#is this considered fluff

[lavender-vixen]

you are literally whipping up this requests omg?? your writing is so good<3

if u don’t mindd could you do patrick with like a super goody two-shoes girly girl reader? its such a cliche ew but i love fics like those

have a good day btw !!

of course!

the bonfire crackled and popped, sending warm orange sparks into the cool summer night air. the quarry was alive with the sound of music blasting from a battered boombox...some loud rock anthem that the crowd of seniors was nodding along to. patrick hockstetter was close to the bonfire, naturally, lounging against a boulder with you perched delicately on his lap. the air was thick with cigarette smoke, cheap beer, and the faint, earthly scent of marijuana.

you didn't quite fit with that scene, and it was the first thing anyone noticed. while the girls around the fire wore ripped band tees, leather skirts, and heavy eyeliner, you were a picture of sweet innocence.

patrick's friends—henry, vic, belch—had all exchanged more than a few confused looks when he'd first brought you around. you were the polar opposite of patrick's type: soft-spoken, pastel-loving, the kind of girl who volunteered at bake sales and always remembered to say "please" and "thank you."

but patrick? he was obsessed with you. it turned him on that you were so innocent.

"she's so sweet it makes my teeth hurt," vic had muttered once, watching you offer patrick a carefully packed lunchbox you'd made for him. "why does she even like you?"

"shut up, jealousy," patrick had said, grinning.

tonight, though, you were fitting in better than usual. you had your arms wrapped loosely around patrick's neck, sitting sideways on his lap with your head tucked under his chin. your baby-pink sundress and delicate sandals stood out against the sea of black leather jackets and ripped jeans, but you didn't feel like an outsider. when rush's "tom sawyer" came on—a grittier, more electric track than anything on your madonna and blondie cassette tapes—you perked up and softly started singing along.

patrick tilted his head, a slight grin on his pouty lips. "look at that. she's learning satanic rock music," he mocked, giving you a bounce on his knee. "bad girl."

"shut up," you said, blushing but smiling back. "i don't mind this one."

henry raised an eyebrow from across the bonfire, watching patrick like he'd sprouted a second head. "man, this is so twisted," he said to belch, but there was no real venom in it. he just couldn't wrap his head around the relationship. he'd never seen patrick so...gentle.

patrick tightened his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer and firmer against him. you giggled, pressing your temple against his jaw.

as the night wore on and the group started to thin out, with some kids leaving and others disappearing into the woods to drink or smoke, patrick leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"wanna join us? we've got plenty," henry called to you two, following the others into the woods.

you knew he meant pot, and you knew your parents would kill you if you came home reeking of it. you'd never tried marijuana before, but you knew patrick and his friends were well-practiced. still, you were too embarrassed to tell him no and sound lame in front of his friends.

he read the look of fear and reluctance off your face like a book. he always did. "how about we go swimming instead?"

you blinked up at him, your expression immediately wary. "patrick, no, we're not supposed to swim in here after dark. it's not safe."

he gave you a wolfish grin, the one that always made your stomach flip. "that's the point, baby. c'mon. it's just us now."

your face turned a shade of pink, but luckily he couldn't see it in the dark. "i...i didn't bring a swimsuit."

"so? take your clothes off."

your face flushed even more as you gasped, horrified. "no! no way."

he stood, effortlessly lifting you off his lap and setting you down on the ground. "c'mon," he repeated, already tugging at the hem of his shirt. "no one's gonna see. they're all getting stoned."

you hesitated, biting your lip, but the way he looked at you...like you were the only thing in the world worth his attention...made it impossible to say no.

"fine, just this once," you mumbled, glancing around nervously before kicking off your sandals. "but i'm keeping my bra and panties on."

patrick's grin turned downright predatory. "sure."

"but you have to, um, stand in front of me while i change. and hold something up. like a...shield."

patrick stared at you for a moment, then barked out a laugh. "a shield?" his grin was teasing, sharp as ever, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "baby, we're the only ones here. nobody's looking."

"i don't care," you said quickly, crossing your arms. "it's either that or i'm keeping this dress on."

he sighed, shaking his head but clearly entertained. "alright, alright. god, you're such a princess," he grabbed his black t-shirt off the ground and held it up in front of you like a curtain, standing in his boxer shorts.

"don't peek," you warned, pointing a finger at him as you slipped behind the makeshift screen.

patrick smirked but stayed put, one hand holding the shirt steady and the other resting casually on his hip. "really? getting all shy when i've seen plenty already."

your cheeks burned as you fumbled with the straps of your sundress, trying to shimmy out of it as quickly as possible. "this is so different," you muttered. "and don't say stuff like that."

"why not?" he tilted his head, even though you couldn't see him. "it's true. the gang knows."

"you told them we..." you stopped yourself, the blush crawling up your neck. "still...just don't peek."

"whatever," he said, though the grin in his voice told you how much he was enjoying this. "hurry up. i don't have all damn night."

when you finally stepped out from the shirt, now clad in just your bra and underwear, you clutched your dress nervously against your chest. patrick lowered the shirt and looked at you, his smirk widening as his eyes swept over you hungrily.

"hot," he said loudly, tossing the shirt aside. you noticed a few guys by the bonfire turn around to stare at the two of you, squinting to see beyond the shadows.

"oh my god, stop it," you huffed, covering yourself once again with the dress. "i hate you."

he reached out to tug you closer, yanking the dress away and throwing it to join his shirt and jeans on the ground. you felt his fingers go to unhook your bra, and you grabbed his biceps, trying to push his arms away.

"patrick! stop!" you shriek, drawing more attention from the stragglers by the bonfire.

patrick howled with laughter again. your voices carried across the quarry. you saw heads turn.

patrick's hands still tried to tug at your bra strap. "c'mon baby," he teased between laughs, "give 'em a show."

"patrick, please!" you begged, genuine panic setting in. "people are looking!"

"so? let 'em," he said, his smirk wicked as he finally relented, letting his hands drop to his sides. his bedroom eyes sparkled with amusement. "they know you're mine, anyway."

you glared up at him, face burning. "you're the devil," you muttered, clutching your arms over your wonder bra as you glanced nervously at the bonfire.

patrick didn't care. he never cared. he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours and tugging you toward the edge of the water.

the water shimmered under the moonlight, dark and inviting. you hesitated at the edge, the smooth rock beneath your feet still warm from the day's sun. "patrick, it's freezing," you whispered, your voice trembling...not entirely from the chill in the air. "and i just washed my hair. i don't want to get it wet, okay?"

"i'll warm you up," he said, stepping closer until his chest brushed against your back. His hands found your waist, firm but teasing, his thumbs brushing over your bare skin.

"what if there are sharks in here?" you murmured.

"there aren't," he said with a laugh, leaning down so his lips were just a breath away from yours. "haven't you ever swam here before?"

"no." your heart pounded as he pulled you closer, his body seeping into yours even as the cool night air sent a shiver down your spine.

"wait a minute, what the hell is that?" he asked, pointing to spot a little further out in the dark waters.

"what?" you asked, fear evident in your voice. you craned your neck to see better. "what, patrick?"

"that, right there," he said, turning your chin and pointing at the dark water. "holy shit." before you could respond, he swept you off your feet like you weighed nothing, lifting you into his arms.

you clutched his shoulders tightly. "what? what is it? oh my god, what?"

"i swear...it looks just like..."

"like what?!"

"my girlfriend!" he shouted, tossing you off him and into the water with a loud splash.

"patrick!" you gasped, coming up for air, coughing, hearing his wicked laughter close by. then he jumped in after you, soaking you again with the splash.

the cold water hit you, making you squeal and squirm as he swam up next to you. "it's freezing!"

"you'll get used to it," he said, splashing you on purpose.

you sputtered and glared at him. "you're such a child!"

he laughed and waded closer. you splashed him back, water catching the moonlight as it sprayed across his face.

his hands found your waist again, pulling you against him. the contrast of his warm skin and the cold water sent shivers through you, but his hold was steady, grounding.

"patrick..." you murmured, your voice trailing off as he leaned in, his breath warm on your damp skin.

"hm?" he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

your words caught in your throat as his hands slid lower to your hips. the water lapped around you, cool and weightless, his lips making contact on your cheek and trailing down your jawline, leaving a scorching path in their wake.

time blurred as the two of you lingered in the quarry, patrick alternating between teasing you mercilessly and pressing heated kisses to your lips or along your neck. but eventually, the chill of the water started to set in, and he helped you back toward the edge.

“c’mon,” he said, his hands steadying you as you climbed out onto the rocks. “let’s get you dried off. don't want your parents to throw a bitch-fit when i drop you off."

you shivered as the cool night air hit your damp skin, your white bra and underwear clinging to you uncomfortably. the fabric was soaked, practically see-through, and it wasn’t until you caught patrick’s smirk that you realized why he was looking at you like that.

“patrick!” you hissed, crossing your arms over your chest. “stop staring." you grabbed your once-perfect hair, wringing out water, feeling soggy and grimy from the quarry water. "i look disgusting."

"i'm literally experiencing evidence otherwise," he said, unabashed.

before you could snap back, you heard laughter and voices ahead of you. whipping your head up, you saw henry, vic, and belch stumbling back from the woods, clearly buzzed. your heart dropped.

"holy shit," henry said, stopping dead in his tracks. he tilted his head, squinting as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "did you two go for a swim?"

vic barked out a laugh. "jesus, look at little miss prep! you dragged her into the water, didn't you, hockstetter?"

you flushed bright red, hugging yourself tighter in a desperate attempt to cover the wet, clinging fabric. "oh my god," you muttered, turning to patrick.

patrick looked completely unbothered. if anything, he looked pleased, his smirk only widening as he reached down to pick up his discarded molly hatchet band shirt. "relax," he drawled, holding it out to you. "here. put it on."

the shirt was huge on you, the fabric hung loosely over your frame and falling to mid-thigh. you clutched at the hem, trying to make yourself as small as possible under the gangs' eyes.

"hockstetter got you wet, huh?" henry asked you suggestively, earning a few laughs and nudges from vic and belch as they walked off to the bonfire again.

patrick's hand tightened on your waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin, though he did nothing to quell his friends' teasing. "ignore 'em," he said with an amused chuckle, raking a hand through his dark hair. "they'll be fantasizing about you later, guaranteed."

"gross, i don't want that," you protest, locating your sandals and sliding them back on.

"yeah, but don't worry. that's all they get." the smack of his hand against the back of your still-soaked underwear through the long t-shirt echoed, making you freeze in humiliation. "you're mine."

[bigenargy]

you and hobie just enjoying a silly little moment

pure fluff, no physical describtions of reader, no pronouns used for reader, trashy british, not proofread

"I wanna run my fingers through your hair so bad." You whined in an attempt to get your boyfriends attention.

"What's stopping ya love?" Your boyfriend responded, knowing you were just looking to bother him.

"Your thick ass wicks." You deadpanned with a sigh, dramatically rolling away from Hobie until you fell of your bed.

Upon hearing the thud of your body hit the floor your boyfriend only offered you an amused smirk. "Well? Get up then."

"You're not going to help me up? Chivalry really is dead!"

He only chuckled at your antics before bringing his attention back to his phone.

The two of you have only been together for a few months but it's honeatly felt like a lifetime. He adored everything about you, as you did him and there was nothing the two of you loved more than simply bothering eachother.

"You know what's totally fucked up?" You inquired, still laying on the floor.

"Whot?"

"The fact that we aren't making out right now. It just doesn't sit right with me."

Suddenly, you felt strong arms pick you up off of the ground. You giggled as you were thrown onto your bed and then fully fell into a fit of laughter when Hobie got on top of you with a mischievous smile.

He leaned his head down towards yours in an attempt to connect your lips but you quickly turned your head in the opposite direction. He did the same only for you to turn again, and again, and again. Until you were both in fits of laughter.

Hobie rested his weight onto you and closed his eyes.

"Get off me bro You're heavier than you think!"

"Oh so not only do ya interrupt me while I'm clearly busy doing ma thing, you demand kisses then proceed to deny me  said kisses AND to top it all off you call me bro?"

"Woteva mate joost get off." You say, mocking his accent.

"Big man ting, I ain't moving." He replies with a scoff.

Silence befalls the two of you as you accept your fate, sinking into the warmth of your boyfriend. It was the moments like these that made being alive worth it. The silly, unplanned ones that happen just because.

[kamaluhkhan]

IS IT CASUAL NOW?

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

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

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

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

11:09am. 

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

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

“that was before.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“see? bad news. literally.”

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

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

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

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

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

enough. fucking pull yourself together. 

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

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

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

relationships are overrated, anyways. 

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

maybe vi will fit right in.

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

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

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

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

“paula was a walking red flag.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“nice to meet you, too, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“so, violet —”

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

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

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

“wow, okay. that’s a lot.”

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

“so….where do i fit in?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

vi nods. “sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

“yeah?”

“don’t be late.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

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

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

needless to say, you did not get any sleep.

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

the correct answer is C.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh my gosh, i am so sorry!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

no response.

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

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

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

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

“i’ll miss the whole tournament.”

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

“but the team needs me —”

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

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

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

“i…don’t know why that’s relevant.”

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

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

“exhausted, yeah.” 

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

“so the laptop —”

“finishing assignments.”

“the drinking?”

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

“and the sex?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

wow. okay. 

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

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

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

“you’ve got a reckless streak.”

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

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

“hey!” 

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

vi scoffs. “asshole.”

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

“so….?”

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

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

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

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

yeah. you kind of already do.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you’re not just a crush, anymore. 

you’re a friend. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you’ve got mail?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“can i ask you something?”

“anything,” vi answers, squeezing your calf.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fuck. 

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

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

you’re single now. good to know. 

“what happened?”

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

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

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

“i’ll drink to that.” 

you cheers, keeping eye contact. 

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

“take care of you?”

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

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

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

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

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

you hum. 

“lucky her.” 

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

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

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

shit. did vi say that out loud? 

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

no use in turning back now.

“i’m serious, wonder woman.”

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

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

you swallow. “i care about you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

“sounds perfect to me.” 

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

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

vi nods once. “no strings attached.”

“it’ll be casual.” 

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

“promise?”

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

“promise.” 

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

because that’s what friends are for, right? 

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽

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

wndr wmn ☆

yeah, im at work

v ⚽️

leave early. im BORED and HORNY

wndr wmn ☆

ofc you are 

v ⚽️

pls u love it 

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

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

wndr wmn ☆

yeah i got that 

v ⚽️

so….

wndr wmn ☆

….

leaving now

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“you sure about this, v?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“perfect.”

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

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

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

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

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

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

“oh, those are vi’s.”

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

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

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

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

“i just…guessed.”

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

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

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

“are you sure that’s a good idea?”

you just shrug.

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

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

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

“that’s different.”

“how so?”

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

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

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

“noted.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi starts showing up at your place after soccer. 

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

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

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

you pretend you have all the time in the world.

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

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

no breaking that promise.

���──── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

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

v ⚽️

MY FAVORITE!!

i would love 2

but lucky fell asleep on me 

we just finished devouring an xl pepperoni pizza 

wndr wmn

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

v ⚽️

come on it’s cute

[v ⚽️ sent an attachment]

wndr wmn

yeah, you’re cute

v ⚽️

<3 

come over here instead?

wndr wmn

omw

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

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

“come on — hurry up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it doesn’t really matter, anyways.

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

“oh! you don’t have to —”

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

you laugh, feeling warmth radiate from your chest.

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

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

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

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽️

do u need more nicotine gum? 

im at cvs rn

wndr wmn

yeah that’d be great!!

v ⚽️

ok 

i’ll get u the cinnamon one

that’s the one u like right?

wndr wmn

yep!!!

v ⚽️

okay cool

im also gonna get u some of those iron supplements

wndr wmn

my hero 🙏🏽

thank you sm

v ⚽️

ofc

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

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

“are you jealous, v?”

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

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

nice, but different. 

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

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

so. things are different, but nice. 

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

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

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

“my car’s outside.” 

you smirk. “my break’s in 15.”

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

“f-fuck,” vi groans. 

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

“so fucking good. i’m gonna —”

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

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

“vi! i thought i lost this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you assure vi that she did nothing wrong. 

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

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

hey

are you in town during break?

v⚽️

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

why? u gonna miss me?? 

wndr wmn

lol

im having ppl over for friendsgiving on sunday

if you wanna join

v ⚽️

hell yeah

can i bring anything?

wndr wmn

just your pretty face

i’ll take care of the rest

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

etc. etc.

v ⚽️

damn!!!!

full course meal

wndr wmn

yep

im basically wife material

v⚽️

pls we’re so over gender norms

but yeah

you are

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

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

yet here she is, standing outside your door.

it’s cool, though. completely platonic behavior.

she knocks. 

there’s no answer. 

she knocks again.

nothing.

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

“it’s me, wonder woman,” she tries. 

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

“i’m not really in the mood for sex.”

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

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

“look, vi —”

vi? 

since when do you call her that?

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

damn, so your phone does work. 

you’ve just been ignoring her calls and texts.

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

ah. 

the classic generic excuse and non-committal statement combo.

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

the hits just keep coming. 

thankfully, vi’s always been a good fighter.

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

your face remains unchanged.

“okay, well, you’ve checked on me.” 

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

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

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

you exhale, your eyes softening. 

there. 

a hesitant smile, an invitation to come inside.

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

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

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

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

“what’s there to talk about?”

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

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

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

“it’s fine,” you grumble.

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

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

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

vi squeezes your hand, hoping to reassure you. 

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

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

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

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

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

you shrug. “if that’s what it takes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

you pause, narrowing your eyes at her. 

“you said…. ‘we.’”

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

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

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

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

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

“so…you’ll consider it.”

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

“all yours, if you want it.”

“are you sure?”

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

“wow. you are a gentleman.”

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

you actually laugh.

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

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

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

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

“get some rest, pretty girl.”

a few hours later, you wake up alone. 

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

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

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

drive safe. text me if you need anything.

xxx

- v

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

zaun yellowjackets vs. piltover knights. 

two minutes left in overtime. 

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

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

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

this time, it’s personal. 

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

this could be the winning point. 

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

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

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

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

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

vi takes a deep breath. 

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

you’re there too, sitting next to them. 

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

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

but, vi’s on the field. 

and this is the winning point. 

the whistle blows. 

she makes the shot.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

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

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

it almost doesn’t feel real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you were her first kiss.

“i can’t believe i forgot that.”

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

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

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

“oh, we’re not —”

“yeah, we’re just —”

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

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

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

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

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

caitlyn never even wanted to meet vi’s family.

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

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

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

vi coughs, choking on a mushroom. 

“powder!” 

“what! she never told you?”

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

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

“guys, maybe don’t —”

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

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

“rightfully so,” ekko adds. 

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

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

“she spends three days there —”

“i thought it was two —”

“no, it was three —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

there’s a knock on the door.

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

deep breaths. 

this isn’t the same as before.

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

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

there’s another knock.

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

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

“are you sure you’re okay?”

“i’m fine. see you around.”

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

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

“i’m fine. you can leave.”

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

well, when you put it like that….

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

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

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

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

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

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

vi’s eyes lock onto yours.

“you do?”

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

vi blinks at you.

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

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

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

vi shakes her head, throat suddenly very dry.

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

“what’s stopped you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"get on your knees for me, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"all – all for you.”

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

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

"where are my...." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

vi reaches over to turn down the music.

“sure, little man. what’s up?”

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

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

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

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

“we’re just friends.”

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

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

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

ekko closes his book, smiling to himself. 

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

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

“wait — you’ve bet on my love life?”

ekko smirks. “so it is love.”

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

“it doesn’t matter.”

because, it really doesn’t matter. 

you’re out with someone else right now. 

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

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

cupcake 

Hey, Vi

Just wanted to say good game today

You played brilliantly

Violet

k

cupcake

No need for the attitude

I was just trying to be nice

Violet

my apologies!!!

thank you SO much for recognizing my talent captain kiramman

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

cupcake

Bitterness isn’t a good colour on you, darling

Violet

im NOT your darling

cupcake

I’m aware

I saw you earlier with that girl

Are you together? 

Violet

idk

are you still with maddie?

cupcake

Actually, we broke up

I was hoping you and I could chat

Violet

what’s in it for me?

cupcake

The chance to reconnect with an old friend

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

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

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

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

“what the fuck, vi?” you seethe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“because we’re friends.”

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

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

“what the fuck are you talking about?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yeah, just give us a second —”

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

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

you glare at each other.

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

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“maybe ask sky? i should stay here —”

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

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

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

“vi?”

she jumps slightly when you say her name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“she’s not — we’re not together.”

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

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

but, also:

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

you miss her.

“do you wanna come sit?”

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

“so, i admit that —”

“vi, you were right —”

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

“i fucked up,” vi blurts out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

you shake your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i thought you’d never ask.”

[neoheros]

whoever spread the rumor that kuroo tetsuro is the guy to look for when looking for romance and dating advice — count your days, because not only were they dead wrong, but he’s convinced that the rumors have put a curse on him too.

sure, he can give a few off-handed comments about yaku or lev’s relationship problems here and there, but never, ever, ever did he claim to be someone skilled at it.

now look where the rumors gotten him.

flushed in the face, stumbling on his words, tripping on his feet — does this look like any guy worth looking to for dating advice?

“will you help me get a date?”

if it was any of his friends asking, kuroo would be all wingman-mode in no time, no questions asked, and he’d give up his full and unbridled support immediately — but no, unfortunately, that is so not the case.

helping his friends with relationship advice? sure. no harm there. but helping co-workers who barely speak to him at the workplace? c’mon man.

“listen man, i’m not really sure i can help–”

“i know i’m just a random co-worker to you and i know we don’t really talk aside from the “will you pass me the stapler” conversations we have during work, but i heard that you’re the guy to talk to when it comes to these stuff so please help me.”

the guy in front of him really doesn’t look like he’d be backing down anytime soon. his hands clasped together as he bows lowly, muttering over and over again “please” and how he’ll “forever be indebted”.

kuroo looks around at the office floor, a deep flush setting on the back of his neck as he sees the only pther person in the room between him, his lunatic co-worker, and the door so-tempting, well, was you.

(and you had your airbuds in, your fingers incessantly typing loudly, a focused gaze fixated on your laptop screen, so he knew, he couldn’t ask you for help either).

“alright, fine.” kuroo sighs, suddenly feeling so much smaller than usual. “who’s the unlucky bastard ya got your eyes on?”

and kuroo fights back the cringe welling up in his stomach when he watches his co-worker in front of him stand up straight almost immediately — a smile so wide on their face, it almost gives him the creeps.

“oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” he says, and he almost looks like he’s about to literally jump for joy.

“i’ll tell you, but you have to promise never to tell anyone.” his co-worker holds out his pinky finger as he says the word promise.

are they 12?

kuroo transfers the coffee mug he’s been nursing from his free hand to the other, careful not to spill, and careful to roll his eyes.

reluctantly, he holds out his pinky, “i promise.”

“now tell me who it is so we can get this over with.”

now, kuroo is a sensible guy. he’s top pick on becoming employee of the month, he’s a good worker, diligent and polite, he’s a great peer, and you can always count on him to pass you a stapler when you ask for it.

he is a good co-worker. the model standard.

but like he said before — he’s been cursed by this rumor.

his co-worker leaned forward, one hand brought up near his mouth to cover his lips as he says the answer to his question, and kuroo, admittedly curious, leans close too, one hand shoved deep in his suit pocket, the other holding onto a hot coffee mug.

“who do you have your eyes on?”

a second passes.

and the coffee mug spills from kuroo’s hand, a slip of his fingers and suddenly the floor is a mess. his co-worker gets the bulk of the thankfully, not-so-hot liquid, and the mug falls to the floor with a sounding “clank”.

eyes from all over the room shoot up to the sudden noise, and kuroo gives everyone a sheepish smile.

did he really have to say your name?

“quite a mess you made back there.” your teasing voice brings kuroo back to where he is now.

it’s a little bit past 7pm, most of your co-workers have packed their belongings and went on home for the day, and as you take a final glance at the clock, it’s safe to say you’re ready to go home now too.

kuroo hides his head in his arms, grumbling loudly at the recollection, “don’t tease me about that. i feel terrible.”

“you should. you got coffee all over his white shirt.” you tease a bit more, a slight laugh in your voice as you hear your best friend let out another grumble.

he’s still tucked away in his arms on the desk next to yours, “aren’t best friends supposed to be supportive or something?”

kuroo’s finished all his work about thirty minutes ago, and now, as he’s waited for you to finish yours all this time, you finally give him a gentle nudge on his back, telling him the two of you can finally go.

“i am being supportive.” you defend, and it takes a minute for your laptop to close down, so you lean back on your chair and you shrug, “just buy him a new shirt.”

that gets kuroo to look up from his sulking briefly, his eyes squinted as he complains, tone heavy, “can we stop talking about him please?”

and you laugh, “wow, you sound like he’s the one who spilt his hot coffee on you.”

another grumble (and another laugh from you).

kuroo gets up quickly from his sulking, a deep frown on his face as he crosses his arms across his chest, turning the swivel chair dramatically to face you.

“okay: a. it was not hot coffee. and b. it was not entirely my fault.” “he kept asking me about some dating advice on how to ask someone out.”

you tilt your head, “and he came to you for help?”

he gives you a look. “i’m going to ignore what you’re implying by that.”

“you’ve been single since high school.” you point out, grin wide, “does he know that?”

and kuroo rolls his eyes, making a face, “no, he doesn’t. sorry i don’t put it on my CV or resume.”

remember that curse kuroo was talking about earlier? well, it’s not only limited to him spilling his lukewarm coffee all over his coworkers.

truth be told, he really does think he’s been cursed by this rumor: everyone’s been calling him such weird names; ladies man (what ladies?), playboy (he plays volleyball, if thats what you mean), heartbreaker (the only broken thing here is a coffee mug and that’s because he has a severe case of the butterfingers and an even worse case of please-dont-ask-me-to-help-you-ask-out-my-best-friends-who-i-feel-weird-about).

he gets asked for relationship advice all the time, dating tips or romantic help, and it all just feels so deeply ironic and cursed to him because — well — he’s the one in desperate need for them.

“man, it’s been a long day.” you yawn, arms stretching above your head as you give a big stretch. it’s nice working an office job, but man, it sure does take a lot out of you.

like a cliche scene in a movie, he looks at you now, and you’re not looking at him, but he peeks a little bit from his arms as he watches you.

kuroo perks up slightly, “dinner?”

“sure.” you shrug, your bag slinged on your shoulder as you give him a lazy smile.

you’re too busy fixing your desk to notice him, but the tips of his ears go slightly pink at the thought.

he’s the one who needs the romantic help.

kuroo grumbles to himself. he feels like he’s at an impasse. unsure what to do next. unsure if he should be doing anything at all.

after all, if he was the most unromantic person in the world, then you might just be a close second.

i mean— what else is there for kuroo to do for you to realize?

he helps you move, he brings you food, he drives you home. he annoys you, he bothers you, he sits next to you on purpose.

do you need him to write you love letters? he doesn’t know how to do that.

but he does know how to bring you an extra jacket in case you forget yours, and he knows that you take your coffee with extra ice and no whipped cream, he knows to have a few extra band-aids in his pocket because of how clumsy you get, and he knows how to stack the books on your shelves the way you like it.

what else does he need to do?

“dinner for the two of us?” he asks you from the table, rising slowly now when he sees you’re almost finished cleaning up.

you chortle, “yes, i assumed it would be you and me involved in this dinner that, oh, i don’t know, you asked me to.”

he leans back on the chair, “just the two of us?”

“well,” you turn to look at him, making a face, “don’t make it creepy.”

he rolls his eyes at that. you’re always quick with it when you talk to him. and it’s the exact kind of thing that pushes him deeper into this problem of his.

i mean, you really must have cursed him, for goodness sake, because what other explanation is there?

kuroo is a smart, sometimes dignified, sometimes arrogant young man, and for some reason, it all crumbles away when he’s with you. he fumbles over his words and he trips on his own feet and he feels his ears get so hot that maybe he needs to get it checked.

he knows the word for it — but it’s so much easier calling it a curse.

his voice feels quieter now, “like a date?”

there’s a flush on his face that almost matches how pink his ears have gotten.

for a moment, you look up from what you’re doing, and you look at him, but it doesn’t really look like it changes your expression.

“yes, kuroo.” you tell him again, and this time, he doesn’t miss how your smile suddenly turns into something more teasing, “i already said i’d go.”

he feels more frustrated now.

how are you so carefree about this? how can you just digest this so easily? one more second and he’s gonna melt into a puddle and you’re over there making fun of him.

kuroo crosses his arms at you, “you do know what a date is, right?”

and you scoff, standing up from your chair now that your things are all packed. “i assume food is involved?”

and your companion looks at you with squinted eyes. unamused. but the pink in his ears gives him away too easily. “yes, food is involved.”

you smile at him widely, and you pull him up out of his chair as he makes a dramatic gesture of rolling his eyes and dragging away from you as you tease him.

“i know what a date is.” you say, and it’s a whole lot quieter now when you realize it’s almost just the two of you left on the office floor.

kuroo takes the bag on your shoulder as the two of you stand together, and you wonder slightly if he even still realizes he’s doing that or if it’s completely out of habit now with how often he does it.

he’s so much taller than you but you always had a way to make him feel so much smaller. “and you’re saying yes?”

it wouldn’t be an outright confession of his feelings, but honestly, what else could he do except tell you straight up what he feels for you? he doesn’t know how to do that.

kuroo is awkward and tall and lanky and he is so unsure of what to say to you or what to do to let you know that he would very much like to be considered as more than your best friend.

he drives you home, he brings you food, he takes you out for coffee. there’s an extra scarf in his desk drawer and an extra pair of gloves in his car because he knows you’re too forgetful to remember them.

what else do you want him to do?

you tilt your head and you give him a smile and it makes him stumble on his feet. “well, for you to actually be able to give out dating advice, you’d need experience first, right?”

kuroo knows there’s another word for this — you give him a smile and he stumbles on his feet and he fumbles on his words, and the heat in his ears make him feel like he’s going to lose balance.

he thinks he’ll keep calling it a curse for now.

[yourauthorjen]

| YOURS | — joaquin torres

(requests open)

masterlist

| synopsis: | a family was something you never thought could be a possible, but after joaquin torres you seemed to think differently.

| includes: | husband!joaquin x reader, a bunch of fluff, children, and chaos

| word count: | 1.6k

| a/n: | this was from this lovely request! thank you so much for your idea! the main headcanons i focused on were morning chaos and supportive husband and dad. also i feel like joaquin would be such a girl dad.

THE IDEA OF having a family always made you shiver.

Whether it was because of the stress from the children or the bone chilling possibility of not being good enough, you never wanted to consider that idea.

That was until Joaquin walked into your life, bright eyed and charming, stubborn but absolutely heart aching in a way that you could never forget. And ever since you two had been together, every night was spent with him mapping out the possibilities of the future. He'd lace his fingers with yours and he'd ramble on about all the different lives you could have together.

He'd tell you about the a house with a picket fence or maybe an apartment filled with toys and two small children with your eyes and his crooked grin.

The first time he had brought it up you listened to him in silence, heart thundering, and slightly terrified. You didn't know if you deserved all that but he made sure he believed enough for both of you. Joaquin never pressured you, he just smiled and held your hand tighter every time you wavered.

It took another three, four years before you agreed, and somewhere along the way — between sleepy kisses in the kitchen and long car rides where he sang off-key just to make you laugh — you stopped being afraid.

When you first felt your oldest stirring inside of you, you were consumed with cold terror and sleepless nights. It was always a string of "what-ifs" and "am I making the wrong choice?"

But Joaquin was always there, to kiss your knuckles when you couldn't sleep, or doing your share of chores when you were too exhausted to keep yourself awake.

Sam was there to help you as well, dropping by ever so often with Sarah who had made frozen dishes or to take you out shopping while Sam just teased you, joking about how you better hope that the baby didn't snore like Joaquin did.

Obviously, Joaquin's family came over too. The crowd of aunts and uncles as well as his mom all came over to gush about your new child while also bringing in enough diapers and baby food to last an entire apocalypse. They offered home cooked meals, clothing and obviously a long string of baby names, which was a whole other story.

It was bittersweet seeing his family squished into your apartment when your own deadbeat father couldn't even bother shooting you a text, but still, it was heartwarming having such a loving family in a way you always longed for.

And now, your life was different.

Shoes and toys littered the house, lying in every unoccupied corner of the house. Drawings full of crayoned scribbled were plastered across the fridge, taped to the wall and piled atop the coffee counters, all with stick figured drawings of the four of you, standing beside a house with a triangle for the roof.

This morning was no different than other mornings, you woke up to the soft scent of soap and cinnamon as soft kisses brushed your cheek then up to your forehead, before a chorus of sleepy giggles and hushed whispers barged into your room scrambling onto your bed as Joaquin groaned into your hair, his arm tightening lazily around your waist like he thought he could shield you from the onslaught.

But your oldest was determined, climbing right up onto the bed and tugging insistently at the blanket. Your youngest followed, less coordinated but no less enthusiastic, tripping over her own feet and landing in a heap at the foot of the bed, giggling uncontrollably.

"Get up," they both sang in sync as they bounced on the mattress eagerly.

Without loosening his grip on you, Joaquin turned slightly, catching your mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss. You could feel him smiling against your lips, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hip, completely unbothered by the chaos swirling around you.

"Your breath stinks," you snickered pulling away from him as the kids continued dancing around the bed— one trying to climb onto Joaquin’s back, the other flopping dramatically onto the pillows, narrowly missing your head.

He let out a chuckle as he rubbed his eyes, "I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

You rolled your eyes, "Really, Sherlock?"

"Who's Sherlock?" your youngest asked wriggling between the two of you, eyes wide and dark hair a mess. She was like a copy and paste of Joaquin, unrelentless energy and big innocent eyes with a headful of curls. Meanwhile your oldest had your eyes, but less energetic than your second, still she piled on top of her younger sister trying to squish between the three of you, determined to snuggle into your arms.

"Sherlock," Joaquin said, "Is my only chance for a few more minutes of sleep." He shifted slightly, trying to nestle back against you, but the kids were having none of it.

"Noooo!" your oldest protested, her hands pushing against his chest as she wriggled closer. "We want pancakes!"

"Pancakes!" echoed your youngest, her little face lighting up at the mention of food, her hands tugging at the hem of your shirt, demanding your attention.

Joaquin looked at you for help, but you just shrugged as if to say this is on you.

"You three have no mercy," Joaquin muttered. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to wrangle them back into some semblance of order.

You laughed, head tipping backwards as you hoisted yourself out of bed. "Okay then, I guess we're making pancakes today."

Joaquin groaned as you gently pulled yourself out of his grasp, his lips forming a pout as you picked up your youngest, placing her on your hip. "Traitor," he muttered under his breath, though the sparkle in his eyes gave him away.

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead as you shifted your daughter higher on your hip. "Suck it up, soldier. You're on kitchen duty."

Joaquin groaned even louder as your oldest tried to pull him up. "C'mon dad, we can do them together."

"That's the spirit," you cheered making your way into the kitchen. The morning light had spilled onto the wooden tile of the floor casting a soft glow as you set your daughter down onto one of the stools, Joaquin and your oldest trailing behind you. Both looked as sleepy as the other but a wide smile was still stretched across their faces.

"Okay team," Joaquin yawned, "You're gonna get the pancake mix—" he pointed to your youngest then to your oldest, "You go get the eggs and you—" he paused staring at you his eyes entranced as you leaned against the counter, sunlight kissing your face as you tossed your hair into a bun.

"What do I do?" you teased, cinching your apron tighter around your waist as his jaw went slack.

He cleared his throat, "You," he said, pointing the spatula at you like a sword, "are on official supervision duty. And looking way too good while doing it."

You snorted, reaching over to flick a little bit of flour from the counter at him, laughing when he pretended to stagger back in pain.

Your youngest clapped her hands in glee, while your oldest rolled her eyes like she was already ten years older than she really was. "Dad's being weird again," she whispered loudly to her sister, who giggled into her hands.

"Hey, weird is a Torres family tradition," Joaquin defended, setting a bowl down on the counter with a clatter. "You're just lucky you inherited it, too."

Weird was correct, because not even ten minutes later the kitchen was already a mess. Your youngest insisted on stirring the batter, which mostly resulted in flour puffing up into a cloud around her and your oldest took her self-assigned job of "egg cracker" very seriously— which meant you fished out a few too many shells from the mixing bowl.

"Okay," you said briskly, "Now that that's done, Dad’s in charge of flipping, but he’s banned from stepping a foot away from the stove."

"It was one time," he whined, "I didn't mean it."

"Joaquin, you burned an entire batch of pancakes," you deadpanned, "In front of your own mother."

"It was an accident," he sputtered.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face, "Hey, eyes on the stove soldier, we are not setting the fire alarm off again."

He laughed while your youngest sang a made-up pancake song under her breath, swinging her legs from the stool, while your oldest stood proudly at Joaquin’s side, offering enthusiastic and very loud coaching advice on when to flip the pancake.

You didn't even realize you were smiling until Joaquin caught your eye across the stove, flipping a perfect pancake with a flourish just to make you laugh. His smile— soft but full of so much love it ached was aimed right at you, like it always had been.

This was the future Joaquin had spent his nights rambling on about, and somehow, against all odds, it was yours too. You wrapped your arms around Joaquin's waist, hugging him tightly as he hummed under his breath, then leaned down to press a kiss to your hair.

"See," he murmured, voice warm and low just for you. "Told you you'd make something good."

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing him in— sweet and clean and that unmistakable feeling of home you never thought you'd have. His arms tightened around you briefly before he pulled away just enough to resume flipping pancakes, your oldest still enthusiastically coaching him from the sidelines.

Your youngest started singing her song even louder, and off-key, leading Joaquin to joining in with a off-tune harmony that made both kids dissolve into giggles.

You leaned back against the counter, watching the the three people you cherished so much bubbling around the kitchen. You had made something good. It was painstakingly beautiful, and you loved it. It was something that you would do everything to protect, and it was something you wouldn't trade for the world.

[bucket-of-amethyst]

Cub is another pup that I had ready for months but never posted! So today is another brand new dog introduction to the AU!

HADM Day 11! Cub is a Chow Chow!

Get Doggified AU Masterpost

[sakuravalenp]

A dream land - DP X DC Prompt

Okay, so I was thinking about that episode "Perchance to dream" where Bruce is trapped in a dream world and this, even thought really different, came to my mind.

Danny is king or prince of the infinite realms. He's been working on personalizing/decorating his castle in the infinite realms. When he feels someone walking just outside the castles walls. The thing is, that someone isn't a denizen, they aren't in a corporeal body, but he can feel that they are very much alive and feel distinctly human. He approaches the person to ask why and how they are in the infinite realms, but they fade away before he gets the opportunity.

Clockwork, who was with him at the moment, tells him that the visitor from the living, was just the soul projection of someone that was sleeping, and then refuses to elaborate further. Since it's something that was to do with sleeping, Danny decides to go and ask Nocturn, it seemed like a reasonable assumption that he was the one at fault for the soul projection.

Contrary to what he thought, Nocturn informed Danny that Sleeping soul projection was a natural phenomenon that he didn't control. The land of dreams, ("My domain" - Nocturn reminds him), was in the infinite realm after all, and those who have been close to death sometimes slipped they're whole soul instead of just their mind, and ended up all over the infinite realms.

It isn't too different from a lucid dream for them, the body gets all the benefit of the sleep, the mind feels rested if they had a good time in the realms. Except, if they hurt their soul too bad during their little trip, it would have real consequences. Loosing memories, abilities regression, migraine, pain that reflects the soul damage, all either temporary until the soul healed, or permanent and deteriorating, and in some occasions finishing in the persons death. In the latter, the soul is usually too damaged and cease it's existence, or have enough ectoplasm and emotion to form into ghosts with crack cores whose existence is instantly in danger.

Danny clearly didn't like the image that was painted to him, so he asked Nocturn if there was really nothing that he could do. It took a lot of talking and convincing, but eventually Nocturn admitted he could be able to direct the soul projecting to appear on a certain place, but he refused to babysit anyone. Which was enough for Danny, all he needed to do was make another expansion in his castle.

He decided to make a garden to receive their soul projecting guests. The garden was enormous, with all kinds of spaced within it. Playgrounds, picnic spaces, soft benches, tables with ghost and space teamed board games, fountains, and of course, the beautiful flowers that surrounded and decorated the place. Once he got ghosts with gardening, protection and caring obsessions on the place to look out for the souls, he was ready to receive them. It took him by surprise the amount of people that came, the garden was never crowded, but was never empty either, and souls of all ages and places were visiting at all times.

He kept expanding the garden as he heard of new things their guests wished for. He enjoyed spending time in the middle of the garden where souls passed by but rarely appeared, it was calm, but not completly quite with the background noice of the soul enjoying their dreams, and he could do the more mundane king/prince work. Until, he starts getting a regular visitor on his little space of the garden.

Choose the DC character you prefer, my idea is for people who hasn't died in the past but has been in the doors of death (so died and came back would be disqualified but you do as you prefer), but I'm going with Tim.

The soul of a boy around his age appears just in front of him, as usual when he greets new arriving soul, he welcomes him with a gentle smile and tells him he is free to explore the garden. A ghost taker is assign to him. The soul, as usual, seems confused and like he wished to asks questions, but seems content to ask them to his tour guide, and Danny continues with his own duties.

But then, the same soul continues to appear in the same place every two or three days, they exchange greetings and every time talk for a bit longer before the boy leaves to explore once more. It's rear to have multiple visits from one soul, even more so for said soul to appear in the same place every time. By the four time, Danny decides to take a break on his royal duties and accompany his new friend.

~ They get close, and have cute scenes, Tim asks a lot of questions and Danny answers and not-answers a lot of questions ~

One day, Tim shows up as usual, but he is in full Red Robin costume, and well, Danny wasn't expecting an identity reveal.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

On the Bats side:

There's an attack of some villain that's able to put Red Robin (or character of your choice) on a sleeping beauty type of sleep while carrying a serious injury, were he stays sleep until teammates or backup gets him out of it. The event affects his soul, making him disconnect partially from the land of dreams and making his soul sleep project almost every time he sleeps.

Tim starts sleeping more often. It's worrying at first, Bruce being paranoid does every test in the book, despite Tim saying he's just finding sleep easier now. But, he was just affected by sleeping magic and suddenly his sleeping easier? Seems like a side effect, and that makes it worrying.

Tim's health in general improve, just like he's concentration and productivity. Who would have thought that working rested actually was more productive than working on less than three hours of sleep and missing obvious details and clues due to how tired you are.

With everything not only being okay, but better than before, paranoia about Tim's new sleeping schedule soon dies, and instead is replaced with teasing about how he used to refuse to rest kicking and screaming, and now he may sleep more than any of them.

On Tim's side, he's loving being able to soul project so often. He knew from the start he was in a different dimension, and he just wanted to know the hows, whys, and everything else. So far, he seems to do it at least once every three days, and he's even gone two times in a row a couple of times.

The garden had a lot of things to do, but Tim doesn't care about that, he's more interested in all the information he's getting. The first 3 times he was given different ghost nanny's, who were more focus on entertaining him and didn't really answer direct question. But then king/prince Phantom decided to accompany him personally, and everything went smoother. He was going back to get to know more about this new world, and maybe to know more about the cute prince/king too. He might also have gotten some better looking pajamas.

Now, he has a mission that takes more than a couple days with some people in his team that hasn't yet sen his face. He didn't realize how difficult it would be to do all nighters after getting used to a sleep schedule. He would usually try to go as long as possible without sleeping, but he decides that he should take advantage of the safety of where they're staying and sleep a bit too. He ended up soul projecting in full Red Robin costume. He tried to play it cool, maybe Phantom wouldn't know it was him.

"Red Robin, even if you didn't appear on the same spot as always, I can feel your soul. I know who you are."

[tekstelart]

I had a caption for this but I lost it oops

[lucabyte]

Taking pride in One's own appearance.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ see me through the morning glow | gojo satoru

wc: 1.0k summary: you and gojo have a slow morning.  contains: f!reader in mind, suggestive if you squint, food descriptions. a/n: unedited, i honestly dk what this is i just really needed to get this out of my system! this is how i cope with 236.

re-uploaded because i accidentally deleted!

You slip out of bed faced with the promise of sunlight. 

The curtains in your bedroom radiate a glow that bounces off the man lying next to you; it’s soft, near-white, almost ethereal, the color of his skin, hair, and bones. His back is exposed, arm reaching out over the (now) empty space beside him—the crinkles and folds where you once were. 

You’ve always thought your bedroom had good lighting, and now you can confirm why: in the shadows, deepening the line that runs down his spine; in the highlights, guiding your eyes to the pockets of muscle behind his shoulders. 

You look away, trying your best not to stare; the only reason he’s undressed is because of a cold sweat, from the nightmares—and the very need for skin-to-skin, to ground him in your touch. 

On mornings like this, you let Gojo sleep in. 

(Because you’re lucky if he can fall back asleep again). 

It’s slow today—no work, no missions that need you or him. It’s your favorite kind of day, and Gojo’s too (once he wakes up and smells the waffles you’ve prepared, double topped with whipped cream and maple syrup—his special, of course). 

A steady stream of warmth flows through the window to your kitchen countertop, the marble glimmering as light hits. The material was his choice; you don’t care much for glamor but Gojo likes pretty things—you especially, he likes to say. 

The batter is quick to prepare, a recipe you’ve done many times before, so you ladle it into the waffle maker before letting it set on its own. Then, you grab a pan to heat up, spooning in last night’s leftover rice, some soy sauce, and mirin, adding salt to taste, as needed. A standard fried rice breakfast, with a yolk to mix in later. 

The sound of his footsteps are concealed by the sizzles of the pan in front of you, but you’re caught off guard by arms wrapped around your waist, and his chin nestling itself into your shoulder as he nuzzles you. 

He’s still shirtless, you notice, so you inch backwards in case of any oil spatter. 

“Good sleep?” you mumble, certain that he heard you. 

He hums, before whispering, lips tickling the edges of your ear on purpose, pouting, “Not anymore when you left.” 

This man—a giant baby, puffed cheeks with long limbs hunched over you. 

Your big baby. 

Despite his whines, he’s telling the truth, you know, and you feel warm because of it, affection seeping in the cracks between his arms and the kitchen stove. 

You blow on a spoonful of rice before lifting it up to his lips. Gojo’s breakfasts are always sweet, but every time you cook, he looks forward to this: waiting right behind you to be fed over your shoulder.

His review will always be the same, of course, everything you touch turns out good. 

He reaches for the waffle maker with one hand while the other keeps you close, and you plate his little breakfast for him, whipped cream with little hearts drawn in maple syrup. 

You grab a bowl for your rice and sit by the counter, Gojo sitting thigh-to-thigh beside you despite the abundance of space around you. 

You realize then, that Gojo tends to hover. 

Not necessarily in a bad way, just that, he does it all the time—always wanting to be near.  

And for someone so perceiving, practically all-seeing, he doesn’t really have to for him to know what you’re up to, but with every opportunity he has, he never misses a moment to be close to you.

When you wash the dishes by the sink, he stays beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder, even when the sink is wide enough to accommodate him a few inches farther. 

Even the walk to the bathroom has him tailing you, following your footsteps as he traces the footprints of slow mornings with you. 

Your bathroom counter has two sinks, but of course, today, he chooses to stay by yours. 

“Skincare?” you raise a tub of face mask. 

He doesn’t need it, but you love pampering him, so he nods, whatever you want. 

You struggle for a bit (he’s just too tall), so he picks you up by the waist and rests you on the bathroom counter, against the mirror.

He stays in the space between your legs, hands flat against your thighs. His thumb kneads your skin gently, and any other time, this position would end very differently, but there’s a look he’s giving you—all words without speaking. 

And—

“Quit staring,” you mumble, turning shy. You’re about to rub the product onto his cheeks, under his eyes. 

“What, I can’t look at you?” he moves closer, keeping his eyes locked on you as he rubs circles on your thighs. 

“No, you can, but,” you swallow, “you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” his brows furrow. 

“Like that.” you sigh, gesturing to his face. 

“Like I love you?” 

And it is like that. Like he loves you. That’s why he says it so casually. 

Because he does. 

You stay quiet, stunned, before you clear your throat and finish up the final area on his face. 

“Yeah.” you mumble, reaching over to wash your hands on the sink. 

Gojo waits for you to finish before he takes a small towel to dry your hands with it. 

“As if you don’t know.” he scoffs, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. 

He’s right—it’s been said before, but there’s something else in his eyes right now, shiny and devoted, as if this is all he could ever want. As if you, on this slow morning, in this too-big bathroom is all he could ever need. 

But he doesn’t say anything. At least, not what he really means. 

“Not my fault you’re so pretty today,” he adds on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

It should be funny, that he’s telling you all this with a mask slathered all over his face, but his compliments always speak to the depths of you, even when you don’t expect them to. 

His fingers mold against your cheek, to your ears, down to the back of your head, bringing you closer until he kisses you softly, a gentle peck. 

Bits of the face mask transfer to your nose and you giggle, wiping it off. 

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say.” you joke.

Gojo smiles, that look on his face, “Good for you then, you’re the only one I see.”

re-uploaded because i accidentally deleted!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[nariism]

ೃ⁀➷ MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE ★

a/n: fluff!! neuvillette being a touch starved loser (affectionate) + lots of terms of endearment. happy belated neuvillette day! may all neuvillette wanters be neuvillette havers ≧◡≦

Neuvillette can't stand coming home if not into your arms.

The deafening silence of a sleeping home drives him mad. It used to be welcomed after his terribly loud days. Now only serves to remind him of the millennium he spent alone, of the heartbreak he had to endure with no one to hold him, and of the growing emptiness within his heart long before he knew you.

It's unlike him to come home so late, but duty calls and as the Iudex of Fontaine he must go wherever summoned.

For days he has come home well into the latest hours of the night, sliding off his shoes in the darkness of the hall and allowing the silence to swallow him up whole. Five unbearably long days of missing your smile greeting him at the door, hands all over his face and squeezing his cheeks until he nudges them away in lieu of kissing you hello.

He expects tonight to be the same. It's so late that there was not a single soul wandering the streets of the city, no one awake to witness the very tired, very cranky Chief Justice.

You always find a way to defy his expectations.

The hall is quiet when he cracks open the front door. Crushing loneliness swells in his chest and sinks into the pit of his stomach when he realizes that you must have gone to bed long ago, as anyone sane would do. But then there's a click, followed by a small flame dancing in the dark.

You ignite an array of candles one by one, each additional glow illuminating your beautiful face in warm light. Neuvillette can't stop the hitching of his breath, nor the confusion knitted through his brows.

"What are you doing awake?"

You know he doesn't mean to scold you. Soft laughter fills his ears as you saunter over to him slowly. Realization crashes down on him as you approach, allowing him to see closer what has kept you up.

"Happy birthday, my love."

It's so late that midnight passed hours ago. He hadn't even realized amongst all the chaos of his work that the 17th had come and gone, making way for his birthday.

Only you would remember. It was a talent you had, memorizing every detail about him that sometimes even he lost track of.

("Neuvillette, dear, I picked up some dark roast on the way home today." He didn't even realize he had run out.

"Welcome home, I made ragout!" He wasn't aware he was craving it until you brought it up.

"Do you want this?" It's the last cookie in the bag, saved especially for him because you know it's from his favourite bakery in town.)

He leans in and blows out his candles, eyes never leaving yours as he blinks at you slowly. You look so beautiful even now, in the dimly moonlit hall. Darkness envelops your bodies again and yet he never tears his gaze away. Not even for a moment.

"Now put the cake down, please."

"Hm?" Your head tilts, clearly confused by his request.

"So I can hold you," he quickly explains, fingers itching at his sides because of how much he aches to hug you.

You gently set the cake down on the entrance table before you get scooped into a warm embrace, pressed snuggly to his chest as he memorizes the outline of your body against his once more.

"I've missed you, my dear," he says, face burrowed into the crook of your neck.

"It's only been a couple days," you laugh, and then remind him: "I see you every day at lunch."

"No, this is different." He pulls away slightly, forehead pressed against yours as he looks into your eyes. There's something in there— vulnerability and love all mixed into a beautiful purple harmony. "I miss coming home into your arms after long days," he admits.

"Oh, love," you breathe, reaching up to cup his face the way he's so used to. "Things will settle down again soon."

His eyes close as he savours your presence, soaking up all the affection you're giving him in his moment of weakness. You've always spoiled him.

"I suppose so," he agrees, a smile finally settling on his lips. Your thumb runs along it, tracing the curve of his happiness. There's a beat of silence before you open your mouth again.

"What did you wish for?" You ask curiously, voice growing quieter as you lean in to kiss him. And the answer he gives comes naturally.

Neuvillette has always wished for things he read about in novels; imaginary promises of treasure and desire and fame, sealed with the wispy smoke of blown out birthday candles. He isn't even sure if he has ever actually wanted any of those. But as he looks at you, with the slow beating of his heart and the brushing of your lips against him, he can't think of a single thing he could want more than this.

"I did not wish for anything," he tells you honestly, giving your waist a squeeze. "I already have everything I could ever want."

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[cherrikeys]

btw rafayel always offers to dry your hair for you.

and he spends more time trailing soft and teasing kisses on the back of your neck than actually drying your hair. draws shapes on your back and makes you guess them, but it's still just an excuse to eventually lift the back of your shirt and kiss down your spine. he'll offer to use some nice hair oils on your hair, just to hear you sigh when he scratches your scalp. and then he grabs around your waist and pulls you back so you fall backwards against him, at the perfect height. where he can kiss the crown of your head and keep you warm in his arms.

[hungharrington]

okay steve definitely wouldn’t care about body hair, but i just know that man goes feral over your freshly shaved, smoooooth legs

i took this to make him a sillay boyfriend 🫶 sorry if u wanted HAWTNESS this is just silly LUV…. forgive me

The sheets feel cool against your bare legs.

You can feel the scratch of your hair tucked against your neck but you’re too content, all but sinking into the mattress, to be bothered to move it. Your legs are tucked up, your arms splayed wide across the bed. You’ve just done the hard job of an everything-shower and lying down is your well-earned reward.

Across the room, Steve pulls the curtains to cover the window. Shadow falls across the room, banished after a moment when Steve pads to the bed, turning on the lamp. Amber coats the ceiling.

It’s balmy tonight. You feel warm without even being under the covers. Dozing off sounds like a pretty amazing idea right now.

“Not falling asleep with me, are ya?”

You smile at the sound of Steve’s voice, lifting your heavy eyelids to gaze at him.

He looks scruffy the same way he always does at the end of the day. His hair has lost some of its magnificent volume and he’s wearing a ratty old t-shirt from high school. You can see the beginnings of his five o’clock shadow on his jawline. He’s gorgeous.

And you’re the only one who gets to see him like this. The thought makes you smile wider.

“Mm,” you hum, definitely giving away your sleepiness. “Nope.”

A warm hand touches your knee, Steve’s hand reaching out and rubbing it tenderly. He tsks playfully. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby.”

You huff a quiet laugh and let your eyes fall back closed. Steve’s touch has always had a magnetic property, drawn to you whenever he’s near. It has a similar effect on your heart, which always feels like it’s surging forward in your chest to reach him.

The touch shifts, skimming down your shinbone. You expect him to maybe begin a half-hearted massage on your calves— he’s prone to giving them to you— but then, unexpectedly there’s another touch added to your legs.

You lift your head, peering down at him with squinted eyes. He’s crouched down beside the bed and he’s rubbing his cheek against the smooth skin of your legs.

When he knows he’s been spotted, he only grins, shifting his cheek again. “You’re so… smooooth.”

There’s definitely awe in his voice. You laugh, a real laugh this time, and shake your head. You should really stop being surprised when Steve’s a dork — he’s proven to be one time and time again. If you didn’t know different, you might assume this was his first ever relationship.

“Mhmm,” You hum. “That’s part of the appeal, handsome.”

Something glitters in Steve’s eyes at your pet name for him and his grin melts into something softer. His hand on your shin moves again, stroking softly up your calf. His face shows his bewilderment at your supremely smooth skin— and then betrays the look of mischief that crosses his face.

Your brows furrow instinctively. “Steve—” You warn.

He does it anyway, turning and licking one big stroke up your knee. You squeal, surprised at the sensation, and jerk your leg away from him.

“Steve!”

“What!” He mimics your tone, finally getting up onto the bed and crawling up to meet you. He’s smirking, looking terribly proud of himself. He plops himself down, half of his weight pressing into your shoulder as he nuzzles himself into your neck.

“S’just wanna a little taste, that a crime?”

His breath is hot and almost tickles against your neck. It’s impossible not to dissolve into quiet giggles, leaning into him. He snakes an arm around your waist, pulling the two of you closer.

“You’re a dork.”

You can feel the little puff of air he lets out in a laugh as well as the smile that spreads on his mouth. He pokes his tongue out, a minuscule touch against your neck that has you shrieking again— except this time, Steve’s holding you too tight to squirm away.

“Mmhm,” He says. “Your dork.”

You grin, turning to nose against his temple and make a noise of agreement. “Absolutely.”

[cheralith]

rapunzel/tangled au with chigiri but it’s roles reversed and you’re the infamous thief that runs around the kingdom collecting prized jewels and treasures to sell on the black market to help put some food on the table.

chigiri is the long lost prince of said kingdom, who was mysteriously kidnapped as a baby, most likely due to the powers his cerise-colored hair embedded, granting a heightened ability of talents to anyone who possessed such, as well as healing wounds and cuts. he dares not to cut his hair, feeling rather weakened in his body when a lock is snipped.

when you hastily climb up a seemingly abandoned tower to try and escape the palace guards that chase you down, you can’t help but admire odd, but beautiful luscious locks of pink hair that swirls around the floor, all connected to themselves like vines. it feels like silk and your eyes sparkle when the pink glows brightly like starlight.

you want to search for the source of it, knowing it’d fetch a hefty price on the black market if it were something that could be used for other purposes, thinking it belonged to some sort of magical animal, but the last thing you hear when an obnoxious clang of metal echoes out as it hits the back of your head, temporarily knocking you out, is an annoyed male voice.

“don’t touch the hair, alright?”

[yourauthorjen]

| ALL EYES ON YOU | — joaquin torres

(requests open)

masterlist

| synopsis: | a challenge was all it took for you to make your sharp eyed bodyguard fall for you.

| includes: | model!femreader x bodyguard!joaquintorres, angst, mutual pining, flirting, little bit steamy, mention of assassination, blood, and guns, little bit fast paced

| word count: | 3.5k

| a/n: | this was from this lovely request, thank you for the suggestion! i hope this is what you asked for it was a fun challenge to write but its the best i could get out. i also based this work off of the song "all eyes on you" by nicky youre, feel free to stream it while reading.

PROTECTION WAS THE wrong word to use when you were locked in your penthouse with absolutely nothing but your TV and a small pile of books you had already read five hundred times.

House arrest seemed like a better word to use, and your bodyguard Clint seemed to agree, rustling his suit jacket for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes.

You were sprawled across the velvet couch, feet kicked up as a reality showed played over the screen, too shallow and too fast to even bother paying attention to.

"Y'know, if you keep doing that to your jacket it's gonna ruin the seams."

Clint's mouth tugged upward into an amused smile— but it didn't reach his eyes. He glanced down at his watch, then at the door, like he was expecting it to burst open at any moment.

You rolled your eyes playing with the hem of your shirt. "Relax. I'm not going anywhere." And that was the problem, wasn’t it? You were stuck here — protected from the so-called threats swirling outside, from crazed fans to nameless blackmail to, most recently, a terrifying, too-close brush with a lot of drug addicts, the memory still clung to you like a shadow. It was a flash of silver glinting under the fluorescent lights, the sudden hard grip of a cold hand, cool metal buried into your forehead before you could even scream—

Blood.

Lot's and lot's of blood.

It still stained your hands, the metallic scent trailing after you even after you had washed your hands so many times that they turned raw. The dark red, almost brown, running down your fingers, even if it wasn't yours. The sight still haunted your brain, lingering in the corners when darkness fell and the monsters rushed back daring you to fall into a peaceful sleep, as if to say that the burden and guilt was something you had brought upon yourself.

You hadn't even read a quarter of your script yet, and the misery had already fallen onto you like rain, soaking through your body.

Now, you were under strict orders to stay in. Out of sight, out of danger.

And you despised every second of it.

You had whined, negotiated, bribed, and cried for your PR team to just let you out of the house once. But the only thing they had offered in return was a look of pity and a rough 'I'm sorry, we need to keep you safe."

A sharp knock snapped you out of your daze, and you scrambled upwards as Clint tensed. However, much to your disappointment, it was just another broad shouldered man wearing the same black uniform that Clint did, and an earpiece glinting under the dim lights.

He bent low, murmuring something into Clint’s ear— too low for you to catch, though you strained instinctively. Whatever it was, Clint stiffened immediately, eyes widening and his hand immediately going to his jacket pocket, patting like he was checking for something.

You sat up straighter. "Everything okay?"

Clint's jaw tightened as he glanced at the man beside him then back at you. "My wife's in labour."

You shot up from the couch already shooing him out the door. "Then why are you standing here like a tree trunk? Go! I'll be fine."

Clint grimaced, clearly torn. "I can’t just leave you—"

"Yes, you can," you interrupted sharply. "He can stand guard," you said pointing to the broad shouldered man hovering awkwardly near the door.

"With all due respect ma'am—"

"Oh be quiet, you," you rolled your eyes, "I'll be fine. As your boss I order you to go."

"But—"

"Go." you said firmly dragging out the word. "Before I get Grumpy over there to drag you out the door."

Clint looked helplessly at the man but he just shrugged and mumbled something into his ear. Still torn, he nodded and without another word he rushed out the door and into the hallway as the door slammed shut behind him, the noise echoing around the too big penthouse.

You knew you should've gotten the smaller apartment.

The other guard— Grumpy, as you'd already nicknamed him— cleared his throat meaningfully.

You turned your gaze lazily toward him, one brow arching. "Problem?"

"No, ma'am," he said stiffly, then glanced at his watch. "Your replacement protection should be here shortly."

"Replacement?" you gawked, "I thought you were already my replacement."

Grumpy cleared his throat again, "Ma'am I was just told to notify your bodyguard about his situation."

You let out a long, bored sigh. "Is he as good as Clint?"

He didn’t answer — didn’t even crack a smile — just shifted like he couldn’t wait to be anywhere else. But you supposed it would be fine. You could wait several minutes before your new replacement came, and you'd get a few months the least, to torment him as much as you want.

The next several minutes ticked by with the pace of the snail. Your phone had been abducted by your PR team and you couldn't Uber Eats anything. It was like your entire existence was now condensed to a few square feet of boredom and velvet cushions.

You swung your legs over the side of the couch, fiddling with the hem of your shirt again as Grumpy stood by the door like an awkward, overgrown statue.

Another glance at the clock.

Another glance at the door.

Another loud, martyred sigh from you — purely for his benefit.

He didn’t even twitch.

Rude.

You opened your mouth, wanting to ask if you could borrow his phone. Maybe buy some new books to read, or download Netflix so you wouldn't be bored out of your mind waiting for Grumpy 2.0 to come.

But before you had the chance to ask the elevator outside your apartment dinged, and the door flew open as a man stepped inside.

You had expected him to be a copy and paste version of Clint or maybe Grumpy, but instead you were greeted with a fresh eyed young man with dark curly hair and surprisingly not dressed in the generic uniform everyone else wore.

He was younger than Clint by a lot— probably close to your age, maybe a few years older at most— dressed in a black shirt that fitted just enough to show the lean, strong build underneath, a tactical vest and a pair of dark cargo pants, his legs sturdy and muscular.

He had a duffel bag slung over his arms and his eyes were a beautiful shade of coffee brown. Not the sludgy muddy kind, but the rich hazelnut kind that you found at your local coffee shop just a few blocks away.

You couldn't help the twitch on your lips as they curved into a smirk when his eyes flickered over the room landing on you for a fraction of a second before jerking away with a visible twitch of nerves.

How cute.

"This is Lieutenant Joaquin Torres," Grumpy said, glancing at his watch. "He's been assigned to you until further notice."

"Lieutenant, huh?" you blinked, their eyes both snapped towards you as you stood up from the couch "That's interesting."

The lieutenant— Joaquin, nodded. "Yes ma'am."

You scowled, crossing your arms. "Please don't call me that, it makes me sound like a grandma. How old are you anyways?"

Joaquin hesitated for the briefest moment, his bag still slung over one shoulder, before answering, “Twenty-seven.”

"Not that much older than me," you said, eyes sparkling.

Grumpy cleared his throat before turning to Joaquin. "Your orders are to keep the girl safe, and to not interfere with any harm that comes within her. You are to strictly keep her out of danger and to always keep her in your sight. Sam will be coming in every week to check in on you and if there are any... complications bring it up to him."

"Yes sir."

"Don't worry Lieutenant," you smiled sweetly, "We probably won't have any complications."

Grumpy's eyes lingered on you suspiciously as you waved your fingers at him before he nodded and stalked out the door. As the door closed behind him, you stood up, stretching before marching over to where Joaquin was standing.

"So," you said, dragging the word out lazily, "you're my new babysitter?"

Joaquin stiffened, his jaw ticking just a smidge. "Bodyguard," he corrected, voice earnest. "I'm your— I'm assigned to your protection detail."

You blinked slowly at him, lashes fluttering. "Same thing."

You studied him with open curiosity, head tilting to one side as you took in his appearance.

Up close, he was even more handsome with messy dark hair, lashes too long for someone who was supposed to look intimidating, and a faint scar running along his jawline.

"So," you said, "Do you go by Lieutenant or something? Or should I call you Torres."

"Whatever you like, but Torres is just fine."

You smiled slowly, ""Joaquin, then."

He flushed, much to your surprise. An actual flush, creeping up from under his collar to the tips of his ears.

God, he was precious.

You took another lazy step toward him, deliberately slipping into his personal space, tapping your finger against your thigh. He stood his ground, standing stiffly, but you didn’t miss the tiny shift, the way he tensed as he stood there, stock still.

Interesting.

"You nervous?" you asked lightly, cocking your head.

"No," he said too fast, too sharp.

Liar.

There was a long, heavy pause where you just stared at each other. You could see him fighting the instinct to look away, but he didn’t move. Didn't blink or breathe either.

So, you just spun on your heel, wandering back toward the couch, collapsing into the cushions with a dramatic sigh.

"This is bullshit," you said, talking mostly to yourself. "Do you have a phone? I'm hungry."

Joaquin shifted his weight awkwardly, clearly trying not to fidget under your stare. "I—" he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m not supposed to give you my phone, ma’am."

You pouted, leaning your chin into your hand. "You can call me by my name, y'know. You do know it, right? Or did they just throw you in here blindfolded and wished you good luck?"

His mouth twitched in an almost a smile, but then he snapped it back into a straight line. "I know it," he said evenly. "I'm just trying to be professional."

"Professional," you echoed, letting your legs dangle off the side of the couch. "God, you’re like a walking HR manual. Lighten up, soldier boy."

"I’m not a soldier anymore," he said quietly, gaze flickering somewhere above your head.

"Fine, I'm sorry," you said, twisting the rings around your finger. "Are you allowed to order me pizza? Or can you at least call my manager and tell her to go fuck herself into a hole because this isn't fair."

His lips twitched again, and you grinned, proud of yourself for the little progress you were making.

"I'll let your manager know you're hungry."

"That'd be amazing," you said, "I would kiss you right now but I don't think that'd be very professional in your line of work."

His ears turned faintly pink again, and that's when you decided right there and then, that messing with him was going to be your new favourite pastime.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next weeks slipped into the same sluggish, mind-numbing routine lounging around your penthouse which, for every passing day, seemed to get smaller and smaller while doing everything in your power to break through the heavy, silent barrier that Joaquin Torres had built around himself.

He was so polite and professional, alway standing when you were in the room, yet always looking anywhere but at you.

It was like a little game the two of you played, though Joaquin didn't seem as interested as you were. Even though you baited him, complimented him, joked with him he just calmly sidestepped and gave you a small smile.

You spent your days lounging on the couch, spewing nothing but nonsense. At first, it was just for fun, something to do and a distraction, but soon it became part of your daily routine.

You talked to him even if he didn't reply all the time. And it wasn't just because he was hot—though it was definitely a bonus— but it was the way he listened. Occasionally he'd nod along to whatever you were talking about, sometime he'd watch you an amused expression his face, other times if you were lucky enough he would offer a couple of words in response.

You hadn’t really dated anyone seriously. Not in this world. Not when every glance turned into speculation, and every touch became some crazy news headline. Your PR team would have a meltdown if they even suspected you were eyeing your own damn bodyguard.

But none of that stopped you from the way your eyes ogled at his chest when you accidentally walked in on him shirtless the other day. You swore on your life it was an accident as you were just turning the corner, fresh laundry in your arms, when you froze.

He had just opened the bathroom door, hair damp and sweatpants hanging low on his hips a towel in his hand as he rubbed it through his hair.

The laundry in your hand slipped out of your arms and fell into a heap onto the floor, as you watched the water drip down his chest into those perfectly carved chiseled abs.

His eyes immediately widened as he took a few steps backwards. “I— I thought you were—”

“Clearly not,” you said, biting your tongue to keep your lips from curling into a smile.

He yanked on his T-shirt, much to your disappointment and muttered a flustered apology before vanishing into his room, slamming his door shut.

You were tempted to knock on his door, but in the end, you decided to leave him alone. He'd probably just turn you away in the end.

It was maybe three or four days after the incident, and you were feeling particularly stir-crazy. The boredom had festered overnight and curdled into mischief. It didn’t help that Joaquin, with all his stupid politeness and that unfairly pretty face, was walking around like the poster boy for self-restraint, and every time you attempted to tease him about what had happened the night before, he just shut you down.

So you were very much in the mood to ruin that.

You strolled into the kitchen, barefoot, humming under your breath. You were dressed for breakfast, a thin, oversized shirt that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs and dipped low in the back. One of your straps was sliding off, and your shorts were riding up your thighs as you stretched.

Joaquin was already there, leaning against the counter as you strode into the kitchen, a spoonful of omelette halfway to his mouth as he looked up and choked.

You blinked at him innocently, lips twitching as he coughed into his elbow, the tips of his ears singing red.

"Uh oh," you said, propping your elbows onto the counter and leaning forward. "Are you okay? You want some water?"

He cleared his throat hard, setting the fork down with a sharp clatter as his eyes darted around the room. “Yeah—yeah, fine,” he said quickly, “Just—uh. Swallowed wrong.”

"Hmm," was all you could say as you grabbed an apple, taking a bite.

You opened your mouth after swallowing, ready to bug him more, but he was already pushing his chair back, face flushed and gaze fixed on a spot somewhere above your head. “I should, um—I’ll be in the other room if you need anything,” he mumbled, and all but bolted out of the kitchen.

Satisfaction pooled into your stomach as you chewed thoughtfully. God this was too easy.

By the time you wandered into the living room again, Joaquin was planted firmly on the couch, rigid as always, gaze fixated on the front door instead of the TV that was playing a rerun of Jeopardy. Clint was still MIA, and probably wouldn't return for another few more weeks, and Joaquin had been extra stiff lipped since this morning.

You flopped down onto the other side of the couch, lifting your head slightly before pushing back the curtain of hair that fell into your face. "So, are you allowed to tackle me if I ran out the apartment screaming?"

Joaquin didn’t even look at you. “Yes.”

"Okay."

Your fingers itched as you scooted over to where Joaquin was sitting. He was still staring dead ahead, but you caught the small twitch of his arm as you propped your legs onto his lap.

"Hypothetically though, if I managed to get out of this building somehow would you drag me back or would you help me escape?"

"I would drag you back."

"Ooh, kinky. You’d probably be gentle about it though. I bet you'd wrap me up real slow, would ya?"

He didn't answer, but his jaw clenched as he shifted beside you.

You rested your chin onto your hand, grinning. “Or maybe not. You are kind of strong, aren't you?” You reached out poking his bicep with your finger.

However, this time he jerked away, your legs slipping off his lap and your eyes widened as he stood up, a wild look in his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair.

You opened your mouth but he already beat you to it.

"You have to stop that," he said, swallowing thickly as he paced around the room. "You can't— you're making my job harder than it should be."

"I—"

"No!" he snapped, stopping in front of you. "I’m not just some guy, okay? I’m your goddamn bodyguard. I’m supposed to keep you safe. Not—” He ran both hands over his face, his voice fading.

Your breath caught in your throat and your eyebrows furrowed. "Do I make you nervous?" you asked softly, cautiously taking a step closer.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, pacing again. “Every day I walk this line, trying to be professional, trying not to screw up. And then you go and look at me like that, say things like that, and I can’t—” He shook his head. “I can’t think straight. And I can’t do this.”

Your heart ached, and guilt bled through your chest. He looked absolutely wrecked, torn, and confused, and you couldn't help but shrink back.

"Joaquin... I'm— I'm sorry."

He blinked slowly, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes briefly. "No, it's fine, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have overreacted."

He turned towards you as you stood frozen in place, every breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your lips. His eyes were soft but raw with confliction and yearning. You watched his chest rise and fall, watched the way his jaw tensed like he was holding back a storm behind his teeth.

And then he stepped closer.

One step. Two.

Your heart was hammering, not from fear, but from the way he looked at you like you were both the problem and the answer. His fingers twitched at his sides before he slowly, hesitantly reached up, brushing a knuckle along your jaw.

"I shouldn't..." he whispered, his thumb ghosting over your cheek now.

"Then don't," you whispered back, "I don't... I don't wanna hurt you."

But his mouth crashed onto yours anyways, his hands cupped your face, firm and warm, and his lips were soft and sweet, kissing you frantically as if he was drowning and you were air.

He kissed you like he was learning every shape of your lips, like he wanted to remember this in a thousand ways. Your hands moved on their own, sliding up to curl around the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as his hands dropped to your waist, fingers splaying against your lower back.

He said your name, but you just slipped your hand underneath his shirt, tracing your fingertips over taught muscle and smooth pane of flesh. You gasped softly when his lips trailed from your mouth down to your jaw, your pulse, his breath hot against your skin. And still, he held you tightly, not daring to let go like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered against your neck, his voice low and strained.

You tilted your head back, eyes fluttering shut. "Don’t you dare."

A soft, breathy laugh left him, half-relieved, half-wrecked, and he lifted you, hands firm under your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He pressed you back into the nearest wall, his lips crashing into yours again, fingers tightening on your hips like he couldn’t bear a single inch between you.

Maybe your manager would murder you later, if you bothered telling her about Joaquin, but she could yell the damn out of you and it still wouldn't change the content sigh that came out of your lips and the stomach clenching feeling of his mouth on yours.

You could feel his eyes on you as he dragged a finger over the waistband of your shorts, and when his fingers dipped lower and lower, you kissed him once more, savouring the moment because it was the best thing that you could ever ask for.

[nanamisbbygirl]

whenever you sleep over at toji's place you end up falling asleep in one of his old black t-shirts, void of the panties you entered with. it doesn't matter what you're doing the next day, if you have lectures or a shift a work, it's a very familiar routine.

you always wake up against his morning wood, subconsciously rocking back on him until he's so fed up with your slutty behavior that he has to nudge you awake.

"rise 'n shine, kiddo." he grumbles with that familiar groggy morning voice. you groan, not wanting to wake up just let, but he only continues "you slept in, you're gonna be late for class."

"i don't care," you mutter, "can you give me a ride?"

"not today, princess, got called in for a job." you groan again, wiggiling towards his dick. toji only grunts, "nope, no time for that right now. whaddya want to eat?"

"you."

"be serious, no brat talk right now." you huff at his sternness. he can see your little pout and tries making it up to you, "later, i promise. now really, should i make a bagel?"

"yes please," you hum.

"you got it," he gives your butt a smack, "now get your lazy ass up."