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AHHHHH I LOVE THIS
hihihi
would you pretty please write vi x fem reader in a high school au with the slowest slow burn ever? like i want a GUT WRETCHING slow burn that will make me be so impatient like istg GET TOGETHER
anyways thanks đ

teenage dream - vi x f!reader
wc: 13.8k
notes: this kinda feels like a romcom lol, idk if i like it 100% but i gave it my best 𫥠hope you enjoy it !!!
Senior year was supposed to feel like a clean slateâa final era. Your last shot. Youâd promised yourself that this year, everything would be different. Not just different from any other yearâdifferent from the last three. You were done wasting weekends locked in your room, scrolling through your phone, or playing board games with Ekko while the rest of the world seemed to actually be living.
No more hiding. No more being the background characters of your own lives.
Ekko had made you swear to it. Sitting on the curb outside the corner store, sharing a bag of chips, legs stretched out into the street like the world could wait for you. He nudged your shoulder and said, âWeâre not doing that again. No more hermit mode. No more wasting time. Senior year, we actually live.â
You knew it was corny, but it felt necessary.
So you woke up two hours early.
Yeah, ridiculous. But you needed the time. You stood in front of the mirror longer than youâd ever admitâcurling the pieces of hair that refused to behave, wiping and redoing your eyeliner until the wings were almost symmetrical. You cycled through at least four outfits, standing there like your closet held the keys to the future, before settling on something that saidâIâve changed. Iâm different now.
By 7:30 a.m., you were sitting at the dining table, chewing toast on autopilot while your parents flipped through their phones and sipped coffee like this was just another monday.
âSo,â your dad said, lowering his paper just enough to peek at you, âyou ready for your last first day?â
âYeah!â you saidâtoo fast, too bright. âI mean... itâs still the same people, but... I donât know. I just donât want this year to be like the last three, yâknow? No more spending every weekend locked in my room or playing board games with Ekko like weâre retired.â
Your parents exchanged the look. That classic âAh, youthâ meets âYouâll learnâ kind of glance. Equal parts nostalgia and amusement, probably betting how long your sudden burst of optimism would last.
âWell,â your mom said, pouring coffee into her mug without looking up, âjust rememberâno recreational drugs, and protection is non-negotiable.â
âMOM.â You nearly launched your toast across the table. âOh my God.â
Your dad choked on his coffee, sputtering into his mug. âHoney... maybe... maybe donât start with that.â
âWhat? Iâm being realistic.â
âOh my God.â
Before either of them could permanently scar your psyche, a car horn beeped twice outside. Your head snapped upâEkko. Right on time.
You shoved back your chair, snatching your backpack like it was a parachute. âGotta go! Love you, BYE!â
âMake good choices!â your mom called.
âText me if you need bail money!â your dad added.
âSTOP!!â
The front door slammed behind you.
Ekko was already waiting in his dadâs ancient death-trap of a car, elbow slung over the steering wheel, passenger door popped open for you like always.
âDamn,â he said as you climbed in, giving you a once-over. âLook at you. All grown up.â
âUgh, thanks. Took me forever. I redid my eyeliner, like... four times.â
âWorth it.â He pulled out of the driveway, throwing you a reckless grin. âThis is it. Senior year. We actually live this time.â
âYeah,â you nodded, half to him, half to yourself. âWe live.â
And you believed it.
Right up until the second you walked into homeroom... and saw her.
Slouched in the back row, furthest from the teacherâs desk. One leg kicked lazily over the other. Leather jacket half-zipped over her uniform like the rules were more of a suggestion. Scuffed boots tapping against the chair leg. Her hair tied back just enough to stay out of her face but messy enough to scream I donât care.
Sharp jaw. Bruised knuckles. That cocky grinâthe kind that could ruin a life without even trying.
You didnât know her. Definitely not. No way. Youâd remember someone like her. No one forgot someone like her. But somehow, despite being new, she already had half the class orbiting her like gravity itself bent toward her.
And she didnât even seem to care. She looked at them like she was doing them a favor just by existing.
She seemed exactly like the kind of girl your parents would warn you about.
And yet...
Your fingers twitched, shoving deep into your pockets.
Nope. Nope. Not doing this. Not today. This is supposed to be my year. My fresh start. Iâm not getting distracted by reckless, dangerous, beautifulâ
âHey.â
The voice was low. Lazy. Too close.
You blinked.
She was looking directly at you. Head tilted. One brow arched. A knowing smirk tugging at her mouthâlike sheâd caught you staring (which, fine, you were) and was absolutely waiting to see what you were gonna do about it.
And just like thatâboom.
Your brain blue-screened. Fully fried. Your heart cartwheeled straight into your ribs, then backflipped again for good measure. Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Her smirk widened, sharp as a blade. âYou gonna stand there all day, or...?â
Panic. Full-body panic. You fumbled for wordsâany wordsâbut your brain handed you nothing.
âUhâI meanâyeahânoâI justâuh.â
Real smooth. Stunning work. A masterclass.
Behind you, Ekko let out the loudest, most audible snort, barely covering it behind his hand.
Her eyes dragged down your body, then back up. Quick. Calculating. Like she was deciding whether you were worth her time... or just another face in the crowd.
Then, just as fast as she locked on, she leaned back in her chair. Kicked her foot up on the desk. Looked away.
Ignoring you.
Like you were nothing.
Like you hadnât just suffered a full cardiac event because of a girl who looked like she belonged on the cover of some underground punk magazine.
Ekko elbowed you so hard you nearly tipped over. âOh, dude,â he wheezed, âyou are so screwed.â
And you knew.
This... this was gonna be a problem.
A massive problem.
ââââââââââââââïżœïżœïżœâââââââ
By third period, you already knew her name â Violet Lane, Vi. And by lunchtime, there were already rumors swirling. Not just about her, but about her entire family.
Because, of course, this was high school. New kid? Instant investigation. Gossip was practically its own elective.
Ekko â obviously â had wasted no time collecting intel. By the time you sat down at your usual lunch spot, he was practically vibrating with how much heâd dug up.
âSheâs got three siblings,â he started, leaning in like this was classified information. âOne girl, two boys. Sheâs the oldest.â
You raised a brow, poking half-heartedly at your mystery meat masquerading as lunch. âOkay... and?â
âAnd,â he said, eyes lighting up like he was about to drop the most dramatic plot twist of the century, âthey all live with their dad? I didnât get the full story. And apparentlyâget thisâsheâs already been arrested.â
Your head snapped up. âSeriously?â
He nodded, grinning like a cat who just stole an entire rotisserie chicken. âDead serious. Some kid from bio said his cousinâs neighborâs sister saw it go down. Or something like that.â
You groaned, half laughing, half horrified. âOh my God, Ekko. Youâve known about her for â what? â a couple of hours? And you already have her whole life story? Get a hobby. Touch grass. Something.â
âThis is my hobby,â he shot back, smirking as he popped a fry into his mouth. âBesides, itâs not like sheâs making it hard. You saw her. Itâs like sheâs asking to be talked about.â
You hated that he wasnât wrong.
Your eyes involuntarily drifted across the cafeteria to where Vi was sitting â or more like sprawled. She was laughing at something one of the guys next to her said â head tossed back, grin sharp enough to cut glass. Every time someone passed her table, they either tried too hard not to look... or flat-out stared.
You shoved a piece of bread in your mouth and chewed like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.
âYeah,â you muttered, half to yourself. âProblem. Huge problem.â
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
You really werenât trying to get into Viâs line of sight. You werenât trying to befriend her. You werenât trying anything.
But it didnât matter.
Because it felt like she was everywhere.
Chemistry. English. Biology. Even your stupid electives. No matter where you went, there she was â like the universe itself had decided to make her impossible to avoid.
You tried. You really, truly tried not to sit anywhere near her. You mastered the art of strategic seat selection, ducking behind taller classmates, pretending to be busy tying your shoe while everyone else picked their spots. But deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before the odds turned against you.
Apparently... today was that day.
Youâd spent the entire week pretending â and failing â not to think about her. Yes, she was pretty. Fine. Yes, she had the kind of magnetic, ice-blue eyes that made your stomach drop and your brain misfire. Whatever. But youâd promised yourself you wouldnât go there. You couldnât go there. This was supposed to be your year. Your fresh start. Your last shot before graduation.
And yet...
Friday. Last period. You were itching to go home, to put this cursed week behind you. Of course â because life hated you â you were running late. You half-jogged down the hallway, backpack slamming against your spine, rounding the corner just as the bell shrieked its last warning.
And when you slid into the doorway â panting, flustered â you instantly saw it.
The only empty seat.
Right next to her.
You froze. Completely. Feet planted, backpack straps clenched in white-knuckled fists.
Mr. Heimerdingerâs head snapped toward you, those huge, unsettlingly round glasses magnifying his already too-large eyes until it felt like you were being X-rayed.
âMs. Y/N,â he said, blinking slowly, voice overly polite in that âIâm two seconds away from losing my patienceâ way. âWould you please join us?â
You swallowed hard. Loudly.
Your eyes flicked to Vi, who was already leaned back in her chair like she owned the whole back row. One brow raised. A knowing smirk tugging at her lips. She didn't say anything â but her eyes followed you, like she was already guessing exactly how uncomfortable this was making you.
You forced your feet to move. One step. Then another. Backpack thudding as you crossed the room, each step heavier than the last.
Donât trip. Donât trip. Donât trip.
You slid into the seat beside her, trying to make yourself as small as possible, pulling your stuff onto your desk with a shaky sigh.
âHey, princessâ Vi murmured under her breath, voice low enough that only you could hear it.
You whipped your head toward her, wide-eyed. âWhat?â you squeaked.
She shrugged, looking far too pleased with herself. âNothinâ. Just... didnât think Iâd get to annoy you again so soon.â
Your heart slammed so hard against your ribs you were genuinely concerned the entire class could hear it.
This is fine, you told yourself, staring straight ahead, willing your face not to burst into flames. This is perfectly fine. Totally normal. Absolutely not a complete disaster.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
It was not fine. Actually, it was the complete opposite of fine. It was catastrophic.
You couldnât hear a single word Mr. Heimerdinger was saying. Not one. You were so focused on pretending Vi didnât exist that all your brain managed to do was... obsessively catalog everything about her.
Like how, halfway through the class, she started bouncing her leg under the desk. Restless. How the silver ring on her middle finger clicked rhythmically against her pen as she tapped it â over and over and over. How she scribbled messy, half-legible notes on her notebook, pausing every so often like she couldnât decide whether to care or not.
And then there was... her smell.
Sweet. Soft. Something vaguely warm, like vanilla mixed with something sharper â citrusy, maybe? Definitely not what you expected. Not that you had ever sat around imagining what she smelled like â except apparently you had, because some dumb part of your brain was half-expecting punching bags, cigarette smoke, and... prison cells? Which wasnât even a real smell. What were you thinking??
You squeezed your eyes shut. Stop. Stop thinking. Stop existing.
âMs. Y/N?â
A voice. Distant.
âMs. Y/N.â
âMs. Y/N!â
You practically launched out of your chair, heart slamming against your ribs. âHuh â what â I mean â yes?â
Half the class turned to look at you. Vi included â brows raised, very obviously trying not to laugh.
Mr. Heimerdinger frowned, adjusting his comically huge glasses. âI asked you a question.â
You blinked. â...Could you maybe repeat it?â
His sigh was long. Painfully long. âWhat is the molar mass of sodium chloride?â
Your brain completely stalled.
Sodium chloride... sodium... salt. Salt. SALT. Your neurons were firing blanks.
âFifty-eight point fourâ Vi whispered from next to you, her voice low, lazy â like she wasnât even trying, like it cost her nothing to know this.
You blinked. That... that couldnât be right. Could it?
Was she actually smart?
No way. No way. She didnât look like someone who paid attention. But then again, neither did you right now.
Still, at this rate, you had no other choice. You swallowed hard. â...Fifty-eight point four?â you repeated, voice way more unsure than you wanted it to be.
For a split second, you braced for impact â expecting disappointment, maybe even an exasperated lecture.
But Mr. Heimerdinger just adjusted his glasses, nodded once, and offered a pleased smile. âExcellent, young child. You were paying more attention than I thought, after all.â
Your jaw nearly hit the floor.
As he turned back to the board, rambling about how beautiful, fragile, and ridiculously expensive the universe was, you slowly turned toward Vi. She was leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with herself.
That smug little grin tugging at her lips like sheâd just won something.
âThanksâ you muttered, trying â and failing â to sound cool about it.
She tipped her head, all faux innocence. âAnytime.â
You narrowed your eyes. âDidnât think you were... you know. Someone who paid attention.â
Her grin curved sharper. âYeah? Didnât think you were someone who spaced out so bad they forgot what salt was.â
Your face burned. âI did not forget what salt was.â
She raised a brow, clearly fighting a laugh. âUh-huh. Sure.â
You huffed, turning back toward the board, pretending to care deeply about Heimerdingerâs tangent about molecular bonds, but it was useless â you were hyper-aware of Vi. Of her presence. Of the way her knee barely brushed against yours when she shifted. Of how even that tiny contact had your heart acting like it had no idea how to do its job.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
After that little interaction in chemistry, it was like Vi had made it her personal mission to embarrass you at every possible opportunity.
Anytime she could squeeze in a snarky comment, a teasing remark, or an infuriating smirkâshe absolutely did.
Caught you rambling to yourself in the library while rewriting your notes for the third time?
âDidnât realize you were giving a TED Talkâ sheâd quip, leaning against the bookshelf like she had nowhere else in the world to be.
Used the wrong pronunciation in French?
There she was, right next to you, snorting quietly, whispering through a giggle, âItâs âvoilĂ ,â not âvoilaay,â genius.â
Ohâand another thing? She now sat next to you. In. Every. Single. Class.
Even when Ekko was supposed to be your buffer, your safe space, your emotional support best friendâVi somehow managed to kick him out of his seat just to take his place.
No warning. No shame. Just a lazy, âScoot, dude,â and Ekko would sigh dramatically but move anyway, like this was some sitcom heâd willingly subscribed to.
âSeriously,â you groaned one morning as Ekko drove you to school, arms crossed tight over your chest. âYou have to stop letting her do that. I thought you were my friend.â
âI am your friend,â he grinned, fiddling with the radio until he found some indie playlist that sounded just pretentious enough. âBut I also think itâs the funniest thing in the world how red she makes you.â
You smacked his arm. âTraitor.â
âLook,â he said, laughing, âsheâs obviously messing with you because you give her the best reactions. You go full tomato mode, and she eats that up. If you acted like you didnât care, sheâd probably get bored.â
âYeah. Except I do care. And I canât act cool. Have you met me?â
âValid point.â Ekko flicked on his blinker. âBut also... maybe you secretly like it.â
Your mouth dropped open. âI do not.â
He just grinned wider. âSure.â
You wanted to argue. You really did. But the fact that your face was heating up again kind of ruined any defense you couldâve possibly made.
And when Ekko pulled into the parking lot and you saw Vi leaning against the wall near the entranceâjacket slung over her shoulder, pink hair catching in the breeze, grinning the second she spotted youâyou realized...
Yeah.
This was going to be the slowest, most painful emotional death known to mankind.
âââââââââââââââââïżœïżœïżœââââ
By the time Friday was over, you were fully, completely, and emotionally destroyed.
Youâd barely survived an entire week of Vi relentlessly tormenting you with her stupid smirks, her shameless teasing, her... existence. It was exhaustingâbeing hyper-aware of someoneâs every move, every glance, every brush of their knee against yours. You felt like youâd been holding your breath since Monday.
And yet, apparently, the universe wasnât done torturing you.
Because besides Vi... there was a whole lot of nothing going on in your life.
You didnât know what you expected senior year to feel like, but it definitely wasnât this.
You expected freedom, maybe. Some kind of movie-magic glow. The year where youâd finally be that girlâthe one who had it together. Carrie Bradshaw voiceovers narrating your life while you strutted through the hallways in fabulous outfits, balancing friendships, a thriving social life, and the occasional romantic entanglement. (You probably should stop binge watching Sex and The City.)
But no.
It was just... essays.
Essays. Group projects. Labs. Quizzes. College applications breathing down your neck. Stress acne appearing in places you didnât even know could get acne. And a very unglamorous amount of existential dread.
There was no whimsical montage. No soulful jazz in the background. Just the sound of your laptop fan threatening to explode as you stared at a blank Google Doc titled âThe Impact of Industrialization on Modern Society.â
âThis is not what the movies promised me,â you grumbled, slamming your forehead onto your desk. âCarrie Bradshaw never had to write a five-page analysis on the French Revolution.â
Ekko, sprawled out on your bed flipping through a textbook, snorted. âYeah, well, she also never had to figure out the square root of disappointment, but here we are.â
You groaned louder, pushing your chair back and pacing your room like moving would somehow convince your brain to start functioning. âI thought this year was supposed to be... different. You know? Last year. Bucket list. Memories. Parties. Something. Anything. Instead, itâs just me drowning in homework, applying to colleges I canât afford, andââ
You caught yourself. Cut the sentence off before her name could tumble out.
But Ekko caught it anyway. His eyes flicked toward you, one brow lifting, waiting.
âNope,â you said quickly, pointing a finger at him. âDonât. Not doing this.â
âI didnât say anything,â he said, deadpan. But the shit-eating grin tugging at the corner of his mouth said otherwise.
âDidnât have to.â You groaned and flopped dramatically onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling like maybeâjust maybeâthe meaning of life was written there. âThis year is actually trying to kill me.â
âSame,â Ekko sighed, sliding off the bed to lie next to you on the floor. âBut hey... at least youâre not totally alone in the dumpster fire.â
âYeah,â you muttered. âNothing says âsenior year memoriesâ like joint academic suffering.â
For a moment, the two of you just laid there in silence. But no matter how hard you tried to focus on the French Revolution, college deadlines, or literally anything else... your mind kept drifting. Right back to a certain pink-haired menace. And how, somehow, she was the only part of this year that didnât fit the script.
You eventually sat up, dragging yourself back to your desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, pretending to care about how the French revolutionizedâwhateverâa million years ago. But your brain was having none of it.
A groan ripped from your throat. âThe semesterâs halfway over, and we havenât been to a single party.â You turned to Ekko, dead serious. âDo you know how much of a loser you have to be to not get invited to anything?â
Ekko flipped another page of the massive history book heâd borrowed from the library and shrugged. âWell... youâre a loser, and Iâm always with you, so that just makes me a loser by association.â
You gasped, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it at his face. âIâm not the physics nerd here, nerd!â
He caught the pillow with one hand, deadpan. âWow. Riveting. Such clever insults.â He tossed it back at you. âInspirational, really.â
âShut up.â You laughed, shaking your head.
Ekko shut the book with a dramatic thud and leaned back. âYâknow what? No. Weâre not doing this. Iâm gonna find us a party. I donât care how. Itâs happening.â
You blinked. âYouâre serious?â
âAs a heart attack.â He pulled out his phone, already scrolling. âWe are not ending senior year as the weird shut-ins who spent every Friday night crying over AP assignments and eating instant noodles.â
A grin tugged at your lips despite the gloom. âGodspeed, soldier.â
âYouâll thank me later.â He shot you a finger gun without looking up. âOr blame me. Either way, itâll be entertaining.â
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
After spending the rest of your weekend (trying to) finish your schoolwork, Monday hit you like a truck.
The second Ekko left your house, you dove headfirst into the mountain of projects still waiting for youâwhich, unsurprisingly, consumed the rest of your weekend... and then some.
By the time you dragged yourself to school, you looked like a complete disaster. So much for âlooking your bestâ this year. Your gray hoodie had a suspicious stain you couldnât remember getting, your coffee was roughly 80% espresso, and your backpack felt like it contained the entire French Revolution itself.
By second period, you were one minor inconvenience away from crumbling into dust. You flopped into your usual seat, pulled out your laptop, and pretended to care about whatever class this wasâchemistry? Geometry? Who even knew anymoreâwhile your mind spiraled through the same exhausting loop:
Deadlines. Stress. Coffee.
Deadlines. Stress. Vi.
Deadlines. Stress. Vi, Vi, Vi.
Because, of course, there she was againâsliding into the seat next to you like she belonged there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Vi.
Wearing a red hoodie, pink hair perfectly disheveled in that âI donât care, but somehow I still look stupidly goodâ kind of way.
âMorning, princess,â she greeted, her voice lower than usual, a little scratchy like she hadnât fully woken up yet. She stretched her arms above her head, and just enough of her hoodie lifted for you to catch a glimpse of the tattoo inked along her backâ
You yanked your gaze back to your screen like it had personally wronged you. âDonât call me that.â
âRelax,â she chuckled, nudging your shoe with hers under the desk. âYou look tense. Didnât get your beauty sleep?â
âNot everyone spends their weekend drinking and flirting.â You shot her a glare, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. âSome of us were actually being responsible.â
âMhm.â Vi rested her chin in her palm, her smirk lazy and far too self-satisfied. âYou mean rewriting your French Revolution essay three times... while binge-watching Sex and the City?â
Your jaw dropped. âHow the hell do you know that?â
She tapped the side of her head, all smug. âIâve got my ways.â
You groaned, sinking lower into your seat, already mentally drafting Ekkoâs obituary. It was definitely him. It had to be him. âI hate you.â
âNo, you donât.â Her grin widened, the kind that could ruin a person if they werenât careful. âFace it, sunshine... youâd be bored without me.â
The worst part? She was probably right.
The class dragged on foreverâan endless stream of equations or chemical reactions or maybe both; you werenât sureâbut eventually, finally, the bell rang.
As students shuffled out, Vi leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. âHey... wanna grab coffee after school? I promise I wonât make you write any essays.â
For a second, you hesitated. You really shouldnât. Not with the avalanche of homework waiting for you and your mental stability hanging by a thread.
But then again... maybe a break wouldnât hurt. Maybe dealing with Vi was slightly less exhausting than dealing with your own brain.
âFine,â you blurted before your common sense could stop you.
Her grin stretched instantlyâcocky, victorious, like sheâd just won some invisible game you didnât even know you were playing. âThatâs the spirit.â
As you shoved your laptop back into your bag, a creeping realization settled over you like a bad omen. Was getting coffee with Vi actually a good idea? Probably not.
Maybe it was dangerous. Maybe thisâwhatever this wasâwasnât just casual teasing anymore. Maybe it was something bigger. Something scarier. Something with the potential to pull you under so fast thereâd be no crawling back out.
Not that you were thinking about that, of course. Definitely not. Totally fine. Totally normal.
Absolutely. Totally. Fine.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
By lunch, your internal panic spiral hadnât stopped.
Ekko sat across from you, rambling about somethingâmaybe a new indie album, maybe a game updateâbut truth be told, you werenât hearing a word. Your brain was too busy catastrophizing:
What did Vi even mean by coffee? Was it just coffee? Was it a peace treaty? A trap? Would it be weird? Would it beâ
â...and then I pulled out a gun and shot myself in the head.â
Your head snapped up. âWhat?!â
Ekko deadpanned, holding his fork mid-air. âOh, so now youâre listening. Cool. Just making sure you hadnât actually flatlined.â
You blinked. âSorry. I... zoned out.â
âZoned out?â Ekko blinked at you. âYouâve been staring into space like a Victorian ghost for the last ten minutes. Whatâs going on?â His eyes narrowed, suspicious. âWait... let me guess. Vi?â
You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. âI hate that you know me this well.â
âOh my God. What did she do now?â
âI...â You sighed, sinking further into the table. âI accidentally agreed to get coffee with her after school.â
Ekko blinked. â...Accidentally?â
âYes. Shut up.â
A grin spread across his face like wildfire. âSo let me get this straight. You got a date with Ms. Criminal Record herself?â
âItâs not a date.â
âSure. Totally. Not a date.â He wiggled his eyebrows like he was physically incapable of controlling himself.
You groaned louder, shoving a french fry into your mouth just to avoid having to answer.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
You stood outside the little coffee shop two blocks from school, hands shoved deep into your hoodie pocket, already questioning every decision that had led you to this exact moment.
You could still back out. Just make up some excuse tomorrow. Maybe something tragic. Like... your poor dog suddenly died. (Not that anyone would believe that. You didnât even have a dog. But... she didnât know that.)
Before you could spiral any further, a familiar voice snapped you out of it.
âWell, look who showed.
You turnedâand there she was.
Leaning against the wall like she was posing for some effortlessly cool magazine cover. Pink hair windswept and messier than usual, a few loose strands falling over her face. Her red hoodie hanging a little loose on her frame, but that stupid, infuriating smirk? Oh, that was very much still thereâthe one that made it impossible to tell whether she was about to flirt with you or ruin your entire life. Probably both.
âYou actually cameâ she added, pushing off the wall with her boot.
âI said I wouldâ you muttered, tryingâfailingâto sound casual.
She grinned, holding the door open with an exaggerated bow. âAfter you, sunshine.â
âStop calling me thatâ you grumbled, stepping inside.
The place was small but cozyâdim string lights hanging along the ceiling, the faint smell of roasted coffee beans mixing with cinnamon, and some random indie song playing softly in the background. Mismatched chairs, hand-painted tables, and customers pretending to study while actually scrolling through their phones completed the aesthetic.
Vi ordered an iced coffee with two extra espresso shots (because of course she did), while you went with something safer, something warm and without any caffeine. You were already anxious enough without turbo-charging (more) your nervous system.
As you waited, the silence between you felt... weird. Not awkward, exactly. More like... charged. Heavy in a way that made your skin buzz.
When you sat down, she stretched her legs out under the table, and her boot knocked against yours. You werenât sure if it was an accident. (It wasnât.)
Vi drummed her fingers against the table. âDidnât think youâd actually say yes.â
âYeah, well,â you muttered, stirring your drink unnecessarily. âDidnât think youâd actually ask.â
Vi laughed, head tipping back slightly, a few strands of pink falling over her eyes. âFair.â
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You stared at your drink like it might offer you answers. She stared at you like you were the answer.
âSo...â you started, voice coming out a little tighter than you intended. âWhat is this? Some new form of torture?â
Vi tilted her head, smirk softening just slightly. âNah. Just... wanted to hang out. Youâre fun.â
You blinked. âYou have a really weird definition of fun.â
She grinned wider. âMaybe. Or maybe you just donât know how to loosen up.â
You scoffed, crossing your arms. âOh yeah? And youâre gonna teach me how to... what? Break the law? Get arrested?â
Vi actually laughed at that. A real one. Loud, full, and genuineâlike youâd just told her the funniest joke in the world. It caught you off guard. The corners of her eyes crinkled in a way that made your stupid heart squeeze in your chest.
âYou know thatâs not actually true, right?â she said between chuckles.
âItâs not?â you asked, raising an eyebrow.
âNo!â she snorted, shaking her head. âWhere the hell do you people get this stuff from?â
âOh, I donât know...â You gestured vaguely, feigning deep thought. âThe seventeen detentions... the rumors... the fact that youâve been in a fistfight like, what? Twice this semester?â
âPfft.â Vi waved a hand dismissively. âOkay, first off, one of those wasnât my fault. That guy walked into my fist. Totally different situation.â
You blinked. âRight. Sure. Completely believable.â You crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair. âBesides, someoneâs friendâs cousinâs neighbor âor something, saw it happen.â
Vi raised a brow, her grin sharpening. âOh yeah? And does someoneâs friendâs cousinâs neighbor have a name?â
You squinted at her. âWhat? Why? What are you gonna doâbeat them up too?â
She laughed, taking a sip of her iced coffee like she hadnât just casually confessed to semi-accidental assault ten seconds ago. âRelax, sunshine. Iâm not that bad. I just... have a reputation. Doesnât mean itâs all true.â
You rested your chin in your palm, narrowing your eyes like you were studying her under a microscope. âSo what youâre telling me is... youâre secretly... what? Misunderstood?â
Vi tilted her head, smile softening around the edges. âMaybe.â She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. âGuess youâll have to figure that one out for yourself.â
The air between you shiftedâjust slightly. Less banter, more... something else. Something heavier. Something that made your heart do that annoying stutter thing it had absolutely no right doing.
And that was terrifying. Because you realizedâmaybe for the first timeâthat under all the teasing, the cocky grins, and the reckless energy... there was an actual person sitting in front of you. Someone complicated. Someone interesting. Someone who was starting to feel even more like a bad idea.
âYeah...â you muttered, taking a sip of your drink. âNot sure if thatâs a good thing or a terrible thing.â
Vi smirked, tapping her boot against yours again. âGuess weâll find out.â
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
The second you stepped out of the coffee shop you fumbled your phone out of your hoodie pocket with shaking hands.
Your thumbs moved before your brain could catch up.
YOU: đđđ EMERGENCY. CALL 911.
EKKO: what now đ
YOU: I JUST GOT OUT OF THE COFFEE SHOP WITH VI. SHE WAS. NICE???
EKKO: hold on nice??? vi? pink-haired menace vi?
YOU: YES. SHE WAS ACTUALLY NICE. OR LIKE... FAKE NICE?? IDK. SHE SMILED. NOT THE "IM GONNA BULLY YOU" SMILE. THE OTHER ONE. THE... SOFT ONE.
EKKO: oh no. ur doomed. rip.
YOU: THIS IS NOT FUNNY. IM PANICKING. WHAT IF I LIKE HER. đđđ
EKKO: lmao uâve BEEN liked her. ur just now realizing?
YOU: SHUT UP. IM SERIOUS. WHAT DO I DO????
EKKO: idk. maybe stop fighting it?? đ€·đœââïž get ur little enemies-to-something arc going.
YOU: NOT HELPING.
EKKO: ok fine. step 1: breathe. step 2: admit u wanna kiss her. step 3: idk figure it out.
YOU: IM BLOCKING YOU.
EKKO: no u wonât. ur too busy spiraling over vi
You groaned, aggressively locking your phone and shoving it back into your hoodie pocket like that would somehow mute your own brainâand more specifically, your heartâthat was now screaming in seventeen different languages.
Nope. Not dealing with this right now.
You decided to power through it. Focus. You had enough problems as it was. Adding "possibly liking Vi" to the pile? Yeah, no. Not happening.
You tugged your hoodie tighter around you as you walked home, headphones in, trying to drown out your own thoughts with music. But it didnât work. Your brain kept spiraling back to the same stupid question:
What happens now?
Would she treat you the same? Were things going to be weird? Did she think it was weird? Was this a one-time thing, or�
By the time you unlocked your front door, your head hurt more than your overstuffed backpack. You threw it onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, flopped next to it, and buried your face in the pillow.
Bzzzt.
Your phone lit up. A text from an unknown number.
Unknown Number: got home safe?
You blinked. Sat up. Stared at it.
You: ??
You: who is this?
Unknown Number: the love of your life, sunshine.
Your stomach droppedâand flippedâand caught fire all at once.
You: vi??
Unknown Number: ding ding ding đ
You stared at the screen, jaw slack, brain buffering.
How the hell did she even get your number??
Another text popped up before you could even process:
Vi: relax. i bribed ekko with gummy worms. not my proudest moment.
Vi: worth it tho.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, completely useless. No thoughts. Head empty. Just static and panic and... butterflies.
You: youâre unbelievable.
Vi: yeah yeah. but admit it... you missed me already.
You flopped back onto the bed, phone to your chest, letting out the loudest, most dramatic groan the universe had ever heard.
It was pathetic, but the actual truth was that you kinda did.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
By the time morning rolled around, you were running on approximately three hours of sleep, sheer panic, and the lingering chaos of that text conversation. You had stared at your phone way longer than you shouldâve last night, reading and rereading her messages, debating whether each one was a joke, flirting, or some strange Vi-brand mix of both.
Needless to say, you looked like death. Again.
Slam.
Your locker door shut louder than intended, making you jump. And of courseâbecause the universe loved making your life worseâthere she was.
Vi.
Leaning casually against the locker next to yours like she lived there now. Hands stuffed into her red jacket pocket, head tilted.
âMorning, sunshine.â The smirk was back in full force. âSleep well?â
You deadpanned. âAbsolutely not.â
She chuckled. âWeird. Wonder why.â
âOh, gee, yeah, I wonder,â you shot back, slinging your bag over your shoulder. âItâs almost like someone decided to text me stupid stuff until midnight.â
Vi grinned, walking in step with you down the hallway. âMidnight? Weak. I couldâve gone longer.â
âGod, youâre exhausting.â
âAnd yet,â she bumped your shoulder lightly with hers, âhere you are. Still showing up.â
You side-eyed her, heat creeping up your neck despite your best efforts. âYeah, well. Someoneâs gotta supervise you before you get arrested for... I donât know... breathing wrong.â
Vi laughed. That warm, genuine kind of laugh that made something in your chest tangle into a knot.
As you rounded the corner toward class, a familiar voice cut throughâ
âWell, well, well,â Ekko drawled, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. âLook whoâs become... inseparable.â
Your face practically caught fire. âShut up.â
Vi just raised a brow, grinning. âWhat, jealous?â
Ekko scoffed. âPlease. I donât have the emotional energy to handle two of you.â
You shoved past both of them. âIf anyone needs me, Iâll be throwing myself into the nearest garbage can.â
âOh, we know,â Ekko called after you. âWe absolutely know.â
Vi just laughed again, falling into step beside you. Like she belonged there. Like this was... normal now.
And the scary part? You kinda wanted it to be.
Then days turned into a week. Then two.
And somehow... Vi didnât go away.
She started showing up more. Sliding into the seat next to you like it was her God-given right. Stealing your fries at lunch without asking. Sending you dumb texts late at nightâthings like, âAre sandwiches technically tacos?â followed by, âNo, but seriously, I have evidence. Prepare yourself.â
She was... just there now. In your space. In your routine. In your head.
And God help you... you liked it. Way more than you should.
But the more time passed, the more this uncomfortable little thought started gnawing at your brain like a rat in the walls:
Maybe that coffee âdateâ wasnât actually a date.
You were the one who read it wrong. Of course you were. It was Vi. Vi flirted like she breathedâeffortless, constant, automatic. With everyone.
This was probably just... a game to her. A joke. Maybe she liked seeing you flustered. Maybe you were just something fun to mess withâa puzzle, a toy, a distraction from her own boredom.
So you didnât say anything. You shoved it down. Bit your tongue every time she called you sunshine, or princess, or sweetheart with that infuriating, devastating little grin.
Because what if you askedââWhat is this? What are we?ââand she laughed? What if she said, âRelax. Donât take it so seriously.â? What if you ruined everything?
Because as exhausting as it was, as much as your brain scrambled every time her knee brushed yours under the cafeteria table, or she slung her arm around your shoulder like it meant nothing... you didnât want her to go away.
You liked this.
You liked her.
Even if it hurt a little.
Even if it meant pretending you were totally fine with being âjust friends.â
Even if it meant ignoring the fact that every time she smiled at you, your heart felt like it was trying to jailbreak out of your ribs.
And as you lay sprawled out on your bedroom rugâhalf-heartedly scrolling through social media, half-staring at the ceilingâyou found yourself thinking:
What would Carrie Bradshaw do?
Probably something chaotic and self-destructive. Probably humiliate herself so Big would stay with her... and then cry about it to her friends over overpriced brunch.
Unfortunately, you werenât a successful writer in your mid-thirties with a nicotine addiction and a talent for making terrible life decisions look glamorous.
Before you could spiral any further, a voice interrupted from your doorway.
âGod, you look awful.â
You sat up to see Ekko leaning against the doorframe, a box of pizza on his hands.
âThanks,â you deadpanned, dragging yourself off the floor. âNice to see you too.â
âWho died?â
âMy dignity.â
Ekko snorted, kicking the door shut behind him. âAgain? Damn. How many lives does that thing have left?â He put the box on your bed and sat down on your desk chair. âBrought you pizza. Though honestly, I figured you were dead since I didnât hear from you.â
You opened the box with a groan. âYou werenât wrong.â
âAbout?â
âShe doesnât actually like me,â you mumbled around a bite of pizza. âSheâs just... being Vi. Yâknow. Flirts with everyone. Makes stupid jokes. Drives me insane.â
Ekko gave you a long, unimpressed look. âI donât know if this helps, but... she doesnât flirt with everyone. Sheâs actually kinda rude most of the time.â
You snorted, nearly choking. âWow. Thanks, I feel so much better now.â
Grabbing a slice for himself, Ekko leaned back against the chair. âBut the real question is... do you actually like her?â
Your silence was deafening.
âRight,â he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. âOkay, well, if youâre gonna keep wallowing like a sad Victorian ghost, Iâm officially dragging you out of this pit before you start writing love letters by candlelight orâGod forbidâbuying a typewriter for aesthetic purposes.â
You squinted at him. â...What?â
âIf you actually read the texts I sent you, youâd know I found us a party.â He gave you a look that screamed âYes, Iâm awesome. Worship me.â âItâs next Saturday.â
You groaned, flopping back onto your bed like the dramatic mess you were.
Because somewhere between promising yourself youâd actually live this yearâand whatever the hell living even meantâcame the inevitable downside: socializing.
A thing you categorically hated.
âI have plans next Saturday,â you tried, weakly.
âYouâre going to the party. Not up for debate,â Ekko shot back, already calling you out with zero mercy. âAnd no, rewatching Sex and the City for the hundredth time does not count as plans.â
You scowled, hugging a throw pillow to your chest. âIâm not in the mood to socialize, okay? Iâm one hundred percent sure Viâs gonna be there, and I am not emotionally prepared to watch her flirt with other girls.â
âGod, I hate her,â you muttered.
âSure you do,â Ekko snorted, spinning lazily in your desk chair. âYou hate her so much that youâve memorized the exact shade of her stupid eyes.â
âShut up.â
âMake me.â
You groaned. âSeriously, Ekko, I cannot deal with her right now. I just... I need a break. A Vi detox.â
âTough luck,â he shrugged, propping his feet up on your desk. âLast week you were practically begging me to find us a party, and guess what? I delivered. So youâre coming.â
You sighed dramatically. âWhy does the universe hate me?â
âIt doesnât. You just have a crush.â He grinned like the menace he was. âAnd if you donât go, itâs like... letting her win.â
You blinked. âWin what?â
âYour sanity. Your dignity. Your spot in the food chain. I donât know. Something important.â
You buried your face in your hands. âI hate you.â
âNo, you donât.â
And annoyingly⊠he was right.
Thatâs how you found yourself being dragged into a house you didnât even know the owner of on Saturday night.
The second you stepped through the door, the overwhelming smell hit you like a brick wallâa chaotic cocktail of cheap beer, weed, sweat, and the unmistakable stench of too many underage boys crammed into one place. Whoeverâs house this was clearly had no concept of fire codes, personal space, or carpet maintenance.
Music blared from a speaker that was definitely not designed to handle bass that heavy. The floor vibrated under your shoes. Bodies were everywhereâcrammed into corners, perched on countertops, lounging on beat-up couches, or tangled together on the stairs. Half of them youâd never even seen before in your life.
Were these people even from your school? Where did they come from? Did someone open a portal to the next town over?
You tugged your sleeves down over your hands, already regretting every life decision that led to this moment.
âI feel like Iâve walked straight into hell,â you muttered, glaring as someone stumbled past holding a bottle of something that was absolutely not soda.
âCâmon,â Ekko grinned, annoyingly chipper about all of this. âLetâs get something to drink.â Without waiting for your consent, he hooked his arm around yours and practically dragged you toward the kitchen.
You wove through the crowd, sidestepping sweaty bodies, dodging two girls aggressively making out against a wall, and narrowly avoiding being collateral damage in an increasingly hostile beer pong argument.
The kitchen wasnât much betterâjust slightly less packed. The counters were a crime scene of half-empty bottles, red Solo cups, discarded bags of chips, and mysterious sticky puddles you decided not to investigate.
Ekko let go of your arm long enough to rummage through the chaos. âAlright, whatâs your poison? Mystery punch thatâll probably kill us, orâŠâ He picked up a bottle, sniffed it, and immediately recoiled. â...something that smells like nail polish remover.â
You wrinkled your nose. âTempting.â
âYeah, we love a choice between food poisoning and gasoline.â
Still, you grabbed a cupâmore to have something to fidget with than any real desire to drink itâpointedly ignoring the suspicious floating things in the punch. âRemind me why I let you talk me into this?â
âCharacter development,â Ekko smirked. âAlso... senior year. Weâre supposed to make bad decisions. Itâs, like, a rule.â
You sighed, leaning against the counter, tapping your cup but not drinking yet. Your eyes scanned the crowdâhalf on autopilot, half on edgeâuntil, like clockworkâŠ
There she was.
Leaning against the doorway to the living room, one boot casually kicked back against the frame. Viâs signature leather jacket wasâsurprisinglyânowhere in sight, abandoned for the night. Pink hair pulled back just enough to show off the sharp undercut, with a few loose strands falling perfectly (and infuriatingly) over her forehead.
A half-empty beer bottle dangled lazily from her fingertips as she laughed at something the girl next to her saidâa pretty brunette with a red streak in her hair and a hand resting just a little too comfortably on Viâs arm.
Like gravity itself had shifted, every nerve in your body zeroed in on her. Of course she was here. Of course she looked stupidly, unfairly cool. Of course she had that cocky, heartbreaker grin tugging at the corner of her mouth like she owned the house.
Ekko followed your gaze, groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. âOh no. Donât do it. Donât even start.â
âIâm not doing anything,â you shot back, defensive. âIâm literally just standing here.â
âMmhmm. Sure.â
Then, because betrayal runs deep, Ekko mumbled something about âblue hairâ and promptly vanished into the crowd. So much for âYeah, I wonât leave your side. Iâm your emotional support human.â
âTraitorâ you muttered under your breath.
With a sigh, you glanced back toward the doorwayâbecause you were weak and apparently a glutton for painâbut... she was gone.
Vi was no longer there.
The brunette sheâd been talking to was still standing there, frowning and glancing around like she hadnât expected her conversation partner to ghost her either.
For one brief, ridiculous moment, you actually wondered if youâd hallucinated her. Maybe the combination of party fumes and emotional damage had finally fried your brain.
âCool. Awesome. Iâm officially losing it,â you muttered, pressing your palm to your face.
âMiss me, sunshine?â
Her voiceâlow, smug, dangerously closeâpurred into your ear.
You jolted so hard you nearly flung your drink. Whipping around, you came face-to-face with her.
She was standing way too close. Hands shoved into the back pockets of her ripped jeans like she hadnât just scared you half to death. Her cropped tank showed off toned arms and tattoos that curled out from beneath the fabric.
âNot really,â you shot back, tryingâand failingâto sound casual.
Vi grinned, tilting her head. âLiar.â Her eyes flicked over you, softer now, almost fond. âDidnât know you were coming tonight.â
âDidnât know youâd be here either,â you mumbled, instantly hating how breathless you sounded.
âOh please.â She bumped your shoulder lightly with hers. âItâs me. Of course Iâm here.â Her grin softened just a fraction. âGlad you showed up though.â
You blinked. âWait... really?â
âYeah.â Her smile was lazy but genuine. âParties are boring without you.â
And before you could even begin to figure out what the hell that meant, a voice from the living room yelled over the music, âSPIN THE BOTTLE! LIVING ROOM. NOW.â
Viâs eyes lit up instantly. âWanna play?â
You looked between her excited face and the drink going warm in your cup. âScrew it.â
You tipped the cup back, downing the whole thing in one go. It didnât taste as bad as you expectedâbut it wasnât good either. Wincing, you wiped your mouth. âLetâs play.â
Vi grinned wide, her fingers curling gently around your wrist. With a playful tug, she pulled you toward the living room. âThatâs what Iâm talking about.â
You knewâyou just knewâyou were gonna regret this. But with her looking at you like that, and the growing crowd surging in the same direction, any resistance felt... pointless.
Senior year was made for bad choices, wasnât it?
A circle had already formed on the floorâred solo cups, empty bottles, and shoes scattered around like landmines. Someone shoved an empty beer bottle into the center, laying out the rules with a drunken grin: spin the bottle, kiss whoever it lands on. No chicken-outs. No take-backs.
Hovering awkwardly at the edge, you felt whatever flimsy bravado youâd gathered start to crumble. But Vi didnât let go of your wrist. Instead, she tugged you down next to her, thigh pressed firmly against yours, anchoring you to the spot.
She nudged your shoulder, smirking. âRelax. Itâs just a dumb game.â Her voice softened, losing some of that usual cocky edge. âIf it lands on someone weird, we can just pretend it was rigged. Iâve got your back, sunshine.â
...God, why was she being nice? Friendly. Sweet, even. This wasnât fair. She wasnât allowed to be hot and considerate. It was emotional terrorism.
The bottle spun a few timesâcheers, groans, awkward laughter as strangers kissed. Your nerves shot through the roof every time it started slowing down.
Then someone nudged the bottle toward Vi. âYour turn, Pinky.â
Vi rolled her eyes but smirked, leaning forward and giving the bottle a lazy flick of her wrist. It spun wildly, clattering against the floor as the whole circle leaned in to watch.
Your stomach dropped.
The bottle slowed... slowed... thenâ
It landed on you.
A stunned beat of silence. Then someone let out a sharp whistle. Another voice gasped, âNo freaking way.â
Your entire face went up in flames. You swore you could feel the heat radiating off your skin.
Vi blinked, like she hadnât expected it either. But then her grin stretched widerâless cocky, more... mischievous. A softness tugged at the corners of her mouth.
She scooted in closer, her voice low enough that only you could hear. âWanna skip? Or...â Her gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, softer now. â...Or do you want me to kiss you?â
You swallowed. âItâs... itâs the game, isnât it?â you mumbled, tryingâfailingâto hide how badly you wanted to say yesjust because it was her.
Vi didnât say anything. Instead, her hand slid up, fingers finding the side of your neck, warm and gentle. Her nose brushed yours as she leaned in, close enough that you could feel her breath, hot and uneven against your mouth.
Then she kissed you.
It wasnât rushed, or rough, or showy like you expected. Neither of you fought for dominance. None of the dumb clichĂ©s. It was... soft. Warm. Her lips moved against yours like it was the most natural thing in the worldâlike you were something delicate, something meant to be held like this.
It made your head spin. Your fingers twitched uselessly against the fabric of your jeans, torn between gripping onto her or pushing her away before you fell any deeper into whatever trap this was.
When she pulled backâjust barelyâher forehead lingered against yours, her breath mingling with yours. Her thumb brushed lightly at your cheek, absent, casual... like muscle memory. Like this wasnât a big deal to her. Like it was nothing.
And thatâs when the crack split straight through your chest.
Because as much as you wanted to believeâGod, you wanted to believeâthat this meant something, you knew better.
This was just Vi being Vi. Flirty. Charming. Sweet when it suited her. A kiss for the sake of a game. A moment that meant absolutely nothing to her while it meant way too much to you.
You werenât special. You were just the person the bottle landed on.
Of course she didnât really want you. Not like that. Not really.
âExcuse meâ you muttered, barely able to get the words out before the lump in your throat suffocated you.
You scrambled to your feet, ignoring the laughter and the teasing whistles from the crowd. Your chest felt too tight. The walls too close. The air thick like smoke.
âHeyâwaitââ you heard Vi start, but you were already pushing through the bodies, practically shoving your way toward the front door.
The cold air outside hit you like a slap the second you stepped out. You gulped it down like youâd been drowning, wrapping your arms around yourself as you paced toward the curb, trying to make the knot in your chest unclench.
âDamn it,â you hissed under your breath. âDamn it, damn it, damn it.â
âHey. Heyâwait.â
The door creaked open behind you, and heavy boots clattered down the porch steps.
You didnât have to turn around to know who it was.
âSunshine, what the hell?â Her voice was a mix of confusion and somethingâsomething almost guilty. âWhyâd you run off?â
You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your back to her. âGo back inside, Vi.â
âWhat? No.â Her boots crunched against the gravel as she stepped closer. âAre youâwhatâs wrong?â Her voice softened, worried now. âDid I⊠did I do something wrong?â
You shook your head quickly, biting the inside of your cheek until it hurt. Because talking to herâhearing her voice that soft, that close, that worriedâwhen you knew it was probably just more of the same sweet nothings would break you.
âItâs⊠Itâs nothing,â you managed, voice shaking. You wiped at your eyes with your long sleeves, tryingâfailingâto stop the sting of tears. âIâm just⊠Iâm being stupid. You didnât do anything.â
Vi huffed, trying to laugh it off, like it might fix something. âWas the kiss that bad?â she joked, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. âCâmon, sunshine... I didnât think I was that bad.â
Your stomach twisted.
Itâs a joke to her.
God. Of course it was.
âJesus, Violet.â You spun around, not caring that your eyelashes were wet or that your voice was barely holding steady. âIs this all a joke to you? Is that what this is?â
Her smirk faltered, confusion knitting her brows. âWhat?â
âYouââ Your hands flew up, gesturing wildly between the two of you. âYou tease me. You flirt with me. You ask me to get coffee. You make meââ your voice cracked, sharp and bitter, ââyou make me like you. You make me think maybe... maybe this means something.â
You shoved your hands into your hair, tugging at the strands like it might ground you. âAnd for what? For a laugh? For fun? Some experiment? Am I justâwhatâa game to you, Vi?â
Her face fell, eyes widening. âWhat? No. Noâno.â She stepped forward, hands half-raised like she wanted to reach for you but didnât know if she was allowed. âThatâs notâGod, thatâs not what this is. I didnât meanââ
âDidnât mean what, exactly?â Your voice was sharp now, brittle and trembling. âDidnât mean to lead me on? Didnât mean to kiss me like I wasâlike I was something more than just another one of the girls you flirt with?â
âI neverââ Viâs breath caught. Her jaw clenched, and for a second, her eyes softened like she was about to say something realâsomething honest. But the words got stuck. âIt wasnât supposed toâShit.â
Before she could untangle herself, another voice cut through the tense silence.
âHey.â
You turned, breath still ragged, to see Ekko jogging up from down the sidewalk. His eyes scanned the sceneâyour tear-streaked face, Vi standing frozen, guilt and frustration painted across her features.
âThe hell happened?â Ekko asked, glancing between the two of you, then settling his gaze on you. His entire face softened. âYou good?â
âIâm fine,â you lied, wiping at your face again. âCan youâcan you just take me home?â
âYeah. Yeah, câmere.â Without waiting for permission, Ekko shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over your shoulders like a shield. He shot a glare at Vi, jaw tight. âYou seriously upset her this bad? What the hell, Vi?â
âI didnâtââ Vi started, reaching out, but you flinched away before she could touch you. Her hand froze midair, hovering like even she didnât know what to do with it anymore. âItâs not what it looks like, I justââ
You stepped back, hugging Ekkoâs jacket tighter around yourself. You looked her dead in the eyes, knowing exactly how exhausted, hurt, and done you must have lookedâhating how your voice trembled, but pushing through it anyway.
âI just⊠need some time.â
Viâs lips parted like she wanted to argueâwanted to explain, to fight for whatever this wasâbut no words came out. Her hands balled into fists, then relaxed, then balled again, as if even her own body couldnât decide whether to hold on or let go. She just stood there, helpless, watching as you finally turned your back on her.
Ekkoâs arm slipped around your shoulders, firm and grounding. âCâmon,â he murmured. âLetâs get you home.â
You let him lead you awayâaway from the party, from Vi, from the chaos. And not once did you look back.
If you didâŠ
You were afraid you might break completely.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
The drive was quiet. The only sounds were your soft sniffles and the low, rattling hum of the old engine in Ekkoâs beat-up car.
He didnât say anything at firstâjust drove, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road like he knew you needed the silence.
Eventually, he broke it. âYou wanna talk about it?â His tone was gentle. Careful. He didnât pushâyou could either dump everything out or let it stay bottled. Your choice.
You let out a shaky breath, staring out the window like the night sky might have answers. âIâm so stupid, Ekko.â Your voice cracked, raw. âI donât know what I was thinking. We were talking and... she was being so nice. Saying she was glad I came. Acting like... like she actually cared.â Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of his jacket. âAnd then suddenly, weâre sitting in a spin the bottle circleâlike, seriously, what are we, fifteen?â
You scrubbed at your face aggressively, frustrated with yourself for crying, for feeling. âAnd because the universe hates me, it was her turn. And the bottle justâof courseâhad to stop on me.â
Ekkoâs hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. âDid she⊠do something you didnât want?â His voice was careful now. Protective. Ready to fight if he needed to.
âNo,â you blurted out quickly. âNo. Nothing like that. She... she kissed me. And it was... God, it was good. It was soft, and warm, and... she was being so... careful. Like she actually cared.â Your throat tightened. âAnd thatâs exactly why I had to get out of there.â
Ekko glanced over, brow furrowed. âOkay⊠but I still donât get how it went from that to... you crying in the middle of the street.â
You sighed hard, leaning your head back against the seat. âShe made a joke. A stupid, dumbass joke about not thinking the kiss was that bad. Likeâlike it was just... funny. Like it was nothing to her. And I justââ You let out a bitter laugh that didnât sound like you. âI realized Iâm a joke. Iâm the joke.â
âI donâtââ Ekko started, but you cut him off, voice rising.
âShe flirts, she teases, she calls herself âthe love of my lifeâ like itâs some punchline. And then what? Nothing. Nothing ever comes of it. Who the hell does she think she is?â You threw your hands up in frustration. âShe kisses me like it means something, like itâs real, likeâlike Iâm not just the idiot who watched her flirt with some random girl the second I walked into that party.â
Ekko pulled into your driveway, shifting the car into park. He leaned back, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at you. âOkay, so... do you want my opinion? Or should I just sit here and nod like an enabler?â
You sniffed, wiping your face with the sleeve of his jacket. âGo ahead. Letâs hear it.â
He pointed a finger at you. âFirst off... I think this? This is more about you than her.â You opened your mouth to argue, but he held a hand up. âNo. Uh-uh. Let me finish.â
âSheâs single. She can flirt with whoever the hell she wants.â He gave you a lookâfirm but not unkind. âAnd also... she doesnât know you like her.â His head tilted. âLike, actually like her. Until a month ago, you wouldâve rather eaten glass than admit you didnât hate her. Hell, you probably still wouldnât admit it.â
He gestured between the two of you. âYou think everyoneâs a mind reader? Not everyoneâs mentally connected to you like I am.â
You opened your mouth to fire something back... but nothing came out. Because he wasnât wrong. Not even a little bit.
Ekko sighed, softer this time. âAnd look... Iâm not saying you donât have a right to be upset. You do. If she really likes youâlike likes youâshe couldâve been clearer. She couldâve handled this way better.â His hands tapped the wheel absently. âBut you both? Youâve been dancing around each other for months. Pretending. Poking. Flirting. Fighting. And neither of you wants to admit itâs real unless the other says it first.â
You swallowed hard, throat tight, heart heavier than beforeâbut not in the same way.
âI think,â Ekko continued, glancing over, âyou both need some time. To figure your shit out. And then you need to sit down, talk it over... and actually talk.â He nudged your arm with his elbow. âWithout yelling. Without storming out. Like actual functioning humans.â
You stared at the dashboard, then sighed. âI hate feelings.â
Ekko grinned. âYeah. I know.â
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
The week that followed the absolute disaster of that party was, without a doubt, one of the weirdest weeks of your life.
Vi gave you the time youâd asked for. Completely. No texts. No teasing. No dumb flirty comments. Not even that annoying smirk she always threw your way when she passed you in the hall. Nothing. It was radio silence.
And God... it felt awful.
You felt empty.
How could someone whoâd only been in your life for a few months leave a void this massive? It didnât make sense. It shouldnât make sense. But it did.
Everywhere you went, there were things that reminded you of her. A song playing in someoneâs car that you knew was on her playlist. A broken vending machine that still had the dent she put in it after punching it last month. Even stupid little thingsâlike seeing strawberry gum at the corner store and immediately thinking of her.
More times than you wanted to admit, your thumb hovered over her name in your contacts. Ready to text. To send a dumb picture. Or ask if she still wanted her hoodie back. Or say... something. Anything.
And every single time... you locked your phone, shoved it back into your pocket, and told yourself you needed to get your head on straight. That if you were going to talk to her, it needed to be for real. Not another half-baked argument. Not another awkward almost-conversation.
You didnât see her at lunch. You didnât catch her between classes. It was like she was a ghostâeverywhere and nowhere all at once. You couldnât tell if she was actively avoiding you or if the universe was just being cruel.
âCan you not look for her every five seconds?â Ekkoâs voice dragged you out of your thoughts. He was halfway through annihilating the saddest excuse for a cafeteria chicken sandwich youâd ever seen. âSeriously. Either do something... or stop torturing yourself.â
You sighed, slumping forward, poking half-heartedly at the fries on your tray. âIâm notââ
âYou are.â He pointed at you with a fry. âYou keep pretending youâre not, but every time someone walks past that door, you flinch like itâs her.â He chewed, swallowed, then added, âItâs getting sad, dude.â
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. âI know... I know. I just... I donât know what to say to her.â
âTry âhey.â Or âcan we talk?â Or, I donât know, literally any words that exist in the English language.â He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. âLook, I get it. You donât wanna screw it up. You wanna do this the right way.â He paused, looking at you seriously. âBut avoiding her isnât the right way either.â
âIâm not avoiding her,â you muttered, though you knew it was a lie.
Ekko snorted. âYeah. Sure. Thatâs why you nearly dove behind the vending machine this morning when you saw her coming.â
You winced. âThat was... situational.â
âSure, bro.â He popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. âTotally situational.â
You sighed, letting your head thunk against the table.
You were miserable. And this wasnât fixing anything.
You missed her.
God, you missed her so bad it physically hurt.
And maybe... maybe it was time to stop running from that.
For the rest of lunch, you sat in silence, pretending to care about Ekkoâs ongoing rant about how cafeteria pizza should be a crime against humanity. But your mind wasnât really there.
It circled the same thought, over and over like a broken record:
âTalk to her. Just⊠talk to her.â
Easier said than done.
Your knee bounced under the table as the anxiety built. You were so deep in your own head that you didnât even realize lunch had ended until Ekko snapped his fingers in front of your face.
âEarth to emotionally constipated lesbian.â He stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder. âYou good?â
You nodded. Sort of. âYeah... yeah. Iâm gonna do it.â
Ekkoâs eyebrows shot up. âWait, really?â
âYeah. I mean... I have to.â You shoved your tray aside, gripping the strap of your bag like it was some kind of life preserver. âI canât keep doing this. I canât keep pretending like it didnât happen. Like none of it meant anything.â You swallowed hard. âEven if itâs just to get closure... I need to know.â
âOkay, yeah!â Ekko grinned, clapping you hard on the back. âNow weâre talking! So... whatâs the plan?â
You stared at him blankly. âI have... absolutely no fucking idea.â
He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face like this was somehow his problem too. âDamn. Why do I always gotta do everything around here?â
You snorted. âTragic, really.â
Rubbing his eyes like you were physically exhausting him, he muttered, âAlright, first of allâyou cannot ask me how I know this.â
You squinted. âThatâs... very suspicious.â
âYeah, yeah.â He waved you off. âLook, Iâll text you her address. You still have her hoodie, right?â
You nodded. âYeah.â
âCool. Use that as your excuse. Tell her itâs her favorite hoodie and sheâll literally die without it. I donât know. Be creative. Improvise. Lie a little.â
You blinked at him. â...I donât know how you got her address, and I donât think I wanna know. But youâre a lifesaver.â
âDamn right I am.â
The rest of the school day was a blurâan endless loop of your brain spiraling between panic and regret. You barely heard anything your teachers said, your leg bouncing under your desk the entire time as you worked yourself into a mental breakdown over:
How the hell were you going to explain knowing where she lived without sounding like a stalker?
What the hell were you even going to say when you got there?
âHey, sorry I accused you of using me in front of half the party.â
âHey, my bad for melting down after you kissed me in front of everyone.â
âHey, I think I might actually be in love with you and it scares the absolute shit out of me.â
No. Nope. Absolutely not that last one. Not even under threat of death.
By the time school ended, you had worked yourself up so badly that your hands were actually shaking as you punched the address into your phone.
The walk there felt longer than it probably was. Every step sounded like a countdown to your own execution. You stopped a few houses away, took a deep breath, and before you chickened out completely, you fired a quick text to Ekko:
You: just got here. if i die tell my mom it was self-inflicted.
Ekko: 𫥠soldierâs death. respect.
You stared at the door. You could still back out. Run. Pretend you got lost. Fake a kidnapping. Anything.
But no. You were here. You owed it to yourself to face this.
You raised your fist and knocked.
A few seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a girl with long blue hair and sharp eyes. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldnât quite place where youâd seen her before.
âUh... hi.â You tried your best not to sound like you were about to have a stroke. âIs Vi home?â
The girl blinked at you, unimpressed. âYeah? Whoâs asking?â
âItâs... uh... Y/N. Iâm one of her classmates.â Your voice was way too shaky for your liking.
The moment your name left your mouth, her bored expression morphed into something far more interested. Her eyebrows shot up. âOhhhh. Youâre Y/N?â Her lips curled into a mischievous grin. âDamn. Iâve heard a lot about you.â
Your stomach flipped. â...Is that... good?â
She didnât answer. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. âFat Hands is upstairs. Second door on the left.â She jerked her thumb toward the stairway behind her. âYou can go up.â
â...Fat Hands?â you echoed, confused.
âYeah.â The girl smirked. âItâs a long story. You should ask her about it sometime.â
You didnât know whether to be concerned or amused. Probably both.
Clutching Viâs hoodie to your chest like it was some kind of emotional shield, you nodded. âUh... thanks.â
âGood luck,â she added, a little too cheerfully. âYouâre gonna need it.â
You gulped and stepped inside, every nerve in your body screaming.
Each step up the stairs felt like climbing a mountain. Second door on the left. Second door on the left. You hovered in front of it, fist raised but frozen midair. Your heart was hammering so hard you could feel it in your teeth.
This is so stupid. This is so stupid. Why am I like this?
But before you could talk yourself out of it... you knocked.
From the other side, her voice came throughâgroggy, surprised, and a little confused.
âYeah? Whatâ?â
The door creaked open.
Vi stood there, in an oversized t-shirt, hair messier than you'd ever seen it, one eyebrow raised the second her eyes landed on you. Her lips parted slightly, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.
â...Y/N?â
You swallowed, throat dry. â...Hey.â
Her expression shiftedâsurprise first, then caution, then something softer that she quickly tried to mask behind a casual lean against the doorframe. Her arms crossed, like she was bracing herself.
âI brought you this.â You held out the hoodieâhersâthe one you'd conveniently âforgottenâ to return. Every speech and rehearsed line youâd come up with vanished from your head like smoke.
â...Okay...â Vi took the hoodie slowly, like she wasnât sure if it was a gift, a trap, or both. âWhy are you... I mean... what are you doing here?â
You shifted awkwardly on your feet. âCan I... come in?â
For a second, she didnât answer. Her mouth opened like she was about to say something, then closed again. Then quietly, almost hesitantâ
â...Yeah. Yeah, okay. Câmon in.â
She stepped back, letting you into her room.
It was... surprisingly clean. Organized chaos. Posters covered the wallsâbands, old boxing matches, graffiti art. A few half-built mechanical things sat scattered across her desk, alongside a screwdriver and a pair of welding goggles. The air smelled faintly of citrus, metal... and Vi.
You stood there awkwardly, not sure whether to sit, stand, or bolt out the door. The silence between you was suffocating.
âUh, I...â you tried, but nothing made sense anymore. âI had this whole speech, about how this is your favorite hoodie and you really needed it back, and how Iâm an idiot for not returning it sooner andââ
Vi sighed, dragging both hands over her face. âLook... if youâre here to yell at me again, just get it over with. I swear, I still have no idea what the hell I did that night.â
You inhaled sharply. âThatâs... thatâs the thing.â Your gaze dropped to the floor, then back up to meet hers. âYou didnât really do anything. Not... not technically.â
Her brow furrowed. âThen why...?â
âBecause...â You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the words out. âBecause you drive me insane, Vi.â Your voice cracked. âYou flirt. You joke. You act like itâs all fun and games. You kiss me like it means something, and then... the second I walked into that party, you were flirting with someone else.â Your throat tightened. âAnd I didnât want to care. I really didnât. But I do. I care way more than I should. And it scared the hell out of me because... because I thought it was just a game to you.â
Viâs face softened instantly. âHey... no. No, Y/N...â She stepped toward you, then paused like she wasnât sure if getting closer was allowed. âIt wasnât a game. Not to me. Not... not with you.â
âThen why do you act like it is?â your voice brokeâthick with frustration and something dangerously close to heartbreak. âWhy do you call me every pet name in the book and keep proclaiming youâre the love of my life like itâs some kind of joke? Like Iâm supposed to just laugh it off and pretend it doesnât mean anything?â
Vi flinched, like the words physically hit her. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out for a second. Then finallyâ
âBecause thatâs... thatâs how I am, Y/N. Thatâs how Iâve always been. Jokingâs easier. Safer. I didnât think youâd... I didnât think youâd ever actually... care.â Her voice softened, breaking. âI didnât think I was allowed to hope you would.â
The silence that followed was suffocating.
You blinked, stunned. â...Wait. What?â
Vi dragged a hand through her hair, pacing a few steps like she couldnât sit still with everything bubbling out of her. âYeah. Yeah. Look, you think I was messing around? God, Y/N, Iâve been terrified. Youâre...â she shook her head, laughing bitterly. âYouâre smart, youâre gorgeous, youâve got your shit together... I never thought I had a chance. So yeah, I flirt. I joke. Thatâs what I do. But that kiss?â Her voice dropped, raw, trembling. âThat wasnât a joke. That wasnât a bit. That was... real. And Iâve been losing my mind ever since.â
She stopped pacing, turning to face you fully, breathing like it physically hurt. âI wanted to kiss you. I wanted it so bad. And then you ran, and I... I didnât know what to do. I didnât want to make it worse.â
Your breath caught. The tension between you was like a live wireâcrackling, fragile, dangerous.
Vi bit her bottom lip, then let out a shaky laugh, almost self-deprecating. â...I really fucked this up, huh?â
You stared at her. â...You kinda did.â You crossed your arms. âBut itâs okay... because I kinda fucked this up too.â
She winced, then smiledâsoft, lopsided, and so Vi it hurt. âYeah. Fair.â
And God... seeing Viâ reckless, cocky, unbothered Viâstanding there looking vulnerable, nervous, uncertain... it tugged at something deep in your chest.
You exhaled a shaky breath. â...So what the hell do we do now?â
Vi blinked at you, surprised for a second, then grinnedâtentative but real. âI donât know. But... maybe we stop running from it.â
Her voice was barely above a whisper when she added, âFrom... this. From us.â
Your heart stuttered. â...Yeah. Maybe we do.â
Vi stared at you like she was waiting for permission. Like if she even breathed wrong, you might vanish. Her fingers twitched at her sidesâlike she wanted to reach for you but wasnât sure if she was allowed to.
And you were tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of fighting it. Tired of holding yourself together like you werenât seconds from falling apart every time she looked at you like that.
âVi...â you started, but the words barely made it past your lips.
Her gaze dropped to your mouth. Her tongue darted out, nervously wetting her bottom lip, and thatâGod, thatâsnapped something inside of you.
âScrew it,â you whispered.
You stepped forward at the same time she did, like gravity itself finally gave up pretending you two werenât being pulled together. Her hands cupped your face, tentative at first, but the second she felt you lean into her touchâlike you needed itâher grip tightened.
And then she kissed you.
Not like the playful teasing at the party. Not like something for show, or a joke, or a dare. This was different. This was desperate, and clumsy, and real. Her lips were soft but firm against yours, a little shaky, a little frantic, like sheâd been thinking about this every second since the last time and had no idea if sheâd ever get to do it again.
Your hands fisted in the front of her shirt, pulling her closer, like you could physically make up for all the distance and the hurt and the confusion that had built between you. Her arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like something preciousâlike she was terrified of letting go.
When you finally broke apart, breathless, both of you were gasping like youâd just surfaced from underwater.
â...Okay,â Vi rasped, smiling so softly it hurt. âOkay. Yeah. Weâre really doing this, huh?â
A laugh bubbled out of you, watery and real. âYeah... I think we are.â
Her thumb brushed your cheek, gentler than youâd ever thought Vi could be. âI meant it, you know... what I said. None of this was ever a joke. Not you. Not... us.â
Your hands slid up, cupping her jaw, your thumbs tracing the line of her cheekbone. âI know. I... I didnât want to believe it at first. But... I do now.â
Vi grinned, but it was softer than her usual cocky smileâalmost shy. âGuess that means youâre stuck with me now, huh?â
You pretended to think. âHmm... yeah. Guess I am. What a nightmare.â
She chuckled, dipping her head to kiss you againâsofter this time, slower, like she wasnât in a rush anymore. Like she had all the time in the world now that you werenât running from each other.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
The next morning felt... weird. But the good kind of weird. The kind that made your stomach flutter every time you remembered how Vi had kissed you, how her hand fit perfectly in yours, how the two of you had talked until way too lateâabout everything. About the party, about the feelings neither of you had been brave enough to say out loud until now. About you. About her.
So when your phone buzzed with a text from Vi that read:
âGet ready. Iâm picking you up for school. No arguments.â
âyou couldnât even pretend to be annoyed.
And true to her word, ten minutes before you were supposed to leave, a loud, familiar motorcycle engine rumbled outside your house. You peeked through the window to see Vi leaning against her bike, looking all cocky like she wasnât absolutely whipped.
Your heart did a stupid little flip.
By the time you grabbed your bag and stepped outside, she was grinning. âMorninâ, princess.â
âMorning,â you said, trying not to smile like an idiot.
She handed you a helmet, waiting for you to strap it on before sliding onto the bike. The second you wrapped your arms around her waist, she squeezed your hand against her stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world.
âReady?â
âYeah.â
The ride to school was a blur of wind, adrenaline, and the kind of giddy happiness you hadnât felt in a long time.
Meanwhile Ekko who had stood on your front porch, and knocked for longer than he had to, was calling you like no tomorrow. His brows furrowed. âHello? You alive? Where the fuck are you?â
He was ready to call your parents when the distant sound of a motorcycle made him glance toward the street.
His eyes squinted. âNo. No way.â
Sure enough, he watched as a very familiar red motorcycle pulled into the school parking lot... with you sitting on the back of it. Arms around Vi. Laughing.
And thenâoh.
Vi parked, kicked the stand down, and helped you off like it was the most normal thing in the world. And when you slid your helmet off, she took it from you, casually threading her fingers through yours as the two of you started walking toward the school entrance.
Hand in hand.
Ekko blinked. Stared. Looked down at his phone like it might be lying to him. Looked back up and shook his head, snorting under his breath as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. âAbout damn time.â
As he caught up to you two, he didnât even bother hiding his smirk. âWow. Look who finally figured it out.â
Vi shot him a grin. âTook some elbow grease, but yeah. We got there.â
You rolled your eyes, blushing. âDonât start.â
âOh, Iâm absolutely starting.â Ekko wiggled his eyebrows. âIâm milking this for weeks.â
Vi threw an arm around your shoulders. âLet him. He earned it.â
And for once, walking into school didnât feel heavy. It didnât feel complicated. It felt... kinda perfect.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
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how'd i miss this - my girl cait i want to marry you
@cosmiclily - you have blessed me! te amo
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: đ 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 crockpotsânot five-star kitchens.
Caitlyn, on the other hand? She grew up behind iron gates. Old money. The kind of wealth that didnât need to be flashy because it was so deeply ingrained it didnât 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.
âSurprise! Youâre on âHow Long Can the Poor Girl Last?ââ
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 easierâsaferâto 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 handsâher handsâhungry 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 trainâshe didnât care. Not about the pile of dishes in the sink. Not about the bathroom faucet that wouldnât 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.
Youâd cook dinner togetherâcheap pasta or something overly ambitious from a YouTube videoâand laugh when it inevitably went wrong. Youâd 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. âSomewhere with a balcony that doesnât feel like itâs plotting our murder."
"Somewhere with more than one drawer," you grinned back, pretending the idea didnât make your heart somersault.
She made you feel like the most important person in the world. Like you were the luxury.
The way sheâd 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," sheâd whisper, her accent syrupy-sweet, "you drive me absolutely insane."
And then sheâd kiss youâhungrily, desperatelyâlike 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.
Sheâd sip wine from the fancy glass she bought you for Valentineâs Dayâbecause âno one should drink good wine out of a mug,â sheâd scoldâand look like a painting. Legs crossed. Chin tilted. Sunlight pooling in her hair like gold.
âYou look surreal right now," youâd tell her, breathless, like it was the first time youâd ever seen her.
Sheâd just smile, slow and knowing. âGood," sheâd murmur, sipping her wine. "Because I feel surreal whenever Iâm with you."
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
Then things got serious-serious. No going back. âBring her home to meet the familyâ 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 âlegendary storiesâ youâve 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 bootsâboots that had definitely never touched mud beforeâstepped 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.
âYou know, girl⊠there was this one time⊠I almost took down a bear. All by myself."
You groaned internally. Here we go.
âIt was me and my buddies. Middle of the woods. Big hunting trip. They all ranâscared shitless of the damn thing. But not me. I stood my ground. Looked that bear right in the eye andâ"
Your mom let out a groan of her own, leaned over toward you, and whispered behind her wine cup, âThere he goes again.â 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 sheâd 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. âAnd what happened next?"
Your dad lit up like a Christmas tree. âWhat happened next? Hell, I scared it off, of course! Big olâ thing ran like hell. Mustâve 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 heâd confessed the cure to cancer. âThatâs⊠thatâs really brave of you.â
And somehow, in that moment, watching her charm your familyâyour chaotic, loud, beer-drinking, fish-failing familyâyou felt something squeeze in your chest. Something warm. Something terrifying.
She wasnât 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.
âYou know⊠I think I could get used to this."
You turned to her, something huge and heavy and terrifying blooming in your chest. "Yeah?"
âYeah." She smiled, lacing her fingers through yours. â I like seeing where you come from. It makes sense now⊠why you are the way you are."
You laughed, nudging her playfully. âIs that a compliment or an insult?"
"Definitely a compliment." A pause, then softer, like a secret: âA very, very big one.â
And that was the moment you realized⊠you were so, so in love with her.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
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 teaâloose leaf, of course, because âYou are not putting that cheap microwave-heated water near me ever again.â
"It tastes the same," you argued.
She rolled her eyes. "It really doesnât. Iâm fixing this. For both our dignity."
Mornings became a ritual. Youâd 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. âJust⊠five.â Always bargaining with time. Always pulling you back in.
Sheâd shuffle into the kitchen wearing one of your shirtsânothing elseâwhile scrolling the news, groaning dramatically every time a headline pissed her off.
"Your country is insane," sheâd mutter, sipping her coffee.
"Yeah, well. We make up for it with free refills."
Even arguments became familiar. Comfortable.
"Thatâs not how you cut an onion."
"Itâs fine. Itâs rustic."
"Itâs 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 werenât paying attention, sheâd sing softly under her breathâbarely 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 theyâre 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 couchâher reading some heavy political memoir, you scrolling through nonsenseâbut 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. Youâd lower the volume, pull the blanket over her, press a kiss to her temple without even thinking about it.
By then, it wasnât a question of if you loved her. It was just⊠a fact. Quiet. Irrevocable. Written into the very fabric of your everyday life.
It wasnât grand. Wasnât 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.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
Everything was great.
Until you met her family.
Her father was welcomingâwarm 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 youâd tried to hide. Cold eyes. Tense mouth. Perfect posture.
It hit you like a punch straight to the gutâdragging you all the way back to the beginning. Back to those first months with Caitlyn, when you felt... unworthy. Out of place. Dirty.
Her motherâs gaze swept over you like you were a scuff on her polished floors.
âSo,â she started, tone razor-sharp but calm. âYouâre the one my daughter has been spending all her time with.â
It wasnât a question. It was a statement wrapped in judgment, tied with a bow of condescension.
Your throat tightened. âYeah. Yes, maâam. Iââ
Her eyes flicked over your clothesâsimple, nothing designer. Your shoesâpractical, a little worn. And then back to your face, where she lingered, unimpressed.
Caitlyn, bless her, immediately stepped in. âMother,â she warned, voice clipped. âDonât.â
âIâm simply making conversation,â her mother said, tilting her head with a smile so practiced it felt weaponized. âItâs not every day Caitlyn brings someone... different... home.â
âDifferent how?â Caitlyn snapped, jaw tightening.
âOh, darling, you know what I mean.â Her gaze didnât move. Didnât blink. âItâs... refreshing, I suppose. To see you⊠expanding your horizons.â
It felt like acid under your skin. You shifted your weight, suddenly hyperaware of how small you felt in this pristine, echoey sitting roomâwith its velvet furniture and marble fireplace that probably cost more than your entire apartment building.
Caitlynâs fingers found yours, squeezing tightly. Her thumb brushed against the back of your handâreassuring. Grounding.
âIâm not expanding my horizons,â Caitlyn said, steel in her voice now. âIâm dating someone I love.â
Her motherâs smile thinned. âOf course. Love. Naturally.â She stood, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her silk dress pants. âWell. I hope you understand, dear,ââthis, aimed at you, dripping in false politenessââthat our family has certain... expectations.â
Her father coughed awkwardly into his glass, choosing silence.
You couldnât breathe. You couldnât think. Your stomach twisted in on itself, throat tightening until you felt like you were going to suffocate.
Caitlyn stood abruptly. âWeâre leaving.â
Her motherâs eyes barely flickered. âSuit yourself.â
Caitlyn didnât even wait for her fatherâs 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 outsideâair hitting your lungs like a slapâyou pulled your hand from hers. âCait, waitââ
She spun around. âNo. No, donât. Donât defend her. Donât tell me itâs fine. Donât do that thing where you pretend youâre not hurt when I know you are.â
âIâm not pretending. I just... God, Caitlyn. What was that? She looked at me like I wasâlike I was some stray dog you brought home!â
âYou think I donât see it?â Her voice cracked. âYou think I didnât hear every little thing she was implying?!â
You shook your head, backing away a step. âI knew this would happen. I knew it. I donât belong in your world, Cait. I never did.â
âStop.â Her hands trembled as she grabbed your face, forcing you to look at her. âStop. Donât say that. Donât ever say that.â
âYou heard her! You heard exactly how she sees me.â
âI donât care how she sees you!â she shouted, voice raw, breaking. âI donât care how anyone sees you. I love you. I choose you.â
Your lips trembled. âI... Caitlyn, this isnât just about today. ItâsâGod, itâs every time I step into your world. I feel like Iâm holding my breath. Like I have to... shrink. Make myself smaller. Pretend I fit when I donât.â
Her breath hitched. âThen letâs stop pretending.â
Silence. Thick. Heavy.
âW-What?â
âLetâs stop pretending we live in two different worlds. Letâs move in together.â Her eyes searched yours, desperate, pleading. âReally move in. No more overnight bags. No more âyour place or mine.â Just... ours. A real place. Together.â
You blinked, stunned. âCaitlyn...â
âIâm serious.â Her voice softened, cracking around the edges. âLetâs get a place thatâs ours. Somewhere where no one gets to look at you like that ever again.â
Your heart stuttered. âYou mean it?â
She exhaled, stepping forward until your foreheads touched. âI mean it. I want... I want a kitchen that smells like us. A bed that feels like ours. A home where you neverâneverâhave to question if you belong.â
Your hands curled into her shirt, gripping tight. âI want that, too.â
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. âLetâs go apartment hunting.â
âGod,â you laughed wetly. âYouâre serious.â
âDead serious.â Her thumb brushed away the tear you hadnât realized had fallen. âI donât care where it is. Penthouse, shoebox, treehouseâI donât care, as long as itâs with you.â
And just like that, the fearâthe weight of not fitting, of not being enoughâstarted to crack. Not disappear completely. But crack.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
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 didnât want to drown yourself in extra shifts just to afford half the rentâand Caitlyn, well, she wasnât 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.
âThis oneâs cute,â Caitlyn said, scrolling through listings on her phone as you both sat on a park bench with iced coffees. âTwo bedrooms, decent commute for both of us. Oh⊠wait. Nope. No pets allowed.â She tilted her head, frowning. âYou do want a cat eventually, right?â
âObviously,â you snorted. âNon-negotiable.â
She grinned. âAgreed.â
The next place had gorgeous natural lighting but smelled like old cigarettes and regret. Another was perfectâuntil 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 didnât 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. âListen,â she said, her voice soft but firm. âI can cover the rent. You can help in other ways. Itâs not a problem for me. Truly.â
But your stomach twisted. Your jaw tensed. âIt is a problem for me,â 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. âWhy? Why does it have to be this complicated?â
âBecause I donât want to feel like a charity case, Caitlyn,â you admitted, voice cracking at the edges. âI donât want to wake up every day knowing I canât pull my weight. I donât want to owe you. I donât want to owe anyone.â
Her face softened immediately, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders. âBaby.â Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. âIs that seriously what you think this is? Some⊠some transactional thing? You think Iâm keeping score?â
You stayed quiet, staring at the scuffed floor of the real estate office.
âHey,â she said more gently now, tipping your chin up so you had no choice but to meet her eyes. âLook at me. I donât care about the money. I care about building a life with you. And that life? Itâs gonna look like us. Not like what my mother expects. Not like what anyone else thinks it should be.â
You swallowed thickly. âBut it feels unfair.â
âThen letâs make it fair,â she countered immediately. âYou handle groceries, I handle rent. You cook, Iâll fix the Wi-Fi when it inevitably dies at 2 a.m. You deal with the plantsâbecause God knows Iâll kill themâand Iâll make sure we always have a bottle of good wine in the cabinet. Equal doesnât mean identical.â
Your lip wobbled. âThatâs⊠actually not a bad deal.â
A soft smile tugged at her lips. âItâs a pretty damn good deal.â
You sighed, leaning your forehead against hers. âI hate that youâre good at this.â
âI know,â she chuckled, brushing your hair behind your ear. âItâs very annoying.â
A beat of silence passed. Then, grinning mischievously, she added, âSo⊠should we go sign the lease before someone else steals it?â
You laughed, despite everything. âYeah. Letâs go get our place.â
And just like that, it became real.
It wasnât 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 operationâperfect rectangles stacked with mathematical precisionâwhile 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 âI love youâ 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 wasnât built yetâbut neither of you cared.
It was falling asleep with her arm draped lazily over your waist, her soft breathing warm against your neck, knowingâreally knowingâthat this was yours.
ââââââââââââââââââââââ
masterlist
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Take a Chance with Me or I don't wanna know you AU
ok so why not give a visualizer for my au cause why not so you'll know how to imagine Vi in this story.
âTACWHorIDWKY â link for my au
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âi canât help it, youâre fun to mess withâ modern Vi au ? đ©·

âźâËđđđđđđđ modern!vi x reader âźâËđđđđđđđ none âźâËđđđđđđđ đđđđ hi so i had this little thing in my drafts and changed a few things to fit the request !! i hope you like it âĄïž also - modern vi has a special place in my heart (i just know she'd be a smug bastard)
âĄïž đđđđđđđđđđ âĄïž

Vi was sprawled across the bed, shirtless, hair still damp from her shower, one arm lazily slung around your waist. You were both on your phones, legs tangled under the covers. Her thumb scrolled absently, while yours hovered over your latest post.
You tried to act casual, but Vi caught the smirk you were failing to hide.
âWhat did you do?â she asked, suspicion in her voice.
You bit your lip, turning your phone so she could see the photo â a perfectly timed shot of her mid-workout, abs flexed, expression intense, the caption: âyes, sheâs mine. no, you canât have her.â
Vi blinked. âWhen did you even take that?â
âI have my ways.â
A beat of silence. Then her phone buzzed.
âOh my god.â She stared at the flood of likes and comments. ââVi could ruin my life and Iâd say thank youâ? Damn.â She let out a low whistle. âThese people are thirsty.â
You laughed. âCan you blame them? Look at you.â
Vi rolled onto her side, grinning. âYou like showing me off, huh?â
You shrugged, smug. âYouâre hot. Iâm proud.â
She leaned in, brushing her lips against your neck, voice dropping. âKeep talking like that and Iâll give âem something new to thirst over.â
âVi!â you squeaked, pushing at her chest as she laughed.
âYou started it,â she said, scrolling again. âWaitâthis one says âgym? I thought she carried hay bales on a ranch and threw people for fun.ââ
You raised a brow. âDid they lie?â
Vi chuckled, clearly loving every second of it. âNope. But now I feel like I should go shirtless more often.â
âPlease donât,â you deadpanned. âI donât need a full-blown internet meltdown.â
She winked. âToo late. I am the meltdown.â
You groaned and buried your face in her chest. âWhy are you like this?â
She kissed the top of your head. âBecause you love me, i canât help it, youâre fun to mess withâ.â
You roll your eyes at her, smug idiot - unfortunately, you really, really did.
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mwah! thank you gorg!!! đ
@cosmiclily @lolitalovess @krfttin @bebeluvvv @ultravioletlane @elliesangel444 @hyperbabes @marscardigan
favirote moots?
(People you tag have to reblog and say their favorite moots)
Okay wait
@ibrokeurheartbcuzubrokemine @foliverfalls @allyeilishh @addisonraesbaby @emiliesblohsh @bilsslut @noodleswashere @bilsbabyy @bitchesbrokenpromises @billsdollie
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R.I.P Kaz Brekker you would have loved rubix cubes
R.I.P Jesper Fahey you would have loved Mod fashion
R.I.P Inej Ghafa you would have loved WMMA
R.I.P. Nina Zenik you would have loved geoquest
R.I.P Wylan Hendricks you would have loved band
R.I.P Matthias Helvar you would have loved Abba
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Eepy, weepy, sleepy, baby~
Pairing: Caitlyn Kiramman Ă f!reader
Warnings: none. just pure fluff.
A/n: AHHHHHHHHH I WANNA CUDDLE HER SO BAD PLEASE
You fling the door open, kicking it shut with a tired sigh. The day had been brutal, a relentless onslaught of papers, nasty customers, and more papers. You just wanted to collapse.
What do you do?
You call out in a tone akin to desperation, already heading towards the living room, âCait?â
There, you find her curled up on the couch, a book in her hand. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, her lips slightly parted as she reads. You smile, the sight of her always a breath of fresh air.
You only sigh loudly, dropping onto the couch with a soft thud before finding your spot.
Caitlyn lets out a soft startled squeak and you immediately regret your choice of landing spot. You were sprawled across her lap, head resting on her stomach, a small cheeky grin gracing your lips.
âOh, darling,â Caitlyn says, her voice laced with amusement as she looks down at you, the cute gap between her teeth visible from the grin she gave you. âYouâre a bit heavy, you know.â
"Heavy?" You exclaimed in disbelief to which Caitlyn returned a small chuckle.
"I only jest, my sweet," she responds.
You groan a second time, burying your face further into her soft sweater, bunching them in your hands. âIâm tired,â you mumble.
âI can see,â Caitlyn chuckles, reaching down to gently cup your cup. âHow was your day?â
âExhausting,â you say, your voice muffled. âI swear, Iâve spent the last eight hours unable to understand what was happening.â
âWell, I'd rather not let you dwell on your woes. Youâre home now, darling,â Caitlyn says, her voice softening, her thumb now stroking your cheek. âIn my arms. You've got to admit that itâs the perfect remedy.â
You snuggle closer, enjoying the warmth of her body and the gentle rhythm of her breathing.
âYouâre warm,â you murmur, your voice barely audible. Caitlynâs hand continues to move through your hair, a soothing gesture that reminds you that you were all safe and loved.
âIâm glad,â she says, her voice a soft murmur. âYouâre warm too. You sure you're not catching a cold, love?â
You sigh contentedly, shaking your head before closing your eyes. You were so tired, but you did not want to move. You just wanted to stay here, in Caitlynâs arms, forever. If you could, you would even melt into her skin.
âCait?â you say, your voice a sleepy whisper.
âHmm?â she hums, her voice barely audible.
âI love you,â you say, your voice barely a breath. Caitlyn hums softly, telling you that you have her attention.
âI love you too,â she says, her voice a soft murmur. âMore than anything.â
You feel her lips brush against your forehead, a soft, loving kiss. You smile, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you.
âCait,â you say again, your voice a little stronger now. âIâm too tired to move.â
âI know, darling,â she says, her voice laced with concern. âBut still, letâs get you to bed.â
Caitlyn carefully lifts you off the couch, her arms wrapping around you. You sigh, your head resting against her. She carries you to the bedroom, her movements slow and gentle.
Once she reached your shared bedroom, she lays you down on the bed, tucking you in a soft blanket. You snuggle deeper into the sheets, feeling the warmth of the bed and the comfort of Caitlynâs presence.
âAre you comfy?â she asks, her voice soft.
âMm-hmm,â you say, your voice barely a whisper.
Caitlyn sits beside you on the bed, her hand reaching up to gently stroke your cheek. You lean into her touch, feeling her warmth and her love.
âYouâre so beautiful,â she says, her voice a soft murmur.
You blush, feeling a warmth spread through your cheeks. âYouâre beautiful too,â you say, your voice barely a whisper.
Caitlyn smiles, her eyes sparkling with love.
âIâm going to stay here with you,â she says, her voice soft and soothing. âWell, until you fall asleep, that is.â
You close your eyes, content to simply lie in her presence, feeling her love radiating all around you.
âCait,â you say, your voice a sleepy whisper.
âHmm?â she hums, her voice barely audible.
âCan you scratch my head?â you ask, your voice barely a breath.
Caitlyn chuckles, her hand moving to gently scratch your scalp. You sigh contentedly, feeling the warmth of her touch and the soothing rhythm of her fingers.
âYouâre so needy,â Caitlyn teases, her voice laced with love.
You open your eyes, looking up at her with a sleepy smile.
âI know,â you say, your voice a sleepy murmur. âBut I know you like it.â
Caitlyn smiles, her eyes filled with warmth.
"Sleep tight, my love. I'll be here when you wake."
She continues to scratch your head, the gentle rhythm of her fingers lulling you to sleep, and just like a ship lulled in the soft waves, you slowly drift off to peaceful slumber.
Note: I may or may not be back to writing. I'm so rusty so please bear with me đ
This small fluffy write-up is also dedicated to my bubba baby @caitlynsrighteye cuz she's been so tired these days. She deserves cuddles and hugs and kisses đđ«đ
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I have no idea if you did this already, but if not could you write the spiders reaction to finding out their crush sleeps with plushies?
â âč â± GOODNIGHT, PLUSHIES
headcanons

summary their reaction to finding out you sleep with plushies!
request by anonymous
a/n this is a short one sorry!! iâve been so busy w my summer classes đđ (overachiever core)
warnings none!
Ë Â àŁȘ đ  1610!MILES MORALES â Â Ś Â Ś
*
heâs so cute about it! he asks you to introduce him to all of them, asks you what their names are, how old they are, when you got them, where you get them, etc. he would definitely take pics of you sleeping with them and show them to you when you wake up. he would draw you hugging your plushies, but he wouldnât show you (unless you really asked him to). he would buy you some and you would have one you both own!
âwhatâs this ones name? and this one?â
Ë Â àŁȘ đ  GWEN STACY â Â Ś Â Ś
*
first she would be like⊠what⊠but then she would see how much you love them and share the love you have for them! she would rearrange them when youâre not looking, add a new plushie to your collection occasionally, that kind of thing. sheâs the typa person who would sleep with them as well, despite her tough girl persona. you would lose one, then realize itâs gwen who took it. she always returned it in the end though!
âhey, look what i found for you. another one!â
Ë Â àŁȘ đ  HOBIE BROWN â Â Ś Â Ś
*
he would tease you about it at first, but then overtime love that you love your plushies. he would walk in on you sleeping and absolutely love the sight he sees. you would go on your rambles talking about your plushies, and he would just silently admire you. he would get you a spider punk plushie, just so that heâs always with you.
âhere ya go, a plushie thatâs just like me.â
Ë Â àŁȘ đ  PAVITR PRABHAKAR â Â Ś Â Ś
*
oh my god heâs so excited!! he also sleeps with plushies, so he would introduce you to all of them! he would ask if you could introduce yours to him and he would introduce his to you. you guys would buy plushies for each other and then become the parents to one! he would buy clothes for yours, buy little accessories for them, basically spoil them. he would not shut up about it (in a good way), and always tease you by asking how they are.
âthis ones name is chikku! ooo, whatâs this ones name?â
Ë Â àŁȘ đ  42!MILES MORALES â Â Ś Â Ś
*
he wonât stop teasing you about it. whenever you guys are arguing, he would also bring up how you are the one who sleeps with a plushie at night. though, he finds it super cute. he loves what you love, so he has no choice but to love them too. he would buy them for you all the time, occasionally surprising you with them. he now knows what to get you, and it makes his heart flutter whenever he sees you sleeping with the ones he got you. continuation of this
ây/n, youâre the one who sleeps with stuffed animals at night. you canât talk.â
TAGS ⣠@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx
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I'd like to request an x reader (GN since I haven't specified) with Gwen Stacy where the reader twirls strands of their hair very very often. Headcanon format, light-hearted and romance, if you will.
Please and thank you in advance.
The Hair-Twirler
mcu masterlist masterlist
sorry its really short
Itâs not even consciousâyour fingers just find a strand, and suddenly youâre looping it around, again and again. While you're thinking, talking, even when youâre eating cereal sometimes. Itâs just your thing
Like, date #1, five minutes in, bamâthere you go, twisting your hair while you listened to her talk about drumming. She tried to ignore how cute it was. She failed.
She was lowkey panicking like, âAm I intimidating?? Are they uncomfortable?? Did I say something weird??â Until she saw you doing it while zoning out during a movie and she realized: oh. itâs just a Them Thing.
Youâll be reading something and casually twisting a strand around your finger, and sheâll just stop what sheâs doing to stare at you for a second. She's soft for it. Like heart-eyes, butterflies, why are you so cute-levels of soft.
Messy and fast? You're frustrated. Slow and rhythmic? You're content. Twirling the same strand over and over with a dreamy look in your eye? Youâre thinking about somethingâprobably someone. (Hopefully her.)
Like, when youâre lying on her lap, sheâll trace her fingers through your hair and find that same strand you always twirl. Sometimes sheâll do the twirling for you, just for fun. Bonus if youâre half asleep and donât even notice.
When you asked her what that was for, she just shrugged and said, âYou were doing the thing again. I couldnât not.â
Itâs her phone background. You have no idea.
If you ever call her over comms while sheâs patrolling and she hears that little distracted pause in your voice? âYouâre twirling your hair right now, arenât you?â âYou donât know that.â âI can hear it. Youâve got your âflirt-voiceâ on too.â â...Shut up."
And she wouldnât trade it for the world. (Sometimes she even catches herself doing it tooâjust a littleâwhen she misses you.)
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thank ara for the tag - luv u hermosa!!
here's mine ~

here's my taglist: @cosmiclily @krfttin @ultravioletlane @bebeluvvv @violetszn + anyone who wants to join <333 đȘ©đđ«¶
pinterest tag game
search; song, colour, vibe, outfit, art, quote to make your own pinterest mood board! just pick the first pics that pop up and post them in that order !
ty for the tag @pizzaapeteer đ€đ€






npt: @obsessedwithceleste @riddlesrizzler @dearmisshoney @godricgryffinsnore
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may I please request a protective Spider-Gwen x GN!Reader fanfic where Gwen learns Reader has been getting bullied in school and she tries to stop it by being her awesome protective Gwen self?
âwho are theyâ.



pairings: gwen stacy x gn!reader
genre: hurt WITH comfort.
summary: youâve been getting bullied and gwen defends u!!
a/n: hope this is good. I havenât written for gwen in awhile Iâm just out of ideas omggg
every time you and gwen hung out you were your bubbly self.
thatâs what she loved about youâ you always put smiles on others faces, making the energy in any room bright.
but not everyone appreciates that.
at school, you were bullied. people said you act crazy because of you being kind and hyper. you thought being nice and bubbly helped you always make friends but maybe that wasnât the case.
one hangout, gwen was waiting for you at the park. she had her eyes closed while swinging on the wings until she heard sniffling.
she opened her eyes to see you. fighting to hold back tears.
âwoah woah whatâs wrong?â she got off the swing to hug you.
âpeople are so mean.â you mumbled.
âwhy what happened?â she spoke, making you hesitate.
âlove you know you can tell me anything right?â she adds on.
âit was some people at school.â you said.
âoh okay.â you knew what that meant..
â
you went to school the next day and suddenly they were nice to you. they complimented your outfit and even bought you lunch.
they got sent out the classroom and never came back. that made you confused until you heard the rumors
âdid you know gwen got them expelled?â is all you heard.
even though you should be worried. you couldnât help but let out a laugh.
you walked to class then saw gwen in the hallway.
âwhat did you do,â you spoke.
âwhaaat?.. I donât know what youâre talking about.â she spoke, but you gave her the âdonât play with meâ look.
âokay sorry but they were messing with my all time favorite person! I couldnât let them get away with it.â she held her hands up in defense
you chuckled shaking your head.
âyouâre forgiven.â
âmiyseilish2025 , grah donât steal my stuff anywhere
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Mini Series
All I Ask - Part I - Part II - Part III Devotion or Delusion - Part I - Part II - Part III Can't Love You in the Dark - Part I - Part II - Part III Into The Looking Glass - Part I - Part II A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be
Not Safe for Work (18+)
Dirty Laundry - Part I Part II Poisonous Touch - A Touch of Jealousy 5 More Minutes Same Ol' Mistakes Sweet
Oneshot
We Can't Be Friends Untamed Chaos I'd Choose You, No Other Way, Glimpse of Us, To Be Close To You, Till There Was You, My Girl HALLOWEEN SPECIALS
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whiskey & honey 3
ranch girl ellie williams x city girl fem!reader

every summer since you were fourteen was spent in Ellieâs family ranch. your mothers are best friends, which only made it harder to understand why you and Ellie were never even friends. or maybe the question isnât about friendship at all.
a/n: here it is! Iâm currently on summer vacation back in my hometown, and things have been crazyyy. Iâve been sneaking in time to write whenever Iâm not out with my cousins or caught up in the chaos. Hope you enjoy this chapter! âĄ
Part 4
Celine was out in the garden when you pulled in, crouched over her tomatoes with sun on her shoulders and a floppy straw hat shielding her eyes. She looked up at the sound of the truck, hand resting on her hip.
âBack in one piece,â she called over the hedge.
âYeah, well, she dents easy,â Ellie said, sliding out of the driverâs seat with a grunt and slamming her door like she hadnât just made your heart do something stupid. âGotta drive like Iâm hauling crystal.â
You rolled your eyes and shot her a glare, but it didnât quite landânot with the way your chest fluttered at the sound of her voice saying your name like that, even if she didnât.
You hopped down barefoot, still holding your sandals in one hand. The porch steps radiated heat as you walked past them toward the house, but instead of going inside, you lingered â trailing just behind Ellie as she veered toward the barn.
âHey,â you called after her. âWhere are you going?â
She glanced back over her shoulder, expression unreadable. âFeeding. I forgot to check on Bramble this morning.â
You fell into step beside her, ignoring the ache in your calves from running in sand. âCan I come?â
âLunch will be ready soon.â She reminded, raising her eyebrows.
âIâm not hungry yet.â
Ellie glanced over, her eyes trailing down your figure before flicking back up.
âYeah,â she said dryly. âThatâs kind of your thing, huh?â
You scoffed, half a smile tugging at your mouth. âI eat well,â you said. âYou just never notice.â
She didnât answer, just pushed open the barn door and left it swinging behind her. So you followed.
The air inside the barn was thick with the scent of sunbaked hay, leather, and the comforting musk of horses. Dust floated in the light filtering through the rafters, like tiny stars suspended in the heat.
Ellie disappeared into one of the stalls with a rustle of movement and soft huff from a horse.
You hung by the doorway for a second, taking in the quiet rhythm of the place, the creak of wood, the slow shifting of hooves. And then you stepped forward, curiosity pulling you closer.
âYou donât remember any of this, do you?â Ellieâs voice floated out from the stall.
You leaned on the edge. âVaguely. I think I was scared of stepping in poop the last time.â
Ellie made a noise that mightâve been a laugh. She emerged a moment later holding a bridle, bits of hay stuck in her rolled-up sleeves.
âYou want me to teach you something?â she asked, raising an eyebrow. âOr are you just going to follow me around and talk?â
âWhy not both?â you teased, shrugging.
That earned you a half-smile â one of those crooked ones she tried to hide.
She handed you the bridle, and it was heavier than you expected â the leather warm and smooth, the metal cool against your palm.
âAlright,â she said, stepping close. âThis is basic. You hold it like thisâno, not like that. Here.â She adjusted your hands, her fingers brushing yours, firm but gentle.
You tried to focus, but the warmth of her body so close behind yours was impossible to ignore. Her voice was low, the kind of tone that filled your chest more than your ears.
âReins over here. Loop under here. You tuck this strap behind the bit. Thatâs it.â
You squinted at the mess of buckles. âIâm gonna break this horseâs face.â
Ellie scoffed lightly. âYouâre not even on the horse yet.â
âIâm helpless,â you sighed.
âItâs cute,â she said â too easily, too naturally, like it slipped out before she could stop it.
You turned your head toward her, surprised.
She was already looking at you, close enough that your breath couldâve met hers in the space between. For a moment, neither of you said anything.
Then she stepped back, rubbing the back of her neck.
âTry again,â she said, voice quieter now.
You fumbled through it with her watching. Not too close this time, but close enough that her gaze felt like a second set of hands guiding your movements.
When you finally got the bridle looped properly â or at least close enough â she nodded with approval and a small grin.
âNot bad,â she said.
âI expect a certificate,â you said, holding it up proudly like a trophy.
She leaned back against the stall door, arms folded, her smile still lingering. âYou get a gold star. Maybe.â
You were about to reply when a faint voice called from the house. âGirls! Wash up! Foodâs getting cold!â
Ellie pushed off the stall door with a sigh, brushing off her jeans. âThatâs our cue.â
You hesitated, looking around the barn one last time, reluctant to leave the moment.
âCan we come back later?â you asked.
She gave you a look you couldnât read, then nodded once. âSure.â
The sunlight slanting through the window had just been so warm. The ceiling fan overhead whispered lullabies. Your limbs were heavy, your skin still tinged with salt and sun, and before you knew it â hours had slipped through your fingers like warm honey.
You stirred awake sometime past five, the golden light already creeping lower across the floorboards, stretching long and soft like lazy fingers reaching across the day.
Panic fluttered in your chest as you sat up too fast, your shirt sticking slightly to your back. The bridle lesson. The plan to come back. You'd said you would. You'd wanted to.
You groaned under your breath and swung your legs off the bed, your bare feet hitting the cool wooden floor.
By the time you stepped outside, the sun was already sinking low behind the ridge, casting the yard in hues of burnt gold and honeyed orange. The breeze smelled like hay and honeysuckle, like open fields and somewhere far from obligation.
You padded across the yard toward the barn, adjusting the soft white shorts you threw on and tugging lightly at the hem of your yellow tank. The thin white cardigan you wore over it moved with the wind â cropped, gauzy, more for feeling than warmth. The kind of thing that slipped down one shoulder without trying.
You tugged it back in place as you reached the open barn doors.
Inside, the horses shuffled gently in their stalls, tails swishing, the air thick with the warm musk of animals and wood and old dust. Ellie stood near the last stall, silhouetted by the golden spill of sunlight through the open back doors. She was brushing Bramble with slow, practiced strokes, the horseâs flank glinting with a healthy sheen.
For a moment, you just watched her.
She hadnât noticed you yet â or maybe she had, and chose not to say anything. Either way, she looked calm. Centered. One hand resting on Brambleâs side, the other running the brush in lazy circles.
You stepped forward quietly, the soft pad of your sandals barely making a sound.
âHey,â you said, voice was almost sheepish. âI fell asleep.â
Ellie looked up. Her face was lit from the side â all soft edges and warm tones, her auburn hair glowing like a campfire. She blinked at you once, then offered a small shrug.
âSwimming takes it out of you.â She said simply.
Your cheeks warmed. âI justâ I didnât mean to ditch. I thought weâd come back here. I kindaâmade it a whole thing earlier.â
Ellie chuckled under her breath, going back to brushing the horse. âYouâre not that dramatic.â
You stepped closer, tucking your hands into the pockets of your shorts. âI might be a little dramatic.â
She glanced sideways at you, eyes flicking down â just for a moment â before returning to her task. âYouâre wearing yellow.â
You looked down at yourself, surprised. âYeah. Too much?â
âNo,â she said. Her voice was softer now. âIt suits you.â
You felt your face heat again, this time without any excuses.
You leaned lightly on the stall door. âIâm not great with⊠high-energy stuff. Swimming. Running. That sort of thing. Sometimes I just crash.â
Ellie gave a faint smirk. âI know.â
You tilted your head, eyes flicking to hers. âYou could just say you missed me,â you said, careful, like you were testing the water.
âI could,â she said, brushing the horse in one last stroke. âBut you were snoring.â
You gasped. âI was not.â
She didnât answer â just walked past you toward the tack room, her smirk growing.
You stared after her, flustered and grinning, and tried not to think about how the barn lights were starting to come on, one by one, blinking softly in the dusk.
You were right back where you'd started.
And somehow, it felt exactly right.
The opening credits rolled slow across the screen, a soft instrumental fading into the quiet. The living room was warm and dim, lit only by the soft orange glow from the floor lamp and the faint hum of the TV. You hugged a throw pillow to your chest, legs curled under you on one end of the couch, the wine glass loose in your fingers.
Celine had fallen asleep halfway through the last movie, muttering something about early morning errands before disappearing upstairs with a blanket over her shoulder. Now, it was just you and Ellie â both sun-drowsy and half full of pasta, your body warm and just fuzzy enough to feel a little braver.
You sipped the last of the wine, lips tugging into a sleepy grin.
With a sigh, you let your head fall back on the couch cushion. âGod,â you murmured. âI just love it here. Can your mom adopt me?â
Ellie, tucked into the other end of the couch in an old T-shirt and gray sweatpants, turned her head to look at you, eyebrow raised. âWhy?â
You hugged the pillow closer, voice playful. âSheâs so cool. And I donât know, itâs just⊠I love it here.â
Ellie leaned back, arms crossed, watching you like she was trying not to smile. âI love your mom. Whatâs wrong with her?â
You rolled your eyes dramatically, gaze still on the wide flat screen. âI love her too, but sheâs⊠pushy. Always asking when Iâm gonna find a boyfriend like thatâs a personality requirement.â
Ellie snorted. âBoyfriend, huh?â
You whipped your head toward her, glaring through your wine haze. âHey, Itâs not funny. Why would I need a fucking boyfriend?â You were pouting now. âI can live without one. I got, like, plants. Spotify. And air.â
Ellieâs mouth twitched. Her eyes danced with laughter as she reached for her water bottle. âJesus. You talk shit when youâre drunk.â
âIâm not drunk,â you said, even though the way your head lolled slightly and how your limbs felt extra floaty said otherwise.
âYou sure?â she tilted her head, sipping. âYouâre one more glass away from making out with that pillow.â
You narrowed your eyes. âWell maybe the pillow is emotionally available.â
Ellie laughed â really laughed â and it made something flutter behind your ribs. You stared at her like you were memorizing the sound.
Then she added, between a grin and a shrug, âToo bad my momâs pushy too. But I definitely donât want you as a sister.â
You gasped, eyes narrowing. âYouâre mean.â
Ellie shrugged. âYouâre the one trying to get adopted into my family. Donât be mad you ruined the vibe.â
âWhatever,â you muttered. âWeâre like⊠basically sisters anyway. Our moms are obsessed with each other.â
âYeah,â Ellie said slowly, side-eyeing you. âLetâs not unpack that dynamic.â
You turned toward her, shifting closer across the couch, still hugging your pillow like a shield. âYou say that like we didnât share a bed that one summer.â
âYeah,â Ellie replied, her voice low and dry. âWhen you snored and kicked me in your sleep.â
You giggled, cheeks warming. âOkay, rudeââ
âI still have the scar.â
âYouâre lying.â
âProve it.â
You stared at her for a second. Then leaned in, just a little. âYouâd like that, wouldnât you?â
Ellie raised her brows, amused, but her body didnât move away. Her tongue flicked briefly along the inside of her cheek.
âYou talk so much shit when you drink. I didnât know that about you.â
You smirked, head tilted now, fully facing her. âWell, Ellie⊠there are things you still donât know about me.â
âOh yeah?â
You nodded. âSo many things.â
There was a pause. The air thinned.
âWanna find out?â You ask, soft.
Ellieâs expression shifted â subtly, but enough that your heart stopped for a moment. Her eyes dipped â not by accident â to your lips.
You saw it. She didnât try to hide it.
âWhat do I get if I do?â
Her voice was quiet now. Low. Different.
Your breath caught. You blinked once, heartbeat spiking.
You swallowed the air between you and whispered, âWhat do you want?â
Ellie leaned in slightly, not enough to close the gap â just enough to tip you forward with her. Her gaze flicked between your eyes and lips slowly. Deliberate.
âDonât ask that unless you mean it,â she said, the smallest hint of a dare in her tone.
You didnât move back.
Neither did she.
But then, of course, without warning, Ellie looked away â just a glance to the side â and leaned back slightly. Her mouth twitched, almost smiling, almost not.
She stood up.
You watched her move toward the TV, the silence stretching again, soft but tight like a string between you.
She picked up the remote, clicked the screen off, and let the darkness settle. Only the lamp glowed now.
âWe should sleep,â she said, not looking at you.
You groaned, slumping into the couch. âWe didnât even finish the movie.â
Ellie didnât answer right away â she just walked past and reached out, ruffling your hair like it was nothing.
âHeyâ!â you laughed, swatting her hand away.
She grinned as she started walking toward the stairs. You stood, hugging the pillow tighter, and followed.
You walked together, quietly, the floorboards soft under your steps.
Your rooms were across from each other, just a few feet of hallway between them. She stopped in front of hers, her hand now rubbing the back of her neck like she didnât want to open the door yet.
She looked at you once before looking away. But then her eyes were all over you again.
You were just standing there â barefoot, holding the pillow like armor â your heart somewhere between your ribs and your throat.
Ellie sighed, her lips twitching like she was losing an argument in her head.
ââŠThatâs your room,â she said finally, eyes flicking toward your door.
You blinked up at her. âUh. Yeah. ThatâsâŠâ You pointed to the door behind her. âThatâs your room too.â
You bit your lips as silence enveloped the two of you.
Ellieâs eyebrows raised slightly, her mouth twitching again. âIncredible observation.â
You wanted to melt into the floor.
âOkay, alright,â you said, laughing under your breath, stepping back. âIâll go inside.â
âYou should,â Ellie said, but she didnât move either.
You nodded again, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as a small smile escaped.
Turning, you slipped into your room and closed the door gently behind you â then immediately leaned back against it, heart pounding, grinning so wide it hurt.
You barely had time to let out a silent scream into your hands before a knock made your heart jump.
You opened the door quickly â too quickly.
Ellie was standing there.
âYes?â you breathed.
She scratched the side of her jaw, her voice a little raspier than before.
âGoodnight.â
Of course she said it like that.
âGoodnight,â you said, trying not to smile like a maniac.
She gave you a small nod, then turned and walked back into her room.
You closed the door slowly this time, pressed your back to it again, and screamed without sound â body buzzing, heart in shambles, hands gripping your face like you were losing your mind.
Because holy shit.
She said goodnight.
And she came back to say it.
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checkmate | e.w
written by greenbuns
° . Pairings : Ellie Williams à Fem!Reader (you)
° . Contains : slight nsfw, enemies to lovers, rivals, bet, swearing & bickering, mutual tension, suggestive content, eventual confessions, eventual kiss, slight nudity and mention of sex, theatremajor!ellie, musicmajor!reader, college vibes, men & minor DNI
"chess match with ellie came with stakes. the rules are simple; each time ellie loses a piece, she owes you 10$, and for youâyou strip out of your clothes for her"
ââââââââââââââââââ
Your fingers pound a restless rhythm across the piano, a chord that tastes like burnt coffee and unresolved feelings. You tell yourself itâs just warmâups before your orchestration class, but really youâre trying to drown out the voice drifting in from the corridor;
âNo, no, no, Jesseâyouâre delivering the monologue like youâre apologizing. Learâs a storm, not a drizzle. From the diaphragm, man!â
Her. The theatre-arts star, self-anointed director, campus darling with a chip on her shoulder and a clipboard in her hand. Every professor adored her âvisionâ and every actor bent to her will, she was poetry with a cigarette edgeâsmirking in spotlight, living for drama both onstage and off.
You hunch lower over the keys, jabbing staccato notes. Itâs unfair that her voice still gets under your skinâwarm cedar timbre wrapped in sandpaper sarcasm. You canât remember a time you didnât know that voice. Sheâd been lodged squarely under your rib cage since kindergartenâthe sandbox tragedy, eighthâgrade spelling bees, seniorâyear talent shows. Wherever you went, she was a step away, tossing barbs like confetti. She's the equal parts muse, rival, and the most infuriating person youâd ever wanted to kiss just to shut her up.
Okay, maybe not kiss. Or maybe yes kiss.
When the rehearsal door swings open, you heard footsteps.
You swear you can smell Ellie Williams before you spot herâwarm cedar cologne and permanent stageâpaint residue.
âHey, TrebleâŻQueen.â The greeting lands with practiced drawl. âYou composing Swan Lake 2: Electric Boogaloo in here?â
You glide into a thundering tremolo and keep your gaze on the sheet music. âJust trying to drown out the wailing from the hall. Someoneâs butchering Shakespeare.â
âOof.â She paces behind you, casual predator. âIâll tell Jesse you think heâs butchering it. He cries easy; should be fun.â
âYou could direct him better.â You strike a dissonant cluster. âOr is yelling your only coaching tool?â
She appears in your peripheral vision, leaning her hip against the piano. Loose jeans rucked at the knees, black tee flecked with silver paint, auburn hair tied up messilyâinfuriatingly magnetic. Her eyebrows lift. âYellingâs efficient. And cathartic, especially when the Music Department wonât stop practicing the same four bars of Les Mis outside my studio every night.â
âThatâs called rehearsal,â you retort. âYou theatre people should try it sometime.â
Ellieâs grin blooms, all teeth. She flicks a folded index card onto the music stand. âSpeaking of rehearsal: you. Me. Chess match. Midnight at black-box.â
Your head snaps up despite yourself. âChess? What is this, retro rivalry week?â
âTry lifelong vendetta.â She crosses her arms. âUnless youâre scared.â
âMust be desperate for humiliation.â
Her grin widens, sharkâsharp. âOh, sweetheart, Iâm counting on you being the desperate one.â
You scoff but your pulse jumps. Chess has been your shared battleground since middle schoolâa quiet war fought behind library stacks, hospital waiting rooms, bandâtrip buses, and the occasional rainy cafeteria lunch when neither of you wanted to talk about feelings. It wasnât just a game between you two; it was ritual, a sacred tradition of sharp glances over pawns and smug grins after a stolen queen. An unspoken agreement lingered like smoke between your fingertips: if you could beat each other on sixtyâfour squares, maybeâjust maybeâyou could beat each other at life. Your record? Dead even. Thirty-two wins each. Ten draws. And one game interrupted by a fire drill and never resumed, still the subject of playful arguments to this day.
âStakes?â you ask warily.
Her smile sharpens. âEvery piece I lose, I owe you ten bucks. Every piece you loseâŠâ She tilts her head, eyes glinting. âYou shed something.â
Heat floods your cheeks. âYouâre kidding.â
âNope.â She taps the card like a judgeâs gavel. âCall it highâstakes stripâblitz. Unless the Music Departmentâs prodigy doesnât believe in performance art.â
You thumb the edge of the sheet, knuckles tense, your pulse thudding a steady rhythm against the cotton. Part of you wants to hurl your metronome at her smug faceâwatch it bounce off her stupidly sharp jawline and shatter that ever-present glint in her eyes. But another partâone you donât examine too closely, the one that lives somewhere deep in your gut and hums like an electric currentâthrums with a different kind of anticipation.
The idea of making Ellie pay, piece by piece? Delicious. Watching her frustration simmer behind that cocky grin as her pawns fall like dominoes? Even better. But the idea of risking bare skin under her gaze? Or peeling off your layers one by one, her eyes trailing, lingering, devouring? That idea sends heat curling low in your belly. You're not sure if youâre about to win this gameâor fall straight into her trap, breathless and bare.
Terrifying... but much more delicious.
Shit.
âFine,â you hear yourself say, mentally slapping yourself. âBut if campus security finds me halfânaked in your studio, you handle the scandal.â
Ellie pushes off the piano, swagger in every line. âDirectorâs privilege. See you at twelve.â
She strolls out whistling a parody of your arpeggios. You stare after her, heart playing triplets, wondering if accepting tonightâs gambit was brillianceâor checkmate waiting to happen.
ââââââââââââââââââ
11:37âŻp.m.
You pace your dorm room like a storm cloud waiting to burst, counting heartbeats like metronome clicksâeach one faster than the last, like you're already halfway into the game. Your laptop glows dimly from your desk, the only witness to your growing nervous excitement. You pause in front of the mirror, smoothing down your top with shaky fingers, double-checking your outfit like itâs armor.
Blue jeans. Teal crop top. Your favorite silver hoopsâthe ones that sparkle just right under warm light. Strategic choices. Clothes you wouldnât mind sacrificing early if it came to that. Easy enough to peel off. Easy enough to look good doing it.
Underneath? Lacy peach bra and matching boyshorts, a set you swore was for laundry day comfort but deep down⊠you know better. Itâs soft, delicate, flirty. It says I didnât dress for you, I dressed for meâand maybe, just maybe, for you a little too, shut up.
You catch your own reflection biting your lip coated with cherry gloss, eyes gleaming with something between war-readiness and something far more dangerous. Anticipation pools low in your belly, warmth blooming like a threat.
This isnât just another chess match.
This is Ellie-freaking-Williams. And youâre about to go to war.
You throw a hoodie over everything and cram a water bottle, spare hair tie, and your battered chess notebook into a tote. Your roommate, Dina, grins from her own desk on the other side of the room.
âHot date?â she asks.
âHot disaster,â you reply.
âSame thing,â she singâsongs.
You flip her off fondly and bolt.
The quadâs lamps cast honey pools on wet pavement. Rain earlier left petrichor in the air. You stride past the fineâarts buildingâstone gargoyles peering like silent gossipersâinto the theatre wingâs rear entrance. Half the campus is asleep; the halls echo with your sneakers.
Ellieâs studio door lies ajar, gold light spilling. You push in.
The blackâbox is transformed; center stage cleared, two directorâs chairs at a scarred wooden table holding a wellâworn walnut chessboard. A single work light hangs overhead like a spotlight. Coils of lighting cable snake across the floor. On the table: neat stack of twenties, digital chess clock, andâunsettlinglyâan empty coat rack.
Ellie lounges in a chair, feet propped on another. Dark sweatpants, armyâgreen flannel, battered Converse. Sheâs rolled her sleeves, exposing her tattoo, more freckles, and lean forearms painted with faint charcoal streaks. Her brow lifts as you enter.
âPunctual. Iâm impressed.â
âJust want this over with.â You drop your tote, trying to ignore how your pulse spikes at the sight of her. âRules clear?â
She fishes a Sharpie from her back pocket and uncaps it with her teeth. âLetâs codify.â On a scrap of gaffer tape stuck to the table she writes:
Ellie loses piece =Â $10
(You) loses piece =Â Strip 1Â item
She peels the tape, slaps it down. âSigned, sealed, humiliateâdelivered.â
âYouâre awfully confident,â you mutter, pulling out the White pieces.
âStatistically,â she says, tossing you the bag, âWhite wins 52Â percent. But I thrive on underdog tension.â
You line pawns. The boardâs earthy smell triggers memory of summer camp tournamentsâEllie across from you, slurping melted Popsicle, swearing sheâd beat you before lightsâout. She did. You cried behind the mess hall and vowed revenge. Four⊠what, five years later? Same vow, fancier stakes.
Ellie sets the clock: five minutes each, 3âsecond incrementâblitz. âFaster game, hotter drama,â she winks, handing you Whiteâs side.
âLetâs burn,â you say, sliding your Dâpawn two squares.
Clock punched. Game on.
ââââââââââââââââââ
You steer toward the Lasker Defenseâlines you rehearsed all week for a campus blitz tourney. Ellieâs playing Black but falls right into theory, mirroring classic moves. On turn three, you capture her center pawn. She peels a ten off the stack and flicks it into a mason jar labeled Tuition Relief. You smirk.
âBeer money,â you correct.
She taps the clock. âWorry about your clothes.â
A minute later she blunders a pawn again; you seize it immediately. Another ten. But sheâs smilingâthat predator grinâwhich worries you. You glance at the position; symmetrical, but her minor pieces hum with latent energy.
âPredictable,â she purrs. âYou still play the book like youâre afraid to improv.â
âOh please, Miss Theatre Kid lecturing me about originality?â you retort, pushing another pawn to harass her bishop.
Ellie shrugs. âAt least I know drama sells. You musicians lock yourselves in practice rooms because the real world scares you.â
You snort. âSpoken like someone whoâs never faced a juried recital.â Your bishop lands on d3, eyes her kingside. She castles quickly.
On moveâŻ10, you slide your pawn forward with deliberate easeâsacrificing it like an offering on an altar. Itâs calculated, clean, and utterly dangerous. You know the moment she sees it, her brow arches ever so slightly, eyes narrowing with suspicion. Two full seconds tick by in the silence, her fingers hovering above her black bishop. She hesitates. You can practically hear the gears grinding behind that smug expression.
And thenâshe takes it.
Click.
You grin, slow and wicked. The trap is set, and she just walked right into it.
âTrying to honeyâtrap me?â she drawls.
âTrying to see if you remember your endgames.â Your queen slides to h5, threatening mate. Ellieâs eyes narrowâlip bite, concentration crackling. Her knight leaps to block the threat.
The clock ticks; you have 3:42, she 3:19. Not bad.
When you pull a fork move; king and rook, the classical Greek Gift, Ellie groans. Finally tips her rook.
Her total: $40.
âGod, I saw that in YouTube shorts last night,â she mutters.
You lean back theatrically. âShould have gone to sleep earlier.â
She retaliates, sweeping your pawn off the board like it personally offended herâof course, you counter, slamming your piece down with a smirk, knuckles brushing the edge of the board.
For a heartbeat, the silence between you sharpensâthen all hell breaks loose.
What follows is a messy fightâpawns crumbling, knights leaping into suicidal charges, rooks skewering from opposite flanks. Itâs blitz now, and the room buzzes with tension, the clock ticking down with merciless speed. Your fingers move faster than thought, chasing her through a tactical minefield, but itâs getting harder to breathe, harder to keep up.
Ellieâs brow is furrowed, lips parted slightly as she calculates, and you hateâhateâhow good she looks when sheâs thinking like this.
Three moves later, in a blur of bad judgment and adrenaline, you miscalculate. Your fingers brush the wrong square. Your lightâsquare bishop is hangingâundefended. Exposed. Ellie doesn't hesitate. She snatches it off the board with a flourish and an audibly smug inhale.
âOops,â she says, teeth flashing. âWas that important?â
You grit your teeth. Damn it.
âStrip,â Ellie sing-songs.
You inhale, heart banging, and reach up to unhook your silver hoops. They clink onto the table. Small sacrifice.
Ellie exaggerates a pout. âAw, I was hoping for something bigger.â
âYour egoâs big enough,â you mutter, moving your rook with force.
She laughs, cheeks flushing. âTouchĂ©.â
For the next minutes, Ellieâs pieces coordinate with predator grace. On moveâŻ18 she launches a pawn break, cracking your center. You misjudge, your queen misplaces on e2, and her knight lands a killer fork. Off goes your knight.
âHoodie,â she commands.
You slide it free, cotton dragging over your top, tossing it onto the rack. Heartbeat drums in your ears. Ellieâs gaze flickers down, then back to the board, a faint flush blooming on her cheeks. She tears her eyes away and slaps the clock.
Your advantage evaporates. Two moves later you lose your darkâsquare bishop in a tactical skirmishâshe pins your queen to your king.
You gulp.
âThat top,â Ellie whispers. Her voice is suddenly rougher.
You peel the teal top you were wearing, chill air kisses your bare arms; gooseflesh rises. Ellieâs pupils dilate.
âQuit staring.â
âTrying,â she rasps. âEyes keep malfunctioning.â
You slide a pawn, more forceful than necessary. Ellie counters. The board is chaosâqueens roving, rooks on open files. Youâre down material but compensation lurks in active squares.
âWhy the strip rule?â you blurt midâcalculation, attempting calm.
Ellie shrugs, moving her rook. âNeeded motivation. You always play safest lines. Thought risk might coax you out.â
âYou couldâve just asked.â
She glances up, expression unreadable. âThought youâd say no.â
The truth hits you like a misfired spell to the chestâsudden, electric, and disorienting.
Sheâs not trying to humiliate you. Not really.
Sheâs not gloating like she used to when you were thirteen and shoved a queen off the board just to piss her off. Thereâs something else in her gaze nowâsharp, yes, but not cruel. Focused. Curious. Hungry in a way that has nothing to do with winning and everything to do with you. Her eyes flicker, not to the board, but to your bare shoulder, to the slope of your neck, the rise and fall of your breath like itâs the most fascinating thing in the room.
She wants to see you.
Not dominate. Not destroy.
See.
And the realization fries a circuit in your brain. Suddenly the room is too hot, your skin prickles under her gaze, and you're no longer thinking in moves or strategies. You reach for your rook on instinctâhalf-aware, off-balanceâand place it a square too far.
Ellie blinks.
Then smiles.
âYou sure about that?â
You look down and your heart sinks. You blundered. Badly.
You donât even have time to curse before she takes it, slow and deliberate.
And gods, the way sheâs looking at you nowâlike the gameâs no longer about chess at all.
âSock,â she murmurs.
Your pulse spikes; you tug off a sock, toss it onto the rack. She smiles softly, almost apology. âWeâre even now.â
âHardly,â you mutter, but nerves tangle with something gentler.
While Ellie ponders her next move, you recall sophomore year of high schoolâcommunityâtheatre production of Into the Woods. You were pitâorchestra percussion; she was Jack. One tech rehearsal the fly system jammed, set piece dangling precariously. Ellie had climbed the rigging to fix it before anyone else reacted. Youâd watched her silhouette against stage lights, heart jackhammering with adrenaline and⊠something else. Sheâd winked after, and youâd told her to go fall off a cliff.
Back then, you didnât understand why your insults sounded like confessions in reverse.
Back on the board, time dwindles: you 1:14, Ellie 1:01. You sacrifice another pawn for an attack, ignoring the clothing risk. Ellie fumbles under pressure, her queen briefly hanging; you snatch it with your rook. Ten bucks whoosh into the jar. You beam.
âOveracting again,â you tease.
She rolls her eyes. âDirected chaos, babe.â
The term of endearment slips out, both of you freezing. For half a second the blackâbox silence roars. You swallow. Ellieâs ears redden.
You capture her remaining bishop. Her ten hits the jar. Total $100.
She leans in, elbows on knees. âGonna bankrupt me?â
âAs soon as Iâm done performing my strip routine apparently.â
Her tongue clicks thoughtfully. âMaybe Iâm paying admission.â
Your breath stutters, cheeks blaze. You capture her last knight. She owes $110. Youâre ahead in pieces taken, but down to bra and jeans.
Not great.
Ellie forks your queen and rook with a pawn deflection. Rook goneâanother socks gone. You grip the cotton hem, tug your sock and pulled it off from your foot. Chilly air plus vulnerability goose your skin. You refuse to cross arms; instead you stare at the clock like the plastic digits hold salvation.
Ellieâs gaze tracks lower but she snaps it to the board, jaw tense. âYou okay?â she murmurs.
âFocus,â you say, voice ragged.
She swallows. âRoger.â
Despite exposed skin, youâre weirdly emboldenedâfear converted to kinetic energy. Your queen spearheads an attack, delivering perpetual checks. On move 32 you snag her rook with a betweenâmove discovered tactic. Youâre material up again. Two more tens hit the jar.
Ellie huffs. âI swear you studied Tal games just to torment me.â
âI did,â you confess. âYou like drama; Mikhail Tal was the drama king.â
She chuckles, low and genuine. The laugh warms you more than your hoodie ever did.
With pieces traded, endgame looms: your king slightly safer, but Ellieâs passed pawn menaces. You realize with horror that your knightless army canât stop promotion without huge losses.
You bite your lip, think of earlier camp vow. No giving up.
You push your pawn to distract. She ignores, queen escorts pawn. You sacrifice your last rook in desperation. She captures; grin triumphant.
"Jeans,â she says quietly.
Your hands tremble. You stand, unbutton jeans, shimmy out. Damn AC hum makes your skin pebbled. You refuse to blush, planting yourself back on chair in just peach lingerie. The bare stage light paints your shoulders in amber.
Ellieâs breathing grows uneven. She rubs a hand over her mouth as though wiping away droolâthen blinks guilt. âYou sureââ
âPlay.â Your command wavers but holds.
She nods, sympathy flickering. Somehow that kindness slices deeper than mockery.
Two moves later you salvage a skewer tactic; Ellieâs queen falls. The jar climbs to $130. Gasps echo from both of you: her at the loss, you at rescue.
With queens gone, only bishops and pawns skitter. Youâre down to a single pawn on h7; Ellieâs has advanced to d2. Kings race across board like marathoners.
Sweat beads on Ellie's temple. Youâre each under 20âŻseconds. The clockâs increment barely saves you from flag.
Your pawn promotes, snatching a spare queen from the box. Ellie counters by queening hers with check. Suddenly bare kings and shiny queens square off in mutual zugzwang.
The position repeats twice. You glance up, breathing hard. Ellie mirrors you across the table, eyes liquid.
âWeâre⊠stuck,â you pant.
âDraw?â she whispers.
You examine the board. You could play on, but one misclick could lose. Pride says fight; heart says enough bloodshed.
âDraw,â you agree, pressing the clock button three times. The digital display freezes.
Your world spins down to silence.
ââââââââââââââââââ
Neither of you moves. The board sits between you like a battlefield in the aftermathâpieces scattered, kings still standing, but barely. Sweat clings to your hairline, trickling down your spine, and adrenaline pulses hot through your veins, leaving a subtle tremor in your limbs. You canât look away from her, and she doesnât look away from you. The silence is thickâelectricâbuzzing with everything unsaid.
Then Ellie stands.
She moves without a word, strides across the studio to swipe a towel from the backstage rack, her posture loose but eyes still burning. You expect her to toss it at you with a snide remark, something cocky and offhand.
But she doesnât.
She returns, stepping into your space with a strange softness. And thenâgently, so gentlyâitâs draped over your bare shoulders like a queenâs mantle, warm and worn, smelling faintly of stage paint and sandalwood.
Her fingers linger a moment too long at your collarbone, brushing your skin like a secret. The contact jolts you like a live wire. You inhale sharply but say nothing. Your mouth is suddenly dry.
âYou cold?â she murmurs, voice lower than before, rough with something that has nothing to do with teasing.
âA bit,â you exhale, suddenly felt small under her gaze.
She gathered your clothes on the rack, placing them on your lap without comment on your nearânakedness. The jar sits heavy at $130.
âKeep it,â Ellie says softly. âCall it hazard pay.â
You shake your head. âSplit after pizza."
She chuckles. âAlright.â A beat passes. âWe, uhhâwe should talk.â
You clutch the towel. âAbout?â
Her eyes find yoursâvivid green ringed by exhaustion and honesty. âAbout why chess matters so much⊠why you matter so much I had to make a stupid strip bet just to keep you in the same room after midnight.â
Your lungs seize, breath catching on a sudden swell of memory. Fireworks crackling in July darkness, her laughter splitting the night; the dizzy height of the rigging where sheâd steadied you with a gloved hand; the endless hallway skirmishesâhipâchecks, sharp words, sparks flying off metal lockers. Each recollection clicks neatly into place, stacking like polished chess pieces until a single, aching truth towers over everything: you hated her because hating was simplerâsaferâthan admitting how badly you wanted her.
âI thought college would be escape,â she admits. âBut then you showed up at freshman orientation wearing those ridiculous headphones and I feltâŠâ She exhales. âEverything all over again.â
You toy with the cotton towel, âAnd so you challenged me to chess instead of, I donât know, coffee?â
âI donât do gentle,â she murmurs. âI do rivalry. Conflict. Direction notes. With you itâs always been⊠high stakes.â
You swallow. âWhat if we tried gentle? Just once?â
Ellieâs gaze softened, âDefine gentle.â
You step into her space. Under the midnight shadow, freckles pattern her cheeks like constellations. Fingers trembling, you let the towel slip from your shoulders and drop to the cold floor beneath your bare feet, grounding and intimate all at once. Ellie pointedly looks away, giving you space rather than devour.
Respectful, longing, maddening.
You raise a hand, brush an auburn strand behind her ear. She shivers.
âThis,â you whisper, bringing her face to look at yours. âNo bets, no insults. Just honesty.â
Her breath catches, eyes trailed down from your eyes, lips, collarbones..
Fuck. Your tits gorgeously wrapped with the lacy peach bra.
She's clearly better than no man.
"Iâve wanted to kiss you since you played that solo song sophomore year and glared at me like Iâd stolen your thunder," she whispered, her eyes back on you.
Your laugh cracks. âI glared because you cheered louder than anyone and embarrassed me.â
âDid it work?â
âLike a charm.â
Silence brims with possibility, thick enough to taste. You lift your chin by a breath; she closes the distance, breath fanning across your lips like the hush before a decisive move.
"You're so fucking beautiful," Ellie breathed, the words slipped out before she could stop it. Her eyes locked with yours when she murmurs, "Can I kiss you?"
When she saw you gave a small nod, both of your lips finally connect. The kiss is featherâsoftâtentative as a pawnâs first stepâbut heat sparks instantly, an opening gambit that leaves you both hungry for the middle game.
She presses closer, lips molding to yours with newfound certainty, and you feel pieces topple inside your chest, scattering strategy into pure sensation. Her fingers anchor at your waist, thumbs brushing against your bare skin, igniting a shiver that races up your spine.
You cup her jaw, fingertips tracing the sharp line to her ear before sliding into her hair, tilting her even deeper. She tastes of peppermint gum and adrenaline, cool mint over molten desire, and when her teeth graze your lower lipâa teasing, wicked scrapeâyou answer with a soft gasp that vibrates between you like a struck chord. The world narrows to shared breath, quickened heartbeats, and the heady realization that this is no longer a game; itâs surrender, bold and breathtaking on both sides of the board.
Her tongue sweeps along the seam of your mouth and you open for her, hunger roaring to life. One hand skims up your ribcageâcalloused fingertips tracing reverent lines until they brush the edge of laceâwhile the other slides into your hair, tilting your head so she can drink you in deeper. She breaks the kiss long enough to nip your bottom lip, eyes dark and wicked, before capturing you again with a groan that vibrates straight to your core. You arch into her, hips meeting denim with dizzying friction, nails grazing down her back in a plea youâre no longer shy about voicing.
Ellie shifts, guiding you gently backward until your spine presses against the cool wall of the studio, her body a furnace against yours. She kisses you again, slower this time but no less intenseâlike sheâs memorizing you piece by piece, savoring every reaction she pulls from your mouth. Her knee slides between your thighs, coaxing a breathy moan as you grind down with desperate instinct, chasing friction like oxygen. Her hand cradles the back of your neck, grounding you as her lips trail from your mouth to the edge of your jaw, then lower, brushing your pulse point with a heat that borders on reverence.
"Fuck," she breathes against your throat, voice wrecked. "You have no idea how long Iâve wanted thisâwanted you."
Your reply dies in your throat as her fingers skimming the soft underside of your lacy bra with a graze so light itâs cruel. You gasp, hips twitching in response, and she huffs a laugh against your collarboneâlow, soft but maddening. âYou like that, sweetheart?â she murmurs, voice dripping with challenge. You grip her by the collar of her flannel and pull her flush against you, heart pounding like a war drum. âStop teasing, Williams,â you whisper back, half threat, half invitation. Her answering grin is wicked and victorious just before she kisses you again like itâs the only language sheâs ever been fluent in.
Her lips trail down your neck with unhurried hunger, teeth grazing sensitive skin just enough to make your breath catch, just enough to make your hips rise instinctively against her. She groans low in her throatâa sound born of want, raw and impatientâas her hands slide under again, this time with purpose, fingertips tracing the edge of the lace before slipping beneath it to palm your breast. "Mmmh.." Your head falls back with a soft, broken but heavenly noise, and she takes the invitation, mouth latching onto the curve of your throat as if claiming every inch of you she can reach.
"Yeah, keep making that sound, baby,â she murmurs against your skin, voice thick with desire as she keeps on playing with your left breast, âEvery time you open your pretty mouth, I want to either argue with you or fuck you senseless.â
You moanâhalf scandalized, half soaked in how true it feelsâwhen she unclasped your last armour and latched her wet tongue around your hardened nipple, gently licking then sucking it while she kept whispering sweet nothings in the process. You pull her in tighter, your own hands roaming her back, curling into the hem of her flannel. "You're a menace, a pretty one," She murmurs, grinding her hips against yours, slow and devastating, and you feel everything youâve ever denied flood to the surface, hot and impossible to ignore.
Every stolen breath clings to the heat blooming between you; strategy, pride, and years of rivalry melt away until only her name trembles on your tongue like the final, breathless move of the most dangerous game youâve ever played.
And now? Youâre both ready to fall.
ââââââââââââââââââ
The heat has settled into a slow, glowing hum between your bodies.
You lie tangled together on the worn couch at the edge of the blackâbox, skin still warm and flushed, breaths mingling in the dim light. Ellieâs arm is draped lazily over your waist, fingers tracing idle, possessive shapes across the bare skin just above your waistband. Her jacket is haphazardly thrown over both your bodies, soft against sweatâdamp skin, still smelling of her. The silence isnât awkwardâitâs heavy with everything that just happened, everything you finally let go of. Your legs are twined with hers, your cheek resting against her collarbone, and she presses a kiss into your hair like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
You realize this is the real checkmate: not victory over each other, but surrender to everything thatâs been waiting, patient and inevitable, just beneath the rivalryâs surface.
âI never hated you,â she murmurs, voice low, raw from breathless moans and whispered curses. âI just didnât know how else to want you.â
You smile against her skin, your fingers brushing the hair away from her face. âAll those yearsâevery fight, every argumentâI was just trying not to fall apart wanting you.â You whisper back.
Ellie then cups your face, forehead resting against yours, and you feel her exhaleâshaky, like this moment has unraveled something in her too. âI want you. Every version. Even the one who calls me a pretentious theatre bitch.â You laugh, breathless and dazed, curling your fingers in her shirt to keep her close. âGood,â you whisper, âBecause I want the overdramatic director who smells like peppermint and chaos.â
Ellie chuckles, soft and wrecked, then tips your chin up and kisses you againâslow, deep, claiming. When you break apart, youâre both smiling.
âCheck,â she whispers.
âMate,â you breathe, and she laughs, bright and disbelieving. [âą]
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thank you for the tag @arahiraaai here's mine (ps. im sooo sorry it's late)
1. bittersuite ~ billie eilish
2. november rain ~ guns n roses
3. meddle about ~ chase atlantic
4. timeless ~ the weekend
5. pyramids ~ frank ocean
6. hex ~ 80purr
7. les ~ childish gambino
8. alive ~ ari abdul
9. classy 101 ~ fied, young miko
10. baile inolvidable ~ bad bunny
tags: @sweetbcgs @lolitalovess @krfttin đđ©”
shuffle your on repeat playlist and post the first 10 songs, was tagged by my girl @chirpybirdy âŠ. I added one extra for luck.
1. Time- Pink Floyd
2. You Donât Have to Cry- CSN
3. Bus Stop- The Hollies
4. Iâd Love to Change the World- Ten Years After
5. Out on the Weekend- Neil Young
6. The Water is Wide- Joan Baez
7. Summer 68- Pink Floyd
8. Come on In- The Monkees
9. One- Harry Nilsson
10. Helplessly Hoping- CSN
11. Poison Tree- Grouper
tagging @leveebreak-s @snafugender @theklaapologist @guarnerepdf @lookoutjoe @negativegrl
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wrapped & melted | e.w
written by greenbuns
° . Pairings : Ellie Williams à Fem!Reader (you)
° . Contains : cozy morning (kinda aftercare), slight nudity, skin contact, cuddling & snuggling, soft romance, clingy, lovey-dovey, taking a bath together, fluff fluff fluff, full of kisses and ellie is deeply enamoured with you
Rain taps gently against the windowpane, its soft rhythm soothing, almost like a lullaby lingering in the early hours of the morning. Outside, the world is shrouded in a gray hush, the streets damp and glistening beneath the kiss of dawn.
The redâdigit clock on the nightstand blinks; showing that it was six in the morning.
Inside the cozy apartment, the bedroom is cloaked in a dim amber glow from a single candle whose deepâberry scent perfumes the airâsweet, tangy, and comforting. Clothing lies in disarray across the wooden floor, scattered trophies of last nightâs fervent passion; Ellieâs soft flannel shirt draped over the armchair, one sock halfâstuffed into her boot, your own underwear tangled somewhere near the foot of the bed like a silken white flag of surrender.
Beneath a thick, offâwhite blanket you are wrapped up together, a knot of limbs and quiet heat. Ellieâs arms encircle your waist as if she never intends to let go. Her head is tucked just below the curve of your breasts, your skin her personal pillow. Her cheek feels pleasantly cool on your warm torso, her breaths gentle puffs of air that graze you and leave goosebumps in their wake.
You drift in a hazy space between dreams and waking until a flutter of kisses brushes your neckâsoft, featherâlight, the kind that say I treasure this and I treasure you. The affection woven into every press of Ellieâs lips stirs you more effectively than any alarm. A languid hum slips from your throat as your fingers instinctively slide into her short, tousled hair. She looks up at you, green eyes drowsy but brimming with warmth.
âMorning, sleepyhead,â she whispers, voice hoarse with sleep yet tender enough to melt steel.
Your lips curve sleepily. âHi," you murmur back, the single word coated in the honeyed haze of early hour intimacy. Ellie props herself on one elbow, brushing a stray lock behind your ear. Her palm settles on your waist, thumb drawing lazy circles that kindle sparks beneath your skin.
âYou feel okay, baby?â she asks softly, searching your gaze. âWas I too rough on you?â
Last night rushes back; love, heat, hunger, whispered confessions spoken on shaky breaths. The way your moans and whimpers were the realest form of heavenly sound in her ears, and her green eyes lit like all the bright stars when she saw the entirety of youâraw, tender, and wild.
You swallow, heart swelling until it nudges your ribs.
âMore than okay,â you say, cupping her freckled cheek. âI loved every second of it.â
Ellieâs lips lift into a smile so radiant it rivals sunrise. She leans down to kiss youâslow, reverent, savoring. When she finally pulls away you feel as if your soul has been dipped in warm sunlight. âGood,â she murmurs. âBecause that sex, it healed me, babe."
You let out a soft chuckle before she continued, "Could practically provide a full fucking health insurance.â
Then you cackled, "Weirdo." And Ellie just gave you the stupid grin you fell in love with.
The candle flickers, casting soft shadows that dance lazily over the ceiling. Rain provides a steady backbeat as you and Ellie lie in each otherâs arms, trading unhurried kisses punctuated by little sighs of contentment. She murmured gentle phrases in your ear like "you're so beautiful" and "can't wait to marry you one day" that made your cheeks heated. There is no rush in your world; the outside may be full of schedules and obligations, but here time stretches like liquid caramel.
Ellie snuggles closer, burying her nose against your collarbone. âLetâs stay in bed all day,â she proposes, voice muffled.
âWe donât have to do anything today,â you tease, tracing invisible patterns on the strong line of her shoulder.
âExactly.â She lifts her head just enough to smirk. âWhich means I get to do this.â A playful kiss to your chin, then your jaw, she went lower and doesn't stop until her lips kissed one of your perky nipples. Each press of her mouth is a tiny spark, and together they build a gentle fire in your chest.
Minutesâor maybe hoursâslip by in a blur of halfâsleep loops. You drift off, wake to her fingertips twining through yours, drift again. Occasionally you talk in whispers about nothing: the dream she had where a dinosaur tried to steal your coffee, the song repeating in your head, the shape the rainwater makes on the balcony railing. There is intimacy in sharing the mundane; it is a different kind of nakedness, one that bares the heart.
Eventually the candle has melted into a berryâscented puddle of wax and the rain outside softens to the hush of mist.
⥠+ ⥠+ ⥠+ ⥠+ ⥠+ ⥠+ ⥠+ ⥠+ ⥠+ ⥠+ âĄ
The bathroom was warm with steam, the windows fogged up, and the soft sound of water gently sloshing in the tub filled the space. The bubble bath was full, soft foam cresting over the rim, shimmering under the golden bathroom light. The air was heady with the scent of berry and warmth, clinging to your skin like a memory.
Your girlfriend insisted for you both to have a bath together. She claimed so innocently like her expression made of cotton, saying something like "the water crisis is increasing, must start using it wisely to support earth welfare" when what she actually wanted was to see your glistening naked skin pressed against hers.
Ellie stepped into the tub first, letting out a satisfied hum as the hot water wrapped around her sore muscles, the heat soaking into her skin. She settled against the back of the tub with her legs stretched out, arms draped along the edge, her toned frame relaxed, bare, and glistening in the haze.
She looked over at you with that familiar lazy smirk. âCâmere, baby. Waterâs perfect.â
You slid in carefully, the heat rising up your spine, making you sigh out loud as it welcomed you in. Without a word, Ellie opened her arms and guided you back into her embrace, pulling you gently to lean against her chest. Her hands found your waist underwater, fingers splaying lovingly across your stomach.
Your back pressed into her front, her chin resting just over your shoulder. The warmth of the water was nothing compared to the warmth of her skin wrapped around yours. Every inch of you softened into her, into the comfort of being held, of being cared for.
âMmm,â Ellie murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. âPerfect fit, aren't you?â
You smiled and let your head rest against hers. Her arms curled tighter around you, one hand trailing up to cup your breast under the water, giving it light squeezes, thumb stroking gently. It wasnât sexual, not really. Not yet.
It was grounding. Intimate. Devotional.
âSo pretty,â she whispered into your damp skin, her gaze coming back to you, "Feel good?"
âLike heaven,â you replied, voice low and relaxed. âI never want to move.â
âTake your time, baby," She kissed your shoulder next, slow and soft. âI've got you.â
Your eyes fluttered shut as her fingers started drawing little circles along your thigh, the movements slow, hypnotic. Every few moments sheâd shift to press a kiss somewhere newâthe back of your neck, behind your earâlike she couldnât get enough of you, like you were something delicate she was learning all over again.
âYou smell like berries,â she mumbled, smiling without opening her eyes.
You chuckled softly, felt her breath warm on your ear, âThat candleâs really working overtime.â
âOr maybe itâs you,â she teased, turning your face just enough to meet her lips for a kiss.
You kissed her back immediately, the hand on your thigh stilling as she leaned into you, water shifting gently around your bodies. The kiss was slow, deep, unhurried. Her tongue brushed lightly against yours, tasting you like it was the first time all over again. She held you tighter, the water sloshing softly as her knees bent to keep you nestled snug between them.
When the kiss broke, she didnât pull farâjust rested her forehead against the side of your face.
âYouâre everything,â she whispered.
Your fingers found hers underwater and laced them together, âSappy,â You whispered.
Ellie smirked against your skin, âYou say that like you wouldn't let me get into your pants every night.â
She earned a little smack.
You turned in her arms just enough to kiss her againâmore tender this time, full of quiet gratitude and aching affection. Her hands roamed your back, soothing, loving, like she was anchoring herself to you.
They stayed that way for a long timeâjust two bodies molded together in heat and silence. Even as the water began to cool, neither of you moved. Ellie shifted only to brush a few bubbles off your shoulder or adjust the way her legs cradled yours. You leaned into her, fully, completely, letting her hold all of you.
âLetâs never leave this tub,â you whispered, only half-joking.
Ellie nuzzled your cheek, her smile audible in her voice. âDeal. But only if I get to wash your hair.â
You laughed, heart full. âThatâs your condition?â
âThat and maybe.. " She trailed, her lips curled into a smirk, "Making out with you for like... twenty more minutes.â
âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd youâre irresistible.â
You melted into laughter, then into another kiss, and another, and then one more that didnât end for a while. The tub may have cooled, but the heat between you hadnât gone anywhere.
Wrapped in each other, hearts unguarded, the world outside couldâve vanishedâand neither of you wouldâve noticed. [âą]
> thanks for reading i hope u guys liked it. good day/night <3
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