

vi scoffs, sipping her cherry coke. “of course not. i’m just observant.”

you’d convinced your manager to let vi back into sappho’s. it’s nice, really, to see her back here again.

nice, but different.

gone are the days of staring at her from across the room, where she would be charming someone else, and only flirting with you when she came over to get another whiskey for herself and vodka something for her date. instead, she jokes around with mel, sky, and gert if they’re around, and sometimes brings her teammates in as well to play a game of pool. she usually has one drink, and then switches to something non-alcoholic. sometimes, vi doesn’t even come in for a drink; she just stops by to say hi before a team dinner or a study session.

(it’s fine — never once have you gotten an overpriced coffee from the cafe she started working at mid-october, and you probably stop by once a week between errands. that’s your excuse, anyways.)

so. things are different, but nice.

you lean across the sticky counter. “you want me to get down on my knees for you right now to prove which girl here i’d like to go home with?”

“baby….” vi shifts on the bar stool. it’s hard to tell under the dim multicolored lights, but you’re pretty sure she’s blushing, too.

“i think we both know you’d draw a bit too much attention to yourself. especially when i use my tongue to —”

“my car’s outside.”

you smirk. “my break’s in 15.”

you used to spend your breaks in the alley outside sappho’s burning through a cigarette. now you find yourself knee-deep in the passenger seat, eating vi out like she’s the last thing you’ll ever taste.

“f-fuck,” vi groans.

“feels good, yeah?” you tease her clit with her tongue, sliding two fingers into her easily. you work fast, determined to let her finish before you run out of time.

“so fucking good. i’m gonna —”

she clenches around your fingers; you lap her up eagerly, let her writhe against your face until she’s had enough.

you sit back on your knees once her hips still, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. you crane your neck to check the time on the dashboard, when you notice something in the footwell.

“vi! i thought i lost this.”

vi grins at you sheepishly, chest still heaving as you hold up the complete works of audre lorde, a tattered book with a well-worn spine and dog-eared pages.

“sorry. i meant to put it back on your nightstand once i was finished.”

you open to where she’s placed a makeshift bookmark — the ticket from an underground sirens of zaun show you’d both gone to. you’ve had this copy since freshman year, the scribble of your handwriting in the margins of practically on every page.

“it’s okay,” you tell her. “you like it so far?”

“yeah.” she grabs the book from you gently, thumbing through the pages. you wonder if vi registers the curves of her own smile, tender and bashful. “honestly, i’m not usually a fan of poetry, but it’s really cool how lorde writes about desire between women in such a tangible way, you know? i really liked this one verse in ‘recreation:’ ‘touching you, i catch midnight as moon fires set in my throat.’ it’s just so - so beautiful, the idea of something so domestic and mundane being almost magical, because that’s what it’s really like when —”

you don’t even realize that you’re staring until vi looks up at you and freezes.

“sorry,” she clears her throat, closing the book and setting it aside. “did i say something wrong?”

you assure vi that she did nothing wrong.

you exit her car, the taste of her lingering on your tongue, the feeling of her keeping your body warm on this cold november night.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

hey

are you in town during break?

v⚽️

having dinner at my dads’ on friday but otherwise im here

why? u gonna miss me??

wndr wmn

lol

im having ppl over for friendsgiving on sunday

if you wanna join

v ⚽️

hell yeah

can i bring anything?

wndr wmn

just your pretty face

i’ll take care of the rest

turkey, cranberry, sauce, stuffing, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie…

etc. etc.

v ⚽️

damn!!!!

full course meal

wndr wmn

yep

im basically wife material

v⚽️

pls we’re so over gender norms

but yeah

you are

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi has never been the type to wait by the phone for a girl to text, or to show up at her place after not hearing from her in a while, worried that she might have done something wrong.

yet here she is, standing outside your door.

it’s cool, though. completely platonic behavior.

she knocks.

there’s no answer.

she knocks again.

nothing.

vi waits another second, leaning her shoulder against the door.

“it’s me, wonder woman,” she tries.

hope flutters in her chest as she hears you shuffle, unchain the lock. vi stumbles as you throw the door open, but she recovers quickly to find you: smudged black eyeliner enhancing the shadows underneath your eyes, hair in disarray, clothes disheveled.

“i’m not really in the mood for sex.”

vi can’t help but laugh, even though your comment feels like a punch to the face.

“wow. figured you would think more of me by now than just some horny teenage boy.”

“look, vi —”

vi?

since when do you call her that?

“i’m sorry i missed the meeting today. i texted mel —”

damn, so your phone does work.

you’ve just been ignoring her calls and texts.

“but i’m just… it’s not a good time, okay? i’ll see you around.”

ah.

the classic generic excuse and non-committal statement combo.

you start to close the door on her before she even has a chance to get a word in.

the hits just keep coming.

thankfully, vi’s always been a good fighter.

“wait.” vi places her palm firmly on the door before you can fully shut her out. “i’m just here to check on you.”

your face remains unchanged.

“okay, well, you’ve checked on me.”

“yeah, i’ve checked on you. you look like shit.”

you glare at her. “well i’m sorry i didn’t have the time to get all prettied up for you. i know that you like me better that way.”

“that’s not what i —” vi inhales sharply. she’s a fighter, but she doesn’t want to fight you. “mel dropped the news — about admin officially cutting our funding. i knew how that would affect you, so….” vi lifts the bag of takeout. “i brought some thai food for us to share. a pomegranate, too, because i know you like seasonal fruit. it’s been a while and honestly, i just….i just wanted to spend time with you.”

you exhale, your eyes softening.

there.

a hesitant smile, an invitation to come inside.

there are clothes all over your floor and dishes piled high in the sink. your desk is littered with empty boxes of cereal and cans of an energy drink that normally you’d never touch. the blanket that sky had crocheted for you — lavender and pink checkered — is unfolded on your couch, your laptop half-closed on the coffee table in front next to two stacks of printed essays — ones marked with purple pen, the others untouched. in contrast, your bed is still perfectly made.

you take the blanket and wrap it around your shoulders, sitting at the kitchen table and curling into yourself. vi busies herself in cracking open the pomegranate, putting the seeds into the last clean bowl in your cupboard. the palms of her arm wraps are now stained a reddish-purple, but she doesn’t care.

vi manages to find two pairs of clean chopsticks for the thai food, and the two of you eat in silence.

“so….” vi starts, watching you stab a piece of chicken before popping it into your mouth. “you wanna talk about it, or….?”

“what’s there to talk about?”

“well, for starters, maybe tell me what’s been getting you into full hibernation mode? we haven’t seen each other in, like, a week.”

“six days,” you correct, chewing a mouthful of noodles. “last tuesday, we played pool during my closing shift at sappho’s. i lost. you made me down two shots of tequila because you’re a menace and you know i hate it.”

“yeah, but i drove you home and tucked you into bed with water and advil for later, so i’m also a gentleman. so, just tell me what’s been going on. we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

“it’s fine,” you grumble.

“clearly, it’s not. just tell me what you need.”

“what i need is to not be distracted,” you huff, avoiding eye contact. “i certainly don’t need you —”

“taking care of you, i know.” vi grabs your hand from across the table. she feels you stiffen on instinct, and then ease into the heat of her skin. “trust me, i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want to be. so — humor me.”

vi squeezes your hand, hoping to reassure you.

you sigh. “i’ve just — i’ve been spiralling trying to figure out how the centre can keep going with, like, half our required budget, trying to see if we can get some external donors and i still need to finalize the venue and equipment rentals for our last open mic….and….and my sibling called again to tell me that things haven’t been great at home, so i want to go down there this weekend to sort everything out, but my car hasn’t been starting….plus i’m behind on grading, and i told my supervisor i’d have a complete draft ready by thursday and i’m not even halfway done, and that’s the same day we’re having that art build for the climate rally on friday, and i’ve been having the worst cramps since this afternoon, and all i wanna do is pass out and sink into my duvet, but i need to keep going —”

vi squeezes your hand again, this time more firmly. “you need to slow down.”

“i can’t.” you huff. “i have to keep everything from falling apart, and if i don’t….”

vi shifts to the chair next to yours, still holding your hand.

“but you can’t do it all if you’re too exhausted to take care of yourself. from the looks of it, you’ve been living off of frosted flakes, red bull, and zero sleep.”

you shrug. “if that’s what it takes.”

“if that’s what it takes, then maybe it’s not worth it.”

“don’t say that,” you tell her. “it’s all worth it. i just wish it wasn’t so…heavy.”

vi nods, because she really, truly understands. she gives you the advice she can see you giving her in another context.

“you ever think that maybe it wouldn’t feel as heavy if you…i don’t know…weren’t too stubborn to ask for help.”

“there are things that are my responsibility, violet,” you tell her, slipping your hand away. you reach for the bowl of pomegranate seeds, meticulously picking up one at a time with your chopsticks and crushing it in between your molars. “i can’t just pass those off to someone else.”

“fine. but what about other things? like the women’s centre stuff — we’re a team, right? so we’ll figure it out together, divide the labor so you’re not doing everything. and, maybe ask your supervisor for an extension, too? and, well, i don’t really need my car this weekend, so you’re welcome to borrow it.”

you pause, narrowing your eyes at her.

“you said…. ‘we.’”

“well, yeah. i’m part of the team, aren’t i?”

“but you’ll be finished with your hours in a week. there’s no reason for you to stay.”

“of course there is,” vi whispers, studying your face as it morphs from suspicious to something else, something gentler.

her heart is pounding as she waits for you to say something, so vi starts to dig into the pomegranate seeds, the juice surprisingly more sweet than sour. some dribbles out from the corner of her lips, and you reach over to wipe it away with your thumb.

“i’d love for you to stay,” you hum, smiling, and vi feels her chest glow with a brightness it seems only you can bring out. “turns out you give pretty good advice.”

“so…you’ll consider it.”

you shrug again. “maybe. i am very tempted to take you up on the car thing.”

“all yours, if you want it.”

“are you sure?”

“it’s fine, wonder woman. i’ll just carpool to practice — it’s better for the environment, anyways. can’t show up to the climate rally as a hypocrite, can i?” she jokes, and you roll your eyes playfully. “and, i’ll try to fix your car while you’re away.”

“wow. you are a gentleman.”

“gentleman? baby, i’m husband material.”

you actually laugh.

“i thought we were over gender norms,” you quip. “but yeah. you are.”

vi’s cheeks heat up at your statement. you most definitely notice her blushing because you break out into a toothy grin

“i missed you, v,” you admit. “any other words of wisdom?”

despite your tender smile, you look exhausted. vi just wants to hold you through it all, tell you it’s gonna be okay. instead, she settles for placing a gentle hand on your cheek, running her thumb over the deep shadow underneath your eye.

“get some rest, pretty girl.”

a few hours later, you wake up alone.

you have a vague memory of warm arms wrapped around you, a heart beating steadier than yours. your sheets smell like old spice, your apartment smells like fresh laundry. you get out of bed and notice that there are no more dishes in your sink, no more cans or containers on any surface. all the clothes you’d been meaning to wash are now carefully folded on your couch.

there’s a bright pink sticky note on your nightstand next to the keys to vi’s car.

you talk in your sleep. something about stargazing? maybe we can go when you get back.

drive safe. text me if you need anything.

xxx

- v

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

zaun yellowjackets vs. piltover knights.

two minutes left in overtime.

one goal standing in the way of their trophy. one goal to end piltover’s monopoly over the title of national champions.

caitlyn probably told her knights to be extra aggressive — win by any means necessary — so it’s been a long game of dirty plays and intentional fouls.

vi always puts her heart into every single game, but this time —

this time, it’s personal.

zaun’s defense works to regain possession and prevent piltover’s attack. ashe manages to intercept a pass between two knights, and is quick in dribbling the ball until mid-field. she sends it over to vi with a swift kick. vi’s quick on her feet, catching piltover’s defense by surprise, sprinting closer and closer to the goal. she makes it to the penalty box.

this could be the winning point.

vi has it, too. she’s so fucking close, about to fake out the goalie and kick into that hard-to-defend sweet spot — until a sharp, pointy elbow collides with her ribs so abruptly, it knocks the wind out of her lungs. she stumbles forward over the ball, knees skidding onto the grass. whoever it is also steps on vi’s cleat for good measure.

“fuck!” she looks up to see who it is.

of course. it’s maddie fucking nolan, who doesn’t spare so much as a glance as the ref doles out a red card. she nods at caitlyn as she walks off the field, no doubt following her captain’s orders.

her teammates help vi to her feet, and the ref makes sure everyone is in position for the penalty kick.

this could be the winning point. vi just has to ignore caitlyn’s icy stare from a few feet away, and the heart threatening to beat out of her chest.

vi takes a deep breath.

she looks to the stands. among the crowd of screaming fans, zaunites and pilties alike, is vi’s family. they’re cheering.

you’re there too, sitting next to them.

everyone is staring at vi, waiting for the whistle, waiting for her to make the shot, but the only person she stares back at is you.

you’ve got this, v, you had whispered to her the night before. she couldn’t sleep, so she called you. vi wishes she was back there, now — tangled in flannel sheets, lucky snoring at the foot of the bed, gazing up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling until she finally fell asleep in your arms.

but, vi’s on the field.

and this is the winning point.

the whistle blows.

she makes the shot.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“i told you i wasn’t a jinx!” powder sticks her tongue out at mylo.

she’s all sweat and dirt and adrenaline, but, fuck, if vi isn’t so, incredibly happy and proud of her team, of everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve accomplished.

it almost doesn’t feel real.

just like it doesn’t feel real, seeing you talk animatedly with her sister’s boyfriend, laughing along with her siblings, smiling as you watch her dads hug and praise her.

when it’s your turn to do the same, you practically leap into vi’s arms, gushing about how amazing she was, how proud you are of her.

“this looks good on you,” vi hums, as you pull away from another hug. her fingers play with the bottom of the jersey, and she bites the inside of her cheek to ground herself in the moment. you, with her family. you, in her jersey. “thinking of joining the yellowjackets?”

“i think i’ll leave the soccer to you,” you tell her. “you were amazing out there. guess i should be calling you wonder woman from now on, huh?”

“wonder woman! that’s where i remember you from!” vander suddenly exclaims, stepping closer to the pair of you. silco turns around, too. “you once tried to get into the last drop with a fake id, didn’t you? under the name diana prince?”

“shit,” you laugh nervously, eyes flickering between vander and the ground as if you’re once again a teenager caught in the act. “i….probably did.”

“i kicked you out, told you to go home to themyscira.”

“yeah…i….i remember that.” you nod slowly, furrowing your brows. “except, i didn’t want to go home that night, so i lingered outside,” you continue. you turn to vi, and your face softens. “which was when you —”

“brought two glasses of cherry coke and rum,” vi finishes; she sees flashes of that night as you gaze into her eyes. “we climbed onto the roof and —”

that was her first kiss. vi never even realized until now, but —

you were her first kiss.

“i can’t believe i forgot that.”

“weird, how memory works,” you agree, tilting your head curiously, looking at vi with a newfound interest, like a ghost from your past.

“well, isn’t this a story we’ll be sharing on your wedding day!” vander chuckles, ruffling vi’s hair.

“don’t pressure them, darling,” silco chides, but the smirk growing on his face gives him away. he’s loving this drama. “they’re barely 23 — i doubt they’ve discussed marriage.”

“oh, we’re not —”

“yeah, we’re just —”

“friends,” you say at the same time, careful to avoid eye contact.

vi feels like she might burst into flames at the knowing look vander and silco share.

“well, violet, would your friend like to join us for a celebratory dinner?” silco asks.

so that’s how you’re sitting between powder and claggor, listening to them talk your ear off about the young innovator’s competition. vi’s sitting across from you, next to ekko, who occasionally pipes in.

you’re here, sharing the tradition of a post-game meal with vi’s family at the local pizza parlour.

caitlyn never even wanted to meet vi’s family.

a few pizzas are ordered for the table, and you eat and laugh and sip your soda along with everyone else. you make a flower out of your paper napkin and hand it to isha, who’s on the other side of powder, and she gives you a toothy grin in return. you answer all the standard questions about your job and major and plans for the future.

“after graduation, i’m probably gonna take a break, get some work experience,” you explain. “maybe save up some money for law school a few years down the road.”

“you wanna be a lawyer, huh? you sure you wanna be friends with a felon, then?” powder asks, blowing bubbles into her soda through her straw.

vi coughs, choking on a mushroom.

“powder!”

“what! she never told you?”

you shake your head, glancing over at vi who suddenly finds it hard to look you in the eye. your foot has been pressed against hers underneath the table all night; you pull it away now. she takes a big gulp of water; vi looks over at vander and silco for help, but they seem to be caught up in their own conversation.

“oh, damn! ” mylo adds, leaning over. “it’s a great story!”

“guys, maybe don’t —”

“but it’s a great story!” mylo insists. “shows what a badass you are!”

“she didn’t do anything serious, like murder or anything,” powder clarifies. “it was really just her pissing off some enforcers —”

“rightfully so,” ekko adds.

claggor nods. “we were just kids. they were harassing us for some bullshit, disruption of property or whatever, so vi steps in and things get heated —”

“it takes three of enforcers to get her handcuffed, but she manages to get a few nasty hits in before they send her off to stillwater —”

“she spends three days there —”

“i thought it was two —”

“no, it was three —”

“needless to say, this isn’t the first time vi has been sentenced to community service, but it seems she’s really enjoying it this time, thanks to you,” powder finishes, winking at you.

“well that’s….quite the story,” you finally say, voice steady.

“oh! let’s tell her about the time she stole from some enforcers that were hoarding food —”

as powder continues the story, and you listen intently, it’s hard to read your expression.

are you ashamed of being friends with her? disgusted by her family, her past? regretful that you ever let her touch you, let her into your life?

vi’s stomach turns when your eyes collide; she’s been down this road before, and vi’s scared that she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

she pushes her chair back and disappears to the bathroom before she has to watch you walk away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

there’s a knock on the door.

“someone’s in here,” vi says. she grips the edge of the counter so hard, her knuckles turn white.

deep breaths.

this isn’t the same as before.

this isn’t caitlyn, who threw vi out like a piece of trash when something better came along.

then again, you never knew this much about vi’s past. you’re well within your right to —

there’s another knock.

“v? it’s me….i have to get going, but i wanted to check on you before i leave.”

“okay,” vi clips. she looks up at herself in the mirror; she had splashed her face with cold water to calm herself down. a drop falls from her chin. “bye.”

“are you sure you’re okay?”

“i’m fine. see you around.”

you sigh, and vi hears you settle against the doorframe.

“violet, let me in,” you press. “please?”

“i’m fine. you can leave.”

“okay, well, i’m not leaving until i see that gorgeous face of yours one more time,” you whisper. “i got all dolled up just for you, and all i wanna do is give you a proper goodbye….”

well, when you put it like that….

vi grabs some paper towel to dry her face and fixes her hair before opening the door for you. you smile knowingly, enter and lock the door behind you.

you lean against the door as vi leans against the counter, the marble digging into her lower back.

“okay, i’ll start because, frankly, i don’t have time to waste,” you state after a few moments of silence. “nothing i’ve learned about you tonight has changed how i see you. it’s just confirmed some things.”

“right. like how impulsive and violent and reckless i’ve always been,” she lists glumly, unable to look you in the eye.

“maybe you are all those things,” you pause. “but, i don’t fucking care. i mean, i do, because it’s part of you and i like who you are. i like you.”

your words do wonders to ease the tension throughout vi’s body, and she feels like she can actually take a breath.

vi’s eyes lock onto yours.

“you do?”

“i like who you are, every part of it,” you tell her. “well, i don’t like that you’ve had to fight your way through an unbelievably fucked up system ever since you were a kid, but the bottom line is that you’re the strongest, most compassionate person i know.”

vi blinks at you.

“funny, i was just thinking the same thing about you the other day.”

neither of you say anything for a minute or so, letting the sentiment linger in the small space between you. once more, you’re the one to break the ice.

“well, you know what they say about great minds….” you step closer to vi. you take her chin between your thumb and your index finger. "can you guess what i’m thinking now?"

vi shakes her head, throat suddenly very dry.

“i’m thinking that i’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”

“what’s stopped you?”

you grin. “i didn’t want to make a fuss in front of your family, but now that we’re alone….”

vi doesn't say anything, but instead closes the gap between your lips.

you kiss her, harsh and messy, tongue and teeth, swallowing her moans as your fingers snake down the waistband of her pants. you pull vi’s bottom lip with your teeth before moving to her neck, nipping along the outline of her tattoo. you bite down harder on her skin, right at her pulse point.

"what’s that you said earlier —” a low groan tumbles from vi’s lips when you start to suck just above her collarbones. another when your tongue soothes over the sting. “about a proper goodbye…?” she tugs your hair so that you’re looking right at her.

it’s quite the sight — your lips swollen, chest heaving, eyes curious and lustful.

“anything you want,” you whisper, all breathless.

vi hums. she slips a hand underneath the frayed hem of your denim skirt, and you gasp as her nails scrape against your inner thigh.

she likes that you’re here. here for her.

"get on your knees for me, sweetheart.”

she pulls down her pants along with her briefs, as you kneel before her without hesitation.

you drape one of her legs over your shoulder, giving your tongue better access to her cunt. vi grips your hair tighter, bringing you in closer, and you moan, sending vibrations up her body.

"fuck," vi hisses. you add a finger, while your tongue works her clit.

you bring her to the edge, stay with her even as her thighs clench around your skull. she expects you to get back on your feet right away, but you stay, adding another finger and sucking her clit. she moans your name.

you pull away slightly. "one more, pretty girl," you promise. your chin glistens with vi’s release; you lick your lips as you gaze up at her through thick eyelashes. "can you do that for me?" she nods furiously, and you get back to work.

after letting her ride your tongue and fingers through another orgasm, you kiss her ankle before releasing her leg. vi pulls you up to your feet, sucks the taste of herself off your tongue.

you pull away slightly, heart racing against vi’s chest.

vi swipes her thumb over the smudged lipstick below your lip. she studies you, admires you, like you’re a fucking work of art that belongs in a gallery, like you didn’t just fucked her through two consecutive orgasms in the bathroom at a pizza parlour while wham's "last christmas" plays through shitty speakers.

"take these off." vi tugs at your tights. you do as instructed, slipping off your underwear as well. she pulls you towards her, and lodges a leg in between yours. your bare cunt brushes against her thigh, back and forth as she guides your hips. "i can't believe you got all dressed up…. wearing my jersey, and this pretty little skirt even though it’s so cold outside. all for me?"

vi flexes her thigh muscles, pushing you down faster and harder. you whimper.

"all – all for you.”

vi feels her pussy clench, with the desperation in your voice, the stickiness of your heat against her skin, the smell of the two of you intertwining. your orgasm crashes into you, and vi holds you through it.

you kiss her ever so sweetly before removing yourself from her grasp, smoothing down your skirt and looking around for your underwear.

"where are my...."

you look over as vi tucks your fuschia thong into the inner pocket of her jacket.

"i'm guessing you'll buy me replacements for christmas."

vi flashes you a shit eating grin before putting on her own underwear. she then pulls up her pants, not wiping your release from her thigh. she likes the idea of walking around with you seeped into her skin.

when vi looks over at you, you’re as fully dressed as you can be and busy checking something on your phone. she only sees a flash of your lock screen, but it’s her. a photo of her and lucky playing at the park; there’s snow, so it had to have been a few days ago.

that doesn’t mean anything, right? people use photos of their friends for their wallpaper all the time.

“i really have to go,” you sigh. you pull a tube of lipstick from your pocket and step closer to the mirror. “hey — do you think we could switch shirts? not sure i should wear this to my next dinner.”

vi nods and you remove her jersey, revealing a matching fuschia bralette. she wonders what’s got you all coordinated — who else you’ve clearly dressed up for.

“so, you’ve got a hot date?” vi tries to act casual as she takes off her jacket, pulls off her shirt, and waits for you to answer. you take your time, fixing yourself in the mirror.

“something like that,” you finally say with a shy smile.

later, when isha’s asleep on powder’s lap in the backseat, vi thinks about how your date might have gone, if you’re taking them home to the same bed vi has fucked you in throughout these past few months.

where do you get off, fucking vi in the bathroom during dinner while her parents are at the table, only to leave for another date, wearing vi’s shirt, too?

“hey, can i ask you something?” ekko asks from beside her, cutting off the angry monologue in her head.

vi reaches over to turn down the music.

“sure, little man. what’s up?”

“what’s the deal between you and wonder woman?”

vi clears her throat, gripping the steering wheel. “what makes you think there’s a deal?”

“oh, please, we all noticed that hickey on your neck after she visited you in the bathroom.”

the car crawls to a stop as the light turns red, and vi adjusts the collar of her shirt.

“we’re just friends.”

“well, powder and i were just friends for ages,” ekko points out.

vi doesn’t notice that the light’s turned green until someone behind her honks. she steps on the gas, but the idiot behind her still cuts in front of her.

“asshole,” she grumbles, throwing them a middle finger for good measure. vi glances to her right at ekko, who’s scribbling something in his sketchbook despite only the streetlamps outside providing light. “so, what made you….realize that you wanted something more?”

ekko closes his book, smiling to himself.

“honestly? it was kinda a million little things, but what it really comes down to is that she’s the only person i could spend every second of my life with, and i’d still want more time. and, in my experience….it’s better to tell someone how you feel sooner rather than later.”

“or, some people prefer to wait a few weeks,” powder mumbles, stirring awake. “nice try, mister, but no interfering. i’m not losing 20 bucks.”

“wait — you’ve bet on my love life?”

ekko smirks. “so it is love.”

vi shrugs, pretends that she doesn’t immediately picture you in your kitchen, making her banana pancakes at 2am when she hears the word love.

“it doesn’t matter.”

because, it really doesn’t matter.

you’re out with someone else right now.

it’s over before it really had a chance to begin.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

cupcake

Hey, Vi

Just wanted to say good game today

You played brilliantly

Violet

cupcake

No need for the attitude

I was just trying to be nice

Violet

my apologies!!!

thank you SO much for recognizing my talent captain kiramman

i feel like i’m actually worth something now!!!

cupcake

Bitterness isn’t a good colour on you, darling

Violet

im NOT your darling

cupcake

I’m aware

I saw you earlier with that girl

Are you together?

Violet

idk

are you still with maddie?

cupcake

Actually, we broke up

I was hoping you and I could chat

Violet

what’s in it for me?

cupcake

The chance to reconnect with an old friend

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you can excuse vi no longer attending the weekly team meeting. she finished her 100 hours around thanksgiving, so technically she didn’t need to be there anymore.

maybe you could excuse her ignoring your calls, or leaving your texts on read. it’s finals season, and she did mention picking up a few extra shifts to save up for christmas presents.

but you simply can’t excuse vi walking into sappho’s with caitlyn fucking kiramman, ordering drinks from you like you’re absolute strangers.

“what the fuck, vi?” you seethe.

vi glances at her date. caitlyn’s waiting for her back at a table, the glow of her phone screen illuminating her pretty face.

“what, should i have ordered something else? not every girl likes cherry coke and rum.”

you glare at her from across the counter, but start preparing their drinks nonetheless.

“why are you with her?” you throw some ice in a glass, the cubes clinking aggressively against the crystal. “are you back together?”

vi has the audacity to roll her eyes at you. “why’d you care?”

you catch yourself before saying something you’ll regret, something about liking her more than you definitely should considering the agreement the two of you had made.

clearly, vi doesn’t feel the same way; it’s not worth spilling your guts to her at your place of work.

“because we’re friends.”

“yeah, right,” vi scoffs. “you’re jealous, which you have no right to be because you’re seeing someone, too.”

you accidentally pour a double shot of vodka. you don’t really care, and mix the drink anyways.

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“i’m talking about the date you went on the night of my championship game.”

“what date?” you slam the glasses in front of vi, so hard that you’re lucky they didn’t break.

“oh, don’t play dumb.” vi spits your name like it’s poison. “this whole thing started because you said you didn’t want a relationship, when really you just didn’t want a relationship with me. you used me until someone better came along. you lied to me.”

her eyes are glazed over, her voice shaking ever so slightly. you’re not sure if you’re more hurt or angry by what she’s saying, but it cuts deep; you continue as though you aren’t bleeding out in front of her.

“i don’t want a relationship with anyone and certainly not with you —”

“excuse me! are we able to order something?” someone with bright green hair and a septum piercing waves their hand in front of your face.

“yeah, just give us a second —”

“look, you and your girlfriend can fight on your own time.”

“she’s not my girlfriend!” you and vi snap simultaneously.

you glare at each other.

vi grabs the glasses from the counter, and walks away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

it took many brainstorming sessions, many boring conversations with potential donors, and many, many tears, but you managed to secure enough funding to keep the women’s centre going for the foreseeable future.

it was a team effort, of course, so you just want everyone to enjoy this open mic night, the last event of the semester — even though you are weighed down by the absence of a certain someone.

the gallery space on campus that you rented out is both cozy and electric, decorated with fairy lights on the walls, with pillows and blankets on the floor for people to sit and watch performances. there’s a table with drinks and snacks, a corner for people to make art if they’re inspired.

you’re rearranging the food, watching gert perform an original song when mel slides in next to you, wearing a gorgeous white dress with gold accents.

“do you mind running to the office? we’re out of paint.”

“really? people don’t usually use the paint.”

“well, it seems to be quite popular tonight.”

“it’s fine. we still have lots of other stuff. they can just collage or something.”

mel shakes her head. “i really think you should go get more paint.”

“maybe ask sky? i should stay here —”

“you could use a break, too,” mel cuts you off, placing a hand on your shoulder. “you’ve been nonstop all day; the rest of us can hold down the fort for a little while.”

you concede, mostly because she’s right and you don’t have the energy to argue.

when you get to the office, you’re surprised to find the lights on. even more surprised that someone’s already there, sitting on the zebra-striped couch.

“vi?”

she jumps slightly when you say her name.

“mel texted me,” she rushes out like she’s been caught red-handed. “said she needed help with something she’d been planning.”

you frown, until you realize why mel must have sent you here, specifically.

you haven’t seen vi since that night at sappho’s; you’d been quite a mess after your shift, ranting to mel on the phone about how she’d been right and you should have been more careful, how you don’t know what you did that ruined whatever you and vi had, and you really don’t know what you can do to fix it.

you’re both too stubborn to reach out to the other, so it seems like mel decided to take matters into her own hands.

“yeah, i doubt she’s coming,” you tell vi.

“okay,” vi says, but she doesn’t move. “i, uh, i was hoping i’d run into you, though.”

“yeah?” you raise an eyebrow at vi, crossing your arms. “needed another vodka martini for your piltover princess.”

“she’s not — we’re not together.”

“oh,” you exhale. the animosity you were holding towards her evaporates, but doesn’t completely disappear. you watch her, watching you stand by the doorway.

there are so many things you want to tell her, but you don’t even know where to start. you know that you’ve hurt her. she hurt you, too.

but, also:

you miss the cloudy blue-gray of her eyes, the scar on her upper lip.

you miss her.

“do you wanna come sit?”

after being so far away from vi, for what feels like forever, you don’t hesitate to take her up on the offer. your knees brush together as you settle next to her on the couch, a jolt of electricity passing through your body at the contact.

“so, i admit that —”

“vi, you were right —”

both of you stop your sentences short, chuckling nervously. you each urge the other to continue, and only get caught in a similar mess:

“i fucked up,” vi blurts out.

“i lied to you,” you confess at the same time.

an awkward, unfamiliar silence hangs above you; you’re not sure what to do next.

vi takes the leap. she tells you that mel explained everything: that you had to attend a dinner with alumni and potential donors on the same night of her championship game, but you kept it from vi since it was already a big moment for her; that you haven’t been on a real date with anyone else since september. vi apologizes for jumping to conclusions and falling back into caitlyn’s arms, shutting you out when she should have just talked to you.

you’re the girl who was her first kiss, she says. the girl who lingered in a vague memory, appeared in the fiction of her daydreams, and then suddenly became too real.

“i like you. i really fucking like you. and if it has to be as a friend, that’s fine because i don’t want to lose you.” vi takes a shattered breath, blinking back tears. she fiddles with the ring on her index finger, anxiously bouncing her knee. you place your hand there to steady her, and she exhales. “i guess i’m just not sure….when you said you liked me that night at the restaurant….is that what you lied about?”

vi’s practically doe-eyed, waiting for you to respond.

you shake your head.

“i lied when i said that i didn’t want a relationship with you,” you admit, and the hint of a smile dances across her lips. “i had this major crush on you, you know? every time you came into sappho’s….i couldn’t help it. and then you showed up here and we became friends, and then we started….well, you know the rest.”

“duh. i was there,” vi jokes, easing into her usual, playful self.

“i can’t do the whole casual thing,” you continue, rubbing circles into her knee with your thumb. “i know we made a promise, but i just can’t, not with you. it’s like…in every other relationship i’ve been in, i was trying to run out the clock. with you, though, with us, i feel like there’s never enough time —”

vi grabs your neck and crashes her mouth onto yours before you can finish your sentence.

you’ve kissed each other many times, in many different places, in many different ways, but never like this: like you’re both willing to break one promise if it means forging a new one.

“will you be my girlfriend, violet rose atlas?” you whisper as you pull away, lips brushing against hers.

you start to count the freckles on her cheeks as she beams at you, pulls you into her lap.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

3K notes · View notes

monserelates · 2 months ago

Text

Love, Actually

⇨james potter x f!reader

⇨summary: Everyone knows James Potter is hopelessly in love with Y/N. So when he suddenly starts mooning over another girl, the entire school is left confused—including Y/N, who isn’t the type to sit around and cry. She's loud, proud, and absolutely not affected. Until she is.

⇨warnings/notes: stubborn!reader, outspoken!reader, use of y/n, cheeessyyy, fluffy ending, light angst, swearing, emotional angst, mutual pining, jealousy, protective Marauders, happy ending

word count: 1.6k

It starts with confusion.

James Potter has loved Y/N since third year. That’s not an exaggeration, it’s Hogwarts common knowledge. Professors are in on it. First-years whisper about it. There are unofficial bets in three different Houses about when he’ll finally make a move.

So when he shows up at breakfast grinning like a fool and sits beside Eleanor Buckerfield instead of Y/N—everyone pauses.

Then he leans into Eleanor's side and says, “Has anyone ever told you your eyes shine like the color of a summer meadow?”

Sirius chokes on his pumpkin juice.

Peter looks up. "What the bloody hell even is that compliment?"

Remus stares.

Y/N freezes, toast halfway to her mouth.

“What the actual fuck,” she mutters.

“Must’ve bumped his head on a Bludger,” Marlene says under her breath, glaring across the table.

“No,” Lily whispers. “Look at his pupils. Too dilated. Something’s off.”

“Obviously,” Y/N snaps, standing up and throwing her bag over her shoulder like nothing’s wrong. “Potter’s just being a fucking idiot again. What else is new?”

She doesn’t storm off. She walks like she could, but she won’t give anyone the satisfaction.

Not even him.

The worst part? He keeps it up.

All day.

Charms, Herbology, dinner. James follows Eleanor like he’s under a trance. He carries her books. Laughs at her jokes. Brings her a carnation from the greenhouse and tells her, “It matches your lips.”

Y/N doesn’t care. Of course she doesn’t.

She definetly does not want to bang her head into a wall or jump to the black lake.

In fact, it’s not like she ever liked James.

Sure, she used to laugh at his dumb Quidditch metaphors and ruffle his hair when he was pouting and take care of him when he's sick and know his favorite flavor of the Bertie Bott's beans ( Tutti-Frutti ) so whenever Sirius bought some she'd always set them apart for James and pretend not to notice how he stared at her when she wasn’t looking—but that meant nothing.

So when Lily gently says, “Are you okay?” that night in the dorm, Y/N just scoffs.

“Obviously I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be? He can fall in love with whoever he wants. It’s not like I ever gave a cared.”

Dorcas raises an eyebrow. “You just crushed your quill.”

“It was old anyway.”

“You stabbed it clean through the Transfiguration schedule.”

“It was an ugly schedule.”

In the corridor the next day, James walks by with Eleanor, hand in hand.

Y/N doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t say a word.

Just turns to Sirius and says, “That’s not James.”

Sirius frowns. “You think it’s Polyjuice?”

“No,” she says. “It’s him. But it’s not him. You know?”

And Sirius, who knows James better than anyone, nods slowly. “Yeah. I do.”

By Thursday, it’s not funny anymore.

James is paler. Slower. His laugh sounds forced. His eyes are always red-rimmed like he hasn’t slept.

And Eleanor? She’s smug. Too smug. Her hand never leaves his arm.

At dinner, he tries to feed her strawberries.

She giggles.

Y/N drops her spoon.

The clatter is deafening.

James doesn’t look up.

“He’s sick,” Lily says later that night. “You saw the way he stumbled. He didn’t even finish his dessert.”

Marlene nods. “Probably a love potion. But it’s too strong. It’s eating him alive.”

Y/N is silent.

Then: “How do you break a love potion?”

Dorcas looks up. “Depends on the spell. Some wear off. Some need antidotes. The powerful ones?”

She pauses.

“True love’s kiss.”

Y/N rolls her eyes so hard it could crack glass. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Lily pushes.

“Because I’m not the protagonist in a cheesy romance, Lils. He can rot.”

But she doesn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, James faints in the courtyard.

He hits the cobblestone hard, face ashen, lips cracked. Eleanor shrieks and drops him like a sack of potatoes.

Madam Pomfrey is summoned. She takes one look and says, “Someone’s cursed this boy.”

Up at the top of the stone staircase, Y/N stands frozen.

Then she sees Eleanor's—arms crossed, trying too hard to feign shock.

And Y/N snaps.

She storms down the steps, fury radiating off her like wildfire. Her wand is already in her hand before anyone can blink, Peter tries to stop her, but Sirius holds him back. "I've been waiting for this one."

“You,” she hisses.

Eleanor turns, smug until she sees the look in Y/N’s eyes.

“I didn’t— I don’t know what happened—”

“Cut the bullshit.” Y/N’s voice is low, dangerous. “You spiked him. You put him under something, and now he’s dying, you stupid cow.”

“I didn’t mean—he liked me—!”

“No. He never liked you. He barely tolerated you. He’s been in love with me since third year, and everyone knows it—except your delusional ass.”

Eleanor pulls out her wand.

"Talk about delusional, you're just mad little Jamie got over you."

Y/N raises her wand.

“Expelliarmus!”

Eleanor's wand flies out of her robe.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Eleanor stiffens mid-stammer and crashes backward into a bush, frozen.

There’s a beat of silence.

Someone claps.

Sirius mutters, “Hot.”

Remus elbows him.

"She ate that up, to be honest" Marlene said, whispering to Lily who nodded.

Y/N doesn’t wait. She throws her wand back in her pocket and bolts toward the Hospital Wing.

The Hospital Wing smells like mint and moonflower and antiseptic.

Y/N’s hands are cold as she sits beside James, who hasn’t stirred. His skin is too pale. His lips have lost that familiar flush, and his curls—usually a mess of warmth and chaos—are limp against the white pillowcase.

Madam Pomfrey had said the curse needed to be broken willingly. That something true, something pure, had to reach him through the fog.

But Y/N’s not thinking about that.

She leans down.

"James," she whispers. "C’mon. This is ridiculous."

She places a hand on his chest. Feels the irregular thump of his heart.

“You were mine first. Do you hear me? Mine. I’m the one who made you laugh in Potions and the one who goes to your parent's house every christmas break, helping your mother bake cookies—me.”

He doesn’t move.

She swallows. Her voice breaks. “You don’t get to leave me. Not like this. Not when we’ve spent years dancing around this thing like idiots.”

Still nothing.

And then—

It’s not desperate.

It’s gentle. Affectionate

Her lips brush against his like a promise kept, broken. Like she’s daring him to come back to her.

Like she’s always known he would.

It’s not a grand kiss. Not the stuff of legends.

It’s soft.

Warm.

Honest.

Like home.

For a breath, everything is still.

And James gasps.

Eyes flying open.

He stares at her.

“Y/N?”

She hugs him so tight his ribs might crack.

“You absolute dimwit,” she breathes into his shoulder. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

His voice is hoarse. “You were jealous.”

“I was concerned.”

“You kissed me.”

“You were dying.”

“You slapped me.”

“I did not?”

"Oh, that must've been Eleanor then."

"She did what? Does she really want to be hexed again?" You picked up your wand.

"M' just kidding, love. Wait. You hexed her?"

You smile sheepishly. "Maybe."

“I—bloody hell, I think I’m in love with you,” he mumbles, dazed.

Y/N grins, smug as ever, and presses her forehead to his. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I know.”

Meanwhile, in the staffroom…

Professor McGonagall slides a galleon into Professor Sprout’s palm.

Slughorn hums. “Told you the kiss would break it.”

Filius chuckles. “I bed she'd deck him or hex someone. I stand vindicated.”

Binns floats by. “They remind me of a young couple in 1642…”

Everyone ignores him.

Dumbledore walks in, eyebrows raised with amusement. “She hexed Eleanor.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Slughorn beams. “Brilliant, that one.”

Sprout nods thoughtfully. “That spellwork showed real control.”

Filius whistles low. “She managed a silent hex under that much emotional strain? Impressive.”

McGonagall smirks into her tea. “And with excellent aim, I might add.”

Sprout leans forward. “Next wager—when do they finally shag?”

McGonagall sputters mid-sip. “Pomona!”

Slughorn claps. “Put me down for next Hogsmeade weekend.”

Dumbledore smiles, eyes twinkling. “Ah, young love.”

Back in the dorm later that night:

“She kissed him,” Dorcas hisses, dramatically flopping onto her bed like it's breaking news while you laugh.

“Aw, he's like a puppy,” Marlene says through a yawn, “an over-excited one that just found its favorite toy.”

Lily sighs dreamily, arms tucked behind her head. “I’m just glad they finally stopped being so bloody oblivious.”

Dorcas rolls her eyes. “True love’s kiss. Classic.”

Marlene perks up. “And did you hear what Flitwick said on the way out of the Hospital Wing? ‘Pay up, Minerva. I told you she’d crack first.’”

Marlene snorts, then cackles. “I love this school. They should just shag already.”

From the hallway:

“I HEARD THAT!” James’s voice echoes from beyond the dormitory door.

Lily doesn’t even blink. “Good! Tell Y/N to kiss you again so we can start round two!”

Y/N, sitting on the edge of her bed, wrapped in a blanket and holding a mug of cocoa, freezes.

“What?! We’re just—best friends!” she says, way too quickly.

Three heads snap toward her in unison.

Dorcas raises an eyebrow. “You're a dumbass.”

Lily snorts. “You kissed him and hexed a girl for flirting with him.”

Marlene, deadpan: “You called him ‘love.’”

Y/N blinks. “Okay… but like… in a platonic way?”

Dorcas throws a pillow at her. “You’re the spell that needs breaking.”

Marlene leans over, whispering to Lily: “Five sickles says she’ll kiss him again before Friday.”

From the hallway, again:

“MAKE IT TWO!” James yells.

Y/N groans into her cocoa. “I hate all of you.”

Lily just smiles. “No, you don’t. You’re in love.”

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amikoroyaiart · 2 years ago

Text

Some 22 and 09 angst doodles

#mw3 spoilers #ghostsoap #soapghost #call of duty #modern warfare III #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #i tried to draw fluff but it didn't help me #so i've decided to just put all my feelings into these doodles #it was easier with 09 knowing they were both dead #but 22 were my safe space kinda like their second chance #and to see what the fuck happened in the campaign breaks my heart #because i know they did that just because it was rushed and it had no ending #such a disrespect to the cast and the fans

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puckinghischier · 7 months ago

Note

Hiiii happy new year! I absolutely adore your quinnxreader fics! I loved the one about his brothers asking her questions and calling her all the time because they love her so much! Would you consider writing more about that?

Maybe about their dynamic in person, meeting over Christmas or summer or something!??

Have a great day!

oh listen when the four of you are together for long periods of time? you’re convinced you and quinn will never have to have kids, because you’re gonna be parenting jack and luke for the rest of your lives.

like meeting at the lake house over the summer. even if ellen and jim are there with everyone, luke and jack still bug you with any and every question they have.

“y/n! what should i eat for lunch?”

“y/n! where’s the remote?”

“y/n! have you seen my swimming trunks?”

every time you take a breath, one of them is yelling for you for help, or advice, or nothing at all. jack is a regular at shouting your name from wherever he is in the house just to show you some video on his phone, or ask you how to spell a word for a text he’s sending.

quinn and ellen have both scolded them numerous times to leave you alone and quit treating you like a maid, but you don’t tell them you secretly love it. you hate that they’re acting like toddlers that can’t fend for themselves, but you love the comfort level they have with you to do it all.

and it’s not like they don’t return the favor.

you always manage to get a summer cold when you come to the lake house. you don’t know if it’s the water mixed with the chilly nights or the fact you’re always on the go and never resting, but you somehow always get a case of the sniffles for a few days each summer.

whenever it happens, jack and luke dote on you like you’re bedridden. constantly bringing you snacks and meds and juice. asking if you need anything, watching movies with you and quinn while all four of you cuddle on the couch.

ellen never fails to snap a picture of the occasion, all of her kids (you included) safe and sound under one roof, a rare occurrence in her world.

now, you have your own moments visiting the two youngest brothers, missing them just as badly as they miss you sometimes. when quinn is away on a particularly long road trip and jack and luke have a few home games, you’re booking a flight and off to see them.

you can always see how excited they are to have you at their games, making sure you have the best seats and even buying you a custom split hughes sweater, so you never have to choose one over the other.

they tell all of their teammates you’re coming and gesture to you throughout the whole game, making sure you saw that save, or watched them score a goal.

you go out with them after games and send quinn lots of pictures of his drunk, idiot brothers singing karaoke and displaying terrible dance moves.

quinn loves seeing you have the friendship with his brothers that you do, but he always reminds them to keep you safe, his protective side coming out, even though he knows they would never let anything happen.

still, it doesn’t keep them from finding sunglasses from god knows where, drunkenly waltzing you out of bar on either side of you, gesturing for people to move out of the way like they’re your bodyguards. every move you make, they’re sending (blurry) pictures of you safely outside the bar, getting into the uber, getting out of the uber, walking into their apartment building, in the elevator, unlocking their door, walking through their door, walking to the guest room, and one final shot of you in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin, to the groupchat you’re in with them and your boyfriend.

and once the apartment is quiet and their voices are reduced to light snores, you sneak into their rooms and take pictures of them, too, feeling just as much of a responsibility to keep them safe and cared for.

christmases? now those are an event, truly.

luke and jack are on you for months to help them pick out the perfect gift for quinn and ellen, claiming you know gifts way better than they do. you even fly out to jersey for a couple days in the middle of december, finding a stretch where they have a couple home games.

you take them out shopping, coaching and making sure they don’t pick out some random scarf for their mom or striped tie for quinn and jim. they take you to do all the touristy christmas things around the city (even if you’ve done it a million times before) and make fun of how you still can’t skate, even after all the years of being with quinn.

when you all finally make it back to michigan for the big family christmas, quinn steals you away for some one on one time, of course, but it’s never long lived. one of the two man-children, as quinn so affectionately calls them, comes barging in your room eventually, flopping down onto the bed right in-between you and quinn. and once one is in there, the other gets jealous and fights his way into the dog pile happening.

“can you two go annoy mom and dad or something? you just had her for four days, it’s my turn,” quinn huffs, your quiet bubble now burst.

“well, mom and dad told us to come annoy you guys, they have to wrap presents,” luke pouts to quinn, causing him to roll his eyes and accept his fate.

christmas morning with them is always your favorite, though.

jack and luke are always so high energy, wanting everyone to open their presents from them first so they can see the reactions.

they’re just like little kids, almost blurting out what it is as the person is opening it. they always tell ellen and quinn and jim you helped them, not wanting to take all the credit for themselves. but when it comes to their gifts to you? you start to think their claims that they’re terrible at gift giving is just a rouse to get you to visit them each year, because they never fail to give you the most heartfelt gifts.

like this christmas, they had gone in together on paying an artist to paint a collage of your favorite pictures of you and quinn together, the canvasses each in the shape of yours and quinn’s initials. you had noticed the canvas shaped like a plus sign in-between the two letters is blank, not knowing why they would leave such a large section bare.

when you look up to ask them, you notice they’re standing on either side of you, gesturing you to stand up. quinn is nowhere to be found, looking around for him as you stand and follow their lead to the back door of the large house.

when they open the door you’re met with the michigan snow, falling perfectly onto a beautifully decorated archway that you hadn’t noticed the night before. you noticed the poinsettias forming a walkway to the arch, finding quinn standing there under the perfectly hung mistletoe, waiting for you.

jack and luke walk push you on, staying behind in the warmth of the house.

you walk down the snow covered path, focusing on not falling the whole way.

once you reach the end of the path, quinn grabs your hand and plants you right in front of him.

he launches into a speech about how much he loves you, and how much he loves watching you with his family, how easily you’ve become a part of it, intertwined so deeply into his soul he couldn’t let you go, even if he wanted to, before dropping down on one knee, asking you to spend the rest of your life trusting him and loving him.

you immediately tell him yes, launching your body to his once he stands, tears streaming down your frozen face. right as you go to share a kiss to seal the intimate moment, you’re broken apart by the woops and hollers of none other than jack and luke, turning your head to see them barreling down the walkway towards you two.

“oh my god! we’re getting a sister! she’s actually gonna be ours now!” jack screams, crushing you two in a bear hug that would give quinn a run for his money.

“now quinn can’t use the excuse she’s his anymore, because now she’s ours. she’s gonna be a hughes! no more stingy quinn!” luke follows up, another weight added onto the already crushing hug.

“oh god, i didn’t think this through,” quinn groans, not enjoying his brothers’ newfound claim on you.

you giggle, encased in all the hughes love.

“also, we helped plan this, don’t let him hog all the credit, here. we planned our gift so it’d be the perfect segway into the proposal!” luke rushes out, too excited to keep it in any longer.

“the blank canvas is for engagement pictures!” jack confirms, beaming from ear to ear.

they finally release you and quinn from their clutches.

“okay, you guys have had your moment, now go back inside. she might getting ready to be your sister-in-law,” quinn emphasizes the last two words, “but she’s my fiancé, so we’ve earned some alone time.”

the two brothers huff and pout as they walk off, grumbling about how they can’t wait until you’re a hughes so he can’t claim you’re just his.

before you allow yourself the time with quinn, you run after your two best friends, tackling them in their own bear hug, despite how much larger they are than you.

“thank you guys. for this, for accepting me into your family, for sharing quinn with me,” you giggle at their scoff and luke’s mumble of ‘more like we share you with him’ before continuing. “i love you two. i’ll always be your big sister, yeah? as long as you’re always my two obnoxious little brothers.”

they squeeze you back so tightly you can’t breathe, telling you again how much they can’t wait for you to officially be part of their family.

quinn watches you with them, his own heart warmed despite the snow falling, wondering how in the world he got so lucky with such an amazing family, and now an even more amazing woman to bring into it.

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lazy-ahh · 13 days ago

Note

Something I KNOW that happens with silly billy phai is that when hes alone hes always talking to himself. He cannot keep things contained in his head as long as he doesnt deem them important and as a result theres probably multiple instances in which the other heirs or a most unfortunate MC will walk in on him saying something he definitely didnt intend for them to hear. I think any suprise meant for MC gets dropped this way cuz he'll spend so much time mulling it over to himself and youre just trying to find him to get lunch

SPILLED SECRETS

pairing phainon x gender neutral reader

phainon talks to himself. a lot. and when his muttering habits accidentally reveal a carefully planned surprise for you, he’s left scrambling to salvage the moment—or at least his dignity. but you don’t mind. you never do. because hearing his unfiltered thoughts, even the silly ones, just reminds you how terribly (adorably) bad he is at hiding how much he cares.

most people in okhema know that phainon isn’t good at keeping things to himself.

it’s not that he wants to spill every thought that crosses his mind—it’s just that some things refuse to stay locked away, tumbling out in quiet murmurs when he’s alone, as if speaking them aloud makes them easier to sort through. most of the time, it’s harmless. a muttered complaint about paperwork ("why does this need three signatures?"), a half-formed strategy for the next mission ("if i try to sneak to the enemy's blind spot while the others face them head-on then maybe... but the terrain’s uneven—no, wait—"), an absentminded remark about the weather ("light rain again? seriously?").

in fact, some find it useful. merchants linger a little too close when he’s browsing their wares, ears perked for any offhand commentary about prices or quality. the other chrysos heirs have learned to listen for his rambling debates with himself—less guesswork, less dancing around his stubbornness.

you, on the other hand, often find yourself stepping in before he can spiral too far, your steady presence a silent reminder to think before acting (or in his case, before muttering). it’s saved him from more than a few swindles, though he’d never admit it.

these days, the merchants sigh when they see you trailing after him, knowing their usual tricks won’t slide. phainon might still grumble about it, but he’s learning. slowly.

phainon pauses mid-step, boots scuffing against the cobblestones as the realization hits him. again? really? ah, he was thinking of you again.

he sighs, rough and exasperated, dragging a hand down his face like he could physically wipe away the warmth creeping up his neck—but the pink still lingers, stubborn as he is, tinting the tips of his ears and the bridge of his nose.

his brows knit together, caught somewhere between irritation and embarrassment, lips pressed into a thin line like he’s mentally scolding himself for getting distracted. again.

he shakes his head and resumes walking, a little too briskly, ignoring the curious glances tossed his way by passersby. a merchant raising an eyebrow at his abrupt halt, a random citizen stifling a laugh at the way he’d frozen like a startled cat—none of it matters.

he’s too busy pretending the flush on his cheeks is from the sun and not the fact that, for the umpteenth time today, his thoughts had wandered right back to you. ridiculous. dangerous.

if this keeps up, you'll become the rhythm his pulse follows, the quiet hum beneath every decision, the name his mouth shapes before sleep takes him. he'll find himself turning corners hoping to catch your silhouette against the light, lingering in halls where your voice might echo, collecting moments like scattered stars just to watch them glow brighter in your presence.

and that's the most terrifying part—not that he thinks of you, but that he wants to. that his feet already know the path to where you might be, that his hands remember the weight of your gaze like it's something tangible to hold. phainon worries that soon, he won't just look for you—he'll find himself lost in you completely, and worse, he won't even mind.

you... were a problem.

not in the way sand in one's boot was a problem, nor like an overturned inkpot staining important documents—nothing so trivial or messy. no, you were the kind of problem that settled deep in his ribs, warm and insistent, like sunlight stubbornly bleeding through closed curtains. different. important. dangerously so.

and phainon had never been good with important things—they never stayed put, never obeyed the neat compartments of his mind. they spilled over, slipping between his teeth when he mumbled to himself, escaping in the hush between heartbeats when he thought no one could hear.

like now—with your name caught in the space of a breath, half-formed and tender, as if even the air around him had grown softer just to carry it.

he's currently holed up in one of the chrysos heirs' private lounges—the one with the slightly lopsided velvet couch that always smells faintly of ink and bergamot. sprawled across it like a disgruntled cat, one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes, the other dangling off the edge, fingers absently tapping an uneven rhythm against the floor. the words slip out before he can bite them back, raw and unpolished in the empty room.

and gods, he’s a mess.

the tight black shirt he’d haphazardly thrown on clings to every dip and plane of his torso, the fabric stretched taut over the lean muscle of his arms, the defined curve of his chest. the collar of the shirt stands unevenly, as if he’d tugged at it in frustration, accentuating the sharp cut of his collarbones and just a teasing sliver of his pecs.

his usual choker sits snug against his throat, the gold accents catching the low light whenever he shifts—which he does, often, the movement making the hem of his shirt ride up just enough to expose a sliver of toned stomach.

the grey pants he’s wearing are hardly better, hugging the lean strength of his thighs before disappearing into his usual boots, scuffed from use but still impeccably polished (some habits never die, no matter how distracted he is).

the words slip out before he can bite them back, raw and unpolished in the empty room.

"what if they don't like it?"

the silence that follows feels heavier than it should. he frowns, his fingerless gloves creaking as he digs his palms into his eye sockets, before rolling onto his side with a huff. his gaze lands on the gift sitting primly on the side table: a small, lopsided chimera plush, stitched together with clumsy care.

it’s supposed to look like him—or at least, his more... mythological side. one half is soft light blue fabric, embroidered with gold thread in haphazard swirls (meant to be his markings, though they’d ended up looking more like a child’s doodle). the other half is pale fur, mismatched buttons for eyes, and wings made of patchwork silk that’ll probably fray if handled too roughly.

he’d spent nights hunched over it, pricking his fingers more times than he’d admit, cursing every time the stuffing leaked out of a seam he’d sewn wrong.

now, in the dim light, it looks almost innocent. pathetic. the kind of thing you'd cradle carefully between your palms, your calloused fingers (always so gentle despite their strength) tracing each uneven stitch with that quiet intensity you reserve for precious things.

he can picture it too clearly—how you'd press it to your chest like it was something sacred, how your serious expression would soften into that rare, private smile you only ever wore when you thought no one was looking. maybe you'd even tuck it beside your pillow at night, murmuring goodnight to it like some childish secret, pretending the lumpy plush was him curled up next to you.

the thought makes him falter once more, his hand flying up to his face to cover the pink hue spreading across it and the smile he couldn't hold back.

but then the memory of the other heirs' reactions crashes over him like ice water.

"oh, that's supposed to be you, lord phainon?" castorice had asked, tilting her head at the lopsided creation, her polite confusion making his ears burn.

tribbie, trinnon, and trianne at least had the decency to coo over it, though their giggles did little to soothe his pride. "it's charming!" "so... unique!" "it's wonderful." they'd chimed in unison, their overlapping voices doing nothing to hide how they'd exchanged amused glances.

aglaea's reaction had been worse in its own way—that knowing, sympathetic look in her eyes as she'd reached out to straighten its crooked wing. "they'll love it because it's from you," she'd said, and the certainty in her voice had somehow made him feel more exposed.

then. there was mydei...

"what is that supposed to be?" mydei had an unimpressed expression, one eyebrow arching as he took in the mismatched creation.

"it's a chimera! it's me, as a chimera, actually!" phainon had snapped back, his voice cracking with desperation as he'd cradled the plush protectively against his chest. the way its lumpy body sagged in his grip only made it more pathetic. "perhaps i should just scrap this and commission someone to make it properly," he'd muttered, his thumbs unconsciously smoothing over the plush's misshapen head in small, comforting circles.

mydei had watched him for a long moment, his usual stern expression unreadable. then, with a sigh that sounded almost soft: "it's a good gift."

phainon had blinked up at him, fingers freezing mid-pet against the plush’s fraying ears. his lower lip jutted out just slightly, the barest tremble to it—like a scruffed puppy trying (and failing) to look indignant instead of wounded.

his brows pinched together, not in anger, but in something softer, more vulnerable, the blue of his eyes dimmed to a dull shimmer under the weight of his doubt. even the way he held the plush tightened, as if he could shield it (or himself) from further judgment.

"i didn’t take you for the type of person to lie just to spare someone’s feelings, mydei," he mumbled, voice quieter now, the usual sharpness sanded down into something terribly young and unsure.

"i'm saying it's good," mydei had clarified, crossing his arms, "because i can see the time and effort you put into it." his gaze had flickered to the plush, then back to phainon's face, something almost like understanding in his eyes. "they'll see that too."

"mydei..." phainon murmurs, the tension in his shoulders easing all at once. the corners of his mouth twitch upward, first hesitant, then blooming into a proper grin—the kind that crinkles the edges of his eyes and shows just a hint of fang.

he straightens, rolling his shoulders back with renewed confidence, fingers still absently stroking the plush's ears, but now with less desperation and more fondness. "thank you," he says, softer than usual, the words carrying a weight he rarely lets show. "you've certainly lifted my spirits."

mydei huffs, crossing his arms over his chest once more, but there's no real heat in it. "hmph. though we kremnoans are warriors, that does not mean we lack basic empathy and compassion." his tone is gruff, but the way his gaze flicks to the plush—lingering on its crooked stitching—betrays something almost like approval.

phainon's grin turns downright mischievous as he mimics mydei's crossed arms. he leans in, just enough to be annoying, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "i didn't think 'empathy' and 'compassion' were in the kremnoan language."

"why you—!" mydei's composure cracks, his scowl deepening as he reaches out to swat at phainon, who dances back with a laugh, the plush clutched triumphantly to his chest.

the memory fades like morning mist, but the ghost of a smile stays stubbornly on phainon's lips. after that conversation with mydei, he'd resolved himself—truly, properly resolved—to give you the gift. but now, alone again with his thoughts...

"no, that's stupid," he mutters, kicking at a stray cushion. "they'd like it. they like stupid things like that." the corner of his mouth twitches despite himself, remembering how you'd once spent twenty minutes admiring a particularly disheveled seal. but then the doubt creeps back in, cold and insistent. "but what if it's too stupid? what if they think it's—"

the door slides open with a quiet hiss.

phainon freezes mid-mutter, body going rigid like a startled fox caught in lantern light.

"oh, phainon, i finally found you."

there you are—finally, blessedly—framed in the doorway with your gloves slightly dust-streaked from searching (you'd checked three lounges, his room, the market, the baths, the archives, and even the training grounds before thinking to look here). your eyes brighten for just a heartbeat, that relieved little exhale escaping before you can stop it, but then—

pause.

your head tilts, gaze flicking from his abruptly upright posture (back stick-straight, hands now clasped too tightly in his lap like a scolded child) to the suspiciously empty room. one eyebrow lifts. phainon hopes that you don't notice the chimera plush sitting innocently on the side table, one wing slightly crumpled from where he'd clearly shoved it aside in mild frustration.

"were you… talking to someone?"

his face burns scarlet, all the way to the tips of his ears. the way his mouth opens, closes, then twists into a defensive pout would be comical if not for how genuinely flustered he looks—eyebrows knitted, lower lip caught between his teeth, gaze darting everywhere but at you. "no," he answers, too quickly, fingers picking at a loose thread on his glove. well, he wasn't really lying, but why did it feel like he was?

"hm. right." you sigh, the sound warm with that particular blend of fondness and exasperation you reserve only for him—the same tone you’d use for a misbehaving hound that somehow still managed to be endearing. stepping inside, you let the door slide shut behind you with a quiet click. "anyway, i was just coming to get you for lunch. you’ve been holed up in here for a while." a pause, just brief enough to be deliberate. "i was starting to get worried."

"right. lunch." he stands up too fast, nearly tripping over his own boots in his haste, and runs a hand through his already-mussed hair. his heart is pounding so loudly he’s half-convinced you can hear it—a traitorous, hammering rhythm that only worsens when he realizes you were worried about him. ugh. pathetic. he’s pathetic. "yeah. let’s go."

you don’t move. instead, you study him, that faint smile of yours curling at the edges like you already know every secret he’s ever tried to keep. well, phainon never really tried to hide them from you in the first place, no matter how much he wanted to. "what were you saying earlier?"

"nothing."

"it didn’t sound like nothing."

"it was." he makes a show of standing tall, shoulders squared like he’s about to stride right past you—or at least, he tries to, but you’re infuriatingly perceptive, and your hand snaps out to catch his wrist before he can escape.

the contact sends a jolt through him, electric and warm all at once. your fingers are firm but gentle, calloused from years of disciplined training yet so careful against his skin, like he’s something fragile. his breath hitches. he should pull away. he should. but—

but your thumb brushes absentmindedly over his pulse point, and oh gods, you must feel how wildly his heart is racing. his face burns. he’s dizzy with it, torn between the urge to flee and the even stronger urge to turn his hand in yours, to lace your fingers together properly and never let go. ridiculous. he’s ridiculous.

"phainon." your voice is gentle, but firm—that particular tone you use when giving orders, softened just for him. "you can tell me."

he swallows hard, throat suddenly dry. you're too close. always too close, close enough that he can see the way your eyelashes catch the light, close enough to see the expectant glint in your eyes. it makes his chest ache with something warm and unbearable.

"it's dumb," he mutters, blue eyes dropping to study his boots like they're the most fascinating thing in the world. a small pout forms on his lips, the kind he knows you find annoyingly endearing, hoping that you'd let this slide. but then he hears it—your laugh, bright and unexpected, and his head snaps up so fast it nearly makes him dizzy.

the sight of you trying (and failing) to stifle your chuckles sends his heart into overdrive, pounding so hard he's certain you can see it through his shirt. he can feel his heart threatening to burst out of his chest and shower your face with kisses. heat floods his face, creeping from the tips of his ears down to his collarbones.

"if you really knew me, phainon of aedes elysiae," you say, your eyes crinkling at the corners in that way he's memorized, "then you'd know i like dumb things." the words are teasing, but there's something unbearably tender in your gaze as you look at him. then, so quiet he almost misses it: "you idiot."

when you call him an idiot, that fond exasperation coloring your voice, his stomach does a traitorous little flip that leaves him lightheaded. he huffs, turning his face away in a poor attempt to hide how red he's gotten. "i was just... thinking." his fingers fiddle with the hem of his shirt, restless. "about getting you something."

"something?" you ask, that careful neutrality in your voice giving way to something brighter—the same tone you use when you've spotted something precious during your patrols.

"a gift. or—i don't know. something." he waves a hand vaguely, the motion as flustered as his pulse beneath your fingers. the way his eyes dart to the side tells you everything—he's already mentally kicking himself for slipping up.

your eyes light up instantly, that rare spark of genuine delight breaking through your usual composed expression. "for me?" the words come out softer than you intended, carrying a warmth that makes his stomach do somersaults.

"don't make a big deal out of it," he grumbles, but there's no real heat behind it. his free hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the strands of hair there like he can physically contain his embarrassment.

"but i want to." your grip on his wrist tightens just slightly—not enough to trap him, but enough to feel the rabbit-quick flutter of his pulse. your grin widens when he doesn't pull away. "what is it?"

"i'm not telling you now," he huffs, the tips of his ears burning crimson. "it was supposed to be a surprise."

"well, you surprised me by telling me about it," you counter, unable to resist teasing him just a little. the way his expression shifts from flustered to indignant is downright adorable.

"that's not how surprises work!" he nearly cries, the hand at his neck flying out in exasperation before he catches himself, looking every bit like an offended cat with its fur puffed up.

your laughter rings through the room, clear and bright like morning bells over the training grounds—that rare, unguarded sound you only ever seem to make around him. it sends warmth spiraling through his chest, curling tight around his ribs like ivy climbing a trellis, relentless and alive. "then consider me extra surprised," you tease, the corners of your eyes crinkling in that way he's cataloged in his mind like something precious.

he groans, dragging a gloved hand down his face hard enough to smush his cheeks together. "this is why i don't tell you things," he grumbles, though the effect is ruined by how his voice cracks halfway through.

"but you do tell me things," you counter, that infuriatingly perceptive gaze seeing right through him as always. your amusement softens into something dangerously close to affection as you add, "even when you don't mean to."

phainon glares at you, but there's no real bite behind it—just the usual exasperated fondness that lives in his chest whenever you're near. you're impossible. infuriating. the way you stand there looking so unbearably pleased with yourself makes him want to grab you by the collar and kiss that smug expression right off your face.

(he does not say that out loud. at least, not this time. but the way his gaze drops to your lips for half a second before he forces himself to look away? that might be just as telling.)

phainon's gaze lingers on you for a moment too long—taking in the way the light catches in your hair, how your steady posture never wavers even when waiting for his nonsense. he admires you, truly, in that quiet way that makes his chest feel too full.

with a deep breath that does nothing to calm his racing heart, he steels himself and sighs, the sound more nervous than exasperated. his blue eyes dart away from yours, lashes fluttering against suddenly warm cheeks, the picture of shyness despite his usual bravado.

you remain perfectly composed on the outside, hands clasped neatly behind your back like the proper soldier you are. but internally? oh, you're fighting every instinct to just grab him by the waist and spin him around until he laughs that bright, unguarded laugh of his. the way he's fidgeting now, all flustered and adorable, should be illegal.

"cover your eyes," he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.

"sure, but why?" you respond instantly, that automatic trust in your tone that always leaves him breathless.

inside, phainon is absolutely clutching his chest like some lovestruck protagonist in a bad romance novel, because how dare you just agree like that? no questions, no hesitation—just immediate compliance that makes his heart do somersaults.

he looks at you, so unbearably fond it hurts, before gently taking your hands in his. his fingers tremble slightly as he guides them up to cover your eyes, his touch lingering a second longer than necessary against your skin.

"you wanted your gift, right?" phainon murmurs, voice catching slightly on the last word. he brushes past you with a soft 'excuse me,' his shoulder barely grazing yours—enough to send a spark up his spine, not enough to satisfy the part of him that craves more. the chimera plush sits waiting on the side table, its lopsided wings and uneven stitching suddenly glaring under the dim light.

his fingers hover over it for a second, trembling slightly before he finally gathers it up, cradling the plush to his chest like it's something fragile. when he turns back, he can't quite meet your eyes—his gaze darts from your face to the floor to the stupid, lumpy thing in his arms. a long, shaky exhale escapes him as he takes those agonizingly slow steps back toward you, each one measured like he's walking to his own execution.

his mind races. should he just thrust it into your arms? make some grand speech? let you feel the shape of it first, so you don't see his amateurish seams right away? he'd spent weeks picking out the softest fabrics, the highest quality stuffing, had ruined countless needles in the process—but none of that matters if you can feel where he messed up the wing attachment or how one eye is slightly higher than the other.

right now, phainon—the deliverer, a chrysos heir—is scared absolutely shitless.

would you even recognize it as a chimera? would you even see him in those lopsided stitches and mismatched fabrics? the doubt claws at his throat, bitter and choking. phainon isn't sure he can bear to watch your expression twist into polite disappointment, that carefully neutral mask you wear slipping into pity before you school it back into something kind. maybe he should just—

"for me?"

your voice echoes in his mind, soft and wondering, that tiny spark of delight breaking through your usual composure. and just like that, the tension bleeds from his shoulders. when he looks at you now—really looks—he sees the way you're biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling, how your fingers twitch like you're physically holding back from reaching out. warmth floods his chest, sudden and overwhelming, and he doesn't even realize he's smiling until his cheeks start to ache.

"phainon? is everything alright? you didn't actually just ditch me, right—" your words cut off with a startled noise as something impossibly soft bumps against your lips. "what the—?!"

his laughter rings out before he can stop it, bright and unguarded, and you drop your hands from your eyes just in time to see him grinning like an idiot, the chimera plush held aloft in triumph.

"hah, seems like this little guy couldn't wait to meet you," he teases, wiggling the plush until its stubby wings flap. he makes it boop your nose, then smother your face in clumsy fabric kisses, reveling in your half-hearted swats and the way your shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

when you finally wrestle it away, cradling it to your chest with a reverence he never expected, the way your eyes light up steals the breath from his lungs. "wait—is this you as a chimera?!" you gasp, and oh, oh—your smile is radiant, brighter than anything he's ever seen, and it hits him like an arrow straight through the ribs. his heart stutters, then soars. you knew. you saw the chimera, saw him, saw all the love he stitched into every imperfect seam—

and you loved it anyway.

"i take it that you like it?" phainon muses, resting one hand on his hip while the other comes up to hide the way his fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt. he can't stop staring—at the way your careful hands cradle the plush like it's something precious, at how your usually serious expression has softened into pure, unguarded delight.

if he were any weaker, he'd have dissolved into a puddle right there on the floor, reduced to nothing but a lovesick mess by the way you gently pat the plush's head, your thumb brushing over its crooked stitches with unexpected tenderness.

"like it?" you echo, and oh, the way your voice wraps around the words—warm and bright, so unlike your usual measured tone. "oh, phainon, i absolutely love it." your fingers trace the shape of its wings, pausing to fix a loose thread with that same meticulous attention you give everything important.

when you boop its nose, grinning like you've discovered something truly wonderful, he has to physically bite the inside of his cheek to keep from doing something stupid, like kissing you senseless right then and there.

"careful now, partner," he warns, crossing his arms over his chest in a poor attempt to look unaffected. the slight tilt of his head sends his hair falling into his eyes, but he doesn't bother brushing it away. "or else i'll find myself jealous of a stuffed animal." the tease falls easily from his lips, though his traitorous pulse jumps when your gaze flicks up to meet his.

you merely roll your eyes, but the smile never leaves your face—if anything, it grows, softening at the edges in that way he's come to recognize as yours alone. "scared that i'd prefer your plush counterpart rather than the real deal?" you shoot back, your voice laced with amusement as you deliberately hug the chimera closer, just to watch his nose scrunch up in mock offense.

phainon makes a grand show of turning his head away, nose tilted up in exaggerated haughtiness, but his blue eyes keep darting back to you and the plush from the corner of his vision. "hmm, perhaps," he says, voice dripping with faux indifference that would fool absolutely no one—least of all you.

and oh, you barely stop yourself from swooning right then and there. instead, you let out a quiet chuckle, the sound warm and fond as you take a step forward. the way phainon immediately tenses up, shoulders squaring and spine straightening to military-perfect posture as you approach, makes your chest ache with affection.

"oh my," you murmur, unable to resist teasing him just a little more, "seems like someone is jealous." you glance down at the plush cradled carefully in your arms. "oh, what should i do, mini phainon?"

you bring the chimera plush up to your ear with theatrical solemnity, tilting your head as if listening intently to its whispered advice. phainon's lips press together into a thin line, the corners trembling with the effort of suppressing a smile, but he holds onto his act of jealousy with admirable determination.

"hm, yes, a wonderful idea, sir phai," you announce gravely, nodding along to the imaginary counsel.

"sir phai?" phainon repeats, the ridiculous honorific finally breaking through his feigned indifference as a grin spreads across his face.

"yes," you confirm, your thumb brushing absentmindedly over the plush's soft head. "this distinguished gentleman deserves to be treated with the utmost respect, as he's given me a brilliant idea on how to appease my partner."

"oh?" phainon arches an eyebrow, curiosity getting the better of him. "and what brilliant idea would that be?"

he isn't prepared for your sudden movement—the way your hand rises with deliberate care to cup the side of his face, your calloused palm warm against his cheek. when your thumb brushes lightly over his bottom lip, he goes completely rigid, every muscle in his body locking up as heat floods his face.

his heart hammers against his ribs so violently he's half-convinced you can hear it, and oh god, he hopes to every titan above that the desperate want coursing through him isn't written too plainly across his features.

but of course, you've always seen right through him. your fingers tilt his head gently to the side, and as you lean in, phainon's last coherent thought is how utterly pathetic he is—how he's already leaning in to meet you halfway before you've even closed the distance, how his eyes flutter shut without his permission, how his breath catches in his throat when your lips press a tender, fleeting kiss to his cheek.

(he'll scold himself later for his eagerness, for the way his traitorous hands had twitched at his sides, aching to pull you closer. but for now—just for this moment—he lets himself savor it.)

"there." you step back, and phainon has to physically dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from chasing after your lips like some lovesick fool—though the way his breath hitches when he sees your flustered expression nearly undoes him completely. "appeased?" you ask, and oh, the way your voice wavers just slightly betrays your own nerves.

phainon's voice comes out quieter than he intended, rough around the edges as he nods. "perhaps." the word feels inadequate, barely scratching the surface of how much he wants to pull you back in, but his traitorous tongue refuses to cooperate.

"perhaps? ah, that's no good." you echo, sighing dramatically with feigned disappointment that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "then perhaps i can ease your woes by taking you out on a date?" then, slow and deliberate, your fingers brush against his—a question, a test.

but before you can even glance up to gauge his reaction, phainon's hand is already surging forward to meet yours, fingers slotting together with yours like they were made to fit there. the speed of it makes you blink, and when you finally look up, the sight that greets you steals your breath away.

phainon's entire face is flushed a brilliant red, his lips slightly parted in surprise at his own eagerness. his blue eyes are wide, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the iris whole, and there's something unbearably vulnerable in the way his fingers tighten around yours—like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. when your words register—date, you said date—his breath stutters, his free hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck in a poor attempt to hide how affected he is.

"i—" he starts, then stops, his voice cracking embarrassingly. he clears his throat, tries again. "you—" another pause. a beat passes where he just stares at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before he finally manages, in a voice so soft it's barely above a whisper: "yes. titans, yes."

phainon isn't entirely sure how his heart hasn't given out yet—first the kiss on his cheek, now this? the way you'd so casually asked him on a date should be classified as a lethal weapon with how it makes his pulse stutter wildly against his ribs. but he's too busy floating in some blissful, love-drunk haze to care, letting himself be swept along by the warmth of your hand in his and the giddy lightness in his chest.

"good," you say, that small, pleased smile of yours doing dangerous things to his already compromised cardiovascular system. "because i already reserved us a place at your favorite restaurant." your thumb brushes absentmindedly over his knuckles as you guide him out of the lounge, your steps measured and confident down the hall—like you've walked this path in your mind a hundred times before.

"wait," phainon blurts, stumbling slightly in his haste to keep up. when you glance back, he's staring at you with wide, shining eyes, his expression caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. if he had a tail, it would be thumping against every available surface in his excitement. "you'd planned this from the very beginning, didn't you?"

"well," you hum, the picture of innocence save for the mischievous glint in your eyes, "i had to do something for you once you finished with your little project."

"you knew i was making the plush for you?" the words come out embarrassingly high-pitched, his grip on your hand tightening reflexively.

your laughter is warm as you bring your joined hands up, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles that sends sparks skittering up his arm. the tenderness of it makes his vision go suspiciously blurry, and he has to blink rapidly to dispel the sudden moisture gathering in his eyes.

"my apologies," you murmur against his skin, your breath tickling his fingers. "i had overheard your plan while you were shopping for fabrics, muttering to yourself. i'm glad my patience paid off, though."

phainon groans, letting his forehead thunk against your shoulder. of course his big mouth ruined yet another surprise—he should start charging admission for the spectacle of his own incompetence. but then you squeeze his hand, and when he peeks up, the sight of you—walking taller, smiling brighter, your usual composed demeanor softened into something openly affectionate—steals the breath from his lungs.

right here, right now, with your fingers intertwined and the lingering warmth of your lips against his cheek and knuckles, phainon thinks he wouldn't change a single thing.

oh wow, 5.7k words of phainon being his wonderfully adorable self. while i know there's always room for improvement in any story, and honestly, looking back, there are probably things i could’ve tweaked or expanded on, but sometimes you just have to let a story exist as it is. no regrets here. (also, okay, maybe i’m coping just a little with the amphoreus arc by drowning in fluff. don’t look at me.) i really hope y'all enjoyed this little one-shot! and if it wasn’t obvious, i’ve missed the other chrysos heirs dearly, so of course i had to sneak them in here. their dynamic with phainon is just too fun to ignore. thank you so much anon for requesting this, i honestly love the idea that phainon talks to himself or says his thoughts out loud. again, i truly hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. your support means the world, and i'm so grateful to share these one-shots with you all. until next time!

#i legit need all the fluff i can get #phainon deserves the WORLD #UGH #i CAN'T #i love him too much #and i miss the other chrysos heirs ughhh #they all deserve a happy ending #puppy of aedes elysiae #lazy-ahh #honkai star rail #phainon #x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #phainon x reader

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shouyuus · 8 months ago

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18+, college roommate!vi cinematic universe thigh-riding, questionable vape-usage, oral (vi receiving), smut with a fluffy ending

"s-sweet fuck, pretty girl -- j-just -- just like that --"

you let out a soft whimper, rutting your hips over her flexed thigh, whining as she leans back, a palm resting on your waist, the other clutching her hot pink vape, bringing it up to her lips for a long hit before tugging you down, blowing the dragonfruit-flavored smoke into your mouth.

you suck in, tasting the bright tang of the vape smoke as your pussy clenches, your clit throbbing as you chase your orgasm, grinding down over vi's leg as she groans thick in the back of her throat, her eyes dark and hazed out as she watches you with parted lips.

"like -- like that?" you ask, your voice high and desperate even as vi bites her lips, letting her head fall back against the wall of her room, her cheeks high with color as you reach down and wedge a hand between your bodies, slipping your fingers under the waistband of her boy shorts to thumb clumsily at her clit. she keens, fingers digging into your waist as she jerks you against her, your juices now so sticky on her thighs that it squelches every time you rut your hips forwards and back.

"fuck -- yeah... mm --" she shifts, hoisting you further up just to meld her mouth with yours, licking into your mouth as your pace stutters and you groan, fingers clutching at her shoulders, her biceps, steadying yourself on her arms as she kisses a harsh line down your neck, sucking a deep hickey into the junction of your throat. "shit, you're so -- so hot, so pretty--"

"vi -- vi -- m'so close --" your lashes flutter as you feel the familiar twist in your gut, the warm already spilling through your limbs.

she chuckles, "c'mon princess --" she tugs on your chin, blowing another puff of smoke in your face, smirking when your breath hitches, "look at me -- wanna see your face when you fuck yourself stupid on my thighs --"

the tension in your belly snaps, your whole body shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. and vi -- she guides you through it, groaning out long and low as she feels you twitch over her, your cunt squeezing around nothing as you ride out your own orgasm against her. you eyes flicker but she keeps you upright, forcing you to look at her even as the edges of your vision fizz out into white sparks of pleasure.

she kisses you as you come down, grinning at the way you whine when she pulls away for another hit of the vape, opening her mouth as you press back in, your fingers finding the soaked folds of her cunt, pressing in, her kissing you as smoke wreathes out the corners of your mouths. you trade the same breath back and forth till you lose count, till you can't figure if the sweetness is the smoke or just the tingling addiction of her mouth on yours.

"mm... wow, princess -- that was --" she hiccups as you press a line of sloppy kisses down her neck, the pale, lamp-kissed bend of her shoulder, the small divot between her breasts, pausing to lave your tongue over her nipples, the piercings there cold as you suck them between your soft lips. your revel in the way she gasps then, the way her fingers bite into your skin.

you reach up wordlessly to tug the vape from her slack fingers, her eyes half-lidded and alight with a loose, liquid hunger as she watches you work down the length of her body.

"you're so wet, vi..." you murmur, pressing a kiss to her hipbone, smiling up at her as you tug on the waistband of her boyshorts. she lifts her hips, her cheeks darkening as she clears her throat.

"yeah well -- 's not like you can blame me -- oh shit --"

her head thunks back against the wall as you dig your nose into the thin trail of hair that leads to her sopping folds, the slick there glistening in the wane light. you only allow yourself a second to admire her before bringing the vape to your lips and sucking in a breath of the synthetically sweet smoke, and then you're lowering your mouth to her and pressing your tongue into her slow, moaning long and loud, your eyes fixed on her face, watching for the twitch of her lips, the slack in her jaw.

"jesus christ -- mm-mngh --!"

you fight back a grin as she whimpers, her thighs tightening on either side of your face. her fingers dig through your hair as she forces her eyes open to look down at you, an open, needy expression on her face that you doubt she'd willingly show to anyone else. but the knowledge that you can bring her to such pleasure quickens your own pulse and drives you forward as you give her clit a hard suck and she keens again -- that gorgeous, high, helpless sound even as she presses you harder against her folds and jerks against your face, guiding you into a rhythm that suits her needs.

"fuck, fuck, fuck princess --" she lets out a string of incoherent swears as you feel her shove your face into her harder and harder, and all you can do is offer up your mouth, your tongue, anything and everything you can till she shakes apart above you, her release coating your lips and dripping down your chin.

you lap at it hungrily, savoring the salty-sweet-tang even as she finally relaxes her thighs and you manage to pull yourself up for a breath. your face is sticky, and honestly, so is she, but her laughter is warm when she tugs you up to give you a lingering kiss.

your head is a smoke-filled euphoria of half-formed thoughts as the pair of you collapse, boneless, sweaty, and sated onto her messy sheets. she kicks off her boyshorts, leaving her just as naked as you already were as she curls around you, her arms solid and strong, yours curled against her chest, your fingers splayed over the smooth expanse of her skin, tracing abstract shapes as you turn to face her.

"you got somethin' on your face there, sweets," she says, rubbing at thumb down your slick-covered chin. you crinkle your nose, turning to wipe your face messily against her bicep even as she laughs.

"mm... why didn't we do this sooner?" you ask, curling into her, your faces inches apart.

"what, this like -- smoke each other out and have amazing, mind-blowing sex?" vi asks, grinning.

you giggle, shaking your head, "no! i mean -- well, yes, but like... this.." you reach out and cup her cheek, the touch so gentle it stills you both.

vi sighs, shrugging, "dunno, cupcake. i -- i guess i was caught up in..." her eyes cast about her room, the band posters and hand-scribbled workout notes tacked to her wall, "in wondering if you -- if you felt the same about me, i just..."

you purse your lips around a burgeoning smile, "you just... forgot to ask me?"

vi scoffs, rolling her eyes, "yeah, yeah, whatever. we get it -- you had to make the first move but --" her eyes soften, and so does her voice, "at least we're here now, right?"

"mm," you nod, inching closer, "and we've still got another six months left on the lease."

"six months is a long time," vi says, her voice husky as she rubs a thumb along your cheek.

"yeah... plenty, if we're trying to make up for lost time but..." you hesitate over a held breath, "what happens after?"

"after... we both graduate?"

"yeah."

for a moment, vi's silent. and all around you, the future stretches out like the moonless night, tendrils of shadow reaching like spindled fingers into the unknown future.

"after that... i go wherever you go, cupcake."

you blink, eyes meeting hers, a startled spark of uncertainty rising within you.

"you..."

vi smiles, a crooked, honest thing of lips and teeth. she hooks her ankles around yours and presses your foreheads. her hand comes up to caress the back of your neck.

"if you think i'll ever let you go again after all that... you've got another thing comin', princess."

you let out a relieved laugh, leaning in for a kiss.

"right. i guess the orgasm really was that good, huh?"

vi laughs too then, a soft, breathy sound.

"sure. but really... i mean it. i'm yours, cupcake. for as long as you'll have me."

your lashes flutter; your heart skips. then, you're the one pulling her in for a kiss, one that's sweet as it is consuming. the skin-scalding simmer of a long-burning flame, a spark catching hold on a breath of summer wind.

"i might not be a theoretical physicist, but from what i've heard, forever is a really long time," you say. and vi, to her credit, only takes a second before understanding blossoms in her eyes and she pulling you to her, crushing you in a stomach-turning embrace.

"you're my everything, princess. you know that?"

you bury your face in the crook of her neck and breathe her in. the room smells like sex and sweat and the soft perfume of your shared shampoo. you grin, a giddy heat pluming up your chest to coil at the back of your throat.

"and you're mine, vi."

vi puffs out a breath, her voice just a tiny bit shaky as she cradles your head in her palm.

"yeah. i know, sweets. i know i am."

#⛈ monsoon season #hULLO i am IN MY FEELS 2NITE #i love how half of this is ABHORRENT smut and the 2nd half is just TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF #♨ steamy #vi x reader #arcane x reader #vi smut #arcane smut #vi arcane smut #vi x you #arcane x you #violet x you #violet smut #and on today's episode of ONLY orgasms and happily ever afters for vi in this household --#i truly CANNOT help myself like all roads lead to gross happy endings for my vi fics theres no other way i know (or want) to write them #you literally WILL NOT catch me doing this shit for anyone else WOW #college roommate!vi #this is post them getting together in case that wasn't obvious #i guess the smut won out in the end for the 2 drabbles HAHHA #but cool alright now time to go write MORE fluff #the level of gratuitous self indulgence here is so astronomically high #arcane

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reekiiroo · 2 months ago

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finally get to hold you in my arms

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technically-human · 1 year ago

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St. Hilarion's ghost story

#payneland #edwin x charles #dead boy detectives #dbda #pre canon angst brought to you by the weirdo who's always drawing post canon fluff #something about oral tradition and old timey slang #i took quite a lot of decisions with this one so buckle up #first of all the female ghost keeps edwin's eyes color because there's still some truth to the legend #the background is the same shade of green to reference hell #just like it is when he's having his flashback #alive charles is dressed all in black because he's not a happy boy #i also made it so that he grips his clothes when his mate punches him even as it's intended to be friendly #because well #these people will end up killing him so it's less friendly when you remember THAT #charles obviously doesn't mean anything by the mary ann comment #he doesn't know the slang meaning and just blurted out what he remembered from the legend #he will find out reach some conclussions and go punch a wall about it probably #about edwin tho his escape is still very recent and he didn't expect this #but even so early on he knows charles means no harm and allows himself to be comforted #it wasn't intentional but hey edwin shruggin off charles' touch is a good parallel to that one scene after charles “kills” the night nurse

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clappingandcheering · 7 months ago

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(Frank Zhang x Demeter child)

Boo!

Warnings: fluff, I can’t say I know of any warnings needed.

Bombaclat! So basically 312 words, a short little story about you and the BFG (Big Friendly Giant). I hope some of you guys get a little giddy at this because I don't know what the fuck I’m doing!

She was watering her plants, watching them and appreciating their growth and admiring their colours, just enjoying the presence of nature. She was holding a pot of moonlace before Frank had walked in.

“Boo!” He placed his hand on her shoulders while his words echoed through her ears, causing her to jump and almost drop the plant.

“Frank! I nearly dropped my plant!” She huffed and placed the plant down, turning to him and noticing his saddened expression before she smiled and sighed, not being able to stay mad at the little angel, "C'mere.” She opened her arms for a hug.

He stepped forward with one of the biggest childish grins on his face, hugging her tightly through his large physique, his arms making even her form look tiny (NO MATTER WHAT SIZE!).

He smelt like sweat and freshly sprayed deodorant.

“I wanted to see you since I’ve finished all my stuff for the day." His voice was rough but quiet when he spoke; seeing such a large man speak so softly is kind of contradictory but sweet.

“That’s okay, you did scare me pretty good though; I’ll get you back." She had a sweet smile; her hair smells fresh like strawberries and vanilla, this was the moment he enjoyed the most. Just her being in his arms and being able to smell and feel her body made him feel more relaxed than a sloth on a tree—speaking of sloths, he was kind of tired.

“Can we sleep together?” She smiled as he whispered in her ear, How could such a large man be so small inside?

She nodded at him and then grabbed his hand, leading him to her cabin's bed, and then the two of them laid onto it. It didn't take long for the big baby to fall asleep since he’d just finished training and a few other chores around camp.

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d-z20 · 9 months ago

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The Agent Next Door (NSFW)

Pairing: Agent Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You don't really talk to your (extremely attractive) neighbour, Rio Vidal, until one day an accident leads to you staying at her apartment for a couple of days. And an awkward encounter results in having your fantasy come true. -OR- Rio finds you injured after you slipped and fell out the shower and decides to look after you (non-magic AU)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, blood, small injury, fluff, smut, fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving)

Words: 3.4k

A/N: Just wanted to write a bit of Rio caring for reader and well then it turned into smut and I have no regrets. Also I have their whole relationship arc in my head now lol

AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Master List

The Worst Morning Of Your Life (so far)

Rio Vidal is your neighbour. You've noticed her plenty of times before—a striking woman with a sharp, confident look that's hard to ignore. You live in the same apartment building, just across the hall from one another. Most days, your interactions are limited to polite smiles and brief chats in the elevator, her dark suit and badge often catching your eye. You've heard her phone buzz with work calls that end with her curt, professional voice. It's obvious she's someone important—serious and dedicated. You've pieced together that she's an FBI agent, but beyond that, you don't know much about her.

You can't deny that you're drawn to her, though. There's something about the way she carries herself—all self-assured and enigmatic. You've caught yourself staring a few times, your heart skipping a beat when she looks back and flashes a rare, amused smile. It's not just her looks—it's the way she moves, the air of mystery she carries, like she's seen things you could only imagine. It makes you nervous, but at the same time, you can't help but look forward to those fleeting moments when your paths cross.

One morning, your shower decides to betray you—your hot water cuts out just as you put your head under. You let out a bloodcurdling scream, quickly trying to jump out of the shower. Unfortunately for you, your foot slips on the hard floor, and you come crashing down, hitting your head on the sink, landing with a very loud thud. Dazed and confused, you are unsure if you passed out for a second there or not, but either way your head is killing you.

"Fucking brilliant," you mutter to yourself, draping an arm across your eyes to shield them from the light.

At that moment, you heard your front door slamming open and hurried footsteps searching your apartment. You had just about enough sense to yank your towel off the hook and cover up your naked body.

"Y/N?" called a voice just outside the bathroom door.

Shit. It was Rio. You wished the ground would just swallow you up.

"Are you okay? I heard you scream, and then I heard something shatter." You could hear the genuine concern in her voice.

Lifting your head slightly, you noticed the shards of glass from what used to be your bathroom shelf, surrounding you. All you could do was let out a groan and close your eyes at this new development of what was turning out to be the worst morning of your life so far.

This was a bad choice, as a split second later, Rio barged into your bathroom.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Your neighbour teased, but you could hear the relief in her voice. She moved further into the room, assessing the damage. "Not to ruin such a perfect morning for you, but I might have broken your door getting in here."

You open your eyes, blinking up at her. Taking her in, you noticed she was wearing a cropped baggy tank top and gym shorts. You blink up at her again, and your head throbs with each beat of your pulse, the pain radiating down your neck. You're still dazed, trying to process how you ended up sprawled on the cold bathroom floor with your FBI agent neighbour standing over you. Rio's sharp eyes take in your silence, concern clouding the playful smirk she'd worn just moments before.

"Hey," she says, voice softer now, as she crouches down beside you. She reaches out, fingertips gently brushing your cheek to turn your face towards her. "Y/N, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"

You swallow, trying to focus. Her touch is surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to her usual no-nonsense demeanour. You nod slightly, the movement making your head spin. "Rio," you manage to croak out. "Neighbour, FBI agent. And, apparently, a door kicker."

She huffs a laugh, a brief flicker of relief crossing her face. "Good. That's a start. I don't usually make a habit of barging into people's bathrooms uninvited, but I heard that scream, and... well, I'm glad I did." Her eyes drop down to your arm, where blood seeps from a jagged cut. She curses under her breath, her grip on your shoulder tightening just slightly. "You're bleeding. We need to get you cleaned up."

You glance down at your arm, wincing at the sight of blood trickling down to your hand. "I really know how to make an impression, huh?"

Rio shakes her head, lips pressed together in a tight line. "Let's save the jokes until you're not covered in glass, yeah?" Without another word, she slips an arm under your shoulders, helping you sit up. The world tilts slightly, but her hold on you is firm, steadying you as you get your bearings.

"You're going to have to trust me for a minute," she tells you softly. "Can you stand?"

"Maybe," you say, though you're not entirely sure. She helps you up, careful not to jostle your injured arm, and you try to ignore the heat of her skin against yours, the way her fingers dig into your side just enough to ground you.

Rio's eyes dart around the room, quickly assessing the mess of broken glass and water pooling on the floor. "Alright," she says decisively. "I'm taking you back to my place. We'll patch you up there. Your shower is out of commission, and I don't trust that you won't take another tumble if I leave you alone here."

You don't have the energy to argue, so you just nod, letting her guide you out of the bathroom. The two of you make it to the hallway, but not before she grabs a spare towel and wraps it around you more securely. Her movements are quick and efficient, but there's a gentleness to them that surprises you. It's a side of Rio you've never seen before—one that's patient and caring, not just the tough, sarcastic woman you've exchanged pleasantries with in passing.

As you step into her apartment, you notice it's much more personal than you'd imagined. There are framed photos on the walls—nothing too sentimental, mostly candid shots of places she's travelled to, city skylines, and sunsets. Her living room is cosy, with a worn leather couch and a small stack of books piled on the coffee table.

"Sit," she instructs, pointing to the couch. You sink down into it, feeling strangely out of place but oddly comfortable. Rio disappears into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a first aid kit. She kneels in front of you, carefully prying your hand away from your arm.

"This is going to sting," she warns, pulling out an antiseptic wipe. You flinch as she cleans the cut, her brows knitting together in concentration. "Sorry," she mutters. "I'm used to dealing with criminals and suspects, not clumsy neighbours."

"Criminals don't trip in the shower much?" you quip, trying for humour despite the pain. It earns you a small smile from Rio, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"Not usually, no. Though I'll admit you're far more entertaining." Her voice softens again, the smirk fading as she wraps a bandage around your arm. "You scared me for a second there, you know."

The confession catches you off guard. "I did? you ask, watching her face as she finishes tying off the bandage.

She doesn't look up, her focus still on your arm. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I thought something bad had happened. Guess I care more about my neighbour than I realised."

Your heart skips a beat, the words hanging in the air between you. It's the first real admission of anything beyond casual friendliness, and it leaves you breathless. You're about to say something—anything—but Rio stands up, offering her hand to you.

"Come on," she says. "Let's get you some proper clothes and maybe a coffee. You can stay here until we sort out your door and shower."

Rio's grip on your hand is firm as she helps you up, her expression still hovering somewhere between concern and her usual, dry amusement. You follow her into the kitchen, and she releases you, motioning for you to sit at the table. It feels strange being here, in her space, especially after the chaos of your morning. She pulls out a chair for you with a slight roll of her eyes, as if it's absurd that you'd even try to resist her instruction.

"I don't have any shifts for the next two days," she announces, moving towards the coffee maker without glancing back at you. "And considering you might've blacked out for a second back there, I'm not letting you out of my sight. So, you're staying with me, here, until you're back on your feet properly."

You open your mouth to argue, but the look she throws over her shoulder silences you. It's one part worry and two parts something else—something softer, almost protective.

"I can manage," you say, but your voice lacks conviction, especially as you rub your throbbing arm. The bandage is already starting to bleed through a bit. Rio's eyes narrow at the sight, and she steps closer, prodding your arm gently.

"Yeah, you're doing a great job," she says dryly, then nods to herself. "You're staying here."

"Fine," you sigh, though part of you feels a flutter of something—relief, maybe, or the thrill of being looked after by someone like Rio. "But I can sleep on the couch. I don't want to kick you out of your bed."

Rio's lips twitch into a smirk. "I'm not letting you take the couch. You've already proven that you're a danger to yourself in any situation that involves standing up."

You can't help but laugh, despite everything. "So, what, we share your bed?"

She raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to challenge her. "It's a queen size. I think we can manage. Unless you've suddenly developed a fear of co-sleeping?"

The thought of sharing a bed with her sends a rush of heat through you, but you try to play it off with a shrug. "As long as you don't hog the covers."

"I'll do my best," she says, the smirk widening.

The first night is awkward, as expected. You lie stiffly on one side of the bed, while Rio takes the other, the space between you feeling like a chasm despite the closeness. She's warm though, and you can feel the heat radiating from her body and the subtle scent of her shampoo filling your senses. It's both comforting and maddening, making it hard to fall asleep. You’re hyper-aware of every shift she makes, every time her arm brushes against yours. At some point, she turns onto her side, facing you, and you feel her eyes on you in the dark.

"You still awake?" she whispers.

"Yeah," you reply, swallowing hard.

There's a pause, then you feel her hand brush against yours. It's light, almost as if by accident, but when you don't pull away, she leaves it there, her fingers barely touching yours.

"Try to get some sleep," she murmurs. "You need to rest."

"Alright," you say, voice hoarse, and somehow, with her so close, you finally drift off.

Over the next day and a half, the tension between you shifts, It's subtle at first—small, lingering glances from Rio that last a bit too long, the brush of her fingers against your back when she helps you into the kitchen. Her sarcasm returns, but there's a flirtatious edge to it now, like she's testing the waters.

"You're really milking this injury, aren't you?" She teases, handing you your drink to have with the pizza she bought for dinner. "You'd think you broke your entire body, the way you're lounging around."

"Hey," you protest, setting the drink down. "You're the one who insisted I stay. Don't blame me for enjoying the hospitality."

She leans against the counter, arms crossed, a grin tugging at her lips. "Oh, I'm well aware. But don't get too comfortable with me waiting on you hand and foot—I've got to go back to work tomorrow.”

That night, the atmosphere between you shifts even more. When you climb into bed besides Rio, there's no hesitation this time. She turns towards you almost immediately, her hand resting lightly on your hip as if it's the most natural thing in the world. You can feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of your shirt, her breath warm against the back of your neck. It's a small touch, nothing too bold, but it feels significant—an unspoken acknowledgement of everything simmering between you two. You fall asleep like that, closer than before, your fingers unconsciously brushing hers under the covers.

When you wake up, she's already dressed for the day, leaning over you with a mug of coffee in hand. She sets it down on the nightstand with a playful smile. "Morning sweetheart," she says, her voice laced with that familiar teasing tone, but there's a softness to it now. "Try not to do anything risky while I'm gone, yeah? I don't want to come back to find you've taken a tumble without me here to save the day."

You laugh, reaching for the coffee, but there's a flutter in your chest at the pet name, even if she means it jokingly. "I'll do my best," you say. "But no promises."

She smirks, leaning down just enough to press a light kiss to your forehead. "Good. I'll be back later. Make yourself at home."

You do. The rest of the day passes in a strangely pleasant haze, and you find yourself enjoying the small comforts of her apartment. It's quiet without her, but there's a sense of ease you haven't felt in a long time, like you truly belong here. You find yourself smiling for no reason, touching the small trinkets on her shelves, running your fingers over the soft throw blankets she has draped across the couch.

By the time you decide to take a shower, you're feeling entirely too content. You strip down, stepping under the hot spray with a sigh. That's when your thoughts drift back to Rio—how she looked last night, half-asleep and tousled, her arm draped over your waist, her expression unguarded in a way you'd never seen before.

Your thoughts turn to fantasy almost unbidden. You imagine her joining you in the shower, pressing you back against the cold tiles, her hands sliding down your wet skin. You can almost feel it—the heat of her breath on your neck, the firmness of her body against yours. You start to move your hand towards your aching clit, letting out a quiet, shuddering moan, lost in the fantasy of what it would be like to kiss her and have her hands on you.

You don't hear the bathroom door open, but suddenly, you hear her voice—low and amused. "You sure you're okay in here? Didn't have another fall, did you?"

You freeze, eyes snapping open. You can barely see her through the steam, but she's there, standing just outside the shower curtain, and you realise with a jolt that she must have heard you. You heart slams against your ribs as the curtain slides back just a little, and Rio steps inside completely naked, her smirk evident even through the haze.

"I really just can't trust you not to injure yourself while showering, can I?" she says, voice teasing but thick with something else—desire, maybe. Her eyes travel down your body, lingering in a way that sends a shiver through you.

"Rio," you breathe out, half a warning, half a plea.

She steps closer, crowding you against the wall, her hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. "You know," she murmurs, her lips so close to yours now that you can feel the brush of them with every word. "I think you've been waiting for me to do this."

And then she kisses you, slow and heated, like she's been thinking about this just as much as you have. Her mouth is soft but insistent, coaxing a response from you until you melt into her, hands tangling in her hair as you kiss her back just as eagerly. The steam from the shower mixes with the heat between you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, her forehead resting against yours. "I knew it," she whispers, her voice laced with satisfaction. "You've been wanting this so badly, haven't you?"

You nod, swallowing thickly. "Yeah," you admit, barely louder than a whisper. "I have."

She grins, tugging you closer until you're pressed against her, chest to chest. "Good," she says, leaning in to kiss you again, deeper this time. "Because I've been wanting it too."

And with that, she shoves you against the wall. Hard. She's kissing you all over, igniting the skin where each one lands. She nips and sucks at your neck, finding where you're most sensitive. A moan escapes your lips, and you buck your hips, trying to get any kind of friction against your core. For a brief moment, you start to get embarrassed, but then one of Rio's hands finds its way between your legs. She dips a finger between your lips and hums at how wet you already are for her.

Looking directly into your eyes, silently telling you to keep her gaze, she lowers herself to suck on one of your tits, tongue swirling around your nipple, making it harden quickly. The hand not on your clit, starts to pinch your other nipple, pulling another loud guttural moan from you.

Working her mouth down your torso, marking up your body as she goes, Rio sinks to her knees, her face now directly opposite your dripping cunt, eyes still locked on yours.

Her hands deftly grip your hips, steadying you against the wall. "You've got to promise me you're not going to fall again, sweetheart," she all but growls, the arousal evident in her voice.

You nod your head, but it wasn't enough for the woman, who digs her nails into your skin where she's holding you. "Ye-Yes. I promise."

That is all Rio needs before she starts to drag her tongue through your folds. Switching between broad licks along the length between your entrance and your clit, and firmer, more purposeful circles over your bundle of nerves.

You feel dizzy, but you know it has nothing to do with your concussion and everything to do with the woman kneeling between your legs. Despite your head spinning, you manage to bring your hands down to tangle in Rio's hair, pushing her harder into you. You need more.

She moans against you, clearly enjoying how turned on you are. The vibration from the moan goes straight to your core, and you nearly cum just from that. Sensing you're close, Rio pushes two fingers inside you, causing you to curse her name inbetween moans.

You feel her chuckle and then start fucking you more vigorously. "I want to hear you, baby. I want the whole floor to hear you moan my name," she says, momentarily pulling away from your pussy. You can't help but oblige as she starts to curl her fingers, resuming her licking and sucking.

With her fingers curling inside you like that, it isn't long before you climax, legs shaking, cumminng hard over her fingers and tongue. Rio helps you through the end of your orgasm, making sure to hold you up as you come back down.

"Okay, darling, I think we need to sit you down before you lose another fight with gravity," Rio smirks. You can't help but agree; your knees feel very weak and it's taking all of your concentration to stay upright.

"Oh, by the way, I bumped into the maintenance guys on my way in," Rio says lightly, helping you out of the shower. "And they said that your door isn't getting fixed for at least another week. So, it looks like you'll have me to help you shower for a little while longer." Winking, she drags you to her bed, determined to continue what she had just started.

alright folks, I've got a sequel in the works but can't decide on the vibes (there'll be smut regardless): READ PART 2 HERE

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