cosmiclily

[cosmiclily]

😭😭😭 thank youuu!!! you’re the sweetest 🩵🩵🩵

when she sees me

★ vi x f!reader

wc: 5.4k

cw: reader goes on a date with one (1) guy for exactly 27 minutes; pure tooth rooting fluff.

notes: this was @entraptasimp request but tumblr was being a bitch and i lost the ask 😭. this got my brain juices working, it started off with nothing to do with what you requested but i worked my way through it, i had so much fun writing it, hope you like it !!

I was born a fundamentally anxious person. I like things a certain way—I’ve never liked guessing games or the feeling of not knowing how things would unfold. That’s why I’ve never been a fan of dating apps, meet-cutes, or anything that required me to dive into the unknown. Even my reading choices reflected that. I always gravitated toward romances where the main characters were destined to be together, the kind where they had known each other forever and love was inevitable.

So when it came to my own life, I was completely lost. Imagine spending almost 21 years never having a boyfriend, a girlfriend, or anything remotely romantic. It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried—I’d had experiences, but they were all terrible. The kind of stuff you look back on and cringe so hard you want to erase the memory altogether.

"Can you believe I’ll be 21 soon, and I’ve never dated anyone?" I groaned, tossing a handful of popcorn into my mouth. Vi, my best friend, was sprawled next to me on my bed, equally engrossed in our snacks but pretending to care about whatever show was playing in the background. "Even you had girlfriends. What is wrong with me?"

Vi turned to me with a dramatic gasp, her mouth still half-full of popcorn. "What do you mean, even me? I’m a greatcatch! Good looking, great muscles, and super smart. You can’t beat that."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, super humble too, I see."

She smirked, flexing her arm like she was some kind of bodybuilder. "Exactly. You’re just jealous."

I sighed, staring at the ceiling. "No, I’m just… I don’t know. It feels like I missed some crucial lesson everyone else got. Like, how do people just meet someone and start dating them? How does it happen so easily for everyone else?"

Vi was quiet for a moment before she nudged me with her foot. "It’s not easy for everyone. And maybe it’s not supposed to be easy for you. Maybe you’re just waiting for the right kind of difficult."

I frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Vi shrugged. “I don’t know, it just sounded poetic. But seriously, maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet. Or maybe you’re meant for a slow-burn romance—like the ones in those books you love so much.”

I groaned, rolling onto my side. “But I’m tired, Vi,” I whined. “I hate relying on fate, or destiny, or whatever. I need to do something!”

She stared at me for a moment, her eyes narrowing like she was deep in thought. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, and that was never a good sign.

“Okay, hmm.” She tapped her fingers against her chin. “I know you don’t like dating apps, and you hate talking to strangers, but unless you want to date me, or Mel, or—I don’t know—Jayce…”

I made a face so disgusted she burst out laughing.

“Right, so unless you want to date your friends,” she continued, still grinning, “you’re going to have to get to know someone new.”

I groaned dramatically, burying my face in my pillow. “But I don’t like meeting people.”

Vi let out an exaggerated sigh. “God, you’re insufferable.” She poked my shoulder until I looked at her again. “Again! Unless you’re planning to date your friends, you have to meet new people. So! My idea is… I choose your suitors based on what I think you’d like. You go on a date with them, and if you don’t like them, we move on to someone else. We keep going until we find you a partner.”

I stared at her. “You make it sound like a game show.”

She grinned. “Oh, it absolutely is a game show now.”

──────────────────────

“So, to start off—download every dating app you can find. We’re setting up your profile and swiping away!” Vi announced, a sinister grin on her face and a bag of chips perched on her lap. It was honestly kind of terrifying.

I hesitated, staring at her like she had just suggested I walk barefoot across hot coals. “Okay, I just don’t see how forcing me to do something I hate is the solution here.” Still, I begrudgingly opened the app store and started scrolling through the endless sea of dating apps.

“Exposure therapy, Y/N!” Vi declared, stuffing a handful of chips into her mouth. “Besides, I’ve known you my whole life. If I don’t make you do this, you’re going to end up single well into your sixties, whining in my ears about your wasted youth and how you never got the love story you deserved.” She pitched her voice higher, dramatically placing a hand on her chest. “‘Oh, Vi, why didn’t you force me to date when I had the chance?’”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Hey! I don’t sound like that.”

Vi snorted. “You absolutely do.”

I sighed, already regretting this. “Fine. But if this turns into a disaster, you owe me—big time.”

She grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. This is going to be legendary.”

As soon as the apps finished downloading, Vi snatched my phone right out of my hands. “Nope! You are not sabotaging your own chances at finding love,” she declared, her eyes gleaming with determination.

I sighed, letting her take control because, honestly, fighting her on this would be pointless. Vi had always been like this—stubborn, overenthusiastic, and convinced she knew what was best for me. And, to be fair, she usually did.

Vi had been my best friend since birth. Literally. Our moms had been best friends in college and ended up pregnant around the same time, so we grew up side by side. Sure, she could be very annoying at times, but she was also the person I trusted most in the world. We had been through every high and low together, and despite her occasional chaos, I knew she always had my back.

“There! Your profile is complete,” Vi announced, handing me my phone with a triumphant smile. “Now, we can start hunting for our prey.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I really don’t like that you’re calling them ‘prey.’”

She shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? It’s the circle of life, Y/N. We swipe, we match, we conquer.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this.”

Vi ignored me, already swiping through potential matches like she was picking out groceries. “Ooooh, this one’s cute. She looks like she reads books and goes to the gym. A rare breed.”

I groaned. This was going to be a nightmare.

──────────────────────

During the weekend that Vi stayed over at my house, we matched with a handful of people—well, she matched with them while I mostly watched in horror. By Sunday night, she had already set up a few dates for me. The first one was with a girl named Ashley. She had dark green hair, loved musicals, and was apparently obsessed with Lana Del Rey.

“You’re coming with me, right?” I asked the second Vi dropped the news.

She blinked at me, unimpressed. “How exactly do you expect me to do that?”

“I don’t know! Put on a fake mustache, wear sunglasses, sit at a different table—something!” I waved my hands dramatically. “What if the date is a disaster? What if she’s weird, or hates me, or—what if I need to escape?!”

Vi sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was already regretting signing up for this. “Y/N, you’re a grown adult. You can sit through one date without me holding your hand.”

“You say that, but you’re also the one who forced me into this,” I pointed out.

“Okay, fair.” She crossed her arms, thinking for a moment. “How about this—I’ll sit nearby but not like, right there. If you need an out, text me a code word, and I’ll call you with a fake emergency.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the code word?”

Vi smirked. “Summertime sadness.”

I groaned. “You’re the worst.”

She grinned, tossing a pillow at me. “And yet, you’d be lost without me.”

The date was scheduled for Friday, and there I was, sitting at a window table in the local diner, nervously tapping my fingers against the menu. Vi sat three tables away, pretending to be interested in her milkshake but very obviously keeping an eye on me.

I had no idea what to expect. I barely knew anything about Ashley—we had exchanged a few texts, but nothing meaningful. She was essentially a stranger I was about to have dinner with, and the thought alone made my stomach twist.

Vi caught my eye and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up, trying to send some reassurance my way. It didn’t really help, but I appreciated the effort.

Then, I saw her. Or rather, I saw her hair first. Ashley’s dark green hair stood out even from a distance, but what really sealed the deal was the bright pink jacket she wore over an all-black outfit, complete with chunky black boots. She was hard to miss.

As she approached the table, she smiled wide. “Hii, you must be Y/N!” she greeted, sliding into the seat across from me with an excited energy.

I straightened up. “Yes! Nice to meet you!”

And honestly? It was nice to meet her—at least, at first. The conversation flowed smoothly. She asked about my life, I asked about hers, and everything seemed to be going well. That is… until she brought up her cat.

Lana.

Named, of course, after Lana Del Rey.

Which was cute at first—until Ashley did not stop talking about her.

Not joking, for thirty minutes straight, she went on about Lana’s favorite toys, her special diet, the way she sensed when Ashley was sad and comforted her like a “little furry angel.” Every time I thought she was done, she’d whip out her phone and scroll through an endless gallery of Lana’s pictures.

My face was cramping from forcing a smile. I snuck a glance at Vi, who was clearly enjoying my suffering way too much.

I subtly reached for my phone and typed a single text.

Summertime sadness.

That’s when Vi stood up, striding toward our table with intent. At first, I was confused—she looked… angry?

For a brief second, panic flared in my chest. Had I texted the wrong code word? Was something actually wrong?

Then, she stopped in front of us, dramatically placing a hand over her heart like she was in a soap opera.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” she gasped, sounding exasperated. “I cannot believe what my eyes are showing me! You—cheating on me! And in our favorite diner, of all places?!”

It took me a second, but then I caught on to the theatrics.

I shot up from my seat, clutching my chest as if I had just been caught in the act. “No, Vi, my love! This is not what it looks like!” I turned to Ashley, gesturing dramatically. “I don’t even know this girl! We were just making friendly conversation, you have to believe me!”

Ashley blinked between us, looking both confused and mildly alarmed. “…Wait, what?”

Vi let out a loud, exaggerated sob and turned away. “I trusted you! And this is how you repay me?”

I reached for her hand, playing along. “Baby, please! Let me explain!”

Ashley slowly leaned back in her chair, gripping her drink. “Uh. I—should I leave, or…?”

Vi sniffled, dabbing at her dry eyes like she was wiping away imaginary tears. “No, no. I’ll leave. I just can’t bear to look at you right now, Y/N. I hope you and your little fling are very happy together.” She turned on her heel, storming out with all the grace of a drama queen.

I turned back to Ashley with an apologetic smile. “I should… probably go after her.”

Ashley just nodded, still looking completely lost. “Uh. Yeah. You should… go do that.”

I grabbed my jacket, muttering a quick, “It was nice meeting you,” before practically running out of the diner after Vi.

The second we were outside, we both burst into laughter.

“Oh my god, that was so unhinged,” Vi wheezed, wiping at her eyes.

I groaned, shaking my head. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

She shrugged. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

I sighed, but I couldn’t help but laugh again. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for saving me.”

Vi smirked. “Anytime, cheater.”

──────────────────────

And I would love to say the other dates went even remotely better—but I’d be lying.

The second date was with a guy named Chad—which, honestly, should’ve been the first red flag. He was a full-on gym bro, the kind who talked about nothing but his gains and his macros. He was so obsessed with hitting his daily protein intake that he actually pulled out a shaker bottle mid-conversation and started chugging a protein shake like we were at a post-workout hangout instead of a date.

I lasted exactly 27 minutes before sending Vi our secret code word: creatine.

Within seconds, my phone rang, and Vi’s panicked voice echoed through the speaker. “Oh my god, Y/N! Grandma’s been in a car accident—the car’s on fire! You need to leave IMMEDIATELY!”

I slapped my hand over my mouth, trying to look convincingly horrified. “Oh no! Not grandma! I—I’m so sorry, Chad, I have to go!”

He barely looked up from flexing his bicep in the reflection of his water glass. “Yeah, cool, family first or whatever. Just don’t forget to hit the gym tomorrow—you’ll feel better.”

I practically sprinted out of there.

The third date? Even worse.

This girl—her name was Marissa—decided to bring her lizard to our date. Yes. A lizard. She texted me to meet her at the park, and I figured, “Oh, cool, a casual outdoor date.” But the second I spotted her on the bench with a giant reptiledraped over her shoulder like it was an accessory, I just… stopped in my tracks.

I didn’t even bother texting Vi. I turned right back around and walked away like I’d never seen that park in my life.

Later, as Vi drove us away from the disaster zone, I was still fuming.

“She brought her lizard, Vi! Her LIZARD!” I complained, slumping in the passenger seat like the sheer memory drained me.

Vi snorted, barely holding back her laughter. “You wouldn’t be having this reaction if it was a dog. Just saying.”

“Because dogs are normal! Lizards are not a third-wheel you bring on a date!”

She grinned, giving me a playful nudge. “Maybe the lizard was her emotional support animal.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “I’m never doing this again.”

Vi just laughed. “Oh, yes you are. We’ve only just begun.”

The fourth date was… surprisingly normal.

Her name was Ellie, and she was hot as fuck. Like, the moment she walked in, I felt my soul leave my body. She had this effortless, cool-girl vibe—tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves of her denim jacket, a lazy smile that could probably stop traffic, and this way of looking at you like she was reading your mind.

And the best part? She was actually fun to talk to. She played guitar, had this dry, witty sense of humor, and we clicked in that easy, natural way I didn’t even know was possible. For the first time since Vi threw me into this dating nightmare, I thought, Hey, maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

But, of course, the universe wasn’t about to let me have that.

As the date was winding down, Ellie gave me this soft, apologetic look. I knew something was coming, but I wasn’t prepared for that.

“Hey, so…” she started, fiddling with the ring on her finger. “You’re a really nice girl, like, seriously. But I’m not, uh… I’m not over my ex. And talking to you tonight made me realize how much I miss her. I hope you find what you’re looking for, though. Truly.”

She was so sweet about letting me down, which almost made it worse. Like, why did the only nice, amazing, tattooed goddess have to be the one who didn’t want anything to do with me?

By the time I got home, I was ready to burn Vi’s whole dating plan to the ground. I flopped onto my bed and immediately called her.

“This isn’t working, Vi. Seriously,” I groaned the moment she answered. “Where are you even finding these people? I just had one of the best dates of my life, and suddenly she’s not over her ex?”

Vi snorted on the other end. “Oof. That’s rough.”

“I’m not joking!” I whined, dramatically kicking my feet like I was five. “This is your fault. You roped me into this mess, and now I’m emotionally attached to a girl who doesn’t even want me!”

Vi burst into laughter. “Wow, you’re really going through all five stages of grief, huh?”

“I’m stuck at betrayal, thanks.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. It’s just one date. You’ll bounce back.”

“I don’t want to bounce back, Vi. I want Ellie,” I grumbled, burying my face in my pillow.

There was a pause, then Vi said, “Well… maybe the next date will be even better.”

I groaned louder. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, still letting me pick your dates.”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong.

──────────────────────

After all the disasters I’d been through, I was done with dating. Completely over it. No more awkward small talk, no more weird code words, and definitely no more dates with people who brought lizards as emotional support. Vi, however, refused to let it go. She’d still ramble on about people she’d matched with, her excitement bubbling over like I wasn’t emotionally scarred from the last lineup of dating catastrophes. I didn’t want to hear about it anymore—I knew this wasn’t going to work.

“Okay,” Vi started one afternoon, plopping dramatically onto my bed like she was about to deliver some life-altering news. “I know you’re fed up with the dating apps. And with me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Especially with you.”

She ignored me. “But there’s one more person I’d like you to give a chance to.”

I groaned, flopping back onto the bed with the same energy as a dying Victorian woman. “Vi—”

She cut me off with a look. That hopeful, annoyingly earnest look that always managed to crack through my walls, no matter how stubborn I was. Despite being mad at her—or at least pretending to be—I could never actually say no to her. It was like some unspoken rule of our friendship.

“Ugh, fine!” I threw my hands up, as if surrendering to the universe itself. “But this is the last time.” I sat up, pointing a finger at her like I was laying down the law. “I’m serious, Vi. After this, I’m done. If anyone wants to date me, they’ll have to show up at my door, kidnap me, and force me into a relationship.”

She burst out laughing, but there was something off about it—like it was a little too forced, a little too high-pitched. Her usual chaotic confidence was still there, but underneath it, I noticed a flicker of something…nervous?

“Yeah, well…” She cleared her throat, rubbing the back of her neck. “About that. There’s just one small catch.”

I squinted at her, already suspicious. “What kind of catch?”

She grinned, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The date is a secret until you get there.”

I blinked. “A secret?”

“Yup.” She popped the ‘p’ with exaggerated cheer. “No name, no details—just show up and let the magic happen.”

I stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Vi. Do you hear yourself? This sounds like the start of a true crimedocumentary.”

She waved me off. “Oh, please. If anyone tried to kidnap you, you’d be the one they regretted it instantly.”

Fair point.

Still, something about her expression stuck with me—this weird mix of excitement and nerves. But, like the fool I was, I agreed. Again.

──────────────────────

On the day of my mystery date, I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure out what to wear. Which was ridiculous because, technically, I didn’t even know who I was meeting. But somehow, the not-knowing made it worse. Was I supposed to go casual? Dressy? Prepare for another lizard-wrangling situation?

When I finally arrived at the little café Vi had texted me the address to, my stomach was doing Olympic-level flips. I scanned the room, half-expecting to see another “Chad” flexing in a corner or someone waiting with their tarantula perched on the table.

But there was no Chad. No lizard. No tarantula.

Just Vi.

Sitting at a small table by the window, nervously fiddling with her rings, her usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. She looked up, and when our eyes met, she gave me this small, almost shy smile.

I froze.

“This…is a joke, right?” I blurted, laughing nervously as I approached her table.

She stood up, shoving her hands in the pockets of her red jacket—the same one she always wore, but somehow it felt… different now.

“No joke,” she said quietly, her voice lacking its usual smugness. “I’m the date.”

I blinked. “You’re the date.”

She nodded, her lips twitching like she couldn’t decide whether to smile or run. “Yeah. Surprise?”

I didn’t know what to say. My brain short-circuited, replaying every moment we’d shared—the teasing, the late-night calls, the way my heart always felt lighter around her. How had I not seen it before?

“…Are you kidding me?” I finally managed, shaking my head with a breathless laugh. “You put me through all of that—Chad, the lizard girl, the Lana Del Rey monologue—just to end up here with you?”

She grinned, her confidence slipping back into place like muscle memory. “Well, technically, I needed you to realize everyone else sucks compared to me.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart was racing for an entirely different reason now.

“You’re insufferable,” I muttered, sliding into the seat across from her.

Her grin softened into something more sincere. “Yeah, but… you’re still here.”

I didn’t have a comeback for that.

Because she was right.

I was still there.

We ordered our coffees—or rather, Vi ordered them. She didn’t even need to ask. She knew exactly what I wanted: an iced caramel latte and a chocolate muffin. It was such a small thing, but it hit me harder than I expected. She knew my order by heart, like it was second nature. And somehow, that simple gesture left me sitting there in awe, my heart doing this ridiculous flutter thing that I refused to acknowledge.

I watched her as she thanked the barista, her fingers tapping against the counter in that restless way she always did when she was nervous—or pretending not to be. When she finally sat back down across from me, her knee bumped against mine under the table. She didn’t move it.

The question slipped out before I could stop it, soft and almost hesitant.

“Since when?”

Vi tilted her head slightly, squinting like she wasn’t sure what I meant. “Since when what?” She scratched the side of her neck, her fingers brushing over the edge of her tattoo like it was a nervous habit.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

“Since when did you… want to go on a date with me?”

Her expression shifted. Just for a second. A flicker of something vulnerable slipped through the cracks of her usual confidence. But then she let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe I’d even asked.

“Being one hundred percent honest?” she said, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed like she needed a shield. “Since I became conscious about anything in my life.”

I blinked. “What?”

She laughed again, a little softer this time. “I mean it. You’ve always been there, you know? But you were so busy with your face buried in those books, rambling about epic love stories and grand, sweeping gestures. And there I was, just… me.” She cleared her throat as the waitress brought our order, the clink of ceramic cups filling the brief silence.

She picked up her coffee, but didn’t take a sip. Instead, she stared at it like it held the answers she was too afraid to say out loud. “I guess I got a little self-conscious. Like, how was I supposed to compete with all those ‘great loves’ you read about? And you never really seemed to care much about dating, so I figured… if I said something, you’d just let me down.”

Her words hit me like a freight train—because how had I not seen it? How had I been so blind?

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. I stared at her, really looked at her, like I was seeing her for the first time. “I never thought that what I was looking for was quite literally right in front of me.”

Vi didn’t respond immediately. She just smiled—small, a little shy, but undeniably real. The kind of smile that makes your chest ache in the best way.

And that’s when it hit me.

I’d spent my whole life waiting for a cliché love story.

The kind with grand declarations, epic twists, and movie-worthy moments.

But what could be more cliché than this?

A slow burn, friends-to-lovers situation, sitting right across from me with a smug grin and a coffee order she knew by heart.

Maybe the love story I’d been searching for wasn’t in the books after all.

Maybe it was in the girl who’d been there all along.

I reached for my latte, mostly just to have something to do with my hands because my heart was practically sprinting. The ice clinked against the sides of the cup, loud in the quiet between us. Vi was still watching me, her gaze steady, like she wasn’t afraid of what I’d say next. Like she already knew.

But I didn’t know. I didn’t know how to string words together when everything inside me felt tangled—like someone had taken all the pages of my life, ripped them out, and shuffled them around until nothing made sense except her.

So I blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “Because I’m an idiot?” She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “Or maybe I was just scared. Scared that if I said something, I’d lose you. And losing you… would’ve been worse than keeping it to myself.”

The honesty in her voice settled over me like a weighted blanket—comforting and overwhelming all at once. I thought about every late-night conversation, every casual touch that lingered just a second too long, every time she looked at me like I was her whole world, and I’d been too oblivious to notice.

Maybe I had noticed.

Maybe I was just too scared to admit it.

I glanced down at my muffin, untouched, then back at her. “You’re kind of dumb, you know that?”

She snorted. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

I smiled, feeling it stretch wider than it had in a long time. “But so am I.”

The words weren’t grand or poetic. There was no sweeping background music, no dramatic lighting. Just the faint hum of the coffee shop, the cold of my drink between my hands, and Vi’s knee still pressed against mine like it belonged there.

And maybe that was enough.

No—it was enough.

I reached across the table, my fingers brushing over hers. She froze for a second, her breath hitching, then slowly turned her hand over so our palms touched. The warmth of her skin sent a quiet thrill through me, something soft and electric all at once.

“I think,” I whispered, “I’ve been on this date with you for years. I just didn’t know it.”

Vi’s smile was different this time—brighter, softer, filled with something that made my chest ache in the best way.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Me too.”

──────────────────────

We finished eating between bursts of conversation and laughter, and somehow, everything had changed while staying exactly the same. The comfort was still there, woven into the fabric of who we were, but now it carried something electric beneath the surface. The glances were different—the way her eyes drifted to my mouth when I spoke, the way our intertwined hands never strayed, like we’d forgotten how to exist without that connection.

The walk back to my house felt surreal, our fingers laced tightly together, neither of us willing to let go. Every step felt heavier with anticipation, like the world had tilted slightly, and gravity was pulling us toward something inevitable.

And then, standing at my doorstep, she kissed me.

It wasn’t tentative or shy—it was certain, like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it and wasn’t going to waste another second. It felt like being woken up, like every nerve ending had been dormant until that exact moment. My heart raced, but everything else stilled, like the world had gone quiet just for us.

It was the kind of kiss that rewrites everything you thought you knew about love.

Pieces of a puzzle perfectly aligned.

Vi’s hands found my waist, pulling me closer, and she kissed me like her life depended on it—like I was the air she’d been searching for. My fingers threaded through her hair instinctively, and she let out a quiet sigh against my lips that sent shivers down my spine.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, she rested her forehead against mine, her thumb brushing soft circles against my cheeks.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she whispered, her voice low and rough around the edges.

I smiled, my heart still racing, my hands still trembling slightly from the intensity of it all. “Then do it again.”

And she did.

Over and over, like she was making up for all the years we’d been too afraid to cross the line.

But we weren’t afraid anymore.

We stayed there for what felt like forever, just standing in front of my house, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace. It was like time had paused, giving us this perfect moment where nothing else mattered but the two of us. The city sounds faded into the background, and all I could hear was the soft rhythm of her breath mingling with mine.

Eventually, she pulled back, just enough to look at me. Her eyes were full of something I couldn’t quite name, but it made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t want to let go of.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice softer now, like a fragile question hanging in the air.

I laughed, breathless, my fingers still tracing the edge of her jaw. “Are you kidding? I’ve been sure for longer than I care to admit.”

She smiled, a quiet, content smile that made me want to hold onto it forever. “Good,” she murmured, her lips brushing against mine again, this time slower, like she was savoring the moment, taking her time.

We didn’t need to rush anymore. Not tonight.

We stayed close as we stepped inside, neither of us wanting to break the connection, like if we did, everything we’d built might shatter. Her hand never left mine as we walked through the door, and when we finally reached the couch, we sat side by side, still tangled up in each other, unable to fully separate.

The night stretched out before us, full of possibilities, full of all the unspoken words between us that no longer needed to be said. Every moment felt like a revelation, like we were discovering each other all over again, but in the most intimate way possible.

Vi’s head rested on my shoulder, her breath even and steady now, and I realized, as I looked at the way she fit against me, that this was it. This was the start of something new, something I hadn’t known I was waiting for but had needed all along.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” she whispered, her voice light with amusement but also a touch of something deeper.

I smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Yeah, we are.”

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t scared of what was coming next. Because it wasn’t about the destination anymore—it was about the journey we were going to take together, step by step, kiss by kiss.

And I was ready for all of it.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[cosmiclily]

thank you for the tag 🖤

🏷️: @ikclandestinely @ferxanda @caspianalexander007 + anyone who wants to join

ִֶָ ☾. ִֶָ — tag game!!

let pinterest describe you to its best abilities and share how accurate you believe it is!! use the first picture that pops up!!

first search “aesthetic”, then “character”, and lastly “me”

thank you for the tags @dearmisshoney @riddlesrizzler 🖤

aesthetic ⋆ character ⋆ me

npt: @obsessedwithceleste @pizzaapeteer @godricgryffinsnore @draco-malfoys-lovergirl @redeemingvillains

[cosmiclily]

yelena belova im obsessed with you 😭

(or maybe it’s just florence)

[cosmiclily]

You’re domestic Cait fic was one of the best things I’ve read holy shit I love your writing so much. <33

OMG thank you !!! 😭😭😭😭😭 i’m so glad you liked it !! 😚😚😚

[cosmiclily]

domestic cait omgggg... winedrunk chats on the balcony, swimming together, forcing her to go fishing/hiking with u, her dragging you to fancy dinners AHHH I NEED HER

domesticity never looked better on you - caitlyn x f!reader

wc: 3.3k

notes: 😖 i want her!!!! i like cassandra but had to make her mean for the sake of the plot lol

When you first started dating Caitlyn, you were convinced your social status would be a huge problem.

You were raised in a perfectly normal family, in a modest little house miles away from anything even remotely close to a mansion. No housekeepers. No garden parties. No marble foyers or private tennis courts. Just cracked sidewalks, secondhand furniture, and dinners that came out of crockpots—not five-star kitchens.

Caitlyn, on the other hand? She grew up behind iron gates. Old money. The kind of wealth that didn’t need to be flashy because it was so deeply ingrained it didn’t have to prove itself. Quiet wealth. Generational. Silver spoons. Ballroom etiquette. Family heirlooms that were probably worth more than your entire zip code.

So when she started showing interest in you, it honestly felt like a joke. Some kind of social experiment. A rich girl slumming it for the thrill of it. You half expected hidden cameras to pop out from behind the bushes.

“Surprise! You’re on ‘How Long Can the Poor Girl Last?’”

Weeks turned into months, and yet... you never once invited her to your tiny downtown apartment. Maybe it was pride. Maybe shame. Probably both. It just seemed easier—safer—to keep her in her world. Rooftop bars. Sleek restaurants with floors so polished you could see your reflection. Minimalist lofts where dust dared not exist.

But one dinner turned into two, then three, then too many glasses of wine. Then hands—her hands—hungry and desperate, fingers tangling in your hair, lips dragging across your skin like a whispered promise.

Suddenly, your one-bedroom apartment was a lot closer than her fancy penthouse.

Horniness beat shame. Every time.

And when she shoved you against the door of your cluttered little hallway, laughing breathlessly into your mouth, it hit you like a freight train—she didn’t care. Not about the pile of dishes in the sink. Not about the bathroom faucet that wouldn’t stop leaking. Not about the cabinet door that hung crooked and refused to close all the way.

She cared about you. About this.

And God, that was a dangerous thing to realize.

After that, she started coming over more often. It became a rhythm. A routine. A quiet sort of domesticity neither of you acknowledged out loud but both leaned into.

You’d cook dinner together—cheap pasta or something overly ambitious from a YouTube video—and laugh when it inevitably went wrong. You’d split a cigarette on the tiny balcony with the rusty railing, legs tangled together on an old chair that squeaked every time you shifted.

You talked about the future. Sometimes seriously, sometimes just… hypothetical.

"Maybe we should get a bigger place," she mused one night, exhaling smoke through a lazy grin. “Somewhere with a balcony that doesn’t feel like it’s plotting our murder."

"Somewhere with more than one drawer," you grinned back, pretending the idea didn’t make your heart somersault.

She made you feel like the most important person in the world. Like you were the luxury.

The way she’d cup your face with one hand, fingertips gentle beneath your chin, while the other hand held a cigarette between two fingers, the ember catching in her lashes as she looked at you like you were something sacred.

"You know," she’d whisper, her accent syrupy-sweet, "you drive me absolutely insane."

And then she’d kiss you—hungrily, desperately—like she needed you more than air. Pinning you against the kitchen counter. The old leather couch that complained beneath your weight. The rickety dining table. The bedroom door you never managed to fix properly.

She’d sip wine from the fancy glass she bought you for Valentine’s Day—because “no one should drink good wine out of a mug,” she’d scold—and look like a painting. Legs crossed. Chin tilted. Sunlight pooling in her hair like gold.

“You look surreal right now," you’d tell her, breathless, like it was the first time you’d ever seen her.

She’d just smile, slow and knowing. “Good," she’d murmur, sipping her wine. "Because I feel surreal whenever I’m with you."

──────────────────────

Then things got serious-serious. No going back. “Bring her home to meet the family” serious.

Which, of course, meant the annual family hiking trip. A tradition that sounded wholesome in theory but, in practice, was a chaotic mess of your brothers arguing over who forgot the fishing bait, your dad retelling the same “legendary stories” you’ve heard since you were in diapers, and your mom sighing her way through it all with a wine thermos and her well-practiced tolerance.

Caitlyn, in designer boots—boots that had definitely never touched mud before—stepped onto that dirt trail like she was walking a runway. You half expected her to tap out before the first mile. But no. She laced her fingers with yours, smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world, and just… fit.

And then, as expected, came The Story.

Your dad cracked open a beer, leaned back in his folding chair like a king, and started with the classic dramatic sigh.

“You know, girl… there was this one time… I almost took down a bear. All by myself."

You groaned internally. Here we go.

“It was me and my buddies. Middle of the woods. Big hunting trip. They all ran—scared shitless of the damn thing. But not me. I stood my ground. Looked that bear right in the eye and—"

Your mom let out a groan of her own, leaned over toward you, and whispered behind her wine cup, “There he goes again.” Shaking her head, but smiling anyway.

But Caitlyn? Caitlyn sat there with her legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded neatly in her lap, nodding like she’d never heard a more riveting story in her life. Her blue eyes wide, her lips parted just a little, like she was utterly captivated.

"Wow," she said softly when he paused for dramatic effect. “And what happened next?"

Your dad lit up like a Christmas tree. “What happened next? Hell, I scared it off, of course! Big ol’ thing ran like hell. Must’ve known it was no match for me." He slapped his knee, letting out a big belly laugh.

Your brothers exchanged a long, telepathic sibling eye-roll.

But Caitlyn? She just nodded like he’d confessed the cure to cancer. “That’s… that’s really brave of you.”

And somehow, in that moment, watching her charm your family—your chaotic, loud, beer-drinking, fish-failing family—you felt something squeeze in your chest. Something warm. Something terrifying.

She wasn’t just tolerating it. She was choosing it. Choosing you.

Mud, fishing disasters, exaggerated bear stories and all.

Later that night, as you sat together on an old log by the fire, watching the flames flicker against her cheekbones and the stars get tangled in her hair, she nudged your shoulder softly.

“You know… I think I could get used to this."

You turned to her, something huge and heavy and terrifying blooming in your chest. "Yeah?"

“Yeah." She smiled, lacing her fingers through yours. “ I like seeing where you come from. It makes sense now… why you are the way you are."

You laughed, nudging her playfully. “Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Definitely a compliment." A pause, then softer, like a secret: “A very, very big one.”

And that was the moment you realized… you were so, so in love with her.

──────────────────────

After that trip, something shifted. Quietly. Permanently.

It started with a toothbrush. Then a silk robe. Then a drawer. Then two. Her favorite mug. Her preferred brand of tea—loose leaf, of course, because “You are not putting that cheap microwave-heated water near me ever again.”

"It tastes the same," you argued.

She rolled her eyes. "It really doesn’t. I’m fixing this. For both our dignity."

Mornings became a ritual. You’d wake up tangled together, sunlight pooling across her skin, her cold toes tucked under your calf like they had every right to be there.

"Five more minutes," she'd mumble into your neck. “Just… five.” Always bargaining with time. Always pulling you back in.

She’d shuffle into the kitchen wearing one of your shirts—nothing else—while scrolling the news, groaning dramatically every time a headline pissed her off.

"Your country is insane," she’d mutter, sipping her coffee.

"Yeah, well. We make up for it with free refills."

Even arguments became familiar. Comfortable.

"That’s not how you cut an onion."

"It’s fine. It’s rustic."

"It’s a crime against vegetables."

Some nights you cooked together. Other nights it was takeout eaten on the floor, because the couch was covered in unfolded laundry neither of you were willing to touch.

She started humming. Classical. Jazz. Sometimes stupid jingles that got stuck in her head. And when she thought you weren’t paying attention, she’d sing softly under her breath—barely a whisper.

Sundays became sacred. Farmers markets. Bickering over which wine to buy or what flowers would last the longest in the tiny vase on the kitchen windowsill.

"Get the sunflowers."

"They never last."

"Yeah, but they’re happy. Look at them. They're objectively happy flowers."

She bought them anyway. You never argued.

Even silence became something soft. Something safe. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch—her reading some heavy political memoir, you scrolling through nonsense—but her leg always touching yours. Always.

She fell asleep on you more often than not. Her head on your shoulder. Her breath warm against your neck. You’d lower the volume, pull the blanket over her, press a kiss to her temple without even thinking about it.

By then, it wasn’t a question of if you loved her. It was just… a fact. Quiet. Irrevocable. Written into the very fabric of your everyday life.

It wasn’t grand. Wasn’t cinematic.

It was folding her laundry without being asked. It was her refilling your shampoo before you noticed it was running low. It was kissing you goodnight even when you were mid-argument.

It was love.

Carved softly into the routines of your day.

And God… it was the most terrifying, most beautiful thing you had ever known.

──────────────────────

Everything was great.

Until you met her family.

Her father was welcoming—warm smile, firm handshake, the kind of man who knew how to make anyone feel comfortable. But her mother? No. Her mother had that look. The kind that peeled back your skin and saw every flaw you’d tried to hide. Cold eyes. Tense mouth. Perfect posture.

It hit you like a punch straight to the gut—dragging you all the way back to the beginning. Back to those first months with Caitlyn, when you felt... unworthy. Out of place. Dirty.

Her mother’s gaze swept over you like you were a scuff on her polished floors.

“So,” she started, tone razor-sharp but calm. “You’re the one my daughter has been spending all her time with.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement wrapped in judgment, tied with a bow of condescension.

Your throat tightened. “Yeah. Yes, ma’am. I—”

Her eyes flicked over your clothes—simple, nothing designer. Your shoes—practical, a little worn. And then back to your face, where she lingered, unimpressed.

Caitlyn, bless her, immediately stepped in. “Mother,” she warned, voice clipped. “Don’t.”

“I’m simply making conversation,” her mother said, tilting her head with a smile so practiced it felt weaponized. “It’s not every day Caitlyn brings someone... different... home.”

“Different how?” Caitlyn snapped, jaw tightening.

“Oh, darling, you know what I mean.” Her gaze didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “It’s... refreshing, I suppose. To see you… expanding your horizons.”

It felt like acid under your skin. You shifted your weight, suddenly hyperaware of how small you felt in this pristine, echoey sitting room—with its velvet furniture and marble fireplace that probably cost more than your entire apartment building.

Caitlyn’s fingers found yours, squeezing tightly. Her thumb brushed against the back of your hand—reassuring. Grounding.

“I’m not expanding my horizons,” Caitlyn said, steel in her voice now. “I’m dating someone I love.”

Her mother’s smile thinned. “Of course. Love. Naturally.” She stood, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her silk dress pants. “Well. I hope you understand, dear,”—this, aimed at you, dripping in false politeness—“that our family has certain... expectations.”

Her father coughed awkwardly into his glass, choosing silence.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. Your stomach twisted in on itself, throat tightening until you felt like you were going to suffocate.

Caitlyn stood abruptly. “We’re leaving.”

Her mother’s eyes barely flickered. “Suit yourself.”

Caitlyn didn’t even wait for her father’s awkward attempt at a goodbye. She laced her fingers with yours and marched you out the front door, heels clicking sharply against marble.

The second you were outside—air hitting your lungs like a slap—you pulled your hand from hers. “Cait, wait—”

She spun around. “No. No, don’t. Don’t defend her. Don’t tell me it’s fine. Don’t do that thing where you pretend you’re not hurt when I know you are.”

“I’m not pretending. I just... God, Caitlyn. What was that? She looked at me like I was—like I was some stray dog you brought home!”

“You think I don’t see it?” Her voice cracked. “You think I didn’t hear every little thing she was implying?!”

You shook your head, backing away a step. “I knew this would happen. I knew it. I don’t belong in your world, Cait. I never did.”

“Stop.” Her hands trembled as she grabbed your face, forcing you to look at her. “Stop. Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

“You heard her! You heard exactly how she sees me.”

“I don’t care how she sees you!” she shouted, voice raw, breaking. “I don’t care how anyone sees you. I love you. I choose you.”

Your lips trembled. “I... Caitlyn, this isn’t just about today. It’s—God, it’s every time I step into your world. I feel like I’m holding my breath. Like I have to... shrink. Make myself smaller. Pretend I fit when I don’t.”

Her breath hitched. “Then let’s stop pretending.”

Silence. Thick. Heavy.

“W-What?”

“Let’s stop pretending we live in two different worlds. Let’s move in together.” Her eyes searched yours, desperate, pleading. “Really move in. No more overnight bags. No more ‘your place or mine.’ Just... ours. A real place. Together.”

You blinked, stunned. “Caitlyn...”

“I’m serious.” Her voice softened, cracking around the edges. “Let’s get a place that’s ours. Somewhere where no one gets to look at you like that ever again.”

Your heart stuttered. “You mean it?”

She exhaled, stepping forward until your foreheads touched. “I mean it. I want... I want a kitchen that smells like us. A bed that feels like ours. A home where you never—never—have to question if you belong.”

Your hands curled into her shirt, gripping tight. “I want that, too.”

She kissed you then. Desperate. Fierce. The kind of kiss that tasted like promises. Like defiance. Like home.

When you pulled apart, breathless, she grinned. “Let’s go apartment hunting.”

“God,” you laughed wetly. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.” Her thumb brushed away the tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “I don’t care where it is. Penthouse, shoebox, treehouse—I don’t care, as long as it’s with you.”

And just like that, the fear—the weight of not fitting, of not being enough—started to crack. Not disappear completely. But crack.

──────────────────────

So, apartment hunting you went.

And, God, it was harder than either of you expected.

Trying to find a place that fit both your budgets was like searching for a unicorn. You didn’t want to drown yourself in extra shifts just to afford half the rent—and Caitlyn, well, she wasn’t thrilled about sacrificing every ounce of comfort and freedom she was used to.

It was a balancing act. A frustrating, exhausting, sometimes hilarious balancing act.

“This one’s cute,” Caitlyn said, scrolling through listings on her phone as you both sat on a park bench with iced coffees. “Two bedrooms, decent commute for both of us. Oh… wait. Nope. No pets allowed.” She tilted her head, frowning. “You do want a cat eventually, right?”

“Obviously,” you snorted. “Non-negotiable.”

She grinned. “Agreed.”

The next place had gorgeous natural lighting but smelled like old cigarettes and regret. Another was perfect—until you saw the price tag. Your stomach dropped so hard you thought it might leave your body entirely.

Then, finally, you found it.

A little apartment on a quiet street, right in the middle between both of your jobs. Big enough for the two of you, with space for her obnoxiously large bookshelf, plus a balcony that didn’t feel like it was one loose screw away from collapse. The rent was… steep. Manageable for her, definitely. For you? Not without sacrificing sleep and sanity.

Caitlyn could see the stress written all over your face. She reached over, lacing her fingers through yours. “Listen,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I can cover the rent. You can help in other ways. It’s not a problem for me. Truly.”

But your stomach twisted. Your jaw tensed. “It is a problem for me,” you said, sharper than you meant to, pressing the heel of your palm into your eyes like you could physically hold the headache back.

She sighed, squeezing your hand tighter. “Why? Why does it have to be this complicated?”

“Because I don’t want to feel like a charity case, Caitlyn,” you admitted, voice cracking at the edges. “I don’t want to wake up every day knowing I can’t pull my weight. I don’t want to owe you. I don’t want to owe anyone.”

Her face softened immediately, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Baby.” Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Is that seriously what you think this is? Some… some transactional thing? You think I’m keeping score?”

You stayed quiet, staring at the scuffed floor of the real estate office.

“Hey,” she said more gently now, tipping your chin up so you had no choice but to meet her eyes. “Look at me. I don’t care about the money. I care about building a life with you. And that life? It’s gonna look like us. Not like what my mother expects. Not like what anyone else thinks it should be.”

You swallowed thickly. “But it feels unfair.”

“Then let’s make it fair,” she countered immediately. “You handle groceries, I handle rent. You cook, I’ll fix the Wi-Fi when it inevitably dies at 2 a.m. You deal with the plants—because God knows I’ll kill them—and I’ll make sure we always have a bottle of good wine in the cabinet. Equal doesn’t mean identical.”

Your lip wobbled. “That’s… actually not a bad deal.”

A soft smile tugged at her lips. “It’s a pretty damn good deal.”

You sighed, leaning your forehead against hers. “I hate that you’re good at this.”

“I know,” she chuckled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “It’s very annoying.”

A beat of silence passed. Then, grinning mischievously, she added, “So… should we go sign the lease before someone else steals it?”

You laughed, despite everything. “Yeah. Let’s go get our place.”

And just like that, it became real.

It wasn’t just moving boxes and new keys. It was picking out curtains together and arguing over which plates to buy. It was discovering that Caitlyn folded towels like some kind of military operation—perfect rectangles stacked with mathematical precision—while yours looked like abstract art.

It was realizing that her version of grocery shopping involved imported cheeses and $30 olive oil while you were just trying to find the cheapest ramen.

It was watching her struggle to assemble IKEA furniture, muttering under her breath in perfectly enunciated rage, while you tried (and failed) to hold in your laughter.

It was burning your first dinner in the new kitchen because neither of you remembered the oven ran hot. Eating cold pizza on the floor, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, laughing until your sides hurt.

It was whispered “I love you” in the soft light of the morning, when your voices were still scratchy from sleep.

It was making out, half-tipsy on wine, tangled together on the living room floor because the couch wasn’t built yet—but neither of you cared.

It was falling asleep with her arm draped lazily over your waist, her soft breathing warm against your neck, knowing—really knowing—that this was yours.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[cosmiclily]

i think it’s so cute when someone new finds my profile and i can see them going through my masterlist lol

[cosmiclily]

working on requests 🦔 yayyy

[cosmiclily]

the one where ivy learns what it means to be a big sister - family au (part four)

★ vi x f!reader

part three

wc: 1.8k

Aisla was born at 6 a.m. on a Thursday—without complications and healthy as a horse.

At that same moment, Ivy officially became a big sister, a title she loved to announce to anyone who would listen.

Ivy didn’t know how being a big sister was supposed to feel—but everyone kept telling her it was a big deal.

She liked the sound of it. Big sister. It made her feel important. Grown-up. Special.

The very first chance she got, she told her entire class. And the first person she told was her best friend, Betty.

“I have a baby sister now!” she whispered to Betty before class even started, tugging at her sleeve with wide eyes. “Her name is Aisla, and she was born yesterday morning. I’m a big sister now.”

Betty had two older siblings, so she didn’t know what it meant to be a big sister. But Ivy told her with full conviction that it was the coolest thing in the entire world.

Betty blinked. “Cool! What do you do?”

Ivy opened her mouth. Then paused.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I think it’s the coolest job in the world.”

Betty looked impressed enough, so Ivy stuck with that.

Truthfully, Ivy didn’t completely know what it meant either���not yet.

Not until Aisla was here. Not until she realized that babies didn’t just smile and sleep—they cried. A lot. Loudly. And sometimes for no reason Ivy could understand.

She started to wonder if maybe being a big sister wasn’t just about feeling important. Maybe it was about being patient. And helpful. And brave, even when the crying got really loud and kind of scary.

Her moms explained that it was normal. The world was brand new for Aisla. She didn’t know what it meant to be hungry, or tired, or too warm or too cold. Everything felt unfamiliar. She had spent months curled up safely inside her mommy’s belly, and now… she had to learn everything from scratch.

“She’s not mad at you,” You explained softly, brushing Ivy’s hair back as you stood by the crib. “She just doesn’t know what’s going on yet. The world’s really big and bright and loud for her right now.”

“She didn’t even used to cry,” Ivy said, frowning. “When she was in your belly.”

“That’s true,” Vi chuckled from the rocking chair, cradling Aisla against her chest. “But she also didn’t used to know what cold felt like. Or hunger. Or pooping herself.”

Ivy wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“Welcome to babyhood.”

Still, Ivy wanted to help. She wanted to be the best big sister in the whole world. So she started trying everything. And she took her role seriously—so seriously.

Whenever Aisla cried, Ivy would try everything she could think of to help. She made silly faces, puffing out her cheeks and crossing her eyes until Vi laughed so hard she nearly dropped the pacifier. She handed over her favorite stuffed animals (even Martha, which was a big deal).

And then, one afternoon, she climbed up onto the couch where Aisla lay swaddled beside Mommy and began to talk.

“Once upon a time,” Ivy whispered, “there was a princess with silver wings and purple hair, and she lived in a castle made of clouds.”

She told Aisla all about the princess, the knight who was scared of everything except spiders, and the tiny dragon who loved to eat marshmallows instead of people.

Aisla just stared, her big eyes blinking slowly, her mouth making soft little shapes like she was listening.

Then—maybe—she smiled. Just a little.

“Did you see that?” Ivy gasped. “She liked the story! She smiled!”

You leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Of course she did. You’re already her favorite storyteller.”

Vi grinned. “Looks like we’ve got a little bookworm on our hands.”

Ivy smiled proudly, pressing her finger gently against Aisla’s tiny hand. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’m gonna teach you everything.”

And in that moment, with her baby sister nestled beside her, Ivy knew exactly what being a big sister meant.

It meant love.

──────────────────────

But it also meant resistance—especially as Aisla grew and started eating solid foods, which meant smelly, smelly diapers.

Ivy hadn’t expected that part.

The morning had started like most others—Aisla waking before the sun, wailing from her bassinet with all the drama of a Shakespearean actress. You, bleary-eyed but calm, had already been up for a while, tugging on your jacket as you kissed Ivy’s forehead and gave Vi a meaningful look.

“Don’t forget—her nap’s at ten, her bottle’s in the fridge, and the wipes are under the changing table,” you said in a rush, slipping on your shoes.

Vi waved a sleepy hand from the couch. “Got it, got it. Go, before you’re late.”

You crouched beside Ivy and smiled. “You’re in charge of keeping Mom awake, okay?”

Ivy beamed, her chest puffing with pride. “I’m good at that.”

You kissed both of them goodbye, whispered something to Aisla—who only babbled something incoherent back—and hurried out the door.

And for a while, things were great.

Aisla napped. Vi made pancakes. Ivy got syrup in her hair but decided it was worth it.

Then it happened.

The smell.

It hit them like a wall as they walked back into the living room. Aisla lay in her bouncer, calm and innocent, blinking up at them like she hadn’t just committed a biological crime against humanity.

Vi stopped in her tracks. “Oh no.”

Ivy pinched her nose. “Oh no.”

“She’s definitely got a dirty diaper,” Vi muttered, already sounding like she regretted every life choice that led her here.

“She smells like the dog park on a hot day,” Ivy whispered.

Vi sighed and scooped Aisla up, holding her at arm’s length. “Okay. Teamwork time. Ivy, grab the wipes.”

Ivy dashed to the nursery like a superhero on a mission, returning with the pack held high above her head like it was the Holy Grail. Vi laid Aisla down on the changing table and opened the diaper with the hesitation of someone defusing a bomb.

“Oh my God.”

Ivy gasped. “She exploded!”

Vi winced. “This is a Code Brown. I repeat—Code Brown.”

Together, they sprang into action. Vi tried to stay calm as she wiped and folded, while Aisla laughed like seeing them suffer was the funniest thing she’d ever witnessed. Ivy hovered nearby, handing over wipes with surgical precision and offering encouraging commentary like, “You’re doing so good, Mommy,” and “Wow, that was in her?”

It took ten minutes, two gag reflexes, and one emergency shirt change for Vi, but eventually, Aisla was clean, diapered, and cooing like nothing had ever happened.

Vi slumped into the rocking chair, baby in arms. “We survived.”

Ivy stood beside her, wide-eyed. “I didn’t know babies could do that.”

Vi chuckled and brushed hair from her face. “Oh, sweetheart. This is just the beginning.”

Ivy leaned against her leg, peering up at Aisla. “Being a big sister is harder than I thought.”

Vi looked down at her, softening. “Yeah. It’s not all cuddles and bedtime stories, huh?”

Ivy shook her head. “But it’s still cool.”

Vi kissed the top of her head. “You were amazing today.”

Ivy smiled, her eyes fixed on her baby sister, who had fallen asleep mid-babble.

──────────────────────

And it also meant patience, as Aisla started crawling and decided that every toy Ivy owned—no matter how precious or how not baby-safe—belonged in her mouth.

It meant patience when Aisla tried to crawl out of the picnic blanket at the park, heading straight for the sidewalk like she had a very important meeting with a rock.

It meant patience when her head, still too big for her tiny, wobbly body, led her straight into yet another face-plant in the middle of the living room.

Ivy would gasp every time—heart in her throat—rushing over to make sure Aisla was okay, only to watch her baby sister blink, pout, then giggle like nothing had happened.

She didn’t get it.

She didn’t get how her mommies weren’t constantly worried. How they could just watch her fall and stumble and eat sand like it was a snack. How they didn’t panic every time Aisla made a beeline for something dangerous or stuffed Martha halfway down her throat.

It was during one of these moments—after a particularly eventful afternoon at the park, where Aisla had tried to eat a leaf, crawl off the blanket, and then face-plant into the grass—that Ivy sat curled up beside you on the couch, unusually quiet.

You were rocking Aisla, who was finally fast asleep, cheeks pink from sunshine and dirt, her hair sticking up in soft tufts.

“I don’t get it,” Ivy mumbled, resting her head on your shoulder.

You looked down. “Don’t get what, baby?”

She hesitated, playing with a loose thread on your sleeve. “How come you’re not scared all the time? About Aisla. She just… does stuff. Dangerous stuff. And you don’t freak out. You just let her do it.”

You smiled softly, brushing a hand through her curls. “I get scared sometimes. Trust me, I do. But I also know she has us. All of us. And she’s learning—babies need to fall and crawl and chew on weird things to figure out the world.”

Ivy didn’t look convinced.

“She could choke,” she whispered. “Or hurt her head. Or run away. And I—I try to stop her, but she doesn’t listen, and I’m just… I don’t want anything bad to happen to her.”

You shifted so you could look at her better, resting your free hand on hers.

“Oh, Ivy,” you said gently, “you have such a big heart. You care so much. And that makes you an amazing big sister.”

She blinked up at you, eyes a little watery.

“But you’re also a kid, sweetheart. You’re not supposed to worry like that. Let the grown-ups do the worrying. That’s ourjob. Yours is just to be her sister. To play with her, love her, laugh with her—even get annoyed with her sometimes. That’s okay too.”

Ivy sniffed, trying not to cry. “But I feel like I’m supposed to protect her. Like you and Mommy protect me.”

“You do protect her,” you assured her. “Every time you show her how to hold a toy, or move it away when it’s too small. Every time you make her laugh or tell her a story. That is protecting her. In the way only a big sister can.”

She was quiet for a beat, then said, “It’s just a lot sometimes.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Being a big sister is a big job. But it’s not one you have to do alone.”

Ivy curled closer, her body relaxing against yours for the first time that day.

“Okay,” she whispered.

You kissed the top of her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You’re doing so good, Ivy. Better than you know.”

She smiled, just a little, and looked down at Aisla, now drooling peacefully in your arms.

“I guess it’s okay if she face-plants sometimes.”

You laughed softly. “It builds character.”

“And maybe if she eats one leaf… it won’t kill her.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Let’s not test that theory.”

And for the rest of the evening, you held both your girls close—one sleeping soundly and the other finally at ease.

──────────────────────

masterlist - part three - part five

[cosmiclily]

thank you @arahiraaai and @saturnhas82moons for the tag 🫶

color in the statements true about you: ୨ৎ

i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

🎧ྀི reblog with three songs:

୨ৎ currently listening: better than me - the brobecks

୨ৎ current favorite: would’ve, could’ve, should’ve - taylor swift

୨ৎ song of your choice: die your daughter - susannah joffe

🏷️: @etherealrintaro @strawb4kdior @ferxanda

@admiringlove tagged me in two tag games & because i love her i’m making a separate post with those tag games ♡

rules: colour the sentence that’s true about you

i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

rules: reblog this with three songs

the song you’re listening to right now (or last listened to) — wrath of man by hoyo-mix

your current favourite song — iris by the googoo dolls

a song of your choice — angel of small death & the codeine scene by hozier

tagging: (no pressure!) @hanverse, @jeonwiixard, @m1ckeyb3rry, @hearts4hee, @tangyneon & anyone who’s interested!

[cosmiclily]

thank you baby 🫶 😚😚

heyyyyy🫶 idk if your vi asks are open but just in case, i was wondering if maybe you would want to write a fluffy modern!uni!au with jock!vi who has soft spot for poetry and she and EnglishLitMajor!reader are a couple and have like regular picnics where reader reads vi like dickinson or plath or rich or something, while vi is laying with her head on reader's lap. i hope this is not too niche or too specific! (sidenote i feel like vi's favourite poem would be wild nights by emily dickinson wink wink) anyway i hope this makes sense and thank you in advance if you decide to write it!!🥰

like the poems

✰Jockey!Vi x English Lit!reader

wc:2.2k

notes: hope you enjoy it!! 😚

I wouldn’t say no one saw it coming when you and Vi started dating. I mean, sure—it was a bit of a surprise, considering Vi’s reputation. She was that girl: the hockey player with bruised knuckles and a cocky grin, who somehow managed to be just smart enough to breeze through exams but never aimed for anything higher than the bare minimum to stay on the team. The type who was at every party, always with a drink in hand and someone trying (and usually failing) to flirt with her.

And then… there was you. The English Lit major who spent most of her time reading under that one tree by the quad, or curled up in the farthest corner of the library, or sitting in the campus café with a stack of books taller than your coffee cup. You were the girl who had to be dragged out of her dorm whenever there was a party—the one who only went if your friends guilt-tripped you into “being social for once.”

No one really expected your worlds to collide like that.

And yet… they did.

It all started with a Literature class project. (A class Vi swore up and down the dean forced her to take. Total lie, of course. She’d enrolled voluntarily and regretted it exactly never.)

The assignment was simple—or, at least, Professor Mayer made it sound simple as he stood at the front of the lecture hall, clutching a cup of coffee that had definitely gone cold hours ago.

“Pick a poem,” he said, waving one hand like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Any poem. Doesn’t matter how old or how new. Your job is to give it a modern interpretation. But”—he raised a finger, pausing dramatically—“it has to be something that makes you feel something. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

There was a shuffle of notebooks, the click of pens, and someone sighing dramatically in the back. Vi sat next to you, chewing on the end of her pen, looking… surprisingly thoughtful. You’d noticed her before—it was impossible not to. She was Vi. Loud, chaotic, impossible to ignore. But you’d never really seen her like this—quiet, focused, like the words on the syllabus actually meant something to her.

Then, under her breath, barely loud enough for you to catch, Vi muttered, “Guess I’m doing Wild Nights, then.”

Your head snapped toward her before you could stop yourself. “Dickinson?” you blurted, incredulous.

Vi blinked, caught—but recovered fast. That trademark grin curled at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah. Problem?”

“Not a problem,” you stammered quickly, cheeks heating. “Just… surprising.”

“Didn’t peg me as the poetry type, huh?”

“Well… no.”

She leaned back in her chair, tapping the end of her pen against her lip, her smile turning smug. “Yeah. No one does.”

And that was how it started. A conversation that turned into exchanging notes. Notes turned into sitting together during lectures. Sitting together turned into partnered projects. Partnered projects turned into coffee breaks that had technicallystarted as study sessions… but somehow never involved much actual studying.

If you were feeling dramatic about it—and, honestly, as an English Lit major, you absolutely were—it was like Professor Mayer himself had played Cupid, unwittingly orchestrating the entire thing.

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Mayer declared, clapping his hands like he was about to deliver a monologue. His scarf flared dramatically behind him as he paced. “For this next assignment, you’ll be working in pairs. Since we’re focusing on Women in Literature, I want you to choose a female author and reinterpret a central theme from her work through a modern lens. You can do this through a visual project, a short film, a podcast, a series of essays, a staged performance… whatever you think brings it to life. Surprise me. Engage with it. Make it matter.” He spun on his heel, waving a hand as though the very fate of literature rested on this group project. “And before anyone asks—no, you cannot work alone. Literature is about connection. About conversation.”

The second the words left his mouth, Vi was already turning toward you, that familiar grin creeping onto her face like it belonged there.

“Wanna pair up?” she asked, casual, but the way her blue eyes flicked between your lips and your eyes gave her away. There was a challenge in it, sure—but also something softer. Something curious.

Your heart did that ridiculous little flip again. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, sure,” you managed, trying—and failing—to sound normal. Cool. Totally unaffected.

“Cool,” she replied, biting back a smile, leaning her elbow on the desk like she suddenly had all the time in the world. “Kinda already had someone in mind anyway.”

You ducked your head, pretending to focus on your notebook. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, voice dropping lower—like it was a secret meant for you and no one else. “Definitely.”

You scribbled absolute nonsense in the margins of your notebook, doing everything in your power not to look directly at her. Your fingers were practically trembling.

Vi tapped the edge of her pen against your notebook, right next to your hand. “So… Mirror or Lady Lazarus?” she asked, as if it was the most casual thing in the world. But her tone was laced with something deeper—something thoughtful. For someone who pretended not to care about school, she was suspiciously invested.

You glanced at her, lifting a brow. “Going full Sylvia Plath this time?”

Vi grinned, resting her chin in her hand. “Kinda fits, doesn’t it? The whole rebirth thing. Burning everything down and starting new.” Her grin faltered just a bit, softening around the edges. “It’s… kinda cool. Powerful.”

Your lips twitched, fighting back a smile. “Lady Lazarus,” you echoed. “Dramatic.”

“I eat men like air,” Vi quoted under her breath, winking. “Total girlboss energy.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Dangerous.”

“Damn right,” she shot back, nudging your knee under the desk.

And right then, in the middle of a cluttered lecture hall filled with shuffling papers, lazy chatter, and half-awake students, you realized something—this was the beginning of something that was going to ruin you in the best possible way.

──────────────────────

Your dorm room was quiet, your roommate was at someone else’s place, the coffee machine was brewing another cup of coffee and your indie playlist played in the background. You sat cross-legged on your worn leather couch, laptop open, notebook resting in your lap. Vi lounged next to you, arms sprawled across the back of the couch like she was familiar with your place, like she owed it—like she owned you, frankly, with the way her knee kept brushing against yours.

“Okay,” you started, clicking open a document. “So… Lady Lazarus. What are we thinking?”

Vi tapped her pen against her lip, pretending to think—though her gaze was unmistakably more focused on your mouth than the Google Doc in front of you. “Dramatic as hell. Depressing. Kinda hot.”

You snorted. “You’re impossible.”

“Not denying it.” Her grin was sharp, teasing. “But seriously. The whole rebirth thing. She’s basically like, ‘I’ve been torn apart, burnt down, but guess what? I come back. Every time.’” She gestured vaguely with her pen, like that explained everything. “It’s punk.”

Your lips twitched. “Punk poetry. You should trademark that.”

“Totally should,” Vi agreed, nudging your knee with hers. “But seriously. I was thinking… what if we did, like, a visual project? A short film. No dialogue, just visuals that follow the themes. Death, destruction, transformation… and then—boom. Rebirth.”

Your brows lifted. “That’s… actually kind of brilliant.”

Vi’s grin softened. “Yeah?” she asked, just a hint of surprise in her voice—like she hadn’t expected you to actually like the idea.

“Yeah,” you said, nudging her back. “You’ve got range, hockey girl.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” She leaned in, resting her chin in her palm. “I contain multitudes.”

“Oh my God, did you just quote Whitman?”

“Damn right I did.” Her eyes sparkled. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

Your heart did a very stupid, very inconvenient little flutter. “I should be concerned.”

“You should,” Vi said, grinning like she knew exactly what she was doing to you. Her fingers drummed lazily on the couch between you. “So what’s the shot list, Lit Girl?”

You cleared your throat, trying—failing—to stay focused. “Um. Maybe… we show the character going through, like, different versions of herself. Layers. Peeling back everything people expect her to be. Burnout, breakdown, but then—she comes back stronger. Maybe it’s symbolic. Fire. Water. Ash.”

Vi nodded slowly, biting her lip in thought. “Could end with her walking away from the camera. Alive. Changed. Not for anyone else. Just… for herself.”

You blinked. “Vi… that’s actually—”

“Deep? Yeah, yeah, I know.” She shrugged, but her smirk was proud. “Guess hanging out with you is making me smarter.”

“Or I’m corrupting you with literature.”

“Same difference.”

Your gaze caught hers, and for a moment, the teasing faded. Her blue eyes softened—curious, careful. There was something heavier in the air now, something unsaid but loud all the same.

“You know,” she murmured, fingers twitching like she wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure how, “it’s kinda weird.”

“What is?” you asked, barely a whisper.

“How easy this feels. Being with you. Talking to you.” Her voice dipped, quieter now. “Doesn’t… usually feel like this.”

Your breath caught. “Yeah,” you admitted. “Me neither.”

For a second, neither of you moved.

And then Vi shifted, closing the tiny space between you like it had never been there at all. Her hand cupped your cheek, tentative at first—like she was waiting to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

So she kissed you.

Soft, at first—gentle, like a question. Her lips were warm against yours, tasting like coffee and something sweeter, something entirely her. And when you didn’t pull back—when you kissed her back with just as much softness turning fast into something breathless—her hand slid into your hair, pulling you closer like she never wanted to let go.

Your notebook slid off your lap, forgotten.

She smiled against your lips. “God… you taste like cinnamon,” she muttered, kissing you again before you could even reply.

“Focus, Vi,” you gasped between kisses, even though you were absolutely not following your own advice.

“Focusing,” she mumbled. “Focusing on you.”

Your fingers fisted in the collar of her hoodie, pulling her impossibly closer until you were on her lap, like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there.

And maybe you did.

When you finally broke apart—foreheads pressed together, breath shaky—you laughed. “So… about that project.”

Vi grinned, thumb brushing your hip bone. “Yeah, yeah. After this study break.”

“Study break, huh?”

“Mhm.” She tilted her head, smirking. “You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

And just like that, she kissed you again.

Honestly? The project could wait.

──────────────────────

Fast forward a few months, and here you were—on your usual Thursday afternoon picnic in the park.

Vi lay stretched out on the blanket, head comfortably in your lap, hair fanned across your thighs like silk. Her hockey jersey was tossed somewhere into the grass, replaced by a soft white tee that hugged her frame just a little too well for your sanity. Her legs were lazily crossed at the ankle, one arm flung over her face to shield her eyes from the sun, the other lazily twirling a blade of grass between her fingers.

“You paused,” she mumbled, nudging your knee with her temple. “Keep reading.”

You smiled, running your fingers absentmindedly through her pink-streaked hair, thumb grazing the curve of her temple. “Impatient,” you teased, flipping the page back. “‘Wild nights—Wild nights! Were I with thee…’” Your voice softened, the rhythm slipping easily off your tongue. “‘Wild nights should be our luxury.’”

Vi sighed—long, content, a little dreamy—and tilted her head back just enough to look up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Still think Dickinson had it bad for someone,” she mused, that lazy grin tugging at her lips.

You laughed, brushing your thumb over the edge of her jaw. “Mhm. Terribly scandalous.”

“She probably wrote that in the middle of the night. Lying awake, thinking about her crush.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Funny. Sounds familiar.”

Vi reached up, catching your wrist in her hand, thumb brushing against your pulse. Her grin softened, faltered into something more vulnerable. “You’re my luxury, y’know,” she murmured. Quiet. Honest. Like the words were something delicate and sacred.

Your chest tightened—full, achingly full of her. “And you’re my wild night,” you whispered back, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, letting your lips linger there like a promise.

Vi squeezed your hand, eyes fluttering shut. “God… you’re such a nerd.”

“You’re literally the one begging me to read you poetry.”

“Yeah, well…” She cracked one eye open, grinning. “I like the way your voice sounds when you do.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Hopeless.”

“Completely,” she agreed, tugging your hand toward her chest, holding it there like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Wanna hear another?” you asked, voice softer now, like the question itself was something sacred.

“Yeah,” Vi breathed, melting further into your lap. “Always.”

So you read. You read Plath. You read Adrienne Rich. You read until the sun dipped low behind the trees, until the sounds of campus faded into something distant and unimportant. Until it was just the two of you, tangled in words and sunlight and something that felt an awful lot like forever.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[cosmiclily]

i was in the WORST mood of all times this past week, i wanted to write the most angst thing in the world but i was too busy and now my mood is great and i wanna get married and have kids and can’t write angst to save my life 😭😭😭😭

[cosmiclily]

heyyyyy🫶 idk if your vi asks are open but just in case, i was wondering if maybe you would want to write a fluffy modern!uni!au with jock!vi who has soft spot for poetry and she and EnglishLitMajor!reader are a couple and have like regular picnics where reader reads vi like dickinson or plath or rich or something, while vi is laying with her head on reader's lap. i hope this is not too niche or too specific! (sidenote i feel like vi's favourite poem would be wild nights by emily dickinson wink wink) anyway i hope this makes sense and thank you in advance if you decide to write it!!🥰

like the poems

✰Jockey!Vi x English Lit!reader

wc:2.2k

notes: hope you enjoy it!! 😚

I wouldn’t say no one saw it coming when you and Vi started dating. I mean, sure—it was a bit of a surprise, considering Vi’s reputation. She was that girl: the hockey player with bruised knuckles and a cocky grin, who somehow managed to be just smart enough to breeze through exams but never aimed for anything higher than the bare minimum to stay on the team. The type who was at every party, always with a drink in hand and someone trying (and usually failing) to flirt with her.

And then… there was you. The English Lit major who spent most of her time reading under that one tree by the quad, or curled up in the farthest corner of the library, or sitting in the campus café with a stack of books taller than your coffee cup. You were the girl who had to be dragged out of her dorm whenever there was a party—the one who only went if your friends guilt-tripped you into “being social for once.”

No one really expected your worlds to collide like that.

And yet… they did.

It all started with a Literature class project. (A class Vi swore up and down the dean forced her to take. Total lie, of course. She’d enrolled voluntarily and regretted it exactly never.)

The assignment was simple—or, at least, Professor Mayer made it sound simple as he stood at the front of the lecture hall, clutching a cup of coffee that had definitely gone cold hours ago.

“Pick a poem,” he said, waving one hand like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Any poem. Doesn’t matter how old or how new. Your job is to give it a modern interpretation. But”—he raised a finger, pausing dramatically—“it has to be something that makes you feel something. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

There was a shuffle of notebooks, the click of pens, and someone sighing dramatically in the back. Vi sat next to you, chewing on the end of her pen, looking… surprisingly thoughtful. You’d noticed her before—it was impossible not to. She was Vi. Loud, chaotic, impossible to ignore. But you’d never really seen her like this—quiet, focused, like the words on the syllabus actually meant something to her.

Then, under her breath, barely loud enough for you to catch, Vi muttered, “Guess I’m doing Wild Nights, then.”

Your head snapped toward her before you could stop yourself. “Dickinson?” you blurted, incredulous.

Vi blinked, caught—but recovered fast. That trademark grin curled at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah. Problem?”

“Not a problem,” you stammered quickly, cheeks heating. “Just… surprising.”

“Didn’t peg me as the poetry type, huh?”

“Well… no.”

She leaned back in her chair, tapping the end of her pen against her lip, her smile turning smug. “Yeah. No one does.”

And that was how it started. A conversation that turned into exchanging notes. Notes turned into sitting together during lectures. Sitting together turned into partnered projects. Partnered projects turned into coffee breaks that had technicallystarted as study sessions… but somehow never involved much actual studying.

If you were feeling dramatic about it—and, honestly, as an English Lit major, you absolutely were—it was like Professor Mayer himself had played Cupid, unwittingly orchestrating the entire thing.

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Mayer declared, clapping his hands like he was about to deliver a monologue. His scarf flared dramatically behind him as he paced. “For this next assignment, you’ll be working in pairs. Since we’re focusing on Women in Literature, I want you to choose a female author and reinterpret a central theme from her work through a modern lens. You can do this through a visual project, a short film, a podcast, a series of essays, a staged performance… whatever you think brings it to life. Surprise me. Engage with it. Make it matter.” He spun on his heel, waving a hand as though the very fate of literature rested on this group project. “And before anyone asks—no, you cannot work alone. Literature is about connection. About conversation.”

The second the words left his mouth, Vi was already turning toward you, that familiar grin creeping onto her face like it belonged there.

“Wanna pair up?” she asked, casual, but the way her blue eyes flicked between your lips and your eyes gave her away. There was a challenge in it, sure—but also something softer. Something curious.

Your heart did that ridiculous little flip again. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, sure,” you managed, trying—and failing—to sound normal. Cool. Totally unaffected.

“Cool,” she replied, biting back a smile, leaning her elbow on the desk like she suddenly had all the time in the world. “Kinda already had someone in mind anyway.”

You ducked your head, pretending to focus on your notebook. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, voice dropping lower—like it was a secret meant for you and no one else. “Definitely.”

You scribbled absolute nonsense in the margins of your notebook, doing everything in your power not to look directly at her. Your fingers were practically trembling.

Vi tapped the edge of her pen against your notebook, right next to your hand. “So… Mirror or Lady Lazarus?” she asked, as if it was the most casual thing in the world. But her tone was laced with something deeper—something thoughtful. For someone who pretended not to care about school, she was suspiciously invested.

You glanced at her, lifting a brow. “Going full Sylvia Plath this time?”

Vi grinned, resting her chin in her hand. “Kinda fits, doesn’t it? The whole rebirth thing. Burning everything down and starting new.” Her grin faltered just a bit, softening around the edges. “It’s… kinda cool. Powerful.”

Your lips twitched, fighting back a smile. “Lady Lazarus,” you echoed. “Dramatic.”

“I eat men like air,” Vi quoted under her breath, winking. “Total girlboss energy.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Dangerous.”

“Damn right,” she shot back, nudging your knee under the desk.

And right then, in the middle of a cluttered lecture hall filled with shuffling papers, lazy chatter, and half-awake students, you realized something—this was the beginning of something that was going to ruin you in the best possible way.

──────────────────────

Your dorm room was quiet, your roommate was at someone else’s place, the coffee machine was brewing another cup of coffee and your indie playlist played in the background. You sat cross-legged on your worn leather couch, laptop open, notebook resting in your lap. Vi lounged next to you, arms sprawled across the back of the couch like she was familiar with your place, like she owed it—like she owned you, frankly, with the way her knee kept brushing against yours.

“Okay,” you started, clicking open a document. “So… Lady Lazarus. What are we thinking?”

Vi tapped her pen against her lip, pretending to think—though her gaze was unmistakably more focused on your mouth than the Google Doc in front of you. “Dramatic as hell. Depressing. Kinda hot.”

You snorted. “You’re impossible.”

“Not denying it.” Her grin was sharp, teasing. “But seriously. The whole rebirth thing. She’s basically like, ‘I’ve been torn apart, burnt down, but guess what? I come back. Every time.’” She gestured vaguely with her pen, like that explained everything. “It’s punk.”

Your lips twitched. “Punk poetry. You should trademark that.”

“Totally should,” Vi agreed, nudging your knee with hers. “But seriously. I was thinking… what if we did, like, a visual project? A short film. No dialogue, just visuals that follow the themes. Death, destruction, transformation… and then—boom. Rebirth.”

Your brows lifted. “That’s… actually kind of brilliant.”

Vi’s grin softened. “Yeah?” she asked, just a hint of surprise in her voice—like she hadn’t expected you to actually like the idea.

“Yeah,” you said, nudging her back. “You’ve got range, hockey girl.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” She leaned in, resting her chin in her palm. “I contain multitudes.”

“Oh my God, did you just quote Whitman?”

“Damn right I did.” Her eyes sparkled. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

Your heart did a very stupid, very inconvenient little flutter. “I should be concerned.”

“You should,” Vi said, grinning like she knew exactly what she was doing to you. Her fingers drummed lazily on the couch between you. “So what’s the shot list, Lit Girl?”

You cleared your throat, trying—failing—to stay focused. “Um. Maybe… we show the character going through, like, different versions of herself. Layers. Peeling back everything people expect her to be. Burnout, breakdown, but then—she comes back stronger. Maybe it’s symbolic. Fire. Water. Ash.”

Vi nodded slowly, biting her lip in thought. “Could end with her walking away from the camera. Alive. Changed. Not for anyone else. Just… for herself.”

You blinked. “Vi… that’s actually—”

“Deep? Yeah, yeah, I know.” She shrugged, but her smirk was proud. “Guess hanging out with you is making me smarter.”

“Or I’m corrupting you with literature.”

“Same difference.”

Your gaze caught hers, and for a moment, the teasing faded. Her blue eyes softened—curious, careful. There was something heavier in the air now, something unsaid but loud all the same.

“You know,” she murmured, fingers twitching like she wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure how, “it’s kinda weird.”

“What is?” you asked, barely a whisper.

“How easy this feels. Being with you. Talking to you.” Her voice dipped, quieter now. “Doesn’t… usually feel like this.”

Your breath caught. “Yeah,” you admitted. “Me neither.”

For a second, neither of you moved.

And then Vi shifted, closing the tiny space between you like it had never been there at all. Her hand cupped your cheek, tentative at first—like she was waiting to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

So she kissed you.

Soft, at first—gentle, like a question. Her lips were warm against yours, tasting like coffee and something sweeter, something entirely her. And when you didn’t pull back—when you kissed her back with just as much softness turning fast into something breathless—her hand slid into your hair, pulling you closer like she never wanted to let go.

Your notebook slid off your lap, forgotten.

She smiled against your lips. “God… you taste like cinnamon,” she muttered, kissing you again before you could even reply.

“Focus, Vi,” you gasped between kisses, even though you were absolutely not following your own advice.

“Focusing,” she mumbled. “Focusing on you.”

Your fingers fisted in the collar of her hoodie, pulling her impossibly closer until you were on her lap, like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there.

And maybe you did.

When you finally broke apart—foreheads pressed together, breath shaky—you laughed. “So… about that project.”

Vi grinned, thumb brushing your hip bone. “Yeah, yeah. After this study break.”

“Study break, huh?”

“Mhm.” She tilted her head, smirking. “You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

And just like that, she kissed you again.

Honestly? The project could wait.

──────────────────────

Fast forward a few months, and here you were—on your usual Thursday afternoon picnic in the park.

Vi lay stretched out on the blanket, head comfortably in your lap, hair fanned across your thighs like silk. Her hockey jersey was tossed somewhere into the grass, replaced by a soft white tee that hugged her frame just a little too well for your sanity. Her legs were lazily crossed at the ankle, one arm flung over her face to shield her eyes from the sun, the other lazily twirling a blade of grass between her fingers.

“You paused,” she mumbled, nudging your knee with her temple. “Keep reading.”

You smiled, running your fingers absentmindedly through her pink-streaked hair, thumb grazing the curve of her temple. “Impatient,” you teased, flipping the page back. “‘Wild nights—Wild nights! Were I with thee…’” Your voice softened, the rhythm slipping easily off your tongue. “‘Wild nights should be our luxury.’”

Vi sighed—long, content, a little dreamy—and tilted her head back just enough to look up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Still think Dickinson had it bad for someone,” she mused, that lazy grin tugging at her lips.

You laughed, brushing your thumb over the edge of her jaw. “Mhm. Terribly scandalous.”

“She probably wrote that in the middle of the night. Lying awake, thinking about her crush.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Funny. Sounds familiar.”

Vi reached up, catching your wrist in her hand, thumb brushing against your pulse. Her grin softened, faltered into something more vulnerable. “You’re my luxury, y’know,” she murmured. Quiet. Honest. Like the words were something delicate and sacred.

Your chest tightened—full, achingly full of her. “And you’re my wild night,” you whispered back, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, letting your lips linger there like a promise.

Vi squeezed your hand, eyes fluttering shut. “God… you’re such a nerd.”

“You’re literally the one begging me to read you poetry.”

“Yeah, well…” She cracked one eye open, grinning. “I like the way your voice sounds when you do.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Hopeless.”

“Completely,” she agreed, tugging your hand toward her chest, holding it there like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Wanna hear another?” you asked, voice softer now, like the question itself was something sacred.

“Yeah,” Vi breathed, melting further into your lap. “Always.”

So you read. You read Plath. You read Adrienne Rich. You read until the sun dipped low behind the trees, until the sounds of campus faded into something distant and unimportant. Until it was just the two of you, tangled in words and sunlight and something that felt an awful lot like forever.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[cosmiclily]

here comes the sun - family au (part three)

☆ vi x f!reader

part two - part four

wc: 2k

cw: pregnancy (don’t even know if this is a warning)

notes: here is the baby !!! yay 🥳 from my research, her name means dream or vision, i was thinking about going with a name that starts with I to match Ivy but that’s kinda cliche. hope you guys enjoy it 😚mwah

The first ultrasound made it real.

You and Vi sat together in the dimly lit room, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat echoing softly through the speakers. Then came the baby’s—faster, stronger, impossibly steady. The monitor flickered to life, revealing a blurry shape that made your breath hitch in your chest.

Vi reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Is that...?”

“That’s them,” the technician said with a smile, moving the wand gently across your belly. “Perfect size. Perfect heartbeat.”

Vi stared at the screen like it held the answers to the universe. “They’ve got a face,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “A real face. And arms. Look—look, that’s a foot!”

You watched her blink rapidly, clearly trying not to cry, and it hit you all over again—how much she already loved this tiny, forming person.

──────────────────────

The first kick happened on a Sunday.

Ivy was outside in the yard, laughing as she chased butterflies, while you sat on the couch, halfway through folding laundry. Her school sweater still rested in your lap, forgotten. Vi knelt on the floor nearby, frowning at a half-assembled bookshelf and flipping through a very unhelpful instruction manual.

“I swear these things are designed to mess with my head,” she muttered, squinting at a pile of rebellious screws.

You were only half-listening. Your body had felt off all day—tight and bloated in a way that was new. Then, just as Vi reached for another tool and muttered another curse, something fluttered deep inside you. Like bubbles. Or the faintest knock.

You froze.

Vi looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“I think…” Your hand drifted to your belly in disbelief. “I think they just kicked.”

Vi jumped to her feet so quickly she nearly sent the toolbox flying. “Seriously?”

You nodded slowly, wide-eyed. “It felt like… a tap. Or a thump. Just once, but yeah. That was it.”

She dropped to her knees in front of you, both hands pressing gently to your belly, as if her presence alone might coax another kick.

“Hey, baby,” she whispered, wonder softening her voice. “You giving your mom a hard time already?”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then—another nudge, firmer this time, right beneath her palm.

Vi gasped, laughing in stunned disbelief. “Holy shit. Did you feel that?”

You looked down at her, eyes bright. “They already have a favorite mom,” you said, grinning through the moment.

──────────────────────

The gender reveal was quiet—just you, Vi, and Ivy in the kitchen.

You’d sent the results to a nearby bakery and asked for a small cake—nothing extravagant, but something memorable.

“Ivy, do you want to do the honors?” you asked as she bounced excitedly on the chair she was standing on.

“Yes!” she shouted, nodding so hard her flower clip nearly fell out.

Vi helped guide her little hands as they made the first cut. The knife slid through soft icing, revealing pale pink layers beneath. Ivy’s eyes widened.

“It’s a girl,” she whispered, completely in awe.

Vi let out a breathless laugh. “Another girl?”

You laughed with her, wiping a tear before it could fall. “How ironic—lesbians only having daughters.”

Ivy didn’t seem to mind either way. She was already scheming, vowing to teach her little sister everything she knew about tea parties, coloring, and sneaking cookies before dinner.

──────────────────────

The first baby clothes arrived a week later.

Vi had gone out “just to browse” and came back carrying three overstuffed shopping bags.

She pulled out a onesie shaped like a strawberry, a pair of tiny booties designed to look like little bears, and a soft sleeper that read Mommy’s Toughest Fighter across the front, complete with cartoon boxing gloves.

She looked particularly proud of that one.

You held the strawberry onesie to your belly, imagining the tiny weight of the baby who would someday fill it. The fabric was impossibly soft. “She’s going to look ridiculous,” you whispered, fondly amused.

“She’s going to look perfect,” Vi corrected, gently placing a sock no bigger than your palm in your hand. “Like you, but grumpier.”

──────────────────────

The first crib took forever to build.

Vi swore she didn’t need the instructions. Ivy insisted on being the “construction supervisor” and refused to let anyone proceed without proper “hammer form”—even though no hammer was required.

It took four hours, three snack breaks, one mild argument, a scavenger hunt for a missing screw, and a desperate FaceTime with Vander, who laughed the entire time but still talked Vi through the final steps like a seasoned pro.

But by the end of the night, the crib stood tall and steady in the corner of your bedroom. White wood. Soft bedding. A mobile of moons and stars turning slowly above.

Vi leaned on the railing, staring into the empty space like she could already see your daughter there, fast asleep.

“She’s gonna be safe,” she murmured, more to herself than to you. “No matter what.”

You stepped behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist—at least as best as your watermelon-sized belly allowed. You rested your forehead against her back.

“She already is” you whispered.

Vi turned, kissed the top of your head, and swayed the crib gently. The room was still except for Ivy’s quiet snores down the hall and the faint creak of wood, like a lullaby made just for the future.

──────────────────────

The baby shower was everything you didn’t know you needed.

It was held in Vander’s backyard, lit with fairy lights and pastel streamers. Jinx threatened to pop every balloon before the party even began. Ivy wore a flower crown and proudly introduced herself to everyone as "the big sister."

Your parents brought a painfully embarrassing slideshow of your baby photos. Claggor made custom cupcakes that looked suspicious but tasted divine. Mylo curated a playlist titled Bops for Baby, which featured three actual lullabies and a suspicious amount of 90s pop hits.

Friends arrived with gifts wrapped in pink and white—tiny socks, board books, enough baby wipes to last until college, and one extremely fancy stroller that Vi kept showing off like she’d built it herself.

Ekko teared up when you opened the onesie he designed: Made with love (and science).

Vi never left your side. One hand always found its way to your back, your shoulder, your hand—grounding you like she needed to remind herself this was real. That the glow in your cheeks and the life beneath your skin were really hers too.

That night, once the guests had gone and Ivy had fallen asleep in a pile of tissue paper and ribbon, you and Vi lay curled together in bed. Her hand rested on your stomach, and your daughter kicked softly beneath it.

“I think she liked the cupcakes,” Vi whispered.

You smiled, tired but blissfully content. “She’s got good taste.”

──────────────────────

Then came Ivy’s 8th birthday. You were ready to pop.

You could barely see your feet and had developed your own gravitational field, but neither of you was about to leave Ivy out of anything—not even now.

She asked for a picnic party, so you gathered a few of her school friends and headed to the local park to give her exactly what she dreamed of. There was cake, ice cream sandwiches, pies, and every sugary treat she and Vi could sneak from the bakery.

Vi made sure the kids had games to play, prizes to win, and enough juice boxes to hydrate a small army. A few parents joined too, lingering under the trees with smiles and paper plates.

It was a perfect day.

The little strawberry inside you seemed thrilled about the cherry pie you couldn’t stop eating, shifting happily with each bite.

──────────────────────

You were thirty-eight weeks along when labor started.

It was early morning—barely 4 a.m.—and the house was still and dark. You woke to what you thought was just another false contraction. You’d had plenty in the last few days, but this one didn’t fade.

It tightened. Eased. Then came back, stronger.

You lay there in the quiet, watching the ceiling, counting seconds, trying not to panic.

When you finally nudged Vi awake, she groaned sleepily. “You okay?”

You nodded, strangely calm. “I think it’s time.”

She shot up like she had been zapped, nearly falling out of bed. “What? Now? Like now now? Should I call your mom? Or—wait—what bag do we bring again?!” She was already halfway across the room, barefoot in boxers and an inside-out hoodie.

You tried to laugh but winced through another contraction. “Maybe… start with pants.”

Vi was a blur of nerves and adrenaline. Ivy woke up groggy but thrilled, clutching her stuffed bear and asking if she’d become a big sister today. Jinx arrived to stay with her while Vi practically sprinted down the street to get the car.

Everything felt surreal. The world had narrowed down to Vi’s voice urging you to breathe, to hold on, to squeeze her hand as hard as you needed.

By the time you reached the hospital, it all blurred together—nurses, machines, steady beeping, Vi’s thumb brushing across your knuckles. “You’ve got this, baby. I’m right here.”

Hours passed, or maybe minutes. Pain. Pushing. Breath held.

And then—crying.

Not yours. Not Vi’s.

A new sound.

Small. Fierce. Alive.

Vi’s hand trembled as she cut the cord. She was crying. You were crying. Even the nurse had misty eyes as your daughter was placed gently on your chest.

She was perfect.

Vi leaned in, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead, her cheeks wet with tears. “She’s here,” she whispered, voice shaking with awe. “She’s really here.”

You looked down at the baby in your arms—eyes barely open, fist curled tightly around your finger—and felt something deep within you settle. Something warm, immovable, and endless.

──────────────────────

You were exhausted—your body aching, your eyelids heavy—but no matter how tired you felt, you couldn’t stop staring at your baby. Every time you blinked, you were afraid you’d miss something.

She was perfect. A head full of soft hair, the chubbiest cheeks you’d ever seen, and the tiniest fingers curled tightly into fists as she slept against your chest. She smelled like warmth and new beginnings, and you could’ve sworn your heart had grown three sizes just holding her.

The door creaked open, but you didn’t look up. You couldn’t tear your eyes away.

“Mommy, Mommy, look what we brought you,” Ivy whispered excitedly, her voice barely containing the buzz of her excitement.

Vi had gone home to pick up a change of clothes for you, to check in on Jinx and Ivy. In her arms were a bunch of pink balloons with It’s a Girl! written in bubbly letters, trailing glittery ribbons behind her as she stepped into the room.

“She wouldn’t let me out the door without her,” Vi said with a soft laugh. “And the doctor said it was okay for you to have some special visitors.”

Ivy approached your bed with uncharacteristic gentleness, carefully climbing onto the edge without jostling you. Her eyes were wide, filled with awe as she peered at the newborn swaddled in your arms.

“Ivy,” you said softly, “meet Aisla—your sister.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “She’s so pretty. She looks like a little fairy.”

Her words made your heart squeeze.

You glanced over at Vi, who was watching the two of you with a smile so full of pride it nearly brought tears to your eyes. She looked at you like she still couldn’t believe this was real—this family, this moment, this love.

“Do you want to hold her?” you asked Ivy gently.

Ivy gasped and nodded eagerly. “Can I? Really?”

“Yes, you’re a big girl now,” Vi said softly, stepping closer and helping guide Ivy’s arms as you carefully placed the baby into her big sister’s lap. Ivy sat perfectly still, like she was holding something made of stardust—too precious to even breathe on.

“She’s so little,” she whispered. “Hi, baby Aisla. I’m Ivy. I’m gonna teach you all kinds of stuff.”

You smiled through the tears welling in your eyes. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Vi wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple as the three of you watched Aisla sigh in her sleep, completely content in the arms of the sister who had already claimed her with every ounce of love she had.

──────────────────────

masterlist - part two - part four

[cosmiclily]

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ the colorama in your eyes, takes me on a moonlight drive.

cw  #  18+ mdni, fakegirlfriend!vi, this contains smut at some point, tribbing, fingering, titty love, dirty talk, slight dumbification?, soft!dom vi, switch!reader, use of marijuana, drunk-kissing, vi gives you tons of nicknames, swearing, reader has a crush on a straight girl for the plot, vi used to date sarah fortune, collage, hockey au.

wc: 20,809 // masterlists // playlist

an # this was my first long fic and to be honest, i love it with all my heart so i hope you do too, fake dating is one of my favorite tropes lol it's long really so yeah grab your snacks and enjoy the ride?? jocks dont get tested for drugs in this universe bc i say so. if you read the 20k words, know that we are bonded for life. again, if you recognize this from before: it's because my old account vicorices got deleted thanks to tumblr fuckery. welcome back boo.

"can you pretend you want me?"

the air is thick at eleven o'clock, and violet tries to remember why she's there again, drinking warm beer from a plastic cup while she listens to her friend tell the same story she repeats over and over when she had a drink or two, even when it's plain wednesday — right. powder.

her sister wanted moral support to socialize, giving vi a hard time now that she was left there with a couple of friends from the team, with no sign of her sister nowhere close to be seen.

"sorry, can you pretend you want me?" vi doesn't really notice she's being talked to until you place yourself in front of her vision. the sound of your voice clearer than the music. "quick. it's a matter of life or death."

"excuse me-" her brows furrow in question "what did you say?"

"fuck- one minute," there's no much time to think about it when you're invading her space suddenly, even in front of her friends as you make her corner you against the brick wall of the frat house, one vi didn't pay much attention to until now — "pretend you want me for a minute, please."

it happens so fast she has no room to say anything, cause you're talking to her one time only to yank her away from her teammates the other in the weirdest request she's ever had from a girl, yet from up close, vi's able to look at you under the dim lights that changed colors: yeah she can do that, she can pretend she's into you.

she suffers from this hero syndrome that compels her to help people out, so she's playing the part by heart, with a purpose now cause why the fuck no? you're pretty, and the color on your eyes is nice to look at, takes her briefly to the moon as she's leaning against you, prying on you with a hungry look.

"who are you trying to seduce?" she asks politely, but her actions seem far from gentleness when she's leaning against your neck, nose catching on the smell on your skin as her hands find your waist.

"the red haired," you breathe out thankful that she's following you around, and your fingers find a strand of her hair to twirl it in your digit, slightly pulling on it as you speak. you're licking on your lips, doe eyes as a smile tugs on the corner of your lips, flirting, you are flirting — "the one with curls talking with the girl on a yellow dress. don't look."

yeah you're pretty. of course you fucking are, cause vi has no trouble in not looking, fixated by the softness of your skin, how pliant you are in her arms in a situation that turns everything that was boring in a experience.

"is she seeing us?" she asks you again "your girl. she watching you?"

she's being kind she thinks, cause that's new. not many girls came out of nowhere asking stuff like that, so forward, and vi is a girl's girl after all. of course she's going to help you out to get a girl jealous, in fact, she hope a pretty girl like you could get what you wanted by the end of the night, the curly redhead or whatever.

"yeah i think so, she's going to walk behind you any moment" you let her know, low enough so she can hear you now because she's so damn close out of sudden it gives vi enough time to press a kiss against the crook of your neck, that spot where your shoulder meets your neck and she can feel you shivering beneath her hands, because she never would do that on a girl she just met, one that she didn't even knew her name, but she's helping you out due to boredom so who she is to ever judge?

the scent of your perfume hit her nostrils and it really seems like it — that she wanted you. she manages to be gentle even when she's trying to look fully into you and by your smile, vi's sure she made it good.

"i think she looked," you stated proudly. removing yourself from her arms as quickly as you jumped in them, looking at the direction your curly girl left "thank you, really saved me there."

"who's that, your ex girlfriend or something?" she asks curiously, forgetting about her warm beer now rotting in the cup she forgot somewhere in between the acting.

"no, that's my roommate" you quickly explain, "straight."

"well that's tough, my regards on your death wish" vi nose wrinkles and her expression makes you laugh cause deep down, you also know you're doomed. "so she looked huh? congratulations, now you just have to brainwash her entirely."

"very funny," you roll your eyes in response "i'm playing my cards right, you'd be surprised."

"right" she teases, "so that's why you're asking a total stranger to act like a one night stand, good tactic i'd fall for it."

"we've shared ten minutes," and vi's holding on a chuckle when you seem to have a response for every single one of her comments, endearing "i think we're not really strangers no more, it makes us friends now."

"i'm violet, vi" she would assume everyone knew her name already since she's been winning game after game this season and hockey's a big thing for piltover's university, but you don't really seem to know her when you're saying your name as a formal introducing, weirdly enough, right after she just kissed your skin like a long time lover.

"are you here on your own, vi? cause my friends ditched me for hook-ups, and you seemed bored too."

now that she looks back at it — she should have said something like she was too busy, that she was heading home already or something like that. end up things right away before she got stung on the neck, but to be fair, you're fun to be with, you're pretty and she could use a friend that don't talk about hockey for a while, so she accepts, saying something about her beer tasting like mud, making you go and join her to find alcohol in a frat house already full of people.

it was a slip, a mistake maybe, but by the hour she's sure you're a long-lost friend, like a limb vi has lost somewhere in her lifetime. you're a little weirdo who knows about a lot of art and won't ever spend time, willingly watching any kind of sports. the kind of girl who remembers the speech from a movie, but's unable to name the schedule you took in the semester from memory.

"so you're an art kid?" she questions you, "i've never been in that part of the campus."

"yeah, we're pretty hidden" you admit, taking a sip from the beer you found in the freezer "jocks don't go to places like that."

"interesting fact, so you know i play hockey?"

"of course i know who you are, vi" you end up saying after a moment of silence, seated comfortable in the small cement bench as you smoke from the joint she invited you to smoke outside after an hour or so "but i have to play cool too, otherwise i'll feed your ego and you're not even the captain of the hockey team. i'm afraid to said i don't live under a rock."

you seem almost proud of saying it, and vi forgets about how powder had to drag her there, push and almost threat to get her out of bed when she lets out a loud laugh of pure entertainment — to be honest vi's going through a break-up from almost three months ago, so yeah, it's fair she regretted showing up at first, she don't want to see sarah, not even by mistake, but her ex is not around and she's utterly having fun for a chance.

"ah, you cheated on me," vi tries to act all hurt when in reality she's actually enjoying this random act of honesty, simple fun "that's bad girl behavior i'm sorry- trying to get a straight girl? lying to my face? you're truly a menace."

"shut up, she's coming."

"who, again?"

"ava my straight roommate- fuck" it's cute when you panic, passing her the joint concerned of your state "do i look high? too bad? look interested in me or else i'll cry. i mean it, vi."

and she's going to protest, say some stupid joke now that you know each other a bit more, that you've warmed up, but ava's there and you're greeting her all handsy and shit, having to hold on the laugh when you blatantly lie saying you didn't see her around until now. crazy little liar.

"she's vi," you presented her, and to hell because she has to act all clingy again, wrapping her arm around your waist only to pull you between her spread legs, chest pressing against your side as you think quickly, out of pure nervousness before adding,"my girlfriend."

it makes vi choke on the smoke. her grip tightening as she hides the puzzled look on her face and you give her that look of oh-god-have-i-fucked-up-my-entire-life? in slow motion — "vi, this is ava, my roommate."

"hi."

you're dragging her into a mess and all she can do is mutter a silent what-the-fuck against your shoulder as she greets ava with a smile, keeping you against her chest cause well: she's your girlfriend it supposes, and vi would never be a shitty lover, fake or not.

"nice seeing you guys around, you too vi, glad to meet you" and maybe she's too high already vibing with it, but vi can smell the flirting in the air when your roommate talks directly to you "gonna make pasta when i come home, do you want some?"

"sure, thank you ave. you can leave it in the kitchen counter."

"no worries. i got you."

vi waits until the girl's inside before giving you that look. the look of not understanding shit, of being clueless as you turn around almost begging for mercy, leaning in her embrace knowing you were the one who seek for more trouble in the first place.

and a hockey player should be aware of everything, so vi should've seen it before, way before when she's not really uncomfortable with you seated between her legs, unaware of the rest of the party already gossiping — what's vi doing with a girl like you anyway?

"please?" you try after a long moment of silence, and she already knows what you're asking.

"no," vi shakes her head almost at the same time. "d'you know how exhausting is to fake something like that? it's like having a real girlfriend, have you seen the movies?"

"vi," you cry out, looking back at her with puppy eyes. "i'll make it easy i promise, no weird stuff i'm begging you."

"don't you have another friend that could help you out with this?" she asks, furrowing her brows. "i helped you out, miss. but you're taking advantage of my good heart."

"most of my friends are straight, and the only lesbian in my life has a girlfriend already, ava knows them so it wont work" you explain making vi follow up on a story she wasn't really involved at first. "please, if you ever need a lung you can have mine, i'll give you my first born even if you want to-"

"and what do i get? seriously here cause having a girlfriend don't really mix well with girls in campus, you're ruining my sex life also."

"don't you have one person that you'd like to make jealous too?" you plant a seed on her brain that spreads like the black plague on it's peak time "c'mon, maybe it can work out for you too, think about it."

she stays silent for a while cause your words hits the jackpot. vi's mind drifts back to sarah, and she quickly thinks about the benefits of having a fake girlfriend that would make her real ex see that she did, in fact move on already.

"two weeks top, we can break up after" you beg again at her thoughtful look, and you do it so nicely vi's tempted to act reluctant one more time only to have you trying to coax her with another crazy argument "i mean it, and you can say you're the one who dumped me even, don't really care- please vi. two weeks. two weeks and then we say something like we don't match well."

it's weird cause once again she wonders: what the fuck is she doing there in the first place when it's wednesday? right.

"yeah?" you smile already celebrating at the lack of her denial "is that a yes? you'll be my fake girlfriend then?"

fucking powder.

by the next day, violet vanderson regrets being so kind to people she just met, almost a callout cause how did she become friends with you after just one night? you're exchanging numbers and suddenly you're on her phone and it's simple as smoking a joint and laugh in a boring ass party.

two weeks.

she just have to resist two weeks.

it's not like it's torture. not at all. maybe she's just being dramatic for no reason. dating sarah in the past has brought nothing but problems to her, so your help is also needed, vi has business to attend too and she can use a fake girlfriend even when it seems a ridiculous idea at first.

her phone buzzes on top of the desk before she falls asleep in the middle of microbiology and she lazily comes up to read the screen:

it's not like you're not funny to be around. cute even with the attitude and a silly crush on a straight girl that most likely will fall for you in the end — she could use a girlfriend, a fake one so she can spare the drama in her life.

with a sigh, she reads the first texts.

she hides the phone beneath the table to not be rude, biting the latex glove on her hand to get it off and text you comfortably. the taste grosses her out.

she can imagine the annoyed look on your face, the same one you gave her when she joked about not wanting to give you her own number, having to bite her lip as she prevents an smile.

dramatic. she's almost enjoying messing with you even when she should be paying attention, receiving a random poke for her lab partner before muttering a low — sorry!

dina's looking at her with her brows already furrowed, and vi knows how much her lab partner hates when she's not paying attention as their final grade depends on their work as a team, so she don't mind it much when she answers quickly before shoving her phone back in the pocket of her lab coat.

thing is, vi may or may not forgot about it later. you texted at nine in the morning — of course by five she's going to forgot, so when you appear with a radiant smile holding out your bag with what she guessed was full of art supplies or shit like that, vi didn't expect you to be so confident to walk into a practice like you did, nor being teased by her own teammates because yeah: why's a pretty girl seated in the benches waving at her?

too distracting, she warned you about it, but vi has the feeling you are not very good at listening.

you're there twenty minutes earlier and you're not even paying attention to what they're doing. too busy looking into your stuff to be even looking at her having to endure all twenty minutes of pure hell.

"is that your new girlfriend, vi? she cute."

“shut up and leave her alone.”

so of course after that, she’s taking you by the hand despite all the jokes, yanking you outside as she walks away from practice and got back to her motorbike.

“sorry for coming earlier,” you say when she’s helping you put on the helmet. “my class got cancelled and i was bored.”

bored. she thinks about it, because you’re literally walking in a practice full of lesbians and they all notice a pretty girl right away, yet, instead of saying something on that, she looks at you before lowering the face shield on your head and instead mutter once again — “you’re too distracting to come earlier to practice, 'told you about it.”

limits. vi's sure you two need to settle basic limits by the time she's parking on rims — she has to focus harder though when you're pressed against her back, arms securely wrapped around her waist without leaving much space between the two of you. she could feel the tension on each curve, how you loudly spoke to make her follow the speed limits.

so anytime of the day vi would hate coming to rims, but on a thursday noon and with the place already full of people from the university talking loudly, she has nothing to whine about, not when you're grabbing her by the hand, making her walk to the entrance fingers laced.

"do you come here a lot?" she asks curiously, letting you walk in front of her, usually she has a rather sharp opinion on places like that, full of pretentious people that tried too hard to satisfy the others.

"hell no, but they do have good food so i order for takeout" you admit before spotting a booth "sit next to me, sitting in front of each other is boring, 'sides we have to make it believable."

and to be fair with her own self, vi's deep down amazed by how easy you make it look. how unfazed you are for a moment when you grab her hand to walk like you've been around her from ages ago, like you've shared confidence for more time than just mere hours the night before, so it's not really awkward nor strange to her. it's getting natural.

"now that we're here i was wondering if you'd like to discuss some rules" you state before even checking on the menu "i was thinking throughout class, and i kinda believe we should make a plan or something, establish some basics like when are going to meet and shit, i know where ava's going after her classes, what about you and your golden girl? does she have a schedule you know?"

you're wasting no time in jumping into plan after plan already making a calendar up together so you can check on her free times, but vi's hungry as ever when she's looking at the menu instead of listening to you, debating if she should have the cheesecake for dessert or maybe ice cream since it's sunny outside.

"which hamburger did you try already? it was good?" the change of subject makes you stop making plans on your own to check the menu right over your shoulder, pointing out the one with pink bread who looks weird enough to avoid it — "you sure it was good? seems weird to me."

"yes, pay attention, this is important" you reply, looking back to the paper you're using to write down on their supposed rules: a paper tablecloth from the table you reversed to use on the white part. "rules. what do you think?"

"i can't think with empty stomach," vi replies trying to make eye contact with a waitress so she can come by and take their order "and i want to object too, because you said it was going to be easy, and doing this stuff does not seem easy to me."

"please we're organizing, this is not the treaty of versailles" it makes her laugh for a moment, and there it is once again, the same feeling on the party of having a good time even when you're being a pain in the ass. "it's not even that much, we just have to make our plans for the week and establish things we dislike; for example, i'll arrive to your practice in time, and, in your case i'm not ever ridin' your bike again so i can avoid having a heart attack."

vi's too hungry to defend herself from the sudden reluctance to her bike, practice leaves her in need of a nap, so she's looking at you with a clearly unpleased face until one of the waitresses finally comes and takes their order quickly.

"where are we going to spend time together? here?" she asks trying to be helpful as she thinks about more defining points now that she secured food "how many times during the week? i can text you my schedule if you need it, i'm usually free by five thirty during practice days."

you're writing it down on the paper and she can see your messy handwriting as you put down the important.

"do you have a problem with seeing each other everyday? try at least" you propose still looking at the written words for a moment before looking back at her — "an hour tops. not in here but to do random things, things that couples do. ave goes to the mall a lot, also to the library so she can study, if she sees us? i'm putting you in my will vi, swore it on my childhood dog."

"i'll tell you if i can't" vi nods, taking on mental notes as she's too lazy to write like you do "are you going to send me a photo of your notes?"

"yes. what about parties?" the points seems to come on their own as you write again "are we the kind of couple that party together and sneak out for kisses in the middle of the night, or the one that parties on their own because we're all about having private lives."

"party together and sneak out for kisses" vi replies without much thinking "we're dating recently, it's our honeymoon phase. so you're partying with me."

"we're also not falling in love" you state, casual as ever as you write it down — "i'm serious."

"we're not falling in love" she agrees with your words, looking at the food arriving to the other people "that only happens in bad movies."

"good. almost forgot," you also add before the food arrives, "put me as your lockscreen."

"huh?"

"your lockscreen vi, on your phone" you point out to your very own screen "give it to me, i'll put a nice picture, i need one of yours too."

jesus. she didn't have that with sarah — in fact, she always had the same picture that came with the phone by default, a blue gradient she don't bother in changing, yet she's giving you her phone willingly, and you're putting it side to side with yours, looking at your own pictures only to check which one will look better as her background.

it's serious as ever.

you seem to cover every single thing she misses, and by the end of it, vi's stomach roars before the food finally arrives and she's drowning in pleasure, devouring until there's nothing in her plate and you've barely even beginning to have a bite.

"what are you writing?" she enquires, trying to look as she's right next to you.

"you have to eat before seeing me cause you don't know how to eat when you're too hungry."

“you’re always bugging me” she rolls her eyes at the comment — “sure you aren't a bug?”

"very funny violet, now that you look slightly presentable, there's a girl looking at you" you casually state "she's making me nervous too, by the way. on your right, don't be obvious."

she knows who you're talking about before seeing her, cause sarah's gaze burn on her neck as vi, subtle as ever, look from over her shoulder only to confirm what she already knows: that's her ex girlfriend looking — and she knows that look from before too, that question in her expression cause she know sarah's wondering why she's there with a girl on the fucking rims? looking all cozy as ever.

"well ava's not here- what happened?" you're quick to pick up on the weirdness of all, how vi seems to stiffen in the booth, forgetting about her nice fries to instead, cross her arms on top of the table, trying to act unbothered "who is she?"

"that's sarah fortune, my ex girlfriend."

"you're shitting me? that's your ex girlfriend?" vi has to resist the need to give you a bad look before your eyes widen in response "your golden girl? you want to go back with your ex?"

"no please," she scrunches her nose, hating to give too many explanations "i want to make sure she gets i'm much over her, seen publicly with you so she will leave me alone."

"oh," you seem to understand for a moment, and vi wonders how you switched so quickly to insist on plans and rules, to leave them aside in a mere seconds and instead, look interested in her instead — "you have ketchup on your mouth."

the act itself is so simple when your fingers trace the corners of vi's mouth, black nails painted that swiped the red sauce from her skin before you leave a soft kiss in her cheek. one that makes vi gasp since it's so sudden, subtle when you're getting handsy like you did with ava the night before, body language speaking volumes when your legs drape over her's and you don't care about the rest, cause you're reducing your world to vi only and fuck's sake, it makes her oblivious to sarah for a moment, letting you look at her with those very same doe eyes, that horny look on your face you gave her when she was leaving a single kiss on your neck the night before.

"so your ex means trouble, i get it" you say in a low chuckle, cleaning the rest of your lipstick in vi's skin "tell me when it's too much, okay? limits."

what both of you don't really notice is that sarah actually left by the first touch, still resting in your fake girlfriend's side cause vi's warm — like the sun in a sunday morning, comfortable as the pillows on your bed.

it's not a torture, it's not fair to even say it as a joke. vi's just being dramatic, she knows it when she's asking for your weekend plans, already counting you in her own.

"are you going out with me on saturday night?" of course you fucking are.

by friday morning it's impossible not to think about you when you're on her phone every time she unlocks it. long hair, big smile as you look up to the camera, the angle is cute, and it makes vi stare at it during various times of the day, blushing when your name pops up on the screen and she’s forced to see you again.

you’ve been texting a lot since yesterday about important stuff — birthday dates and basic family names so neither will be reduced to misery if asked, but by twenty-seven minutes in, texting shifts in random jokes and casual conversations with the excuse to think about things you can do with her. together.

and vi does not protest cause despite being a fake relationship, she does want to be your friend, so in the end she sees nothing wrong with talking to you like a friend would. she's pretty much stuck with you for more than a week and a half, so she better get used to it if you're going to be glued to her by the hip.

you don't see her on friday despite your plans of seeing her everyday, but vi's there by saturday night, outside your dorm building ready to text you about how annoyed she is by all the time you're taking to leave, but before she could reach her phone you go out using this black skirt that got vi double checking for a moment, forgetting momentarily about her random anger as you greet her and grab her jacket to make her walk as she stands there for a good amount of time.

“c’mon walk, we have work to do ava’s already in your party” you say, dragging her as you leave no room to protest “my tummy hurts but i’m trying to give my best here, hope that sarah’s there too cause i’m going all in.”

lately, vi's been avoiding going out too much, tried to when she craves silence by the night, too boring now when she mainly talks and flirts when feeling adventurous, it’s weird now when she usually wants the solitude of a night where she can listen to her own thoughts, but you’re sipping on your drink, walking by her side as you tell her about a bad experience you went through high school with your best friend drunk-kissing you, and she don’t really care about the loud music nor the people.

it’s fun. she’d said it before, fun as ever when she’s saying hi to friends she haven’t seen since sarah broke up with her, laughing with some members of the hockey team as she has you close by; and deep down vi hopes sarah’s there too — you’re with her and she doubt she’s going to try and talk to her with the way you’re seated on her lap laughing with the rest, notice after so many tries, that she's ready to keep moving on.

“do you play poker or something like that?” ava’s looking at you from across the room every once in a while, and even as you are unaware of it, it's something vi's quick to pick up when she's leaning towards you, talking to you closer than before — “blackjack?”

“no, not really,” you reply as sevika’s mixing up the card deck — “i’m not lucky when it comes to games.”

it’s funny now that you’re pointing it out, ironic as your ass is pressed against her legs and ava’s looking at the interaction through the corner of her eye, cause it seems like it is a game. your skirt rises through your thighs and vi grabs you by the waist, comfortable enough to keep you there while concentrating in the game.

“here, come play with me i’ll teach you” she makes you get even closer, pointing out the cards silently as she explains you the basics of the game. and it seems like a secret, even you are eating it up as you cannot really concentrate in all the things she's saying. “it’s not really that hard, isn’t?”

“so if my cards add up and i’m over twenty one, you lose fictional money?” you asks to her contentment “it’s all you have to do? stay under or in the number twenty one?”

“well mostly bug, you got the basics. the important thing is getting a number higher than sevika,” she whispers in your ear. “you get that, and i’ll have her doing my laundry for the week.”

is it the drink that makes you bolder? that slowly blurry the lines of a fake relationship? you're aware ava's looking now, of the warmth of vi's hands against your skin before you're concentrating to play along her game, staring at the two cards in the table, fifteen.

"do you think it's safe to ask for another card?" vi seems pleased to get you understand the game, pointing to sevika's cards at the other side of the table — eighteen.

"we have to do so, she has a bigger number."

she uses two fingers to tap on the table twice as a way of saying she wants another card, and your breathing hitches when you see the number five being added to her cards: twenty.

exhaling from the tobacco hanging on her lips, sevika's next card is a seven, too far from the original twenty one as she seems annoyed by it, quickly suggesting another round.

"another?" vi turns to asks you like the fate it's really in your decisions, and you pretend to think about it for a second, nodding after— "yeah go on."

when it's too much? the music's loud, the drinks are nice and you've been craving that too long, the warmth of somebody else. it's all a damn whirlwind as vi's looking at you, expectant from an answer as you look at her cards, nineteen. against sevika's twelve, you shake your head in denial.

"too dangerous, stay there" you reply, and honestly its basic math when sevika becomes greedy and takes too many cards from the deck and she pulls a twenty two.

vi wins a lot more times after that. so much she's getting excited now that she's on a streak and people around start paying attention to the little game they put up in a dirty table, ava's looking, the rest is looking: it's just a rush of the adrenaline, one that mixes you up entirely, cause after being called her lucky charm, you're looking her and vi knows — knows that look already.

"permission to kiss you," it does not need much wording than that, but it makes vi's head spin when it catches her off guard, her usual rough demeanor faltering for a moment cause she's smiling right against your lips for a second and it's all the invitation needed.

ava. ava fucking ava's gaze burns in the back of your neck, but vi does not care about it when her mouth parts in a devastating kiss, rough and demanding as her fingers tightens against your jaw and she's angling you to a better and more comfortable position, tongue colliding against yours in a kiss you're quick to follow, a competition maybe as you push against her mouth and the game seems to go on without the two of you giving in.

fake girlfriends kiss, right? they have to. she has to follow the plot, stick to the plan. it helps you're on her lap cause her hand's are on your waist and she's pulling you closer, luring you to rest on top of her.

and by the time you're pulling out, your lips are swollen and vi's drinking from your beer now, joining the game once again like she didn't just kissed you dumb in the middle of a party full of people who knows her, like that wasn't the hottest thing you've ever experience.

it makes your hands sweaty, ava's blushing and vi has to pretend, concentrated in the taste of cold beer in her mouth, that she cares about winning the game as sevika's already drunk, betting on her metal arm.

fake girlfriends kiss, right?

right.

it haunts her after.

it plagues her mind when she already decided on the excuse she’s going to say after her acts on saturday: she was following an act, despite her shields you don't text until tuesday and you've been texting her so much before that it's weird now not to receive a text, anything at all.

she knows it may be lot anyway cause people started to talk about it — the sudden relationship of the rising star of hockey, the low profile girl that seems to get her crazy enough to kiss her publicly, and it's what she wanted anyway, what she agreed on.

sarah's away, your straight friend must be turned on as ever, not even a week and the plan is working, surprisingly enough. everything's working despite the strange sensation on the pit of her stomach.

she can't even talk it with her friends anyway: what would she say? that she accepted to be your fake girlfriend cause you needed an extra help getting your straight girl? that she's panicking cause she kissed you in a middle of a blackjack game? sounds like a joke.

she cannot avoid you either way, so by four she’s hidden in her grey hoodie, pushing the library door only to find you already working on your own.

"are you drawing uh-bones?" vi curiosity peaks when she watches over your shoulder what are you so invested in drawing "that's pretty accurate."

"why didn't you bring your laptop?" you question, furrowing your brows together in an inquisitorial way. "we're exchanging favors, i'm not drawing bones for good will."

"my laptop?"

"you forgot" you roll your eyes as she's sitting in front of you "we talked about it on saturday vi, about helping you out with this class where you need to draw, you're doing my essays of art history in return?”

and vi doesn't really remember when she told you about it, but she knows what you mean because she's falling behind on anatomy where she needs to draw parts of the body each week to learn them by memory, and she sucks at it to the point she's ashamed on presenting hard, humble work and pass it with the lowest score out of pity: when did she told you about that?

it's random because she don't really admit when she's struggling with a class like — ever. almost a secret she wishes to keep to herself 'cause she don't want people finding out about her weakest links.

"you remember about walking me home right?" it was just slightly blurry, pursing her lips together as she becomes aware of the lack of memories close to the end of the party "i'm offended, you forgot about the most important part cause you're doing my history tasks."

her drunk self it's intelligent cause your drawings are pretty good to the point she stares at them to a moment before adding — "in that case, you need to make your draw ugly, cause if it’s too good it won't be believable."

“i’m doing what i can” you roll your eyes as you pause your working “it’s our academic deal still going? kind of need the essays.”

“yeah, it’s on” and quite frankly, it’s a help she much needed when she’s looking at your notes to go and see what the essay must be about.

“it’s for friday, you told me this is for thursday- or your drunk self sabotages you?” vi shows you her middle finger before she can spot the smile on your lips, you're teasing her — “thursday okay. how it's going on with sarah by the way? is she giving you any trouble at all?"

"no, it seems she get the message" vi admits thoughtful. "people is talking about us, so i don't think she'll come close anyway. she's got a big ego."

"yeah well, everyone's calling me your girl" you point out, scrunching your nose at the nickname, and vi blushes at the news "so i bet she heard about it already too."

"and how's everything going with ava?"

"she's weird" you state “you think our kiss scared her? haven’t talked to her since the party, we talked a lot when i came home that night.”

vi chokes for a second before shaking her head, the kiss, you say it so normally — “uh, no. no i don’t think so- maybe she’s falling in love with you.”

“be for real violet, do you hate me?” you dramatically say as she steals a pencil from your case and you gave her a bad look — “there’s tension i think, that or i’m being delusional, there’s no in between.”

“is she here or what?”

“she’ll be in like thirty minutes, wanted to be subtle” business, a fake relationship is pure business. vi needs to remind herself the very same when she’s gathering the books she’ll need to start out on renaissance art she don't know a thing about, lazily reading titles as she curses on her own past self, knowing she hates doing essays or anything that involves writing a decent paragraph.

vi’s mind however works on its own when she's looking at your lips again, sitting in front of you before you can say something about being close cause she's already counting on the days before her death.

you don't want to talk about it, she don't want to do it either, so instead, vi let you dive her in an ocean of comfortable silence when she's working with most of your materials, highlighting important information fighting the need to close her eyes.

"resist don't fall asleep," she has no choice to comply when your feet rubs on hers beneath the table, an action that does not go unnoticed when ava's sitting in the table right next to the two of you: that’s thirty minutes already? how? "you okay there? i know art history's like taking a stab on the guts."

your caress from under the table don't really ceases when you talk, and vi's thankful of not choosing the seat next to you as it would've make her bewildered already.

"it's good to know at least you know how to make your deals" she praises, leaving the pencil against the table as she closes the book in front of her — "my brain is fried, i need to work on a laptop. can i borrow yours?"

she should get a badge, a medal or something like it that acknowledges her hard work in enduring the stupidity of having a fake relationship when your hand reaches out to her arm on top of the table to trace invisible patterns as you look up to her.

"i'll bring it tomorrow, maybe this time we could go to a cafe near here, the library can be sleep-indulgent" you suggest, "or are you going to work on the essay on your own?"

"tomorrow is fine, i don't have practice" she replies, and as much as she don't want to bring it up, she'd like to talk about your absence, about the kiss and the physical limits of your fake relationship, but she lets you push her around, demanding more touches as she cannot say no, not when your skin is soft against her and she has to keep this story of being your girlfriend letter by letter.

"text me when you're done" you say before showing her the draws you made for her anatomy classes already— "i'll have the rest for tomorrow, and you can fill me up on the next ones that come for the next week."

she brought this on herself.

you're everywhere.

in her phone when she has to unlock it, her messages every hour, her teammates ask for you, even fucking dina knew and that was a lot since she don't follow much on the uni gossip lately.

everywhere until you're all.

vi's perfectly capable of being an adult and not hold feelings for you no matter how difficult it ends up being. mainly because she refuses to be a cliche of any sort so she keeps most of her feelings on check, even when the night comes and she finds herself thinking about that saturday-night-kiss, the touches in a library, the sarcasm in your playful banters like a routine now after the days pass on by.

the world keeps on going, the earth keep it's course spinning, the moon is up in the sky and vi's trapped in the same thoughts after ten o'clock when the silence is loud, and you stop responding to her texts because you fall asleep faster than anyone she has ever seen in her life: how does she fight becoming a damn cliché when she's so near you all the time?

your activities are endless and she keeps up with every single one of them, going to the cinema cause ava got a date there, late goings to your apartment like your stablished girlfriend cause ava’s crashing and watching movies in her room, dragged her to the mall claiming you needed help to pick out some outfits as a friend more than a fake girlfriend, even inviting her to smoke from your weed now as you've shared a lot of time together by the end of the week.

and it's clear vi's on a car with no brakes at all cause she's doing important things during the day — so why does she stop in the middle of nowhere cause something little reminded her of you? something she keeps to herself like a secret and don't comment on it with no one else, abby likes to makes fun of her romantic fool behavior so she keeps it to herself.

that's how the coach's saying to her now, #08, VANDERSON: romantic fool.

friends, when was the last time she had a friendship like you? never.

she has never experienced a relation like that with nobody she knew from before. she don't really crave kissing on her friends, she don't struggle to keep the hands to herself. it makes sense for a short period of two weeks, and it's good. it's what she wanted.

after the week left? that's trouble for vi from the future.

she's trapped in your essays even when she hates to do them every single minute of the hour, yet you're drawing on her side while you randomly talk sometimes and you're not even drawing for her anatomy class now, you're just there drawing on things you like on your little sketchbook while she's invested in getting you a good grade and make sense of what she's writing.

it's a routine now. she wants it to be a routine. her grades on anatomy are insanely good by the same week and it's weirder than ever cause you talk with your advances with ava and she's reminded of the fakeness of it all, how you're after another girl and she's once again left with questionable choices.

the thing is, vi can still feel the ghost of your kiss on her lips, the tenderness of it. you taste like beer and she begs to the god the time for that moment where everything stopped so she could feel the soft taste of your mouth again, dissolve beneath you like she did before, experience it all over again until her she's able to control that aching feeling on her chest of having you seated on a skirt right over her legs.

and she cannot decide if the lack of kissing is actually a good thing or a pain in the chest cause while it keeps her mind sane, her body yearns for a different kind of contact now she's not able to ever satisfy, not without risking mixing it all up and make it even more complicated.

she has to learn how to fake it more cause she's fucking awful at it.

so it's hard. hard as ever when she spends time with you for the sake of it, just cause you mentioned coffee and she would follow you wherever you'd say without hesitation — even the fucking rims.

that's why she's there anyway, before you arrive since you seem to be late. she's used to wait for you now, you're slightly bad at estimating your time.

"what happened? why are you so happy?"

"ava, she kissed a girl yesterday, can you believe it?"

"she did?"

"i know right? fun-fucking-tastic."

now. you're all fun when you're sitting next to her, spilling details about last night when ava's knocking on your door and slipping inside your bed to talk about how she's doubting her own feelings lately; a lame excuse to be close to you as you keep going about sleeping next to her, the feeling of having her close.

no she's not jealous. she's never actually jealous of anyone, but it's the slap on her face, a reminder of reality she needed for the day. fake girlfriend.

you're her fake girlfriend.

"it seems you did brainwashed her entirely, congrats" she jokes with you, because vi's not like that, because just like when you talked to her the very first time — she keeps believing you're pretty, and she still hopes you do get the girl you want in the end, the curly redhead or whatever.

"told you i was playing my cards right" she recognize that cheeky smile as you place an small cup in front of her — "black, no sugar" you point out already knowing her order now after so many times of getting it wrong or trying to make her try sweet, weird things on the menu, "my treat. you deserve it."

"close to kiss your straight girlfriend and all i get is black coffee?" violet teases, taking a sip of the still too-hot coffee "i'm hurt i'm not worth even a little piece of cake, bug. i saw the red velvet one."

"you still up for tomorrow?" you ask sipping on your own drink content as ever, like it is indeed the best thing you have ever tried — "i'll make you the best pasta i promise, so good you'll be begging for my recipe and i wont be able to share it you know? since it's a family secret."

"wouldn't dare to miss it."

"good. my place" you remind her before checking on your phone. "ava's going to a hike with some friends until tuesday, so we'll have the place alone."

"i won't forget, weirdo."

"i know you won't" and before she can say something you're standing, leaning down to hug her affectionate as usual — "you're like, the best fake girlfriend to ever exist. you never forget."

maybe it's a game, maybe not, but she cant ignore how her skin burns now beneath your kiss. vi's face turns red at the sudden intrusion and she can still feel the almost noticeable pressure from your lips against her cheek in a quick gentle goodbye-kiss, fingers against her face before pulling away.

"don't be late" you say now at a safe distance, waving your hand "see ya' tomorrow, text you later!"

and vi's torn cause she does want to go to your apartment that monday night, but she knows, heart-level-fucking-knows, she won't be able to ignore it all forever.

it's fair to say violet would be happy just to reach the end of it in one piece.

"do you like it? be honest" you ask staring at her only to see her physical reaction to your so-called best pasta in the world, and vi shakes her head in approval as the tomato sauce seems to add the perfect taste of it — "is that a yes? please elaborate."

"it's really good" she says, but in reality, she's too distracted by the way you cornered her out of nowhere as she arrive, making her try your food from a metal spoon you hold close to her mouth "you've been cooking all this time?"

"went to the market place, it's better with fresh ingredients" you explain as she marvels at the amazing smell in the kitchen as she's there not even five minutes ago "give me your rating."

"four and a half stars out of five," she answers "i like that you put a lot of spices on it. makes it smells really good and it adds to the flavor. i dig it."

"four? are you kidding me?" you take her opinion seriously, and vi cannot help but smile at your reaction “what’s wrong with it? what’s missing?”

“salt, maybe some rosemary” she suggest, making you think before reaching out to the cabinets where you keep species “but it’s good bug, i liked it a lot.”

“try again” no that's not an act. there's no one around. ava's not near, there's no one in the apartment, not a person close by to have you pulling up an act. no, that's you all over. that's you being close to her willingly as you take the spoon to dip it in the casserole slowly stirring under the fire, placing it close to her lips.

vi parts them to try the pasta once again, the perfect amount of salt and rosemary added now to the mix — “five stars, you happy now?”

“yeah i am” you reply cocky “shit. your shirt, it got stained” you use the same spoon to pick up on the sauce that fall into the cream-white fabric, but the stain’s already there, red and gigantic.

vi don’t really mind, but you’re apologizing and suggesting her to take one of your shirts instead and she cannot resist the idea of owning something you have, even borrowed, so she's dragging her shoes to your room, slower than ever cause she's curious in seeing what it is like, the clean spaces, the posters and the vinyls she spend a good time looking at before searching between your shirts.

and she’s there standing six minutes after using that paramore shirt you love, holding out a bag of weed with an almost shy smile cause now it's different, now she lacks of the motives to touch you freely like she does outside, pull you closer like she's used to.

"you brought weed?" you ask when you pay attention to her, checking the plates before taking both of them to the small table close to the sofa.

"it's an special occasion" vi replies 'cause it's true, on wednesday two weeks will pass and the deal will be officially over now and she's sure you cooking pasta means that very same — the fake break-up.

"we can't smoke inside."

"then outside, clinging to the window. you cannot say no to me."

"the balcony" you suggest before pointing out to the food — "but we eat first, it's not going to be that good if we leave now, it's a rule."

her stomach roars so she sits in the couch with nothing to say, leaving the weed in the table. the smell makes her mouth water cause it's so good it deserves to have all five stars, she's not really used to have artisanal pasta but it's good enough to want more, so much she believes in your words now when you said it's the best pasta in the world.

pathetic as ever cause she'd eat anything you cook for her no questions ask and rate it four and a half star just to piss you off.

"amazing, this is restaurant level pasta bug" vi praises, and it makes her breathing stop for a moment when she notices the nervousness in your actions soon after, the sweat in your hands when she handled you the weed to let you roll the joint after you eat.

"glad you like it" you say to her words "my family owns a pasta restaurant so we take it very seriously."

"that's why, so you're like a pasta prodigy or something-"

"oh shut up. you really are so annoying."

a piece of her dies on your couch that night, using her hand as a barrier so she's close to you with the excuse she's preventing the weed to fall on any sudden movement, and you're not saying anything when you're breathing close to her hands and your tongue darts out to lick the paper.

easy, everything you do you make it look so easy. talent after talent you seem to do everything right and it's such a turn on it's fucking insane. vi follows you outside and she chuckles when she notices the small balcony you talked about, cause she thought it would be a nice, comfortable place rather than a small spot that makes you stand close as ever when your chest is pressed against hers and you're smiling guilty as ever.

"we can smoke downstairs if you like" the only thing preventing her from falling are the thick, metal railings and it could trigger anyone's vertigo, but she focus on you instead of the three floors that separated her from the ground, being so close has all the ingredients to make anyone nervous, a thing she don't mind at all cause it's just what she needs, have you irrevocably close "don't want you dying all sudden violet. it's safer."

"we're fine here, i got you" vi replies, and her hand holds the railing behind you, keeping you safe too as you light up the joint. no, she don't mind being that close, and you don't either, comfortable as ever when you're smoking and the moon hits the back of your head so she has this image of you she wants to hold by heart.

it's on her memories, rooted in her chest now in stone cause the white cast glows against your hair and its like a vision there in the middle of the night. red, glassy eyes you stare at her for a moment with nothing to say, and she can feel the burn of your gaze in her skin, digging holes whenever you look as if you're trying to trespass her very being as she stares at you.

it's a new look, a look violet have never had the pleasure to experience before, one she's sure it's reserved for someone else — nonetheless you're there with her, in an small balcony smoking from her weed, so close she can see the moles on your skin now.

"who you bought that from?" you ask, alone now even the silence feels different, sharper and thicker than ever — "seems really good quality."

"it is," in reality, vi spend a good amount of money cause she wants to surprise you with something nice too, not a gift but a memory you can hold on to like a hidden treasure, and there in the small place with the moon radiating its ethereal glow, the weed leaves that taste of raspberry in her mouth and you're looking so beautiful in a shirt stained with flour and a big hoodie, zipping it all the way up to the middle trying to protect yourself from the cold currents of wind, it's already an outer world experience — "a friend from a friend- it's a long story, but if you want to i can get some for you."

vi would like to say it's the weather the one who's giving her the chills, but the way you look at her makes every hair on her body stand on its own and she becomes a victim of the electricity, of the tension that wraps the air around you and her. you're passing her the joint, smoking from it as she holds it between two fingers, and she's reminded once again of the kiss you've shared with her not so long ago, the need to angle your face again to make it fit perfectly against her own.

her brain is melting away slowly.

"are you going to keep being my friend after this, bug?" the question lingers in the air and she can see how you stop breathing for a second, the slight movement of your brows from up close as you seem to think about it, makes her hate the silence.

"do you want to be my friend?" there's a hint of wonder in your voice, and vi would take anything you offer, anything at all at this point so unsure already when she knows your heart belongs to someone else, someone she don't want to replace or steal you from "after bugging you all this time?"

"that was the deal at first, i do want to be your friend" the admission leaves you breathless, cause she's so forward with it, eyes piercing yours like she's trying to get inside your brain and hear your very own thoughts — "i'll keep doing your history essays even if you want to. happy to help."

it's pitiful cause vi has reached the level where she'd do something she hates dearly to keep you close, and when her words make you laugh, her heart stops in her chest for a whole minute, blue eyes following the movements of your lips as you shake your head.

"i'll help you out with anatomy, i don't mind. you don't need to do my essays, it's just an excuse to hang out with you."

her knees fail for a second, and her knuckles turn white from the force she's using to grip the railing behind you, believing she's the one who's going to end up dizzy enough to slip and fall, leaning against you as your arms surround her tightly, worried already.

"let's go down" you insist, but how does she explain it? how does vi explain the need to have you close? she needs the excuse, the pretense of being in an small space to have you close without giving away how very into you she really is "i'm serious vi."

"you're growing soft on me or what? i'm okay, my leg hurt from training, made a bad movement" you buy the excuse, still holding onto her by one arm now, finger hooked in her belt as a way to keep her secured of any random movement "you're going to keep your hand there?"

"yes, i am if your leg's being weird" you state, and vi cannot act pissed at the feel of your hand in her pants, the mere thought already making her head spin — "don't act like i'm dramatic, we've been in way more intimate situations and i'm making sure your feet stay there in the ground."

so she's leaning into you, making no movement to push you away: how could she ever choose to smoke with you downstairs when a tiny balcony is all that she needs to have you like that for twenty minutes? even when she's blushing at your blunt words, she don't care to hide it from your gaze already aware of the red that creeps upon her neck into your shirt.

"what are you thinking about?" vi asks trying to be casual about it "is the weed that good?"

"when's your next hockey match?" you reply — "next thursday?"

"yeah, by seven" she don't seem to understand it at first before you suddenly add: "do you want to break up next week instead of wednesday? i dunno, its not fair before the game don't want to make us look bad."

is it so evident you're trying to gain more days with her? is violet imaging it all?

"yes," she would take more weeks if you offered them, more dates in coffees, bad movies in cinemas, random story times in packed frat parties "yeah i think it's a good idea."

"good," you seem almost relieved by it, and she wonders why exactly when she's so evident when it comes to you, under your spell every single time you say something. "we'll talk which day next week, no rush."

"why are you surprised by it?" vi can't help but comment on it, scanning your face as she blurts out the words without much thinking "you know i'd do anything you say."

you're always all over, always too close and she don't mind it at all.

vi dies again a second time there, suffering from these little deaths in the worst moments as the silence fills the air again and you're looking at her with that eyes she knows so damn well already it makes her stomach flutter at the realization.

"what are you doing?"

"nothing" you do so little to hide it, the constant pull on your finger tugging on her belt, the natural light colliding against your skin. you do no effort in look somewhere else, drinking in the details of vi's face cause you already know it. too many cheek kisses, to many caresses under the premise it's an act "i'm doing nothing."

"why are you looking at me like that, huh?"

"i'm looking at you like i always do."

"there's no one around to pretend with" you don't really need a reminder as vi looks around trying to search for some other person looking "no, bug. this is you on your own so please tell me — is this how you usually look at all your friends?" her question lingers in the air for a second, and it hits you when she speaks again with a devastating truth, "like you want them to be a part of you?"

"you're a friend" you stumble in your own words, and even when the joint has already turned off, she doesn't pay attention to it as your words reach her racing heart "i don't- you know i don't look at them like that."

"then please care to tell me how you look at them" she insists "cause that look right there is a look you give when you've dreamed about someone, bug."

and your skin feels hot, but you're good to ignore it even when vi's pulling you closer, finally erasing the limits to fade into you instead, arms wrap around your waist with a gentleness that scares.

"tell me to stop" she cannot longer resist it by then, the car crashes in her head and there's nowhere to escape as she's trapped there in the pilot seat. it's monday and she cannot fight the need to say it, to taste the sweetness on your lips once again, the pliant curves of your body, the need to be one with you, blend into a mix — "please tell me that i'm a creep. that you don't want me around anymore after this."

"no," you're quick to shake your head as vi's hand slide down the side of your neck, thumb brushing over the pounding skin of your pulse point and it's so sudden by then, the way her breathing hoovers against your flesh leaving a single kiss on the crook of your neck — she's been there before, faking a kiss that was now very much real ones "no don't stop, please."

to hell with it. she's all fucking in.

"i see your face everywhere you know that? i hear your laugh in every quiet moment, smell your shampoo in my sleep" fuck the weed, fuck the joint and fuck the rest of the world when the words slip from her mouth as she works her way in sloppy, wet kisses through the expanses of your neck, going up to your jaw "i think about you all the damn time, in the middle of class, when i'm training, when I'm tryin' to fucking sleep."

"you haunt me," it's a whispered confession vi needs to get out of her chest as her breathing mingles with yours in a warm mix — "in all glory. i wake up and i'm aching already because my skin’s too tight for my body. and i know... i know it's because of you."

“i’m sorry,” you say in a low voice, apologizing even when it's not your fault at all, makes her want to tear her own skin apart “i’m sorry vi, it’s not my intention to make you ache.”

“this on me, bug” she reassures you “i’m the one who’s been losing my damn mind over you.”

she wants the moment to last. vi relishes in the privacy of it, the look in your face when her kisses leave saliva in your neck, how your skin reacts to her touch now knowing it's real and on her side, willingly.

"i don't mind- i don't mind it at all, you see?" she asks, betrayed by the need on her tone, how her words lace up with a hunger you can recognize "you see what you're doing to me? how affected you got me?"

it's you this time, like you're settling the score even as you kiss her. and it's real. real than ever she believes, real as you are there on her lips, fingers tight against the waistband of her pants cause you want her closer, closer than fucking ever.

and it's messy but vi loves it. your kiss it's all teeth and tongue, desperation, need. it's your saliva all over, the taste of the joint in your lips she's quick to pick and it's just as soft, just as inviting as that saturday night she holds in her heart.

the thought is stuck there with her for a while.

vi finds out she did die a third time that night, and that she would gladly do it again cause when you ask for more kisses she bends like a willow, and it's the closer she's been to listening to heaven.

it's very safe to say violet vanderson has officially stopped fighting against the cliché this season.

you don't text the next day.

you don't text on wednesday either, and vi's sure by you're ignoring her by thursday already overthinking about being so intense with all this liking thing that was getting out of her hands. what she don't know, is how you really are spiraling into your own madness by the course of the week.

it was a pretty simple job at first: get ava. you put effort on it since you really like her, her sense of humor, her way of being — you really are into your roommate, been living with her what? six months already? she's easy to talk to, so pretty it hurts, and you surely have a list of things you love about her.

why it's so confusing then? if your feelings were se clear, so profound. it wasn't a difficult task whatsoever, and violet does an incredible job pretending you're the last glass of water in the dessert: why is so impossible now? making up excuses so your fake break-up don't come up until next week.

this whole thing was ridiculous, starting out for thinking pretending was going to be a good idea cause you get used to it, to the tattoo on her cheek, the foreign warmth of her fingers brushing against your skin, her kisses. it’s getting in your head now so by monday night, your last string of coherence jumps out of the balcony to end up asking for more kisses you crave then like no one else will.

it's a need, a feverish need cause your lips are sore by the end of the night, and vi's reluctant when pulling away. you want more yet it's not good, not possibly good cause this whole thing started out for someone else and you're unsure — do you really like ava now?

everything fall on it's own, cause by thursday night your roommate’s knocking on your door in the of middle the night saying she wants to see a movie, bringing up her laptop to place it between the two of you like a barrier, one ava's good to surpass when she's leaning to rest her head against your shoulder.

it's meaningless at first, you're concentrated on watching so you're unaware of ava's tactics to distract you.

"how it's everything going with the i-like-girls subject?" you ask at the lack of interest in the film — "any other revelation from the sky?"

"not really" she says, and the talking seems to make her confident all sudden when she's resting her head in your legs now and you have a good view of her in an oversized shirt you've seen as a pajama before "not any advance, i have interest in some particular girl now."

"oh. makes sense."

you don't know how to explain how everything shifted all sudden, but it's what you wanted right? what you plot from the beginning as ava's pulling her laptop to the side only to kiss you comfortably: it's what you've been craving for months, the soft touch of her hands slipping beneath your shirt, the breathy moans she gives against your mouth when you're gripping on her thigh.

so why the fuck does it not feel as rewarding as it should? you're kissing on fucking violet three nights ago and you only know her by two weeks now, but your stomach twist in knots at the touch, the intimacy of it — but with ava? the girl you've been talking to your friends about for like three months now? not a damn thing and it’s so unfair.

you kiss her again and she's a damn mess. she tastes like bubblegum and it's too sweet for moment but you force yourself to it. pull yourself together as ava's straddling your lap now and you can already smell her arousal in the air, the way she grinds in your leg seeking for friction.

get it fucking together: please.

you should love it too. drown in her, keep ava in your bed like you've thought about multiple times, but despite all your efforts to want her, you find yourself pushing your roommate away, grabbing her shoulder to gently peel her off your body to put some reasonable distance between the two of you.

"hold on," you say catching on your breath, and she seems struck for a moment trying to understand what's going on — "i can't do this."

"did i do something wrong?"

"no, not at all you're perfect" you admit shaking your head, and she's sitting now in bed, fixing how high her shirt was, aware of your rejection "it's me, ave. i'm really sorry."

"it's my fault- you have a girlfriend" you don't bother to clear up the truth cause you want ava to believe that. in fact. you want everyone to keep believing that "i should go-"

there's not a way to not make it awkward cause you just tossed months of crushing on a girl to the trash because of a stupid feeling you don't know how to control. you're realizing it an hour or so after being left alone in your room, door closed as you sigh in defeat: you need to see violet again.

so fuck texting, absolutely fuck calling.

you’re getting dressed in the middle of the night as you check on your phone, and you don't seem to care about how it's past midnight when your jumping on to buckle on your black jeans, hiding in a big hoodie that covers you from the autumn air.

no.

you hold your phone and your keys before heading out, not bothering to let your roommate know due to obvious events, that you're leaving to spend the night somewhere else; and the cold of the night does not bother you, instead, it's refreshing as your feet follow the path to her place on it's own trying to distract yourself from thinking, regret it.

it’s not very clear on why you carry your sketchbook and the shirt she stained on monday night now fresh from the laundry with you, the need to give an excuse maybe? hell. you should be kissing ava.

even when you avoid it, it's all about vi in the end.

it makes you want to punch yourself when you end up running cause you can’t wait, can’t possibly wait for it any longer after avoiding her texts like they’re poison.

"what are you doing here?" vi asks when you knock on the door too many times, making her grumpy as she lazily stands to open.

"your shirt. i came to bring your shirt."

"it's one in the morning, and you only came for a shirt?" she’s leaning against the doorframe, not believing it for a second as she holds the shirt in her hand "what's that?" — "your sketchbook?"

"yeah" now, in front of her you start to chicken out a little. her eyes look at the black book in your hands as you, once again, regret appearing out of nowhere so late in the night, the adrenaline seemingly washing away by the seconds "were you sleeping?"

"bug," her tone is tired almost, shaking her head before speaking again "you’ve been ignoring me since we kissed on monday, and you're here because of a shirt? tell me the truth. stop avoiding it."

you cannot hide it.

but you try to make up another excuse either way, pathetic when the seconds pass and you don’t come up with anything but silence — “i’m sorry,” you say, and you hate it cause you’ve been apologizing a lot for the night already.

“what’s on your mind?” vi’s crossing her arms against her chest, demanding an answer “tell me. why are you really here so late?”

"i don't know what else to do, i needed to see you" you're under the spotlight for a second, but the words come out before you can think about what you're saying so out of nowhere "the shirt's an excuse, my sketchbook too, i just wanted to see you."

"did the kiss scare you off?"

"yes. it fucked me up right in the brain" you let her know, and when you see the slight smile on her lips — almost a gesture vi tries to avoid, your heart seems to keep on it's turbulent ride with no return "did it too well 'cause you're all that i care about lately. you're my first thought in the morning and my deepest agony in the nights, and you've done it, i don't how. i don't care, but you've ruined all my plans."

the honesty catches vi off guard, her brows furrowing together for a second as she's aware of the strain in your voice, how this has come to affect you as much as she's affected.

"i don't care about ava no longer, you ruined her for me" it's almost like you're mad at yourself at it, shaking your head as you still blurt out your problems outside her doorframe "i don't give a shit 'cause i'm making up excuses to keep being your fake girlfriend. motives to keep you close. but you go there so openly kissing me when no one's looking and sweet fuck do you too understand, how there's no one like you?-"

vi doesn't let you finish when just like you did in her balcony, she hooks her finger on the waistband of your jeans now, using an small amount of force to pull you forward until she can close the door beneath you and finally corner you against the thick wooden door.

unlike ava, everything's slow. her hands wraps around your waist and you can feel it in her skin, in the tight embrace she keeps you in as her face hides in the curve of your neck she knows by memory. it would be so easy to fake you're not consumed by her, put some distance and never see vi again, but she's kissing on your skin again like it happened on monday, and whatever you wanted to say dies in your throat, moving your head to the side to give more space to her hungry touch.

"i'd ruin ava for you again," vi admits, proud of her own actions "you're better off with me anyway."

after so many kisses her teeth finds the right spot to bite and make you shiver, and she holds you still, right against the door and leaving no room to move without her noticing — broad figure towers over you and you close your eyes at the pressure of her mouth in your neck, the slight pain that comes with it that makes you moan at the contact.

"i'm trying to talk to you," you try to say, and she hums like she's giving you the reason "vi- don't be mean, listen to me."

"i am mean and i don't listen" she agrees with you, like somehow it will solve everything as she's too busy leaving soft kisses on your cheek before her mouth barely touch the corner of your lips.

her breathing’s warm, her touch almost reverent as vi’s hands finds their way beneath your hoodie and she's pushing on the lower part of your back to have you closer, until she’s intoxicated in you.

"i’m paying attention, bug" she says, taking a minute to look at you even at the lack of lights on her dorm room "keep telling me about how i ruined it all, how you're crazy about me- i'm listening."

"i was with her just now- you don't care?"

"no, i don't" vi shakes her head not even amused, and her breathing mixes up with yours as she's invading your space without an invitation "i don't care if you were. you are here now. you are here with me."

so that's how it starts, like everything's on fire and it slowly burns to ashes in your mind.

she knows the grounds of your body like it's holy terrain, too many hugs, too many times with you seated on her lap, gentle touches vi hold by memory until she's free to touch now without retaliation, when her hands are finally roaming around to grab you by the ass and squeeze it as she muffles any complaint against the hollow of her mouth.

and it's a kiss she needs to repeat multiple times more, one that steals the air from her lungs as your hand pulls on the strands of her cherry hair, parting your lips cause it's a kiss you want to carry under your skin, like a stamp on your brain. she deepens it like her life much depends on it, and her tongue — warm and playful, pushes against yours at it discovers once again the place she has experienced before.

there's nothing else to say: you're there now. you picked her.

despite all your efforts on fake dating, of being already whispering for another person in the beginning: you choose violet.

"what's in the sketchbook?" vi asks, fingers are warm against your skin, and the hoodie you took to protect yourself from the cold is no longer necessary when it now lays on the floor. vi's tank top is quick to follow, and you can't help but stare at her for a good moment, the heartbeats on your chest devastating as usual.

it's intimate. you've had sex before, pretty girls that stole your breath even but that's a whole different level, you've never experience that feeling in your chest, that need in your hands when they touch bare skin and you're greeted with a crave that goes far beyond sex and the act of it.

"drawings. drawings of you from when we studied together."

shattering. she's gentle cause vi wants to savor it: what's the point in the rush? she's taking her time in touching, in pulling your shirt upwards little by little. she kisses you until your lips are puffy and you are clouded by a haze of lust as you try to mark the skin of her chest, yet it's a fight, cause she's the one who wants to taste you first, the one who wishes to blow your mind before anything.

vi didn't plan any of it — in all reality, she tried to fight it as much as she could, but you're letting her walk you down to her messy bed, wrinkled sheets still holding on her body heat when you're resting against them and she lets you win. vi's placing herself between your legs and the space is small, but once again small spaces are unexpectedly good cause she has no other option but to be all over you, helping you get off your pants as they are tossed close to your hoodie.

"touch you-" she struggles to ask "can i touch you?"

"please," it's a dangerous feeling what installs in vi’s chest. once again, she's utterly affected by the color of your eyes, how they take her to a brief journey to the moon, the plea in your tone that makes her forget about the lack of messages the last two days, how you suddenly distanced yourself because you were scared. "stop asking and please just touch me already."

it makes her feel desired when her fingers touch you from over the underwear and you're already wet, the fabric clinging to your lips already soaked and ready for her, it makes vi breathe out heavily as she's aware of how debouched she can get you by some kisses, words.

you're her favorite nightmare, cause she has dreamed about that very moment before but it does not come near by how devastating you really are. a force of nature as vi's making your underwear to the side, so sensitive when she's just using a couple of fingers to spread you open, have a good sight of your pussy as she fights the idea to go down on you already.

her mouth waters as you shiver, unable to hold the reaction in as she seems to be lost in the soft texture of soaked pussy. she rubs against your clit slow at first like she's letting you get used to her touch first before she's taunting your entrance with a couple of digits.

"you're really tight huh?" she asks when her fingers begin to push just slightly, making your breathing get stuck in your throat as you whine at the intrusion — "there bug, breathe. can't finger-fuck you like this. let yourself feel good, soak your pretty panties for me.”

“gods- vi” you moan, and the sound itself is so hot she stares at you for a minute “i can take your fingers ah- i can.”

“i know princess, i know you can” she smiles at your need to please, to do and be reminded how good you’re doing “let your greedy hole relax for me so i can fill it out f’you, you feel so warm already.”

it’s chaotic and vi wished she put on a towel beneath before, a pain she quickly forgets about when you’re putty in her fingers, walls clenching against her intrusive fingers as she shoves them in one more time, pulsating cunt opening and getting used to her as your back arches against the bed presenting to her wide open.

she uses a hand to keep you there. spreaded you like she wants you to be, even when you’re shaking involuntarily and her fingers withdrawal entirely before she pushes them back again knuckles-deep in your tight channel.

“suck me back in, get used to me” she says as your pussy makes room for her slender digits, filling you just right until they curve to hit on a special spot she discovers in awe— “there it is- there baby? does it feel good there?”

and your tits bounce with each thrust, your arousal gathers in the palm on vi’s hand, and she’s drunk already, drunk in you and the sounds you make, your incoherent words asking for more, begging to be fucked harder. you move against her fingers and your cunt makes this filthy sound it makes her moan already dampening her own underwear.

“yes- fuck yes” you moan, your arms can barely hold you up now as you fall against your elbows, and vi can feel the moment you squeeze her fingers, the inconsistency on the movements of your hips — “feels s’good vi, filling me up so good.”

it’s pride that installs in her chest, helping you move since you’re too dumb to function from yourself: it’s so fucking nice since you’re barely holding in by a thread, the mount of her hand brushing against your clit and she knows you’re close, but instead of giving you time to breathe, play with you a little, she’s too desperate, yanking at the fabric of your bra just get rid of it.

her mouth closes around your breast, and the sweat on your skin feels salty, aphrodisiac as she marks the skin sucking until it’s a whole different color, harshly biting on the stiffed peak of your nipple.

“you gonna cum?” she asks, breathing against your skin “god-you’re squeezing me so tight-”

the pain mixes up deliciously, and you can’t speak nor gather words in your mouth who can let vi know how close you really are, but she reads it in your body language, in the way your legs shake and you really struggle to keep them apart.

“keep them spread let me see you,” her tone is gentle even when she’s destroying you at it’s finest, as her fingers curl inside your sensitive cunt and she rubs inside that spot inside of you she's very much aware of now — “if you’re going to cum, you might as well do it good.”

her leg pushes yours open, and you’re trapped there beneath her weight, her bites on your skin that will leave marks that won’t come out for days. your moans get louder by the seconds and it’s that thing you need to let the orgasm pour in, hot lava against your skin as your body tenses up and you’re shaking in her hands.

and vi picks it up in no time, fingers nestled inside you, moving them ever so slightly as you come undone. the sight itself makes her sure she’s leaking against her underwear, the sweat on your skin that makes you glow against the barely illuminated sheets messier than ever.

"hush," vi says seconds after as your pleasure subsides, not giving you much time to recovery after it "don't want the whole building to hear-"

her fingers, wet from your arousal, trace the corners of your mouth, the seam of your lower lip as a silent invitation. you make delicious sounds, yet they’re so loud vi ends up shoving the same fingers she fucked you with now in your mouth trying to muffle them a little.

and it’s inviting even, the vibrations your sweet moans make as she pushing her digits further, making you taste yourself as she finally shuts you up.

vi's cunt's already slick when she's pulling on her underwear away, makes you switch places with her as her head falls against the pillows now for a second when you're placing yourself between her parted legs, tangled limbs as you settle your cunt against her's and: hell.

her fingers push against your throat making you choke on them, and you can hear the sound vi makes when you move on top of her again, pussy already glistening with arousal as it rubs deliberately against her's, almost a kiss as you can feel when every inch of her is already throbbing against you.

swollen clit, schlick sounds fill the air — it's filthy, almost diabolical when your sweat mixes up with her, when body fluids are not gross and instead, you crave every inch you can get.

"fuck peach, you're so wet," vi mutters under her breath, and a hand slips to grope your tits, rolling the stiffed nipple between her fingers "ah- s'fucking crazy how your pretty pussy was made to fit mine."

her words slur together and it makes you smile, makes you feel good as her hands force you to move on top of her, only adding to the sensation when her finger goes further down now to massage your clit, braindead as your movements become more erratic by the seconds, uncontrolled.

"come on baby, you're doing so good" vi praises, encouraging you to keep on moving as her digits slide so fucking easy between your legs, allowing them to touch how needy she makes you, how fast she's able to reduce you to pieces — "you gonna cum all over my cunt, baby? s'that it?"

vi loves every minute, the moans that fill the air and you try so hard to muffle, the distortion on your face as you force yourself to keep moving even when your legs shake in response, your body gives up and you function in autopilot.

drool slides down her arm, using her fingers to slowly fuck your mouth with them, an smile stirs vi's lips upwards as she can see the white traces of your arousal mixing up with her own in a delicious mix between your legs, unable to answer her questions as you're too busy being choked on her digits.

"use your words, love" it's the fucked out expression that gets her, hole already clenching around nothing as strings of white cum connect you to her "you can do it, you're a good girl."

"sweet fuck-vi," you breathe out when she's withdrawing her fingers out, and your voice is rougher now than ever, raspy as saliva drips down your chin. you're much aware of the lewd sound of her cunt in constant contact with yours, holding her hand before lacing your fingers with vi's as she encourages you to keep on moving.

you need an anchor.

it's slow and torturing, the greatest cruelty as each roll of your hips bring you deliciously close to the edge, little by little as the wet from vi's arousal gathers in your thighs, the expanses of your cunt — fuck you're going to cum like this.

theres silence in the room now, but violet appreciates it more than ever cause she can listen to your hitched breathing, lips swollen now from how much you've been using them, the slick, lewd sounds of your pussy against her own.

her vision fade to black when she cums, gripping on your waist like she needs to hold herself from flying to the damn moon, moving you until you're shaking on top of her and your eyes swell up with tears before you cum too, oversensitive when you pant out her name as she holds you close.

"i got you," she whispers, but she don't stop moving you against her soaked, sensitive pussy in response — "i got you peach. it's okay m'not going anywhere."

it means more than just a promise, more than just something tossed to the air as she lets you rest on top of her, ten minutes until she's moving you to switch places once more, making you lay on her pillows now comfortable.

and you look at her searching for an explanation, but vi already has one when she's leaving soft kisses agains your lower belly.

"gonna try how good we taste together, it will only be a moment."

fake girlfriends right? what a fucking joke.

it's awfully good.

dangerously good when you're trapped with vi the next days. a good way of saying it cause she got you in her practices now that she settles with the team you really are off-limits, on your free times and by night when you whine about how small her bed is for two persons now that you spend time there in her room.

it's been three days and no one's surprised by the kisses, by the touches, by the way she cannot be seen without you around, and it could be nothing to the rest already used to it, but to vi's a damn rollercoaster, one she's experiencing like never before.

she's allowed to stole kisses now, to touch — and she' so clingy about it.

ellie makes fun of her and abby won't shut up when she sees the two of you in the same room, but vi likes it. makes her feel weirdly good. so much she don't think about her on and off story with sarah, how she's been hearing rumours all over because you're on her mind.

she becomes addicted to your kisses by friday, and it don't take long but she wants you in her arms every second of the day she's not expected to do something and it's like before, surprising enough is like when you dragged her to the rims, when you bring her complex coffees with weird smells she hates.

she even spends the weekend latched in your back even when you explain you have to study — "i'll help you out, i swear" she promises, but she does nothing but distract you when she's sitting on top of you, hands kneading the gloves of your ass until you're leaving your books unattended and vi smiles cause she has your attention to her now.

it was good, faking it. slide in the stole caresses, the kisses who where to mislead others — but that's the real thing, better than ever when no one knows you're melting there cause she kisses you on top of her motorbike you're still reluctant to ride, making you hug her as the wind blows your hair in what you call bike therapy and there's no other place she needs to be, another person she needs around.

she makes you part of her life with an ease that was already there, an small extra step as she goes to find you right after classes, giving you at least fifteen good reasons about how you should be spending the afternoon with her instead of drawing and working there on your own.

yes. violet vanderson is so in love with your mess. your painted hands when you get so into drawing, the images of her in your sketchbook she had no idea you were doing but they're etched on each page until there's no more space.

it's a silent agreement. she don't have to say anything cause you understand her, and vi gets you too. a sense of belonging she never had until that moment.

it's a rare side she barely shows, with you only. she's always a bit distant from the rest, reserved, but on the intimacy of your shared moments she seems nothing but the contrary — constantly craving for attention, for love and whispered words of wanting.

it's weirdly good until the catharsis comes on sunday, when vi's picking you up to go to this party you don't really want to go on the first place. the music's loud, and you crave to see a good movie in your room beneath at least five blankets, but you're by her side cause you know it's a party in honor to the hockey team, a way of wishing good luck since they've won every single match in the season now with a streak of gold.

and you pay no attention to it, but sarah's there too, and unlike any other time she's there cause she wants to talk to vi now that she's cozy enough to call you her girl so blatantly, mainly because she's mad since she can't believe vi would choose anyone over her.

it's not her fault either — sarah's in love and love hurts like a dagger. so when you say you're going to the bathroom, she's already talking to her without a previous warning.

"violet," she greets with a smile, looking extra beautiful tonight cause she puts effort on her look. she wants to make an impression, want her ex to remember her in the best moments they shared together "how are you? haven't seen you for a while."

things are never simple. love constantly hurts. sarah knows it by herself when she's leaning too close, when she's touching vi's arms as the conversation goes on by the minutes.

"i miss you" she says after, and vi has been there before. in the sweet words and the whispered lies "this thing you got with her- are you serious about it? you really like her?"

her words are low, low enough so only vi could hear, close so she's punched by the smell of her shampoo, long nails scratching on her skin — sarah's going to kiss her if she allows her to keep all touchy like that. vi can feel the mint on her breath colliding in her skin and it's wrong, wrong now since she don't want it at all, cause sarah's far from her mind now, long gone for months and a person she wants to avoid.

and vi's about to push her away, explain how yes she's very serious about you, but she's pushed in an awkward kiss instead that paralyzes her for a moment, makes her brain stop for a long second cause she's not expecting it, the sudden contact of her ex girlfriends hands as she steals a kiss, how random all was.

"what the fuck," she breathes out when she's pushing sarah away, but it's clearly late when she can spot you from the corner of her eye already leaving the party, not really looking in her way as you exited the house — "what the fuck was that?"

she don't bother to hear sarah's explanation when she's too busy running after you, she don't need one. things are long finished, and vi wants to explain that to you when the cold weather from outside's making her skin shiver.

"wait-" she calls you out — "fuck, wait up!"

from where you looked, this was far beyond a simple interaction. after all the times you heard she wanted to make clear she was over sarah you know there's a lot of history. she's there looking hot as ever as she bats her eyelashes and leans dangerously close to vi's mouth — and you're looking like a fool.

it's a punch in the face, one that feels deeper than any wound as vi don't seem to notice until you're leaving the place, heart pounding all over the place as you can feel the shame on your body like an old friend: she's there, kissing on sarah fortune when minutes before she was with you already handsy?

the night grows silent as you quickly walk away. like a shame walk back home cause there's no fucking way you're riding her motorbike ever again.

is it betrayal? the two of you never settled anything more than a fake relationship — or maybe, it's the utter fear in the pit of your stomach cause you like her more than you expected?

"please- don't leave-" vi says catching on her breath "sarah there- it's not what you're thinking."

"it's okay vi. you don't owe me any explaining" you talk without much emotions on your face: you should have insisted on movie night.

"i do. you know i do" she's quick to reply, shaking her head in denial "i care about what you think, you're so damn important to me, sarah she's-"

"listen. you're not my girlfriend" you remind her, and in all sense of the word, she isn't. you never talked about being in a relationship with her, neither did vi mentioned it in the four days of paradise "it's better if we keep things like they were before, we're at the perfect time until it's too late. i'm fake dating you."

vi has experienced pain before yes. the air being stolen from her lungs, but your words sink in like a finger twisting against a bullet hole in her shoulder, cold as ever as her brows furrow in response — you're too pissed to listen.

"this is a misunderstood," she insists, "you know it's not like that. this is real. what we have is real, please just- hear me."

"we've made the limits too blurry," you try to explain, and in the cold air you shiver against the cold weather of autumn and she wants to give you her scarf to protect you from the air knowing you'll say no, standing at a safe distance in front of you — "you kissing on sarah it's what we needed vi. the push we were lacking to break this fake thing. i can't hold it no longer, we've fucked it up."

"bug. don't do this."

"it's the agreement we had first place," you interrupt, already annoyed as you shove your hands inside the pockets of your jacket and vi can't stand it. can't stand the disappointment in your voice as you speak — "we broke the rules we settled in the first place. i like you more than i ever know, i'm going to your practices, riding your bike- it's not what we agreed upon."

"it wasn't real. the rules they were never real" there's desperation in her tone vi does not care to hide anymore, taking a step closer to you. "don't tell me you believed in them, i broke them the very same day we settled them. they are not real, never counted."

it's almost like she's saying it over and over again to calm down the fire on her chest, the flames that rises in her lungs as she breathes in the cold air sober than ever.

"you have things to talk with your ex still vi, and i'm not really good in the equation. i don't want to be involved in whatever you have going on with her, it's your business. make up your mind first."

she wants to insist, make you stop right there even when she's close to have a frostbite to this point, freezing cold as you, cold as ever, continue your way and leave her standing her, trying to make sense of it all.

you never fucking listen.

so you disappear and it's like a dream all over when she's going back to the house, expectant of waking up in her wrinkled sheets with you already using more than half of the bed.

but vi never wakes up and she knows you're right at some point.

she needs to talk with sarah.

you'd catalogue it as a supersonic sunburst.

a ray of sunshine coming up from between the clouds that blinds you momentarily, fast like the speed of sound — supersonic.

she's like a supersonic sunburst.

violet vanderson's able to crawl under your skin to live there with you without knowing, and when she's missing, there's a hollow inside you even you were perfectly great before when you had no idea of her oh so important existence.

it's nothing to the point it becomes everything because you miss her too. scared of actually fall in, of let her know the way to your heart.

news are fast cause by the next day people in the party's already commenting on what happened: vi kissing her ex? it's all they talk about in whispered confessions when you're around, walking in campus in black shades cause you refuse to let people think you're even slightly affected by her and whatever relationship she had now with sarah.

you let them speak due to your lack of good choices when it comes to picking a fake girlfriend with a reputation that followed. it was a part of the deal and you're taking your part in it. fair.

even ava seems to take pity of you when she's talking to you again, and it's a huge relieve cause you were sure she was going to politely ask you to find for another place to live when in reality, she's offering you from the pizza she ordered like a truce, being all sensitive when she's asking about your emotional status as she heard things.

everybody seems to add something new, even yourself as you're aware on the late news that spread throughout the campus by tuesday morning: vi's back with sarah again, she's saving her a seat for the thursday game, they were together in the rims.

and loneliness suits you better. you like to think about that cause you're forgotten and left out this love triangle like you asked before, and it's funny cause you agreed in something entirely different in the beginning, but you don't get the pretty girl in the end, and vi, even when she’s so invested in pushing her ex away, ended up gaining the whole contrary.

four days of heaven it's not near enough to cover the time you needed with her, but your pride it’s too big to let down so when she stops texting you, you subtly understand it’s because she got someone new: some things are better left unsaid.

you crave to be loved, to be need and wanted, but to be loved is to be bare under the naked eye: three weeks with violet and you’re what? crushed because her pretty ex is back? better to have a broken heart now before you’re in too deep.

you're officially done with the world of love. at least it's what you keep repeating to you and your close ones, that worried friend that insists on knowing how you're doing over text: you're done with love, and impossible, borderline stupid crushes.

"are you ever going to get out of your room?" ava asks as she enters the space, opening the curtains "it really smells like death in here."

"no i'm not" you reply, tired from being up all night watching on some tv series as a way to subside with your bad luck lately — "i'm gonna finish the last season of yellowjackets, actually. heard shauna's a real bitch in there."

"listen to me, i say this as a friend, but the smell in here, it's you" ava points out as she opens the window to let the air filter "my field trip will be over in a couple of days. after that, you're going out with me to see actual people. you need it."

"i'm okay."

"yeah. sure you are. please take a fucking shower before you kill us both due to intoxication, my eyes are watering."

"that's really over the top. dramatic even."

being friends with ava however, it's the weirdest thing you have ever experienced. you liked her since the moment you saw her, but now she's nothing but a good friend when she's taking the delivery food rests from the floor with a grossed look.

"if i see spider, i'm evicting you."

your recent friend has this geological field trips you don't understand much, but she's gone for a couple of days usually. maybe that's why on thrusday, you wake up paranoid as ever when you hear a noise coming out from your roommate's dorm.

you want to say you're crazy, but the sound's there again subtle and distant, as your brows furrow in concern: ava’s not in the house until tomorrow, and it's definitely not her when you can hear footsteps.

thieves. somebody got into ava’s room and they’re stealing all her stuff — “ave?” you ask out from the kitchen, receiving silence in response “you home earlier?”

to be fair, you don’t think much when you’re walking up to her door, opening up without a previous warning only to find out a scene you’re once again not welcomed in.

“what the fuck?” you can hear ava’s pitched voice when all suddenly stops and you froze for a moment “get out! why are you still here?”

it should be worst things in life that finding out your former crush is now with a redhead, right? — starting out for redheads kissing each other, cause that's a crime to society.

“don't you know how to knock?” she screams from the inside “i texted you yesterday telling you i was going to come home early, dumbass.”

“i'm so sorry” you reply on the other side of the door, holding on a laugh at the other side as you don't want to make her ever further mad — “there’s a lock you know? you can use it sometimes.”

“fuck off.”

however, you’re opening the door again to interrupt a new make out session much covered now, staring at the other girl you ignored before, the redhaired you did not recognize until you're blatantly checking on her.

“sarah. you’re fucking sarah fortune,” you state almost not believing it as you can feel the loud pounding in your chest at the realization, and ava's blushing the same shade of her messy hair as you point it out impressed "i'm gonna let you guys keep at that, you know? yeah. goodbye."

your mouth falls open when you're closing out the door at your back, and you're celebrating without making a sound as it was the most awkward moment of your life.

ava. ava's fucking sarah.

it's news you want to share, but none of your friends would understand how important it is, so you cannot do anything but keep it to yourself.

and it hits you as you go to room again ready to play some loud music so you don't hear anything — if sarah's there: does it mean she's not dating vi back again?

ah. fuck. maybe you'll need to swallow your pride a little bit.

vi's been thinking about you lately. quite a lot.

it starts like a memory in the morning. vi gets up earlier cause she got so much energy lately she don't know where to put it as she runs as much as she can for at least an hour, and it extends to the afternoon where she's sure her phone buzzed with one of your texts, when in reality, it's empty as you don't reply to any of her tries.

and it bring sadness by the night, when she's smoking on her own and the air's cold but she don't want to use a sweater since it's too peaceful to move, to remember she's alive again.

how is she so utterly affected by you?

she ends up overthinking about the brief story she shared with you on the course of almost three weeks in which she allowed you, in plain sight, to get closer to her than anyone to the point she's used to your company — her practices where she seems distracted as ever, her usually bad choices you prevent in the movies since she's always insisting in action movies.

she misses you, and it's her fault mainly when she let you in so easy, without much questioning. almost like you already belonged there.

"violet, you're in" to be fair. she don't want to play by thursday. she's not into the mood lately.

the place is packed and the other team is not giving up as they fight every second on the ice, yet vi's not really there. the game is on its peak point, there's tension and competition in the air, loud noises from the public already cheering on their preferred team, but she's insisting, over and over again, how she should be left in the benches since she's suffering from a strange pain in her shoulder: how is one of the greatest players in the team going to spend the whole game seated?

"i'll only slow the team- send akali" she suggests, but the coach shake her head as she screams to the referee "i'm not at my best."

"since when you're bothered by a little wound, vi?" the coach ask, and her nose wrinkles in defeat: never really, she's usually pushing through misery "there are recruiters out there looking for their next super star, now don't be dumb and get in the ice now."

it's harsh, what vi needed to hear as she's biting on her safety mouth guard before being pushed to the ice by the third and last period — she just wishes to survive.

you've slowly become a problem since the only thing you do, even when you're not near, is mess up with her head. she's being shoved and pushed by two minutes in, and she cannot get twenty minutes of silence when she spots you there in the seats using this red white and blue jersey with her number on it and it's just like the one she's wearing now.

you're there.

is it a dream? has she reached the point where she's hallucinating? maybe there's a rational explanation, maybe vi's brain so stressed lately it makes up things due to the adrenaline or something like that. makes sense. the rush.

"what the fuck is wrong with you? wake the fuck up-" ellie curses by her side when vi can feel the blood on her mouth as she's shoved to the side, roughly pushed against the border to crash her head against the thick protection plastic that surrounded the rink, the other team quickly reducing her offense to nothing as they score in their favor — "if we lose i'm going to kill you violet. i mean it."

despite the threats of her captain, vi forces herself to look again at the spot she saw you before and you're there again — worried as you tried to see how she was doing, wearing her shirt and she's lost for a moment.

you came.

it makes her breathing erratic, and for a moment she don't know if it's for the pain or that hazy feeling on her chest but you're there and it means so damn much to her as you smile at her for a moment and you shyly mutter a hi like you're not already wearing a jersey with her name on it.

she's mad at you. violet needs to stay mad at you cause you don't ever fucking listen, and she tried to explain so many times before she was never into sarah or whatever it may have seemed, how the kiss was actually against her will — how she was long done with her ex before you even came to the picture.

she wants to pause the game for a brief moment and demand you to listen to her now, make clear she never cared about sarah nor ava for once, but she values her life also cause ellie's already giving her a bad look as they are already on a bad situation, so even under your gaze she pays attention to the game.

it's what she loves, even when she's swallowing her own blood and she's sure there are going to bruises bigger than her hand, she's shouting to abby from the other side and in the blink of an eye — there it is. score.

the public shouts in the bleachers and to be a person that don't watch any kind of sports you really seem to enjoy the game as you never been into one before, celebrating with the rest: stay mad at you. she needs to remember, stay mad at you.

in the end, vi's filthy and reeking sweat, tossing her gloves powder's painted to the floor as a way of supporting her since she hates going to games and actually stay seated for two hours, the big helmet she holds in her hands before she's crushed in a hug from the team as they celebrated another victory.

golden streak.

her friends are shouting her name since she made the last point on their half, and even when it makes her feel good about it, she's searching for you in the room, an smile on your face as you looked at the celebration cause you're proud of her — she's really good in what she does.

you've seen her practices but a game was different. so you stay there hidden in the sea of the people around you, but vi can spot you right away since you got this light on your own she can pick up from the distance.

and the athlete can feel the weight of your eyes in hers, even at the distance she cannot enjoy a celebration under her name cause she aches to see you, needs to clear up some things before anything else, so she's awkwardly smiling to the greetings, acting polite as she skates her way out of the rink between jokes and hair scratches of the girls she has been playing for years: we're going to win this season if you keep up like this vi, leave some room for us mortals.

her cheeks are blushed since she's not really used to it, people praising on her so blatantly, but it gives her the confidence she needs to leave her ice skates on the floor.

"what are you doing?" abby asks when she notices she's not really going to the changing rooms but instead, about to jump out the small wall that separate the players seats from the public barefoot — "not celebrating with us?"

"later," vi says already in the other side "need to take care of something else first."

she don't receive an stupid joke back, refreshing almost as she climbs up the stairs. usually she takes a long shower after a game ready to celebrate but now, vi's walking between the people who's patting her arm, touching on her painted helmet and congratulating her for a good game.

and really, vi'd like to walk to you faster, but she has to say thank you to each compliment as an awkward smile stirred her lips upwards.

"hi."

"hey," you greet her back, and she knows the signs of your body when you're nervous as she ha already seen it so many times before, the look in your face that sold you out entirely "great game, congratulations."

"thank you" she replies, even when she's already combusting in how many praises she got already, your words scratches a different part on her brain. you're special to her, your words mean more than the rest "you came."

"i did," it's hard to remember she needs to stay mad at you cause it's difficult like this, you're there in a jersey with her name on it, that smile on your face she likes to see every single time — "i told you i wanted to come."

"yeah. i missed you," the words escape from her lips before she can think about what she's saying and it's too late to regret them as the simple admission makes you breathless "and i'm really pissed at you too."

"i'm sorry-" vi has lost count now of many many little deaths she has experienced in your company, but there goes another one as the air is stolen from her lungs and the rest of the public is disappearing until there's only the two of you reduced in the cold temperature of the rink, "for not hearing what you have to say."

"i never wanted to kiss sarah," she says at a safe distance, holding onto her helmet like her life depends on it — "i'm not into her, i explained that to her too."

"you aren't" you reply, and vi's almost relieved when she notices you are listening to her "i know it."

"i don't know what you heard, i've heard some crazy shit myself" it slowly fades away until it's not there anymore, that weird anger that she felt before and was so invested in not forgetting in the ice “i’m not with sarah either, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“she’s dating ava” you told her as her eyes widened at the information “like fully dating, walked into them today.”

“what?” vi’s struck for a moment before chuckling in aware “holy shit, that's some news-"

"yeah" you agree with her before you're pulling out this white paper from the back pocket of your jeans, a tiny paper that turned out to be a good sized tablecloth she can recognize from before — "i found our rules. wanted to show them to you."

"you came here to show me the rules were real?" vi asks holding in a laugh, looking at the words you write down with her brows furrowed "this is still not enough to count i'm afraid. i was too busy eating and i didn't agree on most."

"what? don't cheat it does count" you roll your eyes in response as you point out your own handwriting to specific numbers — "we broke up rules. number one, two three and five to be specific, which is most of them."

"is this your way of saying sorry? explaining you're right?" vi holds the paper between her fingers as she takes a step forwards to you, hiding it beneath her back as she looks down to you "not inviting me one of those artisanal pasta dishes you make? you're not working here for my love."

"i am right" you proudly state as she chuckles, not making a movement to step back and reject her advances. "you should admit it either way, those there are real rules you broke."

people are long gone by now, the bleachers now empty as you prove your point and vi's dropping the helmet to the floor cause she's too busy holding you now, right between her arms as her hand cups your cheek and she's making you meet her gaze.

"you're right, i broke the rules" she gives you the point, another win to your book she wants you to have — "we broke up the rules, do you have any complains now that you know you're right?"

"not really" she's smiling against your lips as you add — "maybe we did were a bad movie in the end, one where the main characters fall in love cause they are so dumb they thought they could pull out a fake relationship."

"a bad movie" she agrees with you, there's no point in hiding it as she's cutting the inches that separates her lips from yours in a much necessary, colliding kiss — "we are a bad movie."

"hold up-"

"what?" vi asks impatient "you need me to pretend i want you for a minute? another girl you like?"

you're a little monster, appearing on her game with her jersey, glossy lips and big eyes.

"no," you simply reply, looking at the empty rink now — "i was just making sure there's no one around. i don't want you to think this is not real anymore."

real. everything's so real.

ah. violet vanderson would most definitely rot in love.

[cosmiclily]

me 🫱🏻‍🫲🏼 you

snoopy🩵

AHHHHHH lilyyy the new aesthetic omggg i love ittt+ matching snoopy pfp 🫶❤️

Hii babyyy!!! thank you so much!!! 😚😚😚 we’re gonna match forever !! i love snoopy 😭😭😭

[cosmiclily]

AHHHHHH lilyyy the new aesthetic omggg i love ittt+ matching snoopy pfp 🫶❤️

Hii babyyy!!! thank you so much!!! 😚😚😚 we’re gonna match forever !! i love snoopy 😭😭😭

[cosmiclily]

OMG LILY! new pfp and aesthetic? its super cute!!! 💙

HIII!! thank you