#transitioning from friends to dating | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silknspice · 5 months ago

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BAD LIARS —

fake dating hockey! vi x reader | fluff, angst, fake dating trope, romcom-ish, smut (mdni 18+) wc 20.8k

synopsis: following the release of four outdated love letters, vi vanderson is more than willing to start fake dating the girl of her dreams as a way to get rid of your clingy ex (and her ex hookup): caitlyn kiramman.

content: fake dating trope, some fake insta/snap stories/smau content!, language, betrayal, makeup smut (kissing, fingering, oral, mdni!), clingy ex!caitlyn, college au, lying, miscommunication

Three-fourths of your favorite cereal is absolutely disgusting.

The deep blue circles start off sweet, but leave a bitter aftertaste that stains your tongue. The auburn ones aren’t all that bad, but they get too soggy, disintegrating into grains that fade into the now colored milk. The chestnut brown discs are so scarce that their taste is completely forgettable; you swear there’s only three in each batch.

Had these been the only flavors, you’d chuck the box in the trash and scold your best friend-roommate Mel for even bringing them into your shared apartment. But that one-fourth of strawberry pink circles make it worth it every time. They’re sweet on your tongue, sweet on your heart, swee—

“What’s with the look?”

Mel’s concern-filled voice brings you back to the present, making you smile sheepishly like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. The girl slides her white puffer jacket on, keys jingling in her hand as she awaits an answer.

“Nothin’, just ate a blue one.” Your mouth flattens, attempting to squeeze the bitter flavor from your tastebuds.

The gold-eyed girl hums. She blinks as her arms cross and she takes two, then three cautious steps towards you. Her gaze flickers faster than light, attempting to read every inch of your body language.

“You know,” she starts, sitting down to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “If you need to talk about it, I’m here. Don’t feel like you have to suffer in silence.”

That makes you snort, soft reassuring laughter following as you shake your head with confidence.

“Suffer? Mel, I broke up with Caitlyn, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, but transitioning from a relationship to a peace-abundant single life is hard nonetheless.. unless you’re ready to jump to the rebound stage?” Her full brows raise in persuasion as she finishes her sentence. In her mind, getting laid would solve any problems that the complex inner-workings of your mind could craft.

The question catches you off guard once more. Not that it should. It’d be a big fat lie to claim the idea never crossed your mind. In fact, it planted itself inside your brain like a bug and dug all the way down to memories you’d attempted to forget. Down to highschool of all places (God forbid). Down to those four names that perfectly defined the word ‘desire’ for you. Ellie Williams, Caitlyn Kiramman, Sky Young, and Violet Vanderson.

Ellie, a fellow camp counselor at Wildflower Haven your junior year, took hold of your heart on day one. Sneaking out of your cabins at night, skinny dipping in the camp lake, even making matching bracelets that you claimed you’d ‘wear forever’. Your crush blossomed at superluminal speed. But before you knew it, camp was coming to an end and you were saying goodbye forever.

Caitlyn Kiramman. A classic senior-year-of-high-school crush that didn’t develop until the first semester of college sophomore year. Your now ex, who is the last person you want to think about. High five to your high school self for predicting that one, though.

Sky Young, a skating instructor at your local ice rink: Polar Peaks. After you’d fallen on your face for the fourth time and were ready to give up, you saw chestnut brown curls above you, decorating one of the friendliest smiles you’d seen to date. She helped you rise to your feet and held your hand for a lap around the rink. Unfortunately, you were a sophomore when she was a senior, and a week later you returned to the rink to find out she’d officially left for college. Not that there was anything between you two. Still, you could dream.

And last, but certainly not least, Violet Vanderson. The star athlete of your school’s hockey team then and now. Sculpted muscles, a singular tattoo that multiplied quickly after graduation, and a killer smile that could put a halt to the gears turning in any girl’s head.

It was a simple interaction. You were the first one to read your final poem in front of your literature class with clammy palms, a shaky voice, and a dream. As you finished, looking at attentive students like a deer in headlights, Vi was the first to clap. It was enthusiastic, loud, and genuine. And like always, other students followed suit.

Vi didn’t know you. She knew of you, the bits and pieces she could gather. You were somewhat of a social butterfly, you smelled of strawberry and vanilla every time you passed her seat, you were mind-consumingly beautiful, and you could write. Unfortunately for the both of you, your paths didn’t seem to cross any further than that.

And so, you wrote a letter.

Four love letters, to be exact. Each one in the high point of your crushes, attempting to soothe the longing feeling in your gut that ached for you to do something. You wrapped them all the same, in either a dark blue, chestnut brown, auburn, or pink envelope with a bow on the seal, even going as far as addressing and stamping them. Of course, they were never meant to be sent, which led them to their hiding place in a rose-red cylindrical fabric box that was stashed away into the depths of your closet.

“C’mon, you’re hot and single again. I have some good contestants–”

“I don’t know Mels,” you cut her off with a look too mixed to decipher. “But really, I’m good,” you reassure, taking another spoonful of cereal into your mouth.

Yuck– another blue one.

“Sevika, what the fuck!”

Gert’s complaint was drowned out by skates shuffling against the abused ice. Players clad in blue and white practice jerseys messily fill the space, fighting to keep up with Sevika. The woman speeds past, guiding the puck along the ice and slamming it into the goal.

The sounds of hurried feet and grunts subside, leaving breathless panting and shared looks of confusion across the teammates’ faces. But one pair of skates never slows, coming up behind the buff figure and skidding to a stop.

“The hell are you doing?” Vi scolds the woman with a scrunched up face of judgement. This is the sixth time Sevika’s pissed her off this week and it’s starting to get on her last nerve. “You’re hogging the puck. You’re not the only person on this team, in a game this would’ve–”

“Get the hell out of my face,” the burly woman throws back, shoulder checking Violet hard enough to make her break her cool, squaring her shoulders and raising her voice with a “Sevika,”.

“Vanderson! Grove!” Coach Talis’s voice echos throughout the rink, making the hockey players stop in their tracks.

“Unless you two want to run extra drills: cut it out. Now.”

“Is it just me, or is she being more of a fucking pain than usual?” Vi asks the woman across the locker room rhetorically, slipping on a clean compression shirt and plopping down on the bench to knot her laces.

“I told you dude, she wants to be you, or at least take your spot.” the blonde sighs, pulling her braided hair from under the pullover she just slipped on. “As long as she’s taking her anger our on you and not me..” She continues, and the pinkette throws her a scoff before the blonde continues.

“You know if you need stress relief, you could always go back to Kiramman. Heard the pretty girl called things off with her.”

And although her teammate only muttered the words, they set off blaring alarms within Vi’s mind. Because she can’t go back to hooking up with Caitlyn, she lied to her friends saying the two of them were ‘too busy’ when in reality Vi called things off because she couldn’t stop thinking about the one girl she knew nothing about. You. And suddenly, you and Cait were dating. Suddenly, she sure as hell couldn’t tell anybody the real reason she stopped seeing her.

“Nah Abby, not happening,” she simply replies, attempting to sound as bored with the topic as possible.

“Fine, stay dry. I’m just throwing things out there,” the blonde puts her hands up in defense, shutting her locker as she walks towards the exit. “Later!” she waves before slipping out of the door.

A beat passes. Then two. Then three. Finally, she takes a deep breath, leans down to unzip her practice bag, and reaches in.

And out Vi pulls a pink envelope, decorated with a bow perfectly placed on the front and her name adorned with hearts on the back.

The force of cool air coats your face as you walk throughout campus, ranting on the phone to Mel about your latest hell of a group project. “And it’s not even.. even.. sorry, I’m getting a call. Talk at home!”

You smile at the friendly contact photo covering your screen, rounding some greenery as the parking lot comes into view. With a click of the ‘accept’ button, you're greeted with the gentlest of voices. “Hey!”

A soft chuckle leaves your lips.

“Hey little man, look I’m about to drive home so I can’t talk for long,” you blinked a few times, realizing you went further from your car and spinning on your heels.

“No worries,” he starts, “I just wanted to let you know that last week I was helping clean your old room and I found some letters, looks like you forgot to send them out? They were stamped and addressed and everything, so I just sent them for you.”

Ekko continues, giving some speech about God knows what.

But you can’t hear any of it, because the ringing in your ears is deafening.

No.

It takes a few beats of your pure, shocked silence before your brain powers back on. And once it does, every inch of your mind is racing.

Okay, you thought to yourself. Ellie’s letter was addressed to camp, so there’s no chance of it getting to her anytime soon, if at all. Sky’s been gone for years, but you can’t remember the address you put down for her letter. Violet– shit. She definitely has hers.

Oh. No. No, no, no.

Your body feels oh so fragile and suddenly the idea of fleeing the country doesn’t sound entirely heinous, because only a few feet away stands Caitlyn.

Her blue hair is in a messy ponytail and her outfit is less perfected than usual, urgently thrown on. She’s searching, a determined expression plastered on her face as her gaze flickers through crowds of students.

For a moment, you pray it’s a misunderstanding. You pray she’s in a rush to find someone else, because there’s absolutely no way your ex was mailed a love letter you wrote in highschool.

But your eyes trail down to her hand wrapped around that beautifully decorated navy envelope, and your knees are seconds away from buckling.

“Yeah, yeah uh huh that’s great and all Ekko but I’ve really gotta go. Call me another time, okay?” you hit the ‘end call’ button with more force than needed and dash to your car.

As you swing open the car door and drop inside with a slam shut, you can feel it. The way your heart pounds against your chest as if it’s trying to escape. That achy feeling that crawls its way up the back of your throat and transforms into tears that prickle at the corners of your worried eyes.

You shake your head, putting the key in the ignition and immediately shifting to reverse, not tending to your clouded vision.

“Woah!”

The somewhat-familiar yelp has your foot slamming on the breaks. Your face scrunches in confusion, the sleeve of your coat wiping your eyes just enough to make out the empty space behind your car as you look in your rearview camera. You’re confused, ready to switch the car back into ‘reverse’ before a tap tap at your window makes you gasp.

Violet stands there, looking relaxed as an almost smug smile coats her lips.

Your face distorts, torn between speeding off and giving in to her request, but before you make a decision, your manicured hands are rolling the window down. Cool air flows inside, but it loses to the subtle warmth that fills your body from the way the pinkette is eyeing you.

“You know you’re supposed to check behind you before pulling out, right?” she teases.

The question itself is mocking, but the glint in her eye and how she leans down to relax a forearm on the car tells you to let it slide.

“Right,” you agree. “Right, sorry about that. I just really need to leave so–”

“Think y’ can explain this before you do?”

With no time to brace yourself, she holds up that stupid decorated pink envelope, and all you want to do is faint.

“I don’t..” you whisper, accepting there’s nothing you can say to make this go away. But that blue hair is nearing, and you’re going to have a heart attack.

“Can you get in?” you ask, voice a soft plea.

Vi’s expression falters. That was the last thing she expected.

“Please?” you try again. “I can’t talk about this here.”

Your foot’s going to fall asleep if you sit like this any longer.

The two of you stay perfectly still, worried that any form of movement will penetrate the bubble of silence that formed as soon as Vi sat in the plush passenger seat.

Her mind is racing, because the beautiful girl she’s had her eyes on for months sent her the most heartfelt confession she’s ever gotten, and now she’s sitting in her car in a secluded area of a park. For a moment, she wonders if she’s dreaming. But the sound of your seat belt unbuckling and you shifting to face her, sweet and cautious eyes looking into her soul, has her heart skipping beats. She concludes she’s wide awake.

“Interesting spot for our first date,” she hums after clearing her throat. “You’re not gonna kill me, right?”

That has your expression faltering.

“You’re..” you stammer, “you think this is funny?”

“Listen I’m just a little confused, sunshine,” she doesn’t miss the way your body stills at the nickname. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered. But you and her majesty just broke up, and I think you should know that her and I—”

“Just– let me see that.” you cut her off and reach out for the rosy packaging, but Vi’s quicker, pulling it back with a squint in her eyes.

“I’d like to know how mortified I should be,” you confess quietly after a beat of silence. “It’s been a while since I read yours.”

Naturally, the athlete oozes confidence and cockiness, but the pure confusion that colonizes her expression makes all of that fade for the moment. Her guard is down, allowing you to reach over her lap and seize the envelope.

“Wait wait wait,” she starts as you focus your attention on pulling the folded paper from the envelope.

“What do you mean ‘yours’? Are you saying I’m not the only person who got one ‘f these?” she asks, voice laced with confusion and another emotion you can’t quite pinpoint. You ignore her, hands stilling as sour nostalgia hits you in the gut and knocks the wind out of you.

My dearest Violet,

Do you remember Ximena Talis’s creative writing class in junior year? You acted so uninterested in each lesson when your teammates were around, but when they were busy skipping class, you were sticking your nose in the next Shakespeare play or Edgar Allen Poe poem. You shared your own writings with the class, a bored look painting your face and an awkward laugh spilling from your throat (although, they really weren’t that bad). But when I stood in front of our peers and performed my spin on “Annabel Lee”, you rose to your feet in applause. I’ll always be grateful that it was you who gave me my first standing ovation. Because in that moment I knew, from my happily raised eyebrows down to the nervous shuffling of my feet, that I love you Violet Vanderson. I really, truly love you.

You physically can’t read the rest of this.

The tense sensation in your stomach only tightens as you hastily fold the paper and toss it back to the athlete, who’s still examining you with a curious glint in her eye.

“Okay– here’s the thing,” you begin after a deep breath. “I wrote four letters, and they’re all outdated, like– from sophomore through senior year. A family friend sent them out by accident.”

The explanation has Violet blinking, because in one sentence you’ve managed to crush her plans that she confidently pranced over with. In one sentence, you’ve made her question what the hell she was thinking. In one sentence, you’ve washed away her suave persona and turned her to a questioning pile of mush, because– you’re not just trying to get into her pants?

“..Well who else got letters?” She cringes at her whiny tone, running a hand through her hair for comfort.

“Uh,” you sigh and shift your position as you look anywhere but the girl, dread consuming your almost-annoyed face. “A girl from summer camp, some girl from the ice rink, and… Caitlyn.” The last word comes out as an embarrassed murmur that leaves Vi’s mouth agape in shock and pity.

A few beats of silence pass before Vi’s eyes light up.

It might be a crazy idea, and you might despise her after the suggestion leaves her lips, but she can’t pass up this opportunity.

“Things with Kiramman must be tense now, right?” she offers.

Your lips press together in silent agreement, gaze trailing to your shining phone screen. 35 new messages and 6 missed calls from Caitlyn, just in the past two hours. You’d texted Caitlyn an explanation as soon as you’d parked: that Ekko sent her an old letter and that was just that. But still, stubborn as always, the bluenette refuses to believe you.

“You could say that,” you mumble reluctantly. “I just,” you whisper, “I don’t know what to do.”

Her gaze flickers up and down your frame once in final thought. Your bright eyes drooping with worry and once confident voice lacing with insecurity makes up her mind. She wants nothing more than to console you, to wrap her strong arms around your frame and make you beam. Vi’s not sure if it’s her or the seventeen year old in that creative writing class speaking, but words fall from her lips.

“I could be your girlfriend.”

A wave of disbelief washes over you, leaving widened eyes and a pounding heart in its path. The panicked expression on your face is enough to have her next words sputtering out in consolation.

“Fake girlfriend, of course.” The way your eyes soften in thought fuels her to continue. “Just for a little while y’know? To give Kiramman the hint.” Her words are spoken with more power as she sees the gears turning in your pretty little head.

The idea’s heinous, and the thought of your scheme being revealed makes your stomach turn in embarrassment for the both of you. It’s ridiculous, idiotic, and risky, but your phone lights up once again with a text from your navy-haired ex, and that’s enough to make you answer.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

caitlyn: I know you didn’t mean what you said. Just come and talk to me, love. caitlyn: Jesus, don’t be stubborn.

The messages continue on like a flood, piling onto your guilty conscience until the notification ringing becomes all too much, making you flick the silence button on your phone. The quiet doesn’t last long as you near the doors of the practice rink. Five players burst through the doors, a cluster of chaos and yells surrounding them before one girl, hair tied back into a dark brown bun, notices you.

“That her?” she whispers to her teammates, their backs facing you as they walk away, but they whip their heads around (noticeably at that) to get glances at you.

“Damnn.” another draws out, earning a slap on her neck.

“How’d Vi do that so fast?” you hear another quip before they take a turn down the hallway.

You only smiled gently, rolling your eyes at the comments as your hand pushed open the door to the rink. At least you make a believable couple.

“You know, my words were ‘you could always go back to Kiramman, the pretty girl dumped her’, not ‘you should go bag your ex-fling’s ex-girlfriend’. They’ve been broken up for, what, two weeks? Does she even know about you and Cait?” Abby’s raspy voice fills the ice, making Vi shush her in annoyance.

“Yes, of course she knows.”

There’s a beat of silence, neither of the players move when the words of a lie fill the air.

“Fuck fine. No, she doesn’t know yet. I’m just waiting for a good time..” Vi confesses, aimlessly kicking the ice.

“You know this makes you messy, right?” the strong blonde grinned.

“Oh fuck off. Messy is pounding half the swim team.” The pinkette sends an accusatory glance and Abby’s raising her hands up in innocence with a shrug and a smug smile. She rounds the ice and stops in her tracks when you enter the room, glistening skin and a patient waiting look on your face.

She snickers, letting out a quick whistle as she skates towards the exit off the ice. “Violet,” she coos in a sing-songy voice, “look who’s here for you.”

The blonde waves goodbye to her friend once and sends you a wink before exiting the room.

Your hands are clasped behind your back as you take your time walking up to where the carpet and ice of the rink are separated. Realizing your limit, you lean your side against the entrance, looking at the athlete whose eyes are grazing over your attire painfully slow.

“You want some skates?” she finally speaks, eyes meeting yours with a glint.

You laugh gently. “Hell no.” She snickers along with you, removing her helmet to run a hand through her hair.

“So you’ve,” you slightly raise your hand to point your thumb in the direction Abby and the other players exited, “you’ve told people already?”

Worry flickers over her face, because for some reason she just can’t read you right like she can read other girls and it drives her insane.

“Yeah, something wrong with that?” she asks cooly, placing her helmet back on the pink fluff as she glides around.

You bite the inside of your cheek in thought, finally shaking your head. “No, no I mean that’s the whole point, for people to know.” you hum.

“But I have to ask, why are you doing this?”

Vi stops in her tracks, body turning to face yours from feet away.

She contemplates it, telling you the truth. That she’s infatuated with and intrigued by you. That you’ve completely ruined hookups and “crushes” for her because she can’t get you out of her head. And maybe she doesn’t know you too well just yet, but she’s going to. And yes, she used to fuck your ex girlfriend way before you were even girlfriends, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the bond she wants to have with you, and she prays it doesn’t affect deem her unreliable.

Yet none of that can come out of her mouth. So, she settles on her practiced lie and prays whoever’s up there doesn’t look down on her for it.

“Coach doesn’t like my reputation for ‘getting around’. Says it just doesn’t look good. Being with you gives me some cover.” She talks smoothly, making sure there’s not a hint of guilt behind her voice, because it's a lie. Coach Talis couldn’t care less about what she’s doing in her free time as long as she shows out on the ice.

You only hum and nod.

You don’t notice how close she’s gotten until she’s there, staring down at you. Her musk and amber scent is intoxicating, seeping into your nostrils while powder blue eyes catch yours through her helmet and– is it possible she looks better than you remember?

“The letter,” you sputter out, mentally cringing as the pinkette raises a brow. “Can I see the letter again?”

She’s cheesing, reaching into the pocket of her pants to whip out the neatly folded paper and.. is she just keeping that on her?

As if she can read your mind and wide eyes, she speaks. “Just knew you’d want it,” she explains, placing it between your waiting fingers. She watches as you unfold the paper and look up at her. Thick silence fills the air before the athlete gets the hint, blinking twice with a nod. “Right, sorry,” Vi apologizes simply before skating off.

You take a deep breath, heart swelling the same way it did when you first wrote this sweet confession.

My dearest Violet,

Do you remember Ximena Talis’s creative writing class in junior year? You acted so uninterested in each lesson when your teammates were around, but while they were busy skipping class, you were sticking your nose in the next Shakespeare play or Edgar Allen Poe poem. You shared your own writings with a bored look painting your face and an awkward laugh spilling from your throat (although, they really weren’t that bad). But when I stood in front of our peers and performed my spin on “Annabel Lee”, you rose to your feet in applause. I’ll always be grateful that it was you who gave me my first standing ovation. Because in that moment I knew, from my happily raised eyebrows down to the shuffling of my nervous feet, that I love you Violet Vanderson. I really, really love you.

When I sat back down in my seat, you slipped a pink sticky note back onto my desk. Gentle handwriting and a sweet smiley face in the corner decorated the words “that was amazing, how do you write so well?”. I’d never had my heart pound harder, never felt my palms sweatier or my spirits higher. As each day passes, I hope you’ll look at me with the same rose colored glasses as you did that class. I dream each night with my lovestruck brain of you taking me by the hand and asking me to be forever yours. I’ll be waiting, no matter how long it takes.

- forever yours, ____

It doesn’t take long before you get that warm and fuzzy feeling, the same one that caressed your body while you wrote this very letter. It takes even less time for it to be replaced with soul eating shame that has you wanting to curl into a ball.

“You’ve always been a good writer,” she calls out, nearing you. “I meant it when I said it.”

“..I know,” you agree, a smile forming against your will.

Vi’s grinning at your sass, and damn is the only word that fills her brain. “How are things with Kiramman?” she asks gently.

“She just doesn’t believe me. She’s texted a thousand times since yesterday and is totally convinced I want her back.” you roll your eyes in exhaustion.

“Do you?”

You pause at her question, because underneath that carefree and playful persona hides a hint of worry behind Vi’s voice, and it’s fueling the curiosity within you. “Why are you asking?”

A beat passes. “Just wanna know how humiliated I’ll be after all of this,” the pinkette admits.

Her confession makes you laugh and shake your head. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” you hum. “I broke up with Caitlyn and that’s that. If it takes a fake relationship and a little pda for her to see that then so be it.”

Vi nods, making sure not to let the smile she’s feeling creep onto her face.

“So you like writing, you’re smart as hell, you dress real cute,” she points a finger up and down your outfit and you tilt your head. “Anything else I should know about you or our little.. ordeal?”

You tongue your cheek in silent thought before replying.

“You can’t kiss me.”

That has Vi’s brain short circuiting, because the image you’ve set in her mind from those words alone is sparking a crimson glow across her face and– fuck she shouldn’t be thinking about this. But she had to admit (to herself, not out loud of course), she’d have no problem with running her lips across yours if you asked for it.

“Did Kiramman not kiss you, angel?” ‘She’d have to be a fucking idiot not to’ is the next thing that wants to come out of her mouth, but she settles for a soft tease. “That’s a couples thing, if you didn’t know.”

“We kissed, obviously.” You cross your arms as you speak. “You can– y’know, hold me, kiss my.. anywhere else.” Both you and Vi feel a shift. Damn, are ice rinks always this warm? “Just, no real kissing. It’s too personal.”

Vi gently nods, slipping out a soft ‘alright’ because you have a good point.

She moves forward to step off the ice, placing a firm hand on your waist to gently guide you out of the way as she passes. Your body tenses at the touch, whipping your head towards the girl in surprise.

The pinkette notices, and she knows she shouldn’t chuckle at it, but she does. “If it’s gonna take ‘a little pda’, you might wanna get rid of that before this weekend,” she’s speaking cockily as she nears her bag, her helmet coming off for good.

You clear your throat. “What’s this weekend?”

“Party ‘m takin’ you to. Think of it as our couples debut.” And Vi loves the surprised little look on your face as you ask her if that’s ‘really necessary’.

“You really think anyones gonna believe we’re together if I’m at a party all by myself? Who’s gonna fight off all the girls craving my attention, sunshine?”

You wonder if the notorious smirk on her face is permanent as she slings her practice bag on a sculpted shoulder as she moves to tower over you, the cool air of the rink becoming very present.

“So you’re coming, yeah?”

Your eyes travel from hers to the empty space beside her in thought.

“Of course.”

“You’re sure it’s not too boob-y?”

You tug at your low cut top, half yelling over the chaos of other students to your roommate who’s eyeing you like your one head has turned into five.

“Wait, you didn’t want it to be ‘boob-y’? Practically wearing a bra,” she yells back with a knowing smile, sipping from the red cup that quickly found her hands. At the sight of your worry, her smugness turns to playful comfort. “Come on, you’re at a frat not a damn funeral. You look sexy.”

“She’s right.”

The raspy voice behind you is unfamiliar, sending a soft chill down your spine that turns you on your heels.

You’re met with a tall, muscular, brownskin woman. Half of her hair is pulled back, and loose strands fall to decorate her face that holds piercing eyes which are completely directed on you. You’ve seen her before for sure, but her name is the last thing on your mind as her eyes trail over every inch of your exposed skin.

“Sevika,” she tells lowly, placing a red cup between your manicured fingers to which you scoff under your breath.

You give her the benefit of the doubt.

“___,” you offer your name, looking for any hint of recognition on her face, and you get it when she smirks and tilts her head.

“I know who you are, beautiful,” she purrs.

“Then you also know I’m Vi’s girlfriend?” you throw back. The words feel completely foreign on your tongue, but come out so awfully right.

The raven’s eyebrows raise right before she huffs out a laugh of disbelief, sipping from whatever mixture graced the cup in her hand. “Girlfriend?” she repeats. “Shit, with the way she was talking about you, I thought you were just a hookup.”

The air’s suddenly much thicker, tenser, and you don’t have much time to process what Sevika just laid upon you before pink hair makes its way through the crowd.

“There’s my girl,” Vi calls out as she nears you, her sweet words cutting the tension like a knife. “Been looking all over for you,” she speaks as gently as she can in the atmosphere, completely ignoring the presence of her teammate.

“Hi,” you simply let out. Your knees feel weak and you think maybe you’re not cut out for this, because the pinkette slides a warm hand around your waist and places a chaste kiss down on your bare shoulder.

She’s pulling back from your skin when her eyes land on the cup in your hand, a confused glint in her eye as she squints. “Thought you drove?” The calloused fingers tracing meaningless patterns on your skin and soft breathy words hitting your face from just inches away make you feel like Melting. What’d she ask again?

“No,” is all you manage to stammer out, shifting in the girl’s arms until the right words form in your head. “No this isn’t mine.” you’re mentally facepalming.

Vi’s eyes flicker from you, to the cup, to Sevika, finally piecing together her part in this. The athlete stands a bit taller, gently taking the drink from your hands and shoving it against Sevika’s chest. Some of the liquid splashes over the cup, leaving droplets of a stain on the angry woman’s shirt.

Sevika’s slowly taking the cup without breaking eye contact. Her gaze is sharper than daggers as Violet huffs out a scoff, her grip on your waist more present as she guides you away from the brute and through the crowd of partygoers.

“I’m sorry about her. One asshole of a teammate.” Vi’s words kiss your ear to avoid yelling as she walks. “You okay?” she asks slightly softer, which earns her a nod and quick ‘yeah’. The pinkette’s hand snakes from around your waist down to grab one of yours, holding you tightly as you worm your ways through the horde.

As you exit the crowd your left arm finds its way to wrap around her right, placing your free hand lazily on her bicep, because if you had to feel her fingertips on your skin anymore you’d faint. The pair of you walk through the spacious backyard, decorated with a pool, groups of your classmates, and a cluster of hockey players lounging on some couches that circle a fire pit.

“You ready?” She whispers softly.

“Ready,” you reply with a smile that turns into an “o” shaped mouth, big worried eyes capturing VI’s. “They won’t ask me about hockey, right?”

The girl lets out a sweet, genuine laugh, and so cute is what she’s mentally replying.

“There you are!” Abby calls out as soon as the two of you are in her vision. The rest of the team follows, greeting both you and Vi, throwing her smirks or nods of approval when you have your focus elsewhere. Vi sits, sprawling out against the couch with her legs perfectly spread for you. As if it were natural, her hands find their way around your hips and she guides you down into her lap.

And you hate it.

Not the feeling of her firm chest against your back, not her warm legs encasing your bare and crossed ones, not even the way she wraps her muscular arms around your torso and places her head so close to yours.

You hate how normal she’s making all of this feel, how your brain is being fried with each touch, but your faux girlfriend doesn’t seem to be bothered one bit. And you’re starting to wonder if it’s a problem.

“How’d you two even meet? Didn’t you and the chick from the basketball team just break up?” one of her teammates questions you with a raised brow.

Fuck is all your brain renders, and you hope the shock didn’t show on your face because—

“I’ve had the hots for her since high school, thought it was time to do something about it,” Vi replies. A proud feeling washes over her when your body relaxes in her arms.

You’re gently squeezing her arm twice, thankful that she’s such a great actor. She’s running her thumb against your skin, thankful that you can’t read minds.

A few sweet nods and noises of approval are let out before Abby speaks up. “‘The hots’? What are you, fifty?” She jokes, earning a grinning ‘fuck off’ from Vi.

The teammates’ conversation continues both with and without you, leaving moments for you to think of something ‘girlfriendish’ to say or a new place on Vi’s skin to touch. And then, it starts. Against Vi’s rolling eyes and Elora’s complaint that this is “so middle school”, a game of truth or dare ensues. Ever the fun one, the blonde convinces everyone that it’ll be fun, that it’s good to be childish every once in a while.

So far, Gert’s been dared to send an ‘i miss you’ voice note to her ex and is utterly ashamed, Abby’s mouth tastes both bitter and spicy from the liquor concoction the teammates dared her to drink, another girl has been stripped down to her shorts and wife pleaser and shooed away from the fire to ‘endure the cold’ for ten more minutes.

When it comes to the other teammates, you don’t know how many “___ and i banged” truths and “take this many shots” dares you hear before it’s finally your turn.

“Truth or dare?” Vi coos in your ear.

“Truth–”

“Dare?” she cuts you off with a mean grin. “Alright, I dare you to jump into the pool. Right here, right now.”

Your head whips towards the girl fast enough to send chills down the pinkette’s spine. The hockey team is whooping and cheering you on as Violet comes to a stand with your mid area still locked by her arms.

“No– no– I said truth Vi!” you sputter out. Your body and mind are moving at an astronomically slow speed because before you know it, Vi’s scooping you off the ground and throwing you over her shoulder effortlessly. As she begins to walk, the hollering of the team growing in intensity, one of her warm hands lays at the back of your thigh, holding down the bottom of your already short skirt. The other trails its way down your leg and to your feet, slipping off your shoes and letting them fall with a plop.

“Violet Vanderson.” you warn firmly, squirming in anticipation as you neared the icy blue water. You’re feeling five emotions at once, and at the same time evaluating how much Caitlyn’s perception on things truly matters, because you’re this close to firing your ‘girlfriend’.

When she suggested this entire ordeal you imagined it’d be standing together for an hour and dancing, going out for drinks once or twice, maybe even an instagram story or two.

You didn’t expect pool shenanigans, shoulder kisses, and powerful arms wrapped around your sides every two seconds. You didn’t expect to be having fun, let alone like it.

“Put me down!” you yelp through rising giggles.

“A dare’s a dare, angel.” she speaks lowly over her shoulder to you, who’s dangling helplessly in her grasp. “C’mon, it looks good for us as a couple,” she whispers.

“Wait wait wait!–”

Your last threat is drowned out as Vi jumps into the glowing blue.

“Wonder how many people have had sex in here tonight,” you joke through chattering teeth. You’re holding your soaked hair together to the best of your ability as to not drench everything in your path, but truthfully, water is the cleanest thing to grace those frat floors. Vi trails right in behind you, snorting out a laugh as she leans against the closed door.

The pinkett’s pool stunt only had you upset for so long, mostly out of shock of her actually going through with it. However, once you rose to the surface of the water, the only things that could spill from your mouth were hearty giggles.

What made it ten times better was that people saw, Vi’s teammates whooped while others just snickered at the ‘new couple’s’ playfulness.

What made it a hundred times better was Abby informing you of how pissed Caitlyn looked, staring at you and Vi before storming back the way she came from.

“Enough to start a new std?” She flashes her pearly whites at her own joke.

“Violet!” you cringe, making her chuckle.

As cold as your water-soaked clothing, skin, and drenched hair makes you, the athlete’s soft gaze is a lighter igniting a blaze in the pit of your stomach. For the first time in a long time, protected by the walls of someone’s room, you’re able to explore her face.

Perfect, full brows are intercepted by a slit with one to match down on the the left of her rosy lips. Sweet freckles dance on and around her nose, and gosh she’s pretty. It’s the same face you’d admired years ago, but you still look at her as if you’ve discovered her beauty all over again. You stand there attempting to pinpoint what shade of blue her eyes are when she finally speaks up.

“Here,” the athlete steps closer, taking off her thick black coat and handing it over sheepishly. “Can’t do anything about your skirt, but I thought these would help.” A hint of blue and white fabric peeks out from underneath, and you unravel it to reveal a jersey. One of her jerseys.

There’s a glint of suspicion in your eye, and Violet’s in fear.

“You just.. keep this in your car? All the time?” You question with a perfectly raised eyebrow.

Vi clears her throat. Because no, no she doesn’t. She just had to do something to get you in her clothes.

A beat passes with no response, and finally the pinkette’s eyes are flickering around the room before she turns. “I’ll let you get changed.”

The door’s opening and closing before you can protest, and it’s finally safe for that suppressed smile to grace your lips without shame.

It doesn’t take long for you to strip out of your sopping clothes and into the oversized comfiness of Vi’s. You examine yourself in the full length mirror, fixing your wet hair to the best of your ability and running your hands over the warmth of the new clothing. It sMells just like Violet, and you convince yourself that you don’t care, but underneath that protective mask is the lovestruck teenage girl you once were.

Turning on your heels, you gather the wet bundles of fabric and head for the door when someone on the other side beats you to it.

Correction, the last person you want to see beats you to it.

Caitlyn’s quick to step inside the room, closing the door with an indecipherable expression plastered on her face. Her brows furrow with more distaste than usual, and her once perfect navy blue locks now have strands messily shaken out of place. Your tongue is strangled by the bite of your teeth. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes to the back of your head.

“Violet Vanderson?” She wastes no time, chary eyes examining your face with crossed arms. “Really?”

You’re done holding back, so you scoff.

“Yes, really. What, are you jealous?” you quip. “Y’know what, don’t answer that. I already know.”

She ignores the sassy remark. “I’m surprised you chose her, considering everything.”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Considering, what exactly?”

Caitlyn’s poker face had been drilled into her since she was a kid, but the bluenette physically had to suppress the amusement from taking over her face when she realized: you had no clue.

“I just didn’t think she was your type, and that was awfully fast,” she saves.

“I didn’t cheat on you, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” You spit the words like they burn on your tongue as impatient hands come up to rest on your hips.

“I’m insinuating that I don’t believe whatever this is.”

That has you pausing. Your face, demeanor, and attitude all stay the same, but you both notice the shift in the air.

“I think you realize you messed up when you broke things off, and now you’re playing hard to get.” She continues, stepping forward as her toned arms fall to her sides.

“There’s no need to play games with me, you know.”

Cait’s look is condescending, and it only pisses you off more when her hand reaches out to caress yours. The perfect persuasion, an easy fix to all of her problems when the utter of her surname isn’t quite enough. But you’re not easy, and you didn’t mess anything up. So you quickly swat it away, sneering as you step around the tower of a girl and towards the door.

“Get over yourself, Caitlyn.”

You exit the room with blood red vision, a fury which follows you on your journey to find Mel in the drunken crowd and pull her to the front while Vi offers to walk both of you to your car.

And in your red haze, you miss the eye contact Caitlyn and Sevika make from across the crowded room.

Sweat is dripping from the athletes’ foreheads down to the stretch of their neck as Talis blows his whistle, allowing the players to catch their breaths.

Normally, Vi would be more than willing to stay longer than the scheduled practice time. Running fun drills with Abby, racing Gert, whatever the matter may be. Hockey is her thing.

But, at the moment, you’re also ‘her thing’. And right now you were patiently waiting in your apartment for Vi to make an appearance. A friendly one, of course. Away from watching eyes and overwhelming questions, where you could discuss your next moves in peace–as peaceful as you could get with the muscular tease looking at you as if you were a star to wish on at night.

So she keeps her mouth shut and her eyes trained on Coach Talis (who’s giving some end-of-practice spiel) as Sevika glides up next to her.

She keeps her mouth shut as the brute lets out a soft scoff at how hard Vi’s trying to ignore her.

She has to bite hard on her tongue when the woman mutters something about the pink-haired athlete needing to ‘give up while she’s still ahead’.

And her mouth opens immediately when your name falls from Sevika’s lips. “___, she really is somethin’ huh–?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Sevika,” she threatens, a tad louder than expected. Their stubborn gazes stay locked on one another, and Sevika’s letting out a scoff while squaring her firm shoulders.

“Or what?” the raven throws back, intimidation oozing from her presence.

“Hey! What did I say?” The bubble of their rivalry is popped as Coach Talis raises his voice.

“That’s it. Bag skates.”

[REDACTED]: you sure this’ll work?

When Vi finally shows up at your sun-glistening apartment, her hair is wet from the quick shower she took, she’s a total blubbering mess about how she’s crazy sorry and feels terrible for making you wait an extra hour, and she’s holding one cup of coffee that looks exactly like the one you always order.

“Vi, seriously it’s okay,” you chuckle, and the girl deflates in soft relief. A smile sweet as honey graces your face and Vi finally figures it out: you’re just an angel in disguise.

You reach over from your seat on the couch to take the cup of coffee from her hand. It’s your order to a T, and the sip you take sends a cold trail of liquid down your throat and into the warmth of your stomach.

“Mmm,” you hum, making Vi malfunction when you lick the remnants from your lips. “Did you chug yours on the way?” you ask.

Perfect blue eyes blink twice while Violet calculates the odds that you’ll say yes if she were to suggest you drop the whole act and venture off on a real date right now.

“Oh– hell no. I can’t stand coffee. I just went to get you one,” she hums without thought. Fifty-five percent chance, not good enough.

“Again, I’m sorry. Sevika’s been more of an asshole than usual. Made us run back and forth on the ice until we practically collapsed. Don’t know what the hell she was thinking though, almost missed her shift at that rink..” Violet continues on with conflicted brows furrowing and a hardened gaze. But just like waves washing away at imperfections in grainy sand, the awestruck glimmer in your eyes wipes the fury from her blood.

“You went just for me?” the question comes out almost as a whisper.

Violet swears she can feel her heart Melting from your actions, and the feeling bubbles its way up as words in her throat. “Of course.”

It’s left at that. Of course, a declaration that it was common sense she’d be of service to you even behind the scenes. Neither of you dare to ask or explain why. For a moment, there’s no words. Just the soft sensation of little breaths, beating hearts, and wandering gazes, but only for a moment.

“Cait doesn’t believe us,” you spill.

Vi can only huff gently, shifting in her seat as her spread legs move a bit wider.

“She’s smart, I’ll give her that.” Vi hums in thought. The cogs in her brain get distracted and come to a halt when she sees the glistening worry in your orbs, and without thought, her hand is coming up to hold your chin, guiding it to connect your gazes.

“Hey, we’ll fix it, alright?” She reassures, and a thumb glides over your cheek. The moment is tender, something deep and sweet, but it doesn’t take long for the both of you to pull back as your eyes flicker anywhere else.

“We just need to… to up our game.” At the sight of your confused eyes, she continues. “Give me your phone,” Vi instructs softly, holding her hand out.

You simply obey, placing the device in her hand with a slight squint in your eyes.

All uncertainty is replaced with giggles and content when Vi holds up the camera. Her left hand holds the phone while her right arm lifts into frame next to her face and flexes, revealing the entirety of her sculpted muscles.

Jesus, your mind betrays you.

After the snap of the camera, the pinkette hands the device back to you.

“Make it your lock screen,” she speaks so casually, like the idea behind these actions have no effect on her whatsoever. A black cased phone is then slid into your hands, and big powder-blue eyes are staring at you expectantly.

“Oh, you want..” you internally cringe at the stammer.

“Of course, needa see your face too.” she states with a grin.

You’re nodding at that, as if a swarm of what you think are butterflies aren’t rummaging around in your gut. Raising the camera in your manicured fingers, you snap a photo mocking Vi’s. More kissy face, less muscles. The athlete has the biggest grin as she takes the device back, and with a ‘there’, your face is blessing her lockscreen.

“So, should I book our room at Mt. Sky, or do you want to?” Her eyes are trained on your face as she drapes both swole arms across the back of the couch.

You do nothing to hide the surprise on your face. With crisp frosty air, a winter wonderland of snow, and more unplanned pregnancies and sexual noise complaints than any of the campus’s frat parties, Mt. Sky was the unofficial University of Piltover ski trip of the year. Athletes, hookups of athletes, curious freshmen, and anyone who concerned themselves with campus drama banded together for a few days of thrillingly-messy paradise.

“You wanna share a room?” you ask with raised brows, because ‘wait, we’re going?’ seems out of the question.

The pinkette’s lips curl into a smile, one that flashes the white of her teeth as blue orbs flicker down and up your frame once.

“Yeah, I do.”

The short silence that follows is smothering, and you swear the room just got a hundred degrees hotter—because there’s the same tease you remember fantasizing over as your pink glitter pen graced the paper of her letter.

“It’d be weird if we didn’t,” she explains. “Wouldn’t just be Cait questioning us, it’d be everybody,” she tilts her head, and you’re snapped back to the reality of your situation. Fake.

You’re not looking at the freckled girl as you hum with a nod.

That has the athlete’s suave persona faltering. A rough hand snakes up to gingerly move a piece of hair from your face. She’s barely touching you, as though you’re more fragile than glass in her grasp.

“We don’t have to, if you wanna room with Mel that badly–”

“–No, no I think we should,” you reassure with a smile, because you do want to, more than you probably should, but your brain’s having a very hard time deciphering fantasy from reality.

It’s her turn to hum, and that tender hand doesn’t leave your face, it only stills as you turn your head completely towards her.

“You don’t have to do that when we’re in private,” you refer to her wandering hands with a gentle tone. Vi’s eyes soften into something raw and real as she lulls out a response.

“Doesn’t hurt to get comfortable with each other. Right, sunshine?”

Wrong.

Because it could hurt. It could wound the both of you and cause an ache like never before. Because—admittedly—you don’t know what you’re feeling right now. But more importantly, you don’t know what Violet’s feeling. You had her all figured out at seventeen, but now, you’re unsure of how gentle or reckless she’d be with your heart.

And still, against all the skepticism your brain concocts, you agree.

“Right.”

[REDACTED]: Of course I’m sure. Just do what I ask and we’ll both get what we want.

“Late again?” Finn coos, a teasing expression on the raven’s face.

“Another run in with pinkie,” Sevika smirks, almost seeming proud.

The man shakes his head with a smile before placing a handful of mail on the counter in front of the pair. “You mind?”

A groan falls from Sevika’s lips as her gaze flickers between him and the letters. “But I have—”

“Please?” the man asks, already inching away from the space. “I just have to deal with something.”

Before she can argue further, Finn thanks her and rushes off towards the rink. The woman’s left muttering swears and rolling her eyes as she rummages through the envelopes filling her space.

To: Polar Peaks, To: Polar Peaks, To: Sky Young, To: Pola—

She blinks once and her firm hands come to a pause before her fingers are backtracking to a chestnut brown envelope, covered in hearts and kiss marks.

Sevika’s huffing out a laugh of disbelief. Her eyes trail over every inch of the sickeningly sweet decor. The recipient address is the ice rink, just like the rest of the pile, and the woman’s intrigue only grows as her eyes trail to the top left corner. To the sender. To you.

“My favorite energy drink?” Vi throws out.

“Berrybulls, specifically the yellow and amber ones.” you quip with confidence, smiling when Vi nods in content.

A lightbulb flickers across the pink haired girl’s face, and she stops in her tracks, unintentionally pulling you back. You’re standing still now, and as the frigid air threatens to consume your body, the reminder that your hands are intertwined with one another spreads warmth throughout your core. You let yourself forget that it’s for show, and enjoy it.

“Vi?” you question, stepping a bit closer.

“This one’s important,” her tone is more serious, and her eyes meet yours as she takes a deep breath.

“What’s… my coffee order?”

“Oh my gosh–” a joking scoff falls from your lips, and you’re gently shoving the laughing girl as you pull her to continue walking. The warmth of hand holding can only do so much to combat standing still in the chill of winter air.

“C’mon sunshine, we’ve learned all there is to know. Besides, you really think anyone’s gonna come up and start quizzing us?”

“No,” you admit as Vi holds you closer with a hand around your waist while more pedestrians enter and exit the sidewalks. “But I think it’s good to know just in case. Besides, I like learning about you.”

“Oh yeah?” she coos. You hear a phone buzz once.

“Yeah,” you let out with a giggle. Another buzz, and you’re reaching into your back pocket and tapping on the screen to reveal… nothing.

kiramman: You have until the end of the trip. kiramman: If you don’t tell her, I will.

Is it possible to feel complete peace and soul-shredding anxiety simultaneously?

On one hand, you’re having the most fun you’ve had in a long time. The drive to the resort with Mel—and her newfound friend Elora— was filled with guttural laughter. The three of you screamed songs at such a volume you’re surprised the windows didn’t burst.

When you arrive, you’re trapped by the strong arms of Abby who’s lifting you into the air with her hug. Vi has to be the one to mutter “That’s enough, Abs..”, earning a laugh from the surrounding teammates, who are quick to tug you and your friends into conversation.

There’s arms around your waist and a bulky body encasing yours while you sit around a fireplace, quiet giggles to each other when you’re bored of the group conversation, and a sweet goodbye kiss to your forehead when Vi and her peers leave to ski. The day progresses perfectly.

On the other hand, you can feel as Caitlyn’s eyes follow you. A predator stalking its prey. And even though you’re not afraid of the girl, you wonder what it’s going to take for her to throw in the towel.

“Was the sex that good?” Mel’s golden eyes are both teasing and genuinely questioning you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you throw back with a laugh.

“I’m serious, why is she so persistent? Does your tongue have a built in vibrator?—”

“Mel!”

She’s giggling with you now, face falling into the plush of the king sized bed you’re both sprawled out on.

“By the way, watch out. Your girlfriend’s biggest fan decided to show up this year,” she flips over onto her back, head tilted to look at you with a pitying–but still undeniably smug–expression.

“Sevika?” you whine and she nods. “She never comes to Mt. Sky. She’s just... anti-fun.”

Mel hums. “A refined Kiramman has turned into a borderline stalker, Sevika Grove is coming on ski trips, what’s next? Aliens?”

“Surprised the aliens weren't first.”

Your giggles are cut short as Elora knocks at your already open door, and Mel’s swiftly coming to a stand.

“Talk to you later?” she offers, and you smile with a nod.

The tranquility of an empty room only lasts so long, because within seconds, Vi is bursting into the space and hastily shutting the door. You hear the click of the lock and jolt up with confusion written across your face.

“Vi? What’s—”

“Cait’s on her way up here,” she speaks with haste.

“I could talk to her, if you want. Just say the word,” Vi offers, and there’s no time to overanalyze the tightness in your chest at the idea of the pinkette protecting you.

Thousands of possibilities fly throughout your racing brain. Talking went in her ear and out the other (or, rather, around her head entirely), and going radio silent only amplified her stubbornness. The way you see it, the only thing left to do is play Caitlyn’s petty game, to make it clear that the two of you were done.

Your brain is completely heated and fuzzy at the idea, but you have no time to waste as you hop off of the bed and over to the butch.

“We’re gonna have sex,” you state.

Vi’s completely stopped working. That’s it—she’s died. She’s died and gone to heaven. That’s the only plausible explanation for—

“Fake! Fake sex, I mean.”

Well that makes more sense.

“Fake–what? You’ve gotta explain a little better than that,” she’s trying to suppress the color from showing in her cheeks, and a hand comes up to run through her hair.

“Just—” you stammer, moving the girl by the arm so that you’re both a few feet away from the door, leaned up against the wall with Vi hovering over you. Your hand stays on her arm, which is gently placed on the side of your waist. The room’s air grows thicker by the second, and tension oozes from every movement made.

“This doesn't feel very fake, sweetheart.” Her voice is lower, more sultry, and it sends a shiver straight up your spine.

“We’re gonna…” gonna faint. The sound of footsteps power walking down the hallway throws your brain back into action. “Just follow my lead,” you breathe.

The athlete’s in a state of utter confusion. She’s squinting harder than ever as you bite your lip, seemingly in thought, before you send a wave of pure shock throughout her core.

You moan.

Not a whine, not a whimper, not even a wince, a raw moan that compels something in her to twitch.

“Violet,” you’re singing, eyes closed, and your head thrown to the side. Out of embarrassment or getting into character, she’s not sure. She’s not sure of anything, quite frankly, because how on earth is she expected to think when you’re squealing her name like she owns you?

“Oh yes—please please,” you coo. As if someone flipped a switch, you’re opening your eyes to look up at the athlete.

“Say something,” you snap in a whisper.

There’s no wasted time, because Violet’s thoughts spill at your approval.

“So fuckin’ pretty. Who knew your moans sounded so good, baby?”

You’re about to lose it. All sense of good judgment—or what’s left—is flying out of the window and being replaced by the dirty haze of your mind. You can’t help the way your hand is gently trailing up Vi’s arm and sliding down to rest against her abs. You don’t miss the way her grip around you tightens.

You expect her to be done, but Vi’s kept these thoughts tucked away for way too long. If they’d be of any service to you, she might as well let them out.

“Bet she couldn’t fuck you like this, huh? No angel, she couldn’t.”

A symphony of grunts, whimpers, and moans of passion decorate not only the room, but the ears of Caitlyn. Your navy haired ex lingers outside the door, seeing nothing but blood red as she listens to the noises you used to make for her. The noises Vi never made for her. The newfound passion that the pinkette pulled out of you, one that Cait never could.

With clenched, clammy fists and gritted teeth, Caitlyn reluctantly drags herself away from the door and down the hallway.

Like coming down from a high, shallow breaths fill yours and Vi’s ears before all sounds subside. Neither of you dare to move as the clack of Caitlyn’s feet storm down the hall and out of earshot. Colorful orbs stare down at the floor or up at the white ceiling, because they’re suddenly oh so intriguing.

And maybe, just maybe, this is the moment you realize not everything is as imaginary as you thought.

Meanwhile, Vi’s imagining what the hell she’d say in this situation if her brain were computing. Because the sight of you throwing your head back in fake pleasure and spilling noises straight from your core was entirely soul-shifting.

And it’s different, to be seeing you this close. Granted, she’s been closer. Graced the skin of your forehead or cheeks with her soft and scar-decorated lips more than once. But here, hovering over your softened body, her hand connecting to your waist with the gentlest of touches, and her eyes firmly memorizing every angle of your face, it’s different. Everything’s softer, and Violet’s able to relish in your raw loving aura, rather than put on a performance for the skeptical eyes of others.

And then you laugh.

You laugh, and laugh, and laugh. So hard that you don’t notice the way Vi smiles, one that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

And definitely, oh definitely, this is the moment she realizes she’s undeniably smitten.

“Think we’ll get the first noise complaint?” You joke while coming down from your fit of laughter.

That pulls a laugh from Vi’s throat, one that has her leaning forward with a deep breath after it bubbles out. The soft of her forehead tenderly meets yours, and the room’s heart rate rises exponentially, but neither of you squirm out of your positions. Because this is exactly where you want to be.

You can’t see it as your eyelids flutter shut, but Vi’s left hand wraps around your waist to meet her right, cradling you in a way that’s so natural, so sweet, so real. A cradle that protects and shields you from forces you can’t handle alone. A shelter for disasters from tsunamis to the cold chill of winter. From pretending to be your girlfriend to replacing your wet party clothes, all the way back to being your first standing ovation. Vi is your refuge.

“Thank you,” you whisper, worried you’ll crack the faultless atmosphere. “Can’t believe you’re putting up with this– with me.”

Her grip lightly tightens. “I’d do it over and over again.”

She would, and she will, if you let her.

You feel the truth in her words, and your eyes flutter open to pull back, just enough to look into those perfect blue specks.

The pair of you stay there for what feels like forever, examining the watercolor paintings that you call your eyes. And–although she could stare at you for the rest of her life–Vi physically can’t wait any longer. Like magnets, your lips are tugging her forward. Centimeter by centimeter. Inch by inch. Heads tilting, eyes half lidded, and breaths hitching. Vi can practically taste the plush of your feature when—

“Yo! You guys in there?”

Abby’s fist thumps on the door three times. And as fast as you connected, you’re drifting apart.

you don’t care whether she knows or not. you just want her crawling back to you. not happening. kiramman: I’ll tell her.

“Would you rather go a month without sex, or a month without candy?”

“What kind of stupid ass question is that?” Vi throws at Abby, who’s snobbishly leaning back in the heated water as if she’d given the ultimatum of the century.

Her newest middle school party game is would you rather, and while Vi couldn’t care less about the event itself, she’s secretly over the moon at the effort her teammates and close friends are making to connect with you.

“A month without candy,” you cooly state as you look down at the water. Making the relationship more believable. That’s all you were doing.

That enables a chain of raised eyebrows and looks to Vi, whereas others let out sly whistles and snickers, throwing out little quips like “you hear that, superstar?”.

“Alright, alright,” she’s calming them with a tug at the corners of her lips and a roll of her eyes. You only snicker to yourself at the odds, as if you didn’t have sex— fake sex with the girl minutes prior.

Leaning closer against Vi’s skin, plush bodies warming each other in the bubbly heat of the hot tub, you’re almost completely relaxed. The outdoors is the perfect flaky winter wonderland you expected, cabins further out from the resort look like the coziest of all shelters, and the milky mountains in the distance tie the atmosphere together.

And while you’re focused on the landscape, Violet’s eyes are completely trained on you.

She examines the way you sit so properly in her lap, the way your legs squirmed as she slid her hands away from your thigh and around the small of your waist (so others could see your contact.. of course), how you get so comical and chattery once you’re finally comfortable in a group, and the angelic resting look on your face when you’re finally at ease.

And neither of you know it, but when the conversation is one that allows you to listen instead of talk, you’re both daydreaming about the endless possibilities of this night. The potential of this moment, as well as that of the countless others you’ve had since this entire ordeal began.

Neither of you know it, but you’re both considering the idea that life could be like this all the time. The two of you snuggled up, surrounded by those cherished, laughing until you just can’t breathe.

A chin comes to rest gently on your right shoulder, and Vi’s breath sends a shiver throughout your body faster than the crisp winter air ever could.

“Do you always sit with your legs crossed in pools?” she teases, voice low, like she’s sharing a secret with you. Only you.

“No,” you simply hum. Your tongue is prodding the inside of your cheek in thought, and you go through with the lightbulb in your head.

“It’s a great reminder of how dangerously close your hands are to my bikini though, isn’t it?”

The pads of her fingers that were once tracing meaningless patterns on your waist come to a stop, and you can hear the smirk in Vi’s voice.

“You want me to move them?” she breathes.

Your response is almost automatic.

“No.”

The conversation of what would’ve happened if Abby hadn’t knocked on your door was yet to come, but the newfound tension and playfulness that spilled from both of your lips was undeniable.

Vi grins at your confidence, but underneath the suave persona, she knows you’ll be the death of her.

“Bold girl,” she hums.

You’re so trapped in your playful banter that you don’t notice the way the rest of your peers are leaving, running off towards a different attraction of the resort, only god knows what.

“You were pretty convincing up there,” your sly lips are curivng up at the corners. “You have fake sex often?”

“Nothing fake about my sex.”

You’re snickering at her confidence, relishing in the way her arm hardens around you as she chuckles.

“Don’t get cocky. I’m sure someone’s had to fake-orgasm with you once.” Maybe the lying’s getting to you, because you know in your heart of hearts that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

“You really believe that?” she speaks in a lower tone, head snaking around to make eye contact with you.

Like a clock rewinding, you’re seventeen again.

Not physically, nor mentally, but your full heart is pounding the same rhythm as when you first fell for the tough, pink haired beauty in your writing class. Your breaths are shallow, gazes locked, and the warmth between you is incomparable to any sensation you’ve ever experienced prior.

“Thought so,” she brazenly states after your lack of words, and you’re smiling in thought before gently splashing water towards the smug girl, Melting her charming essence that has you by the throat.

Vi gasps through a laugh. Soon, she’s threatening to splash you back while you laugh and squeal through your begs for mercy.

And although your vision isn’t flawless through the squinted happiness of your eyes, you can recognize that swinging navy blue hair approaching you.

Fuck.

“She doesn’t give up,” you think out loud, and Vi doesn’t need to waste energy on turning her head to register who you’re talking about.

You don’t see it through your irritated gaze, but Vi feels a jolt of worry crawl up her spine. While you worried about Cait smothering you for the rest of eternity, Vi’s skin shivers at the idea of her place in your heart being twisted from one of love and trust to hatred.

She wants to tell you, wants you to make the conscious decision to love her despite any past affairs.

But she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it now, while you’re warming up on her water-covered body. And she sure as hell couldn’t let Caitlyn poison your mind with it.

So there she sits, staring into your soul with those loyal eyes that silently swear they’d do anything for you. And, understandably, Vi makes all sense of good judgement Melt from your brain until it’s a useless pile of mush.

So when Cait nears, practically striding her way to your uneasy soul, you make a decision.

You kiss Violet.

It’s a quick shift in atmosphere. One moment, your heart is beating out of fear, and the next it’s being thrashed around your chest by the ascended butterflies from your stomach. You turn in her lap to have easier access to her mouth, and the connection of your plush mouths is anything but fragile. It’s messy, hungry, starved even. Your lips dance in unison, and Vi’s sculpted arm wraps around you and gently holds the back of your neck. The way she’s handling you coupled with the burning water is giving your body a fever.

You don’t know when Caitlyn sees you, how long she glares at your wet mouths and pressed bodies in pure anger, or how long it takes for her to storm off in defeat, because every inch of your mind is focused on the pinkette holding you as if you’re all she has.

And it’s this moment that you finally accept the truth that’s kept itself hidden in your gut, you want her. And those sparkly powder-blue eyes are telling you that she wants—needs you too.

But when you slide your hand down to hers and shyly move her calloused fingers to what little fabric’s covering your chest, she’s pulling back. There’s resistance in the movement, but she forces herself to disconnect from your wanting lips nonetheless.

“Can’t,” she whispers, breathless.

You freeze, big dazed eyes blinking in confusion and embarrassment. ”But..” is all you can muster before Vi opens her mouth.

“Angel–it’s not that I don’t want this, I’m just—”

The athlete’s rubbing her temples. Her mind, body, and heart must be at war inside of her, because each is telling her a different path to take, and she looks so conflicted as she speaks.

“You don’t want this,” she finally decides.

“What?” is all you manage to choke out.��

“You don’t want this.” she repeats, less convinced than the first time it left her lips.

You can only scoff, attempting to hide the bullet to your heart and ego.

“You don’t know what I want,” you counter, and the ache in your voice sends a crack through Vi’s heart. “Why are you denying this?”

Because this is fake, a scheme to get your ex girlfriend off your back. Because I haven’t been completely honest with you, and for that I don’t deserve a sweet love like this. Not yet.

But instead of that, or even coming clean to you altogether, Vi sighs. And for the first time, her eyes are disloyal, looking anywhere but yours.

You’re huffing, shoving stiff arms off of you. You pull yourself from the hot tub into the freezing air of the night, a replica of your once blazing heart turning ice cold.

“Whatever, Violet.” you spit out, and just like that, you’re gone.

The debate over soul-shredding anxiety and complete peace has come to a halt, because the ache of a pummeled ego and a confused heart that’s afraid to beat outweighs both.

You didn’t sleep in yours and Vi’s shared room that night. Instead, you grabbed a pillow and stormed over to Mel and Elora’s, who were happy to have you. Making up a lie about dying for a girls’ night, you gossiped and giggled, arguably with a stronger poker face than the Kirammans, before a yawn finally slipped from Mel’s mouth and exhaustion spread throughout the air.

At last, in the silence of night, salt ridden tears noiselessly slide down the bridge of your nose and pile onto the cool fluff of your pillow.

As if your lack of adequate sleep and racing mind didn’t have you at your wits end, the next day was twice as cruel on you. Ignoring one athlete was a walk in the park, but avoiding two, while trying not to raise suspicion, is just as hard as it sounds.

Caitlyn’s in the hallway, so you rush to your room. Violet’s in the room, so you venture off to the spa with Mel and Elora. Caitlyn’s entering the spa right before you finish up, so you’re suggesting a lap of skiing to the girls, but Vi’s exiting the room in her snow gear when you near the door.

You just couldn’t win.

So when you hear the soft voice coming from the doorway, you don’t even bother to lift your body from the plush of your blanket.

“Don’t go,” Vi pleads, gently shutting the wooden door and ridding herself of her puffy jacket.

The pinkette’s still, waiting for you to move, to do or say something—anything, but you do nothing of the sort. When she concludes it’s safe she takes small, soft steps towards the edge of your bed and you feel the mattress dip under pure muscle.

With still hands and a timid heart, Vi speaks the first words into the air.

“Well, we broke our little rule set.”

Her playful smile is uneasy, one made when she examines your weary face too hard. And when she notices the lack of expression on your face, it flattens out into worried brows and soft lips.

“I’m sorry,” slips from her lips, prompting you to turn your head towards the pinkette.

“Stop. You don’t have to apologize for your feelings… or lack thereof,” you whisper the last part as if it’s shameful.

With a sigh, you hoist yourself up to sit straight and lean against the decorative headboard. With fidgeting hands laid in your lap and eyes that travel anywhere but the anxious girl before you, you speak.

“I just thought that there was— something,” you start. “And.. and maybe it’s stupid, but I thought that maybe all of this means something. Maybe my letters getting out wasn’t the worst thing, because maybe things between us could be exactly how I wanted when I was writing them.”

Vi feels terrible for giving you emotional whiplash, but she can’t stand to see you beating yourself up over something you want— something the both of you crave: eachother.

Tender fingers snake their way up to your face and hook on your chin, tilting your head towards her alluring orbs.

“You really believe that?” she asks, eyes squinted.

“Believe.. what?”

“That I don’t feel things for you?” she asks like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world.

“I couldn’t tell you all the things you do to me. All the ways you make me feel,” she slides the hand that’s cupping your face to gently tap the side of your pretty little head.

“Here, and.. here,” her finger grazes your skin as it skims down to tap once against your encaptured heart. “And….”

She cuts the sentence short, dropping her hand down to intertwine with one of yours, because you’re supposed to be having a serious conversation, so she needs to focus.

“You do terribly good things to me, sweetheart.”

“Then why did you push me away?” you whisper to combat the rapid speed of your heart as adrenaline rushes through your veins from Vi’s simple and sensual touches.

She contemplates it, ripping the bandage off and telling you the truth, she really does. Would it be that big of a deal? Would you take it with ease and laugh at her anxiety, caressing her like she dreams and letting her finally place a guilt-free kiss upon your soft lips? Or would you crumble at the news, and let the trust you’ve built up shatter with it?

“I didn’t know whether it was real or not,” she decides: a lie. “I know that the way my heart races for you is real, the realest thing there is. But I know it’s easy to get caught up in a fake high, and when you were kissing me I just—” she sighs at the ramble, but the gentle squeeze you give her hand guides her through it.

“I just wanted to let you decide if this is really what you want. Not because of Cait or anyone else. Just you.”

She’ll tell you. Eventually. She silently swears it to herself.

But right now, Vi’s looking at you the same way she did that day, and it’s suffocating.

Big pretty eyes examine every inch of you with that awestruck gaze, a child watching a shooting star pass by. Except this time, she wouldn’t let you leave.

This time, you, that creative girl with clammy palms and shy eyes, watching her bubblegum haired love give her a standing ovation— that shooting star would come crashing down and right into the warm arms in which she belongs.

“The love I have for you.. it never went away, it just transformed,” you confess.

Violet’s once worried expression morphs. She’s still soft, still trapped in the beautiful moment, but there’s a newfound confidence behind her demeanor.

“The love I have for you has stayed the same. Ever since that stupid writing class—” you giggle at her words, and she does the same, “I think I’ve loved you for years. It’s left such an ache in my heart, baby.”

There’s a glitch somewhere in your brain, because the athlete’s words mixed with your newest nickname is causing a system overload.

You’re suddenly very aware of the amber musk filling your nostrils, and Vi’s proximity has you squirming, soft hand gently squeezing at hers which carresses you so gingerly. You’re trapped between the headboard and her oh-so-close body, and it’d be a lie to say any part of you is complaining.

“I can.. I can make that ache go away,” you whisper, shy head tilting as you wait for her approval.

The suave, player-like girl is back in full force. With a notorious smirk in place, she’s leaning closer, tilting her head opposite of yours and lining up her plush lips with yours.

“Yeah, you can.”

That’s all it takes for your lips to come crashing together at full force. It’s messy, loving, and infuriatingly sexy all at once, and you don’t have any brain power left to think about it. All of your energy, every bit of your soul is being put into showing this girl how you really feel.

The atmosphere feels heavier and lighter simultaneously in the best way possible. Vi’s kissing you like you’re the air she needs to breathe, and drinking you in like your mouth is water and the torturous years leading up to this have taken place in the desert.

For the first time, the pair of you silently agree that this is real. Real touches, real passion, real tongues gliding against one another, and real desire for more.

You hum into Vi’s mouth as she ravishes you, and your hands find their way to tangle in her fluffy scalp as she effortlessly switches places with you and lifts you into her lap while she relaxes back against the headboard. You can’t help but chuckle as her hands move to cup the fat of your ass, causing her to grin through kisses until you finally stop, because your lips are practically peppering her teeth.

“What’s so funny?” you ask through a snicker. Vi shakes her head, sneaking kisses down your jaw and the stretch of your neck.

“Nothin’, I just don’t want this to end,” she confesses, ending with a tender kiss to your collarbone.

An uncontrollable smile fights its way onto your face.

“Well I’m not going anywhere,” you assure.

She nods, wrapping strong arms around your torso to pull your body as close to hers as possible.

“Neither am I, sunshine.”

Violet’s learned three new things since you fell asleep in her arms.

One, you’re a cuddler. Every inch of you has touched, skimmed, or wrapped around the butch since you laid upon the soft matter of the bed. Her favorite position is when you curl yourself up against her chest and slide a leg inbetween hers to let them intertwine.

Two, every inch of you still smells like that perfect mixture of cotton candy and strawberry she remembers from years ago.

And three, she’s completely whipped for you. For your brain, your voice, the giggles you make between kisses, the way you give your all to her, and don’t get her started on your body. She’s got it bad.

So, the struggle she faced when she had to snake out of your grasp was ultimately the hardest thing she’s done in her entire life.

The love-hazed girl didn’t bother to do anything but slip on some shoes and run a hand through her hair, because within minutes she’d be right back next to you where she belongs.

At least, that was the plan.

She doesn’t know why the loud cacophony of cackles catches her attention, because she knows how obnoxious her teammates can be, but it does. She lazily turns her head once, letting it lull back before the alarm of confusion goes off in her brain, and she’s turning towards the sound once again.

Sevika, a few members of the basketball team, and some others she doesn’t recognize, all sit against the couches and chairs in the lounging area. But there’s no relaxation in the way they rest against the furniture. Each is laced with anticipation, and their eyes all lay on the buff brownskin girl who’s smirks as if she’s discovered a pot of gold.

“Your voice of honey soothes my soul, and the picture of delicate curls falling to frame your face as you lift me onto my feet will stay forever plastered in my mind,” the woman spits.

The words are so sensual, so raw, so genuine, filled with nothing but passion, but Sevika’s interpretation does it no justice.

And Violet knows exactly who wrote those words of desire.

Her feet move quicker than she’s ever felt the need to before.

When she nears the group, a face of pure determination, she spots it. A brown envelope, decorated with a bow and pretty hearts accompanied by a single kiss mark. So similar to the one you made for Vi all those years ago.

“There’s the woman of the hour,” Sevika taunts loudly, leaning back in her seat. Her fingers tap the letter in her hands against her own thigh, a reminder that your past words of hope and love still lie with her. “Or, would you be the second? No… no, that’d be this uh, Skye, huh?”

Sevika’s smile is poisonous, infecting Violet with a rage she’s never experienced before.

“What are you doing with that?” Vi’s practically seething, eyes trained on the brown paper between Sevika’s fingers.

“Found it on the ground, guess it slipped away from your girl before she could mail it off to her secret lover,” she lies, throwing her hands up in faux innocence.

“I swear to God— fucking give it to me, and I’ll forget this happened.”

“And you’ll forget that she’s dreaming of someone else’s mouth?” The burly woman scoffs, coming to a stand directly infront of Violet. The space between them is thinning, disintegrated by rageful tension.

“Seriously, I don’t see why you’re going through all this trouble for a whore, pinkie.”

Faster than anyone in the room can register, Vi’s fist comes up to smash into Sevika’s jaw. The slam is loud, echoing throughout the room until it creates a stunned silence.

Sevika’s hand comes up to hold her jaw, craning it as the metallic taste of blood sets itself on her tongue.

Within seconds, she’s lunging right at Vi. Their fists look like skin colored blobs in the air from how fast they land punches to one another’s guts. They’re thrashing around in anger, threatening the space they reside in, before four onlookers break them apart.

Some whoop and holler, others laugh and speculate exactly who ‘won’, but neither of the girls care. Through their heavy panting and darkened gazes, they’re only focused on one thing: the brown envelope that now lies between Vi’s fingers.

With a cocky, bruised grin and the satisfying drug of adrenaline, Violet turns on her heels and stumbles out of sight.

[REDACTED]: listen, toots. i have a better plan. … [REDACTED]: I’m listening.

With the way neither of you dare to move, any third party would think the two of you are paralyzed; and you are, by love.

It’s been five minutes since you’ve woken up, and Vi’s sweet gaze keeps you in a warm, butterfly inducing trance. Neither of you move from your position in the bed, savouring deep synced breaths, snuggling under the blankets, and wrapping around one another. You’re sticking together like your feelings are superglue.

Finally, one of the pinkette’s hands rubs at the small of your back, drawing sweet nothings on your dimples and the line that trails up your perfect torso.

“I haven’t slept that long in ages,” you hum, making Violet pull you just a bit closer.

“Maybe you should sleep with me every night,” she concludes, sending you a smile that has you giggling with a little ‘oh sure’.

She sees your sweet bubble of happiness wobble when your eyes squint at the sight of her chin, now decorated with a blossomed bruise. A soft hand comes up to graze the purple mark as you ask, “When did that happen?”

As fast as the pinkette opens her mouth to speak, it shuts. Because she definitely can’t tell you that Sevika’s tried to embarrass you by reading one of your old love letters to a group of your classmates. Why has she become more of a pain now than ever? Vi hasn’t figured that out yet. But she has come to one conclusion: worrying you wouldn’t do any good. What you didn’t have to know, you wouldn’t.

She quickly takes your wandering hand in hers, intertwining fingers and giving them a little squeeze.

“I’m fine, sunshine. Got up all hazy last night to turn the light off since we forgot. Completely ran into the wall, that’s all.” Although Vi isn’t a klutz, it seems like a perfectly plausible story, so you don’t push.

You only chuckle, shaking your head. “Be more careful. I have to get you home in one piece.”

A soft smile spreads across her face, and she’s kissing your knuckles while responding. “Of course, angel.”

While you scolded Vi about her bruises, you were set up to get some of your own.

“Vi I’m not sure if this is a great idea,” you worry, looking down at the girl who gets on her knees to lace up your skates.

The freezing temperature kissed your nose a subtle hint of red, but the beautiful sunlight gently coating the flurry white wonderland that surrounded the city made up for it. All around you, classmates and city locals of all ages glide around the ice rink with glee. Sounds of love, joy, and the squeals or laughter of tripping inexperienced-skaters fill your ears.

“Why not?” she asks, eyes flickering up to yours for just a second before moving on to the other foot. The picture of her is just all too much, and you have to look away to regather your thoughts.

“I know that you’re a hockey player so this may come as a shock to you, but not everyone is good at ice skating,” she grins, rolling her eyes at your sarcasm. “I’m just gonna fall on my ass a bunch,” you whine.

“And I’ll be right there to pick you back up.” Vi’s confidence melts away your worries. Finally, as she finishes with your skates, you playfully roll your eyes and come to a stand (with the help of her strong hands).

The thinning space between you two and your starry eyes which look up at Vi keep her in a trance as her arms mindlessly wrap around your waist, hands dangerously close to your ass.

“Promise not to let me go?” you whisper through a grin.

“Shit. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And she doesn’t. Through your first steps and little slips on the ice, Vi stands right beside you, holding your hand with tender care.

“This is pretty romantic, right?” she hums in your ear as you attempt to push your feet against the ice like she taught you.

“As long as I don’t completely eat it.” you warn, eyes trained to the ice.

She snickers.

“Well, you look sexy when you’re focused, I’ll give you that.”

Butterflies erupt throughout your stomach, and a warmth is travelling up your body as you look at Violet with a faux sternness.

“Quiet. You’re distracting me,” you tease.

Vi’s tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek in thought before she’s letting go of your hand and coming to stand right infront of you. Sculpted arms snake around your waist, and the lack of space between you two as Vi stares with a hungry gaze is making your body feel weak.

“I’m distracting you, sweetheart?”

You quietly suck in a breath of icy cold air, searching for a response in her pretty powder-blue eyes before she snickers once more, stepping back. At last, you feel like you can breathe.

She takes you around the ice, helping you reach a good foundation to feel comfortable skating on your own, and the ‘good job, baby’ she praises you with sends a sweet sensation throughout your body. As you’re gliding away from her, giggling in surprise as she pretends to chase you with her intimidating hockey stance, a group of her teammates call for her attention.

She pauses, breath kissing your ear as she lets go of your body. “I’ll just be a second, yeah?”

You nod, sending her off to the group with a smile.

And for a moment, everything’s perfect. Until it isn’t.

The call of your name from her mouth freezes your body faster than the chill of the ice ever could. Effortlessly, Caitlyn’s gliding up to you with a calculated and calm expression. She knows you can’t get far in those skates.

First, you’re praying that Vi will look over at you and race back just in time to save you. Then, anger’s bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and you whip around to make eye contact with the navy-haired girl. Finally—

“What, Caitlyn?” you snap without hesitation.

The girl’s expression refuses to waver, and toned arms are crossing with the notorious sly smirk of a Kiramman. “Never thought I’d see you with blades on your feet.”

“Never thought I’d see you begging for attention, but here we are,” you quip, placing your hands on your hips, completely distracted from the ice below you.

Her arms uncross with an amused hum, and for a moment you think that maybe she’s getting off on the negative energy you throw her way. But then she begins to push her skates against the ice, slowly circling you.

“I just thought I’d check in on you, sweetheart. You’ve forgotten to answer my calls and texts–”

“You know damn well I haven’t forgotten, Cait—”

“—And I wanted to applaud you in person for being so understanding about what happened with Violet and I.”

She comes to a stop, and so does your heart. The little red organ skips a beat before continuing, pace matching your weariness.

“What are you talking about?” you question, brows furrowed so innocently that Caitlyn has to stop herself from laughing.

“She hasn’t told you?” The bluenette makes no attempt to act shocked. Your eyes lock, and her skates scrape against the ice until she’s hovering right over you.

“Weren’t you wondering where she slept after you left her at the jacuzzi?” The visible air that blows from her mouth is just as harsh as her words, stabbing your heart with its icicles.

“What are you..” you mutter, but the words die in your throat.

“Vi and I had a… rekindling.” Her head tilts with a cocky smile. “It was bound to happen I suppose. Once a hookup, always a—”

“I don’t believe you.” Your stern words contradict the uncertainty tainting your voice.

Caitlyn doesn’t speak. She simply reaches into her back pocket, pulls out her phone, and scrolls to open her messages with Vi, gently placing the device into your quivering fingers.

Really? My ex girlfriend? You’re a class act. i’ll love her better than you ever could, caitlyn Is this to get back at me? You’re the one who ended our little affair. stop texting my number. Come to think of it, I never told her about us. Does she even know? fucking drop it cait You have until the end of the trip. If you don’t tell her, I will. you don’t care whether she knows or not. you just want her crawling back to you. not happening. I’ll tell her.

“You see it now? How easy it was for her to lie to you? She doesn’t love you, not like I do.”

“Angel?” Vi’s voice calls out. The once sweet melody to your ears now erupts a symphony of confusion and anger inside of you. Did she plan out those nicknames?

Before you know it, Vi’s coming up behind you and placing an arm around your waist. Instead of feeling comfort, you’re suffocated. How can she fake it so easily?

“Can I help you?” the pink haired girl spits to the Kiramman with a voice of pure disgust. How could you have known?

“I was just leaving,” Caitlyn hums. With the fulfilling sight of your aghast eyes and Violet’s hidden panic, she skates off.

The two of you are uncomfortably quiet for a moment. Your body’s still, save for the racing thoughts in your mind, but when Vi’s hand on you tightens you’re breaking from her grasp.

And then she sees it.

The broken gaze in your sorrowful eyes, the one look she desperately wanted to avoid. Her worst nightmare has become her reality.

And you see it.

The way her gaze goes from calm and collected to a deer in headlights. It’s like a switch was flipped in her brain, and Violet’s mask comes off as she speaks.

“I can explain—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your heartbroken voice drowns her out.

“You don’t understand,” she pleas, but you’re pushing your weight into one foot in an attempt to turn yourself around on the ice.

“I understand perfectly fine you backstabbing–”

Your knees come slamming into the icy ground with a thud, and the newly proclaimed backstabber is at your side, attempting to lift you onto your feet. You shove her off with a huff, using one knee to come to a wobbly stand.

“Just..” you start, ignoring the tears of frustration that bubble in the corners of your eyes, accompanied by the prickly curse in your throat. “Just stay away from me, Vi.”

And you’re gone.

Vi obeys your wishes and leaves you alone like you asked.

But only for the next two hours, while she figures out what the hell she’s going to say to make up for the pain she’s caused you. Because she did hook up with Cait, but the last time was was months ago, before either of them had anything with you. Because she knows Cait did something to fuck with your head, and now her baby’s fretting and scared to trust anyone. Because she’s in love with you and only you, and she’s never going to forgive herself if she doesn’t get you back.

So when she slips into your shared room and finds you packing your things, she braces herself for the yelling and cussing she expects to come.

But, it never happens. Instead, you look at her with a woeful expression, and turn back to your open luggage with a scoff.

“I knew Caitlyn was fucked up, but I never imagined you’d have as many screws loose. You’ll be perfect for each other,” you spit, the words acid to Violet. Manicured hands move at a fast pace, roughly tossing in clothes and skin products like they mean nothing to you. “And I know we’re not actually dating, but to fuck the one person we’re trying to lie to? Then come to me the next day acting like you…” you trail off, discarding the sentence like trash, but she knows what you were trying to say: like you love me.

Wait, what?

“Hold on, hold on. I haven’t fucked Kiramman.”

“..So you weren’t with her the night I slept in Mel’s room?” you squint.

“Fuck no. It’s been months since we’ve hooked up, angel. Like, before you and her were even a thing–”

“So you did fuck! Jesus, why didn’t you tell me?” you raise your voice in question, whipping around to face the girl with exhausted body language. When Vi’s mouth hangs open with no clue of a better response than ‘I was scared’, you shake your head, coming to conclusions yourself.

“That’s why you did this, right? I should’ve asked more about why you proposed this whole scheme,” you start, walking towards the nightstand. “Make me look like an idiot? Get back at Cait? Get with Cait? What was it?”

“No– no. I was going to tell you angel, God I swear, I just didn’t know how to tell you without making it hurt. I don’t want anything with Caitlyn, cross my heart, her and I are history. Everything I said about you– everything I felt with you is real.” She’s speaking so tenderly, inching closer to your frame.

And you would’ve turned, would’ve calmed down enough to finish this conversation civilly, maybe believe her.

But instead, you’re staring at the opened drawer of the bedside table, right at the chesnut brown envelope decorated with hearts. The same one you wrote for Skye all those years ago.

You’re completely over this.

Violet’s close enough to see everything now. The envelope and letter, the way your face is morphing through thousands of different expressions, and the tears that finally begin to slide down your cheeks as you lift the paper into the air and choke out words.

“Why the hell do you have this? How much did you plan to humiliate me, huh?” you ask through sweet sobs.

Violet sighs, because everything she’s kept from you is hitting her. All of her mistakes are crashing down upon her at once. All she wants is to fix it for you.

“That’s not– fuck this looks bad.” She’s cursing herself for everything she didn’t tell you, all the chances she had to come clean and never did out of fear.

“Sevika had it and I took it from her. We fought over it and I hid it here because I didn’t want you to be embarrassed. That’s all. I swear.”

She watches your glossy eyes flicker to her bruised jaw that you touched so lovingly that morning, to her eyes that beg you to forgive her, and to your bag as you walk towards it.

“Well you don’t have to worry about me anymore, Violet. This– us, whatever we are is done. ” You knuckle away your tears, sniffing and pulling at the handle of your suitcase.

The pinkette takes no action to hide the dread that fills her face, quickly following your motion around the room.

“So we’re just breaking–” she stops. Her heart is racing at an ungodly speed, and the next words come out as a horrified mumble, “We’re just over? Like that?”

There’s a pregnant pause, and for the last time, you look back at Vi, voice clear.

“We were never together, Violet.”

There’s nothing she can say to rebuttal, or stop you from walking out of that room, because despite both of your desires, it was true.

For the next two days, your bed becomes your safe haven. You put your phone on ‘do not disturb’, wrap yourself in the thickest blanket your apartment has, and hide from the rest of the world. It’s only thanks to Mel, who’s worried to death, that you remember to eat every once in a while.

Safe to say, you’re a wreck.

Three soft knocks on your bedroom door prompt you to roll over, and you’re pulling your head from the covers as the aforementioned beauty enters the room with a plated sandwich in hand.

“I have something for that headache of yours,” she offers, setting the platter on your bedside table and sitting at the edge of the soft mattress.

From your blanket-clad vision, you see her lips press together in thought before she finally decides on her carefully sculpted words.

“I talked to Abby,” she starts. You groan, pulling yourself back under the blankets.

“Listen,” she scolds, and you bite your tongue. Hard. “I talked to Abby and she says Violet slept in her room that night. She was moping about you the entire time.”

“She didn’t tell me about her and Caitlyn,” you seethe.

“No, but she said she was going to, right?” She offers, tilting her head. “In the end, does it really change anything about how you two feel towards each other?”

When you don’t respond, she sighs, patting your blanket and coming to a stand.

“It’s your decision what you do, but I can tell Violet really cares about you. And I think you feel the same.”

With that, she’s stepping out of the room and gently closing your door with a click.

Almost immediately, your head pokes out of the blanket, and your gaze travels to your now black lockscreen lighting up.

One message from Caitlyn.

caitlyn: Are you ready to apologize to me? I’ll still take you back.

You block her number. Something you should’ve done a long time ago.

Then, you check the three messages from Vi.

superstar <3: i know you want me to leave you alone, and i’m trying my hardest to please let me talk to you angel whenever you’re ready to hear me out

You can only sigh.

“I don’t know how else to get this through to both of you.”

Coach Talis’s sharp tongue scolds the winded athletes. Sweat is dripping down every inch of their skin under their heavy gear. While their teammates ended practice an hour ago, they were here running drills for the ‘stunt’ they pulled back at Mt. Sky. If it weren’t for the exhaustion capturing their bodies, they’d be pummeling each other this very second.

“I’m this close to benching both of you, and you know I don’t want to do that.” Both girls rapidly shake their heads.

“This better be the last time I hear of an incident regarding the both of you, do you understand?” The tanned man snaps, and both athletes are throwing out soft “yes coach”’s before he waves them off to the locker room.

Throughout her entire shower, Violet’s brain is focused on two things. One, how much she loathes Sevika (fuck her), and two, how much she fucking misses you.

Throughout her time spent drying herself off, getting redressed, and packing her backpack, she prays for a text, call, something from you. When she hears the buzz of a phone, she’s whipping her head around to face her lockscreen (with her favorite picture of you looking effortlessly beautiful and silly simultaneously).

It’s not until the second buzz goes off that she realizes it’s not her phone that’s being blown up, but Sevika’s.

Despite better judgement, she curiously walks over to the device, reaching down to pick it up with careless hands.

And it almost drops from her calloused fingers in shock.

There’s three notifications from ‘C. Kiramman’.

c. kiramman: That worked better than I thought. You’re not as dumb as you look. c. kiramman: I think our work together is done. C. Kiramman sent you $300!

You’re at war with yourself.

Your brain is clawing at you to block Violet, get yourself together, and move on with your life as if she was never a part of it.

Your heart and every inch of hope that fills you is begging for you to pick up your phone and give her a chance to prove that it was all a case of bad timing, misunderstandings, and that you truly mean something to her. Because you want her, you can finally admit it, but you’re deathly afraid of being made a fool of.

You’d skipped classes for the day, pulled yourself from your sheets, showered, and now sit on your black couch with a little sigh, sinking into the fluffy matter. The silence of the apartment is contrasting the swarm of loud thoughts inside your mind, and before it can drive you utterly insane, the doorbell rings.

“Angel?” That sweet voice calls out.

You rise to your feet embarrassingly fast. Your brain waves a white flag and your heart dances in success.

When you swing the door open, it takes everything in you to keep yourself from jumping into Violet’s arms. She’s worried out of her mind, but the surprise that you even opened the door is giving her a jolt of hope and encouragement. You take in her presence, musk amber scent, oversized jacket that once protected your arms, and all.

“I’m so sorry,” spills from her lips, and you scan her expression before stepping to the side.

“Come in.”

You and Vi sit on opposite ends of your couch. You’re trying to show off your self control, but she’s just glad you’ll sit next to her at all.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you about my past with Caitlyn. I was scared that you’d hate me, and shit it all just caught up with me before I could grow some balls and rip the bandaid off.”

You’ve never seen her look so worried, so vulnerable.

You take one scoot closer.

“But I promise, I ended things with her a long time ago and that was the last time we ever did anything.”

She’s pulling out her phone, opening the photos app, and setting her phone down face up on the cushions for you to take. You do, picking it up with weary fingers, ones that still when you see the material she’s revealing.

“Caitlyn hired Sevika to fuck with us. That time at the party, all those times she got me in shit at practice, taking your letter, even giving Caitlyn the idea of lying that I did something with her. They’ve been trying to get inbetween us for a long time.”

Your mouth is slightly agape as you scroll through monetary payments and texts from your ex. Ones about her getting you back (fuck that), and others about Sevika getting the spotlight once Vi’s burnt out and screwing up at hockey (again, fuck that).

“I get why you’re pissed at me, and I understand if you want me out of your life forever.” It shakes her to even utter those words. “But I…”

She’s biting her lip, and you watch as she pulls a neatly folded piece of loose leaf paper from her pocket. With embarrassment flushing her face, she sets it on the couch for you to take.

“What’s this?” you ask softly, taking it in your hands and gently unfolding.

“Please don’t read it out loud.”

Your heart quickens at the suspense, and your fingers come to a stop as Violet’s handwriting fills your vision.

Dear _____,

Oh my god.

The words fill your mind and apparently show through your eyes, because when you look at Violet once more, she’s looking more sheepish than ever.

With a deep breath, you read.

I’ve been in love with you for so long, longer than I ever realized, and I never knew how much it warmed my heart and brightened my days until I lost you. The way your eyes light up when you laugh, the loud laugh that takes over your body when we’re alone, the quiet moments we shared, where we didn’t need words, just the way our hands fit together so perfectly. How being near you made everything feel like it was right, even when nothing else made sense. All of the little things that make you, you, have become the moments I crave most.

I know I’ve messed up. Been too wrapped up inside my head and covered in fear to tell you the entire truth, but I miss us. I miss your laugh, your smile, the way we would talk about everything and nothing all at once. I wrapping my arm around your waist or kissing your neck cheek nose forehead and feeling like everything was right in the world when we were together. And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you. I’m not asking for everything to go back to normal right away, because I know things take time. But I want to try again, if you’ll let me.

You’re worth every second, every inch of love that exists throughout my blood, and I will spend the rest of my days trying to show you just how much you mean to me.

-With all my love, yours truly, Violet

In the eleventh grade, you thought you loved Violet more than humanely possible.

Now, you wonder how shocked your younger self would be to hear that amount has grown exponentially.

"I know it's bad. I'm not a genius like you bu-"

Lips smashing into hers silence any worries that the letter didn’t do its job. Your plush mouthes press against one another’s with a passion so deep, so genuine, that it speaks louder than any words you’ve spoken; louder than any love letter either of you have written.

You faintly pull back, giggling breathily as Vi chases your lips with a look sweet enough to give you a heart attack. With touching foreheads and closed, relaxed eyes, you use the same words as when you first fell in love with her. Except this time– you say them out loud.

“From my happily raised eyebrows to my.. gosh however I worded it. Y’know that was so corny now that I think about it,” you begin to whisper, and giggles erupt from both of your mouthes. You hum, placing another chaste kiss on her swollen lips. “I love you, Violet Vanderson. I really, really love you.”

The warmth radiating from your soul and the heat of your intertwined bodies is all too much. It does anything but help when Violet places soft kisses on your cheek, ones that trail down to your jaw and the base of your neck as she gently pulls you into her lap.

“Do you–” she places a kiss, “forgive me?” The suck and lick she gives to your neck sends a shudder down your spine. Wait, what’d she ask again?

“I don’t know,” you hum teasingly, feeling her smirk against your wet skin. “I think you should work for it.”

“Whatever you want. Tell me what you want, baby.”

Fuck. How can words make your eyes roll into the back of your head?

“Want you to—”

You gasp as she slides her tongue down your neck, coming to kiss at your collarbones.

“Use your words, sweet girl,” she whispers sensually.

“Fuck. I want you.”

That’s all she needs, and Violet’s sliding a cold hand up your shirt, inching it up slowly over your bra and refusing to break eye contact. The action has you whimpering into submission, and you huff.

“You’re such a tease.” You complain.

“You’ll take it,” she hums, finally pulling the shirt over your head and going straight for the clasp of your bra.

You take the time to trail a hand under her own shirt, letting your finger tips trail over her abs, and you gasp as your already hard nipples twitch from the newfound cold air when Vi tosses your bra to the side.

“God you’re beautiful,” is the last thing she says before diving head first into your chest. The room is filled with soft kissing sounds, wet licks and pop’s from Vi’s mouth on your nubs, and your moans of pleasure when she twists at whatever nipple isn’t getting her mouth’s attention.

“Vi– babe please. Need you now.”

She groans against your sensitive skin, releasing you from her mouth.

“Need me now, baby?” The girl mocks your neediness with a smirk.

“Yeah, yes please,” you whimper out, and she snickers at how you’re already too dazed to focus.

She decides she’s played with your tits enough (for now), and pulls you right back into a messy, tongue infested kiss as she flips your position. You lean against the couch as she reluctantly separates your lips, sliding kisses down the middle of your torso as her strong hands work at pulling down your pants terribly slowly.

Once they’re off, and you think you’re free as she runs a finger along the middle of your panties, right over your clothed heat. She hums at the way you buck forward. Her just graze along the seam as you speak.

“I’m not– mmm, feeling very forgiving right now…” you scold, eyes so gone that Violet has to stop herself from apologizing.

“Do you want my mouth or fingers to change that?” she asks, and she can’t hold back the laugh any longer when your eyes unknowingly light up.

“Mouth– both– Vi anything, just give me it now.”

She laughs, finally pulling your underwear down at a reasonable pace and scolding you gently.

“We’ll work on fixing your tone another time.”

She leaves the tiny fabric hanging off one of your delicate ankles, mumbling something about how fuckable you look sprawled out for her like this. The girl’s quick to effortlessly spread your legs, and she gulps at how slick and glistening your cunt is all for her.

“Fuck me, baby,” she mutters in awe.

“I’m trying to,” you whine, taking her back to the present where you and your body are completely at her mercy.

Finally, your prayers are answered, and she’s licking a clean line straight up your pussy, taking a river of juices with her pleasure-inducing tongue.

As if the taste enchants her, Vi’s dropping her head down to your needy heat. Her tongue lulls out, swirling against your clit, your hole, anywhere she can make you feel good. It’s not long before two thick fingers plunge into you, and you’re throwing your head back.

“Oh my god, please please– yes.”

“Please? Please what, sweetheart?” she mocks once more. Your moans motivate the muscle-flexing girl to go deeper, go faster, and she has to hold you still when you arch from how sweet her digits hit your g-spot.

The way she’s drinking your cunt sucks away your thoughts as well, and it’s not until she hands a harsh slap to your ass that you’re blinking, babbling something about needing to cum.

“You can do it baby, yeah good girl. Fuck.”

Sweet praises decorated with the perfect mixture of her fingers, tongue, and the lust-laced eye contact send you over the edge, and your loud moans carry throughout the entire space as you finish.

Vi’s tools don’t stop, not until you’ve completely come down from the best high of your life, not until your shaky hand is gently placing itself over hers in silent appreciation.

When your heavy pants are all that’s left to be heard, she kisses your cunt goodbye and says hello to your lips. A strong hand on the back of your head keeps your mouth pressed against hers, and you love it. Because you’re sure you could twist lips with this girl until you pass out from forgetting to breathe.

“Taste yourself?” she whispers once her tongue’s slid out of your mouth. You can only nod, relishing in the way her arms wrap around your body, a silent insinuation that you’re hers to protect.

With a hum, you’re kissing both of her cheeks, then her nose and forehead in thanks as her chin rests against your chest.

“I guess that was a good enough apology.” You fake dissatisfaction, completely ignoring the way your body presses even further into hers while you smooth a hand through her hair.

She snickers in disbelief.

“Think you need another? Just to see how sorry I am, of course.”

You hum, finally shrugging with an inconcealable smile.

“I guess that’d work.”

Vi makes no complaint, because why on earth would she, and she’s kissing a line right back where she started.

“Is this too over the top? The number six was fine but the hand prints? Do I look like a high schooler? Be honest—”

Mel cuts off your babbling with a laugh. “You didn’t want to look like a high schooler?”

You’re whining from your position in the stands, and Mel’s apologizing for her joke as she confirms you look amazing. “Vi’s already seen you, and she seemed to love it,” she coos in your ear, bumping her hip against yours as you laugh.

And the girl’s right. Throughout the game, Vi’s taken glances at you every second she gets. She’s grinning at the pink body paint handprints that travel up your legs, winking when you blow her kisses everytime your gazes lock, chuckling at how loud you get when you cheer ‘go Vi!’, and don’t get her started on how you’re body is clad in her big jersey.

Yeah, she’s completely whipped.

There’s only two minutes left in the game, and the Piltover Knights are winning 2-4. But you’re not entirely focused on the screaming atmosphere or Vi’s upcoming victory, because all you can think about is how hot and aggressive your girlfriend looks in her element.

There’s a jolt of joy that zips up your body, because: yeah, that’s your girlfriend.

The horn chugs to signal the end of the match and the crowd’s roaring with glee, especially you and Mel, who jump up and down while screaming out for your respective players.

Vi throws you a toothy smile from the ice, one that you see again after she exits the locker room and comes to find ‘her girl’ in the loitering crowd.

She embraces and lifts you into the air, spinning you around as if you’re a feather in her grasp. Each giggle that spills from your lips is more joyous than the last, just like every moment you spend together.

“You were so cool out there! Never seen you look so mad and focused,” you praise your pink-haired girl as she sets you down, placing a warm kiss to the top of your head.

“That’s because you bring out the good in me. I’m usually all rude and scary and—”

“With that hair?” you tease, ruffling your hand through her fluff. “You’re not fooling anybody, pinkie.”

Vi’s jaw drops in shock.

“Pinkie?” she repeats with a squinted gaze.

A beat passes, and you’re turning to run away, but it’s too late. The athlete lunges forward, wrapping her arms around your core to trap you as you fake complain in protest, but giggles are soon falling from your mouth and breaking your character.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” her playful words kiss your ear.

“Oh whatever, you love me.” you grin through the claim, turning your head to have her beautiful face in your vision.

Vi’s smile softens into something genuine as she scans over your pretty face. Your astonishing, stunning– fuck there are so many things she could say about your face, about your heart, about your brain, about you.

“Yeah. I really, really do.”

Sparkled blue eyes connect with yours, and they’re sending you into a trance as you’re lured into a tender kiss.

With every kiss, the world around you is drowned out until it’s just you and Violet. Your minds, bodies, and hearts intertwine, and with each connection of your lips, you taste everything she feels.

It’s perfect, even better than you could’ve imagined from that creative writing class, and it gets better everyday that you live the reality.

From the grasp of your passionate kiss, as colors of blue, auburn, chestnut brown and more pass by you, you smile knowing that safe in your arms lies your perfect pink.

©silknspice

#arcane #arcane fanfic #vi x reader #vi arcane #vi fanfic #vi smut #vi league of legends #wlw #sapphic #arcane x reader #fake dating #caitlyn kiramman #arcane vi x reader #vi imagines

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codesquire · 1 year ago

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For the five of you who remember this...

I just found a torrent for the Sonseed album.

#dated memes #im an old man of the internet #this dates back to the transitions days from Web 1.0 to Web 2.0 #sonseed #jesus is a friend of mine #christian ska #memes #obscure internet ephemera

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fawnsuga · 3 months ago

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⠀⠀⠀⠀𓎢𓎟𓎡⠀ ݁🕯️⠀⠀dylan bennet klebold⠀⠀၇ৎܵ⠀𓎢𓎟𓎡

Dylan Bennet Klebold Date of Birth: September 11, 1981 Height: 6 ft 2.5 in Weight: 143 lbs

Dylan Klebold was the 17-year-old son of Mr. Thomas Klebold (then 52) and Mrs. Susan (Yassenoff) Klebold (then 50). He was the younger brother of Byron, who was 21 at the time.

Tom Klebold was a geophysicist, and Sue Klebold worked with individuals with disabilities. Both were originally from Columbus, Ohio, and were alumni of Ohio State University. Sue hailed from a prominent Jewish community in Columbus and was the granddaughter of the late philanthropist and construction magnate Leo Yassenoff, who established the local Jewish community center in Columbus that bears his name. Dylan was born in Lakewood, Colorado.

Dylan attended Normandy Elementary School in Littleton, Colorado, for first and second grade before transferring to Governor's Ranch Elementary School, where he participated in the CHIPS (Challenging High Intellectual Potential Students) program for gifted and talented children. His parents reported that he was somewhat sheltered at Governor's Ranch Elementary and believed his transition to Ken Caryl Middle School was challenging due to his quiet and shy demeanor. Transitioning from elementary school to middle school can be difficult for many adolescents, so his parents were not overly concerned.

During his earlier school years, Dylan participated in T-ball, baseball, and soccer. He was in Cub Scouts with his friend Brooks Brown, whom he had known since first grade. Dylan met Eric Harris while attending Ken Caryl Middle School in seventh or eighth grade. Brooks lived near Eric's new home and rode the same bus as him. The three boys soon formed a close friendship. Subsequently, Eric introduced Dylan to Nathan (Nate) Dykeman, who also attended Ken Caryl, and the boys became good friends. Dylan also met Chris Morris around that time, and they would eventually become best friends.

In 1995, all four boys transitioned to Columbine High School as freshmen. At Columbine, Dylan was active in school productions as a light and sound coordinator and was involved in video productions and the school’s Rebel News Network. He created several videos with Nate for the Rebel News Network announcements and another in November 1998 to show Nate's father his school and home environment.

Klebold received commendation for assisting during Rachel Scott's performance of "Watch the Lamb" when technical difficulties arose; he provided a backup tape to ensure the show could continue. He served as a computer assistant at school and helped maintain the school's computer server. He regularly played Fantasy Baseball with Chad Laughlin. Other players noted that he discussed plays happening the week of April 20, giving no indication he would not be present after that Tuesday.

Neighbors of the Klebold family described them as a model family. Sherry Higgins, the mother of a friend of Dylan and Eric, commented on the teens' "Hitmen for Hire" video, stating it was presented to her as a spoof about hitmen avenging the weak at Columbine. In retrospect, she acknowledged that this should have been a warning sign regarding Dylan's state of mind.

Following the shooting, Dylan's parents initially maintained they were unaware of their son's troubling behavior. Reports indicated that Sue was shocked by her son's actions, stating she had no forewarning of the forthcoming tragedy. Dylan's older brother Byron also expressed surprise at his younger brother's actions. The only firearm the family owned was a BB gun intended for pest control. Friends of Dylan noted that, while they observed Eric being bullied at school, they did not witness similar treatment directed at Klebold, who was perceived as too tall, too lanky, and too overlooked by those outside his friend group.

However, it was evident that Dylan was grappling with internal issues. Years later, Dylan's parents acknowledged in interviews that they had overlooked signs of his unhappiness, failing to recognize the clues that were apparent in hindsight.

Columbine's senior prom took place on April 17, 1999. Dylan attended the event by limousine with 12 friends. Nate Dykeman reported that nothing seemed amiss that evening; everything went "perfect." Dylan spoke enthusiastically about his future plans, which included attending the University of Arizona to major in computer science. He conveyed to his friends that he was genuinely excited about his future. His parents had already secured a dorm room for him. The entire family traveled to Arizona on March 25, 1999, to finalize Dylan's accommodations.

Dylan's prom date was Robyn K. Anderson, a friend he had met at a Christmas party years earlier. As a senior at Columbine, she attended the event with him as a platonic friend, not a romantic interest. Contrary to early media reports, Robyn and Dylan were not involved romantically; while Robyn had a crush on him, Dylan did not reciprocate. She proudly proclaimed to another male friend shortly before the prom, "I convinced my friend Dylan, who hates dances, jocks, and has never had a date, let alone a girlfriend, to go with me! I am either really cute or just really persuasive!"

Robyn Anderson assisted in the purchase of the two shotguns and the rifle used in the assault, acting as a middleman since Dylan and Eric were not yet 18, the legal age to purchase firearms in Colorado. Dylan boasted on one of the Basement Tapes that the seller was aware he was purchasing the gun. Shortly before the acquisition, the owner of Dragon Arms gun shop in Littleton reported that five teenagers attempted to purchase an M-60 machine gun and a silencer-equipped assault pistol in early March. Although the five appeared on store surveillance footage, it remains unclear if any of them were Dylan or Eric.

Dylan was frequently described as a follower, heavily influenced by Eric, particularly after 1998. Those who knew him characterized him as a young man lacking self-confidence—"painfully shy," according to some—but not prone to anger.

This shy demeanor is not universally recalled by those who knew him, particularly those closest to him in the months leading up to the shootings. His and Eric's behavior at Blackjack Pizza, where they worked, did not conform to this image. When bored, they purchased dry ice from a nearby Baskin-Robbins to create small bombs for detonation behind the pizza establishment. Dylan was once reprimanded for bringing a pipe bomb to work. He resigned shortly thereafter but was rehired when the restaurant required staff. On at least two occasions, the previous owner permitted Dylan and Eric to ignite aerosol cans—once in a mop sink and another in an oven. They frequently engaged in reckless fireplay behind the establishment, resulting in a dumpster fire that necessitated intervention from the fire department.

Dylan was known to use profanity in front of teachers and was suspended from school (along with Eric and another student) for hacking into the school's computer system to obtain locker combinations, which they used to leave a threatening note in an adversary's locker. Nate Dykeman reported that Dylan and Eric had taken computer parts from the school without permission. Dylan's father had previously compelled him to return a stolen laptop computer. A dean of students, who had seen Dylan and Eric in his office multiple times, told police he was not surprised they were involved, having observed "the potential for an 'evil side'... that there was a violent, angry streak in these kids."

Students in their early morning bowling class reported that Dylan and Eric would shout "Heil Hitler!" after rolling a good ball. Tom Klebold stated he was unaware of the origins of the Nazi references or the violence. The Klebolds were Jewish. Nate mentioned he had seen Eric draw swastikas, but Dylan never did, making it difficult to ascertain how much Dylan supported the Nazi movement. This inclination would seem inconsistent with the background of a Jewish-born individual, as would the violent tendencies he concealed from his family.

Dykeman informed police that he had witnessed Dylan making a purchase behind Blackjack Pizza, giving Philip Duran, a co-worker, approximately 200−200−300. Nate suspected Dylan was buying drugs, but Dylan clarified he was purchasing a gun (the TEC-DC9, which Mark Manes supplied with Philip's assistance as an intermediary). Following the acquisition of weapons, Eric and Dylan filmed a video at Rampart Range, where they practiced shooting the sawed-off shotguns and the TEC-DC9. Mark and his friend Jessica Miklich were present during this session. The videotape of their target practice was recorded in March and shown to Nate just two weeks before the Columbine shootings. Dykeman reported the existence of the tape to investigators three days post-tragedy.

In the weeks leading up to the massacre, Dylan submitted a school report that was graphically violent, prompting the teacher to inform his parents. Dylan rationalized, "It's just a story," an explanation readily accepted by his parents. The narrative detailed a lone warrior in a trench coat who—described in gruesome detail—beat, stabbed, and shot a group of "college-preps." The character then detonated bombs to divert the police's attention. The language used to characterize the "enemies" was so extreme that the teacher, Judy Kelly, refused to grade the paper until she spoke with Dylan. The families of three victims named Kelly, alongside other school employees, filed wrongful death lawsuits, arguing she should have taken more action to highlight Dylan's violent fantasies.

The Klebolds fully cooperated with Denver police in the aftermath of the massacre. Among the evidence confiscated were five videotapes, three of which featured the teens in the basement of Eric's home. In these videos, Dylan's darker side emerged; he was not merely a hapless follower of Eric. Instead, he exhibited characteristics of an angry young man intent on causing harm, evident in both his words and body language.

Dylan and Eric vented frustrations about their peers, referring to them as "stuck-up bitches." Dylan specifically named two individuals: Rachel and Jen. Clips from the videos were censored by the media due to the vulgar epithets he directed at the girls, making it difficult to interpret their full context. They also mentioned someone named Nick. Rachel Scott—the first victim—was the prom date of Nick Baumgart, a childhood friend of Dylan and a mutual acquaintance of Eric. Dylan had known Rachel since kindergarten, though it is unclear if these were the individuals referred to in the video.

In October 1999, the Klebolds announced their intention to sue the Jefferson County police department. Their claim was based on the assertion that had the police taken the Browns' report about Eric's threats against Brooks more seriously, the situation might not have escalated to tragedy. Several families of the victims expressed support for this position, including the family of Daniel Rohrbough.

There was some controversy surrounding Dylan's death; he succumbed to a single gunshot wound to the left temple. Investigators initially posited that if Dylan intended to commit suicide, he would have shot himself in the right temple. However, Dylan was left-handed, and his use of firearms with his left hand is evident in the video footage he left behind. The coroner classified his death as a suicide in the autopsy report. The Klebolds' attorney, Frank Patterson, confirmed on behalf of the family that Dylan was indeed left-handed, and they supported the medical examiner's findings.

Open Letter from the Parents of Dylan Klebold:

Nearly a year has passed since tragedy changed the Columbine community forever. A day that began innocently ended catastrophically. The healing process has moved slowly as we all attempt to cope, not only with our own despair but also with the distractions and intrusions that result from world attention.

There are no words to convey how sorry we are for the pain that has been brought upon the community as a result of our son's actions. The pain of others compounds our own as we struggle to live a life without the son we cherished. In the reality of the Columbine tragedy and its aftermath, we join the rest of the world in seeking to understand how such events could transpire.

We are convinced that the only way to truly honor all victims of this and other related tragedies is to move clearly and methodically toward an understanding of why they occur, so that we may work to prevent such madness from happening again. It is our intention to pursue this goal, believing that answers are likely within reach, though they will not be simple. We envision a time when circumstances will allow us to engage with those who share our desire to understand. In the meantime, we again express our profound condolences to those whose lives have been so tragically altered. We look forward to a day when our collective pain is replaced by peace and acceptance.

Finally, we wish to extend our gratitude to those who have sent their kind thoughts, prayers, and expressions of support to our family. We are constantly surprised and heartened by the gestures of understanding and compassion that have been extended to us. This support has been both humbling and inspiring, and we are truly indebted to those who have offered it.

The Klebold Family — April 15, 2000

September 11, 1981 - April 20, 1999 Dylan was a reserved individual who enjoyed playing computer games such as Duke Nukem, Quake, and Doom, and he built his own computer with a Linux operating system. He exhibited high intelligence and was enrolled in the gifted program at Governor's Ranch Elementary School known as C.H.I.P.S. (Challenging High Intellectual Potential Students) by third grade. This program concluded after sixth grade. While attending Columbine, Dylan took pleasure in creating home videos for his video production class and was heavily involved in theater productions, managing the sound system.

Dylan often felt awkward around his peers and was unaware of the extent to which he was loved by his friends and family. He experienced feelings of isolation and alienation and longed for a type of love he believed was unattainable.

Dylan's funeral was held at St. Philip Lutheran Church, the family’s place of worship. The service was private, attended by only 13 individuals, and was officiated by Reverend Don Marxhausen, who subsequently resigned from his position in August 2000. Reverend Marxhausen also officiated the funeral of basketball star Greg Barnes. Dylan was cremated, and there is no known physical memorial location.

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doberbutts · 2 years ago

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Honestly I think a lot of people's mental image of trans men especially when talking about privilege are like. Top and bottom surgery done, full beards, 10-15 years minimum on testosterone, speech therapy and body masculinization surgery and vigorous workout routines, perfectly passing for cis men, all legal documents changed accordingly, completely stealth and divorced from their past with a fully supportive family and friend group.

And yeah, those guys exist. I can rattle off names in my friend group right now who that describes. I've even dated a few of them.

And I do think those guys do receive a heaping cupful of male privilege, and I also think they're very aware of it.

But I also think of trans guys in my friend group who look like this:

Because they're not out or because they can't be out or because they're not in a situation that they can change anything or because they aren't yet comfortable grappling with their gender or because they're honestly happy with the way they look or because they don't want to take hormones and get surgery or because they're nonbinary or because they have medical concerns that keep them from pursing medical transition or because they're in abusive relationships and can't get out or because their insurance won't cover it or because they can't afford it or because they're somewhere they legally can't or because they live somewhere that not only groups them as cis women but also still treats women like men's property or because-

And I'm always like. Where? I've sheltered more than one trans guy who looks exactly like that when their parents kicked them out for being trans and they had nowhere else to go. They've lived in my house until they could figure out a more permenant solution. Where's their privilege?

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astrow1zar6 · 6 months ago

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Astro Observations~ 43

Taurus placements usually have a big sweet tooth. They love carbs as well I notice.

On the other hand I notice Aries placements really love spicy foods (especially Aries suns). They are the types to always get the hottest sauce they have on their food. My Aries friend told me she “enjoys the pain of spice” (very Martian lol)

Scorpio moons get mad when you ask them too many questions 😭 if they aren’t ready to tell you you won’t get nothing out of them, they will dodge your questions every chance they get.

Venus in Cancer & Libra are the most committed out of all the Venus signs I notice. Once they like you they are already planning the wedding in their heads 😂 these women were made to be wives fr!

Aquarius moons are so ethereal, they have this unique glow to them that’s super captivating (ex; Marilyn Monroe). They are all just so beautiful.

Capricorn risings are super hot! Their nonchalance makes them more attractive and magnetic. A lot of people with a Capricorn rising have a Neptune in the 1st house which adds to their appeal a lot!

Mars in the 8th house people usually have had a bad experience with sex early in life. Many could be hyper sexual because of trauma 🙁

Leo risings/ moons have the best hair out of all the Leo placements. It’s usually so thick and shiny!

Moon in Aries have a hard time controlling their emotions. I’ve heard a lot say it feels like they’re burning up inside if they repress how they feel for too long (especially in the 3rd house). If they don’t let it out they can make themselves really sick. They just need to work on their delivery cuz they can be quite intense.

Uranus in the 5th house individuals get turned on by the oddest cringiest people😭 they’re into odd balls. (7th house too but I think the 5th house finds weirder people lol).

Scorpio suns can be big buzz kills when they’re depressed. They either trauma dump for hours or become really antisocial.

Uranus in the 2nd house people really don’t give a shit about money. They aren’t as attached to it as most people are. They also can either make an extreme amount of money and then be broke the next minute. Their financial situation is very unstable.

Mercury in retrograde people are always late😂. Also people with a mercury retrograde can have an easier time during a mercury retrograde transit than others that don’t have their mercury in retrograde. I notice as well they are either extremely quiet or say too much no in between.

Your mars is way better in a fire/air sign than in a water/earth sign. Aries imo is the best sign you can have in your mars. Even though people talk about Scorpio & Capricorn being one of the “best” I have to disagree 😭 Scorpio mars have great drive but I feel like their emotions 9 times outta 10 get in the way of them accomplishing a lot, their feelings are usually super hard to control. Also Capricorn I just feels like moves way to slow for mars quick paced nature. They go through more obstacles than I feel like most to accomplish their goals even small goals are hard for these people.

Cancer risings tend to have big 🍒 while Capricorn risings tend to be pretty flat chested.

Taurus moon & mars are THICCCC

I never met a Venus in Gemini or Aquarius that was straight. They’re all mad fruity😂.

Venus in Virgo is the most boring to date. (When I say this I mean mostly the men) they’re just so bland imo.

Scorpio rising/mars ruin a lot of relationships with how intensely they express their emotions. They can be super psycho when you’ve crossed them.

Virgo suns talk a lot of shit but are rarely able to back it up when confronted.

Capricorn suns don’t mind walking on others to get to the top. They have an ability to disconnect from empathy which is why a lot of people see them as cold and only caring about money.

Gemini moons are the funnest to bring to parties they are such social butterflies and are usually super funny!

Aqua Venus’s aren’t romantic to people that are openly affectionate but they are romantic to people who are super nonchalant and barely give them attention 😭 they don’t like when people act too into them too early it scares them. If u want to hook someone with this Venus act careless they’ll go crazy for you lol.

Cancer moons are really nice but super phony.

Capricorn moons are the opposite they are usually seen as harsh and mean but very real people.

The weakest mars sign in my opinion is Pisces mars. The ones I meet have like no energy for anything & they complain about doing the bare minimum. The men with this are soooo passive they always look super scared and never make the first move. They’re super submissive usually. They also need to sleep more than most people.

Venus in the first house women are lowkey haters. They do not like when other girls get more attention than them or have anything they don’t have (especially when it comes to looks or love). But they’ll never tell you directly they’re way to passive for that but you’ll definitely catch the shade👀

Mars conjunct venus are either really charismatic and sexy or very aggressive & irritating, if badly aspected they can come off way too strong which scares people away. But if positive they can attract people like bees to honey.

#astro observations #astrologist #astrology #astro community #astro notes #astroblr

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yourmidnightlover · 1 year ago

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forever?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

summary: after being forced into a marriage you didn’t want, you become very cautious of your new husband out of fear of what he’s capable of when one of his employees makes a move at a dinner meeting.

warnings: anxious reader, threat of domestic violence (reader is just worried abt it), groping, please let me know if i missed something or need to add anything!

a/n: reader is very timid in this. i know a lot of people like a reader who doesn’t take shit and stands up for herself, but i often find myself in situations where i just shut down and don’t know how to respond… so this is kinda inspired by that feeling

pt 2 -> control

two months out of forever.

two months of what seemed like wedded bliss from the outside.

in reality, that “bliss” included sleeping in separate rooms, never even seeing each other unless necessary to make appearances for either of your parents.

the ones who arranged for this to happen in the first place.

you were just glad you were able to have your time for yourself. you thought you would use the time to continue writing for your book, but you’ve hit a serious case of writers block. so lovely.

on the bright side, he wasn’t as controlling as your few friends had made it seem he would be.

they had painted this picture of a monster in your head. a man who would loom over your presence during every waking second. a man who was controlling and wouldn’t let you have a personal life or secrets.

so far, he’s been the opposite.

for some reason, that still leaves you unsteady.

because they also painted him in a very violent, angry, red light.

but maybe he had a mistress. if that were the case, he truly didn’t respect you or your family. it didn’t seem like bucky to do that, though. he wouldn’t ruin a business deal that benefitted him so much.

the reason you married him was because your father’s finance business was going under, drowned in debts while the only options were to sell to the barnes’ or the rumlow’s. the barnes’ seemed the lesser of two evils.

the only way to smoothly transition your father’s business to be under the barnes’ control without raising any question of your father’s capability was to marry. if any questions were asked about why your father sold his company, the not so good side of the finance industry would trample after your entire family. the barnes’ would get a new company and their many clients, while your family wouldn’t become entirely blacklisted by the entire country, would be putting your family under the barnes’ protection, and there would be less questions asked as to why the company had been merged.

you had a few months of “leaking” images of you and bucky together into the tabloids to prepare the public for the news of such a big marriage. some were photos of you and bucky holding hands while walking. a couple of you at a restaurant smiling. a few staged kissing photos… those may or may not have been your favorite.

those times spent with him, in all honesty, weren’t bad at all. going for walks together at sunset, dinner dates, feeling his lips against yours…

you had gotten to know more about his childhood that the tabloids didn’t feel was important to cover. his favorite subject in school and how he actually lost his arm so many years ago. you learned each others’ fears and worries in life. your favorite thing to learn about him, however, was what he truly wanted in life.

peace.

a couple weeks after the wedding, a few photos of the reception were once again “leaked” in order to sell the “too in love to wait” bit that everyone had started assuming upon seeing the first few photos of you and bucky together.

but all of your history with him flew to the back of your mind as bucky knocked on your office door.

“come in,” you replied hesitantly, not sure what he wanted from you for the first time since your wedding. he stepped through the threshold and stood at the doorframe.

“there’s a work meeting tomorrow,” his hand remained on the doorknob, so stiff you’d think he might rip it off the precious white wood in seconds. “the men are meeting at the house. i wanted to let you know. the men in this business, they expect marriages to be of the… traditional values.”

you nodded with understanding, turning to face him with a forced grin. “so i should play the part of the doting housewife, huh?” no smile in return, so you bit back your humor in turn for matching his serious tone. “what food should i prepare, then? and uh, how many guests will we be expecting?”

“whatever’s easiest for you,” he shrugged lightly. “there will be 9 of us there.” with one final look in your direction, he left the office and didn’t return to say goodnight.

the next morning you got to work setting the house up for the 6pm meeting your loving husband was hosting.

you had decided to set up a buffet-style table outside of the main dining room where the meeting would take place. for the menu, you settled on simple grilled chicken with quite a few side options. roast potatoes, asparagus, sauteed carrots, green beans, and rolls.

you were putting the rolls in the oven when bucky got home, seemingly entranced by the smell of all the food, heading straight to the kitchen.

“it smells amazing in here,” bucky called from the archway of the kitchen. you jumped slightly from the surprise, but swallowed down the shock and another weak smile.

“thanks,” you nodded to the edge of the island where a large chalkboard sat, your handwriting neatly displayed on the board that listed all the food to be had. “the menu. i figured a variety would be nice, and who doesn’t like chicken, right?”

“vegetarians,” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was telling a joke. but you knew better than that. “the men are coming in a little less than an hour. do you maybe want to change before they get here?”

you looked down at what you were wearing, a pair of blue jeans and a loose t-shirt clearly not worthy of someone who had married a barnes man. “right, of course. i’m sorry,” you finished setting the timer on the oven and ran upstairs to get yourself put together before bucky saw the tears trying to seep past your waterline.

you settled on a black cocktail dress you had worn to one of your dad’s company events before the downfall… quickly swiping some makeup on to cover the exhaustion in your eyes and pulling your hair up to a more respectable updo rather than your typical messy bun.

luckily you had become an expert at quickly getting ready from your time in university, as you were back in time to pull the rolls from the oven, but not before pulling on your apron. you’d be dammed if you got this stunning dress dirty right before this prestigious meeting.

t-5 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin and you could already hear lots of rustling from the formal dining room. you knocked on the closed doors before bucky opened the door for you.

the men went silent as their gaze rested on you in the doorway.

“the foods ready. buffet style?” your eyes didn’t leave bucky’s pretty blues, too scared to do anything wrong in front of his men.

“that’s perfect, my love,” his hands gravitated to your waist before pulling your body taut against his, one hand moving a stray hair behind your ear before leaning in to whisper. “you look ravishing…”

as he pulled back, you were sure your blush was evident across your cheeks. you tried to hide it behind a smile, shrugging with a shy ‘thanks’ leaving your lips.

“what do you say to my stunning wife, boys?” his hand squeezed your waist once more before turning to the other men, ‘thank you’s being echoed throughout the room as they stood and made their way to the kitchen to make their plates.

in a matter of minutes, all the food was gone. you figured it was best they liked the food, even if you didn’t get to try any of it yourself like you had planned.

you got started on cleaning everything up with earbuds in your ears, starting with the dishes already in the sink from when you were cooking. then, you were sure to place the dishes that the food was in inside the sink for you to clean before starting on wiping the counters, then sweeping, then mopping, and then back to the dishes.

you didn’t realize that bucky had called for a break in the meeting, however. you were in for quite the rude awakening when you felt a pair of hands on your waist, but not the ones you were semi-familiar with.

you turned around with a gasp, shock evident on your face as you tried to piece together whoever this man was. blond hair, blue eyes… definitely not steve though. you knew steve well and had seen him often.

you pulled your earbuds from your ears in attempt to better understand what was going on. his hands were still gripping your sides, but you couldn’t necessarily escape his touch. you were backed against the sink. even if you could fight him, you’d likely lose to his strong grip.

“is the meeting-is it over already?” your voice was so much more cowardly than you’d ever expected yourself to be.

“no, no,” he shook his head. “just a little break, some of the guys were getting antsy.” you leaned back further, trying to create some semblance of space between you. “i figured i’d say a special thank you, on behalf of all of us guys in there.” he let one hand cup the side of your face and neck, his other hand trailing down from your waist, firmly grasping your ass with a sqeeze before you jumped at the invasion.

“i don’t-i’ve got it…”

“john,” he smiled grossly, as if he could convince you to go to bed with him.

“no need for a thanks,” you tried to remind him. “i did this for bucky. for my husband.” your eyebrows rose, trying to emphasize that his boss was also your husband.

“i’m sure he won’t mind you getting a little bit of extra special attention, don’t you?”

then, a growling voice cut through the fear running through your veins.

“i think he might mind.”

you turned to face bucky with wide eyes before facing john, wishing the tears welling in your eyes would just go away.

his hands slowly retracted, stepping back with a chuckle.

“sorry, sir,” he smiled before turning to face your husband. “she was just telling me how she wanted some extra attention, weren’t you, toots?” he tilted his head expectantly.

your mouth opened, nothing leaving in spite of your brain screaming at you. what would bucky do? would he take his side? would he believe you? would he hurt you?

you’ve embarrassed him now… humiliated him in his own home. surely he’ll take action against you for this.

your mind replayed stories your old friends had told you about him. how he would lash out at men that betrayed him. how he never took shit from anyone who showed him any disrespect. how he was the kind of man to shoot first and ask quesitons later.

and now, in a way, you’ve both betrayed and disrespected him. or at least, that’s what he’ll think.

you didn’t even realize tears were flowing down your face until your sobs were interrupted.

“enough!” you finally looked at bucky before his eyes softened for a second before walking closer to you. “go to the room.” he ordered sternly.

“but the dish-”

“i’ll take care of it,” he interrupted gravely, “go. to. the. room.”

“yes, sir,” you nodded and swiftly left the room entirely, collapsing against the door once you had shut it, sobs wracking your body. you held your knees against your chest before trying to regulate your breathing.

he won’t hurt you.

he has to protect his image.

you’ve embarrassed him.

you’re his wife.

you’re his business deal.

you’ve humiliated him.

he’ll hurt you.

you didn’t know how long it had been since the incident.

your sobs had subsided. you had, at some point, moved to your bed. you were still rocking your body back and forth, trying to self sooth.

and then there was a knock at the door.

your body instinctively jumped at the sudden noise, although it wasn’t harsh in any manner, at least not one that you were expecting.

he twisted the knob, slowly opening the door with slow movements.

“i-i’m so sorry,” you began apologizing as soon as he stepped through the threshold into your room. “i swear-i swear i didn’t tell him that. i didn’t even realize he was there, i promise. i wouldn’t lie to you. i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry. please believe me.” your body was still rocking and you didn’t even notice he was as close to you as he was until you saw his hand moving by your head.

automatically, you assumed the absolute worst, your head ducking into your body like a fucking turtle, the meekest squeal leaving your lips mixed with a sob. your arms went over your head protectively, as if a bomb were about to go off.

“sweetheart,” his voice sounded so broken, so torn, so unexpectedly soft.

you finally looked at him for the first time since he came in your room. his flesh hand was holding his metal one as if it were something that could kill. in ways, it was.

“you-there’s no need to…” after looking at him for a second longer, you noticed that his eyes had tears that almost mirrored your own. “i would never, ever lay a hand on you. i’m so sorry for scaring you. i can’t…” he sighed. “i can’t believe i made you believe i’d ever hurt you.”

“i’m sorry,” you pleaded with him once again.

“you have nothing to apologize for,” he hesitated to reach for your hands before settling on simply grabbing a spare pillow. “i came up here to apologize. for my tone earlier… i know john. he never knows his boundaries. i should’ve… you never should’ve been put in that situation. that’s my fault. that’s on me. and i will spend the rest of forever to make it up to you.”

“you don’t have to-”

“no, my love,” he shook his head. “can i-can i hold your hands? please?” you, without hesitation, grabbed his hands yourself. “i need to make it up to you. you’re mine. you’re my wife. it’s my job to protect you, to keep you safe. and to have someone ruin that? to touch what’s mine in my own home? i’m so sorry.” he brought your hands to his lips, pressing at least ten kisses to each hand. he was so gentle and careful it was a good thing you knew better than to think it actually meant anything.

you were surprised, to say the least, at how tender he was being with you.

how could you have ever thought he would hurt you? that he would raise his hand and swing? that he would cause you harm? he was here declaring that he would make up this incident for the rest of eternity when it wasn’t even his doing…

“will you stay with me tonight?” his eyes lit up at the request.

“are you sure you want that?” he became a touch more reserved. “i don’t know if it’s a good idea since you were worried i would…” his voice trailed off.

“i’m sure,” you nodded before scooting over in the bed.

sure, your marriage was arranged and didn’t stem from true love. you may not have talked outside of when absolutely necessary. you might have even been terrified of him at one point.

but now, the thought of forever with bucky barnes didn’t seem half bad.

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erwinsvow · 9 days ago

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the anniversary of jack’s wife passing away and the anniversary of him losing his leg are coincidentally just a few days apart. they fall in the same week of the month usually, and that week is a time he says it’s been the worst week of my life and gets to mean it. he doesn’t intend to get into such a bad mood. they call it abbot’s hell week at the hospital though everyone mostly feels so bad because they can’t do anything to help jack. no one can—it’s just another week of the year that has to pass by on its own like all the others. it’s just a lot harder than the other fifty-one weeks. and it’s not like jack to take the days off, though robby has offered several times, because then he’d just sit at home and stew in his feelings. and apparently, it’s so much better to go to work and be a menace there to distract himself from how he feels—like every time he stares at the date, a hand is thrust into his chest, twisting and squeezing his heart repeatedly.

the unfortunate part is that it just so happens to be your first week on nights—something you were already very nervous about. dr. abbot had seemed nice enough the first day you met him, though your interactions had been limited since, until robby told you that next week would be your official start. then he said ah, fuck, is that the date next week? good luck, kid. no, you’ll be fine. she’ll be fine, right dana? which had inspired absolutely no confidence in you. though in hindsight, you think someone should have warned you better. everyone else on nights was very accommodating—helping you when you were struggling with the transition, reminding you to eat when you could because your body’s schedule is all off right now. everyone except jack.

he had been jumping on every single incoming trauma to keep his hands busy and his mind from wandering, leaving parker to guide you. you’re not exactly inspiring confidence on a daily basis, but as an intern, you think you’re at least allowed that much. being completely sure of yourself and not asking for help is something that comes from years of experience and you’ve only been here less than twelve months. that also means you have no idea anything about abbot’s hell week until you’re getting snapped at by him three times in one shift—nothing unusually cruel or pointedly directed, but rather just his frustration taking itself out on the nearest thing around. he does it to the others maybe once you think, but they’re all used to this, already on their toes and going the extra mile so their attending doesn’t have to worry. you don’t have justifications and you don’t answer his questions quickly enough and he seems to get frustrated at the very sight of you standing in front of him and blinking away tears.

john explains to you what’s really going on this week at midnight of the third day—you still have three more shifts left and you’re not sure how much more you can take. you don’t have the thick skin of your colleagues, apparently, and you’ve never been one to take criticism without crying, as pathetic as it sounds. but then he tells you what’s really going on and it makes you so sad that you can’t hold it against dr. abbot even if you tried. the next time you look, you see him staring at someone’s admittance paperwork intensely and then rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his head. the idea that he’s here when he should be with other family and friends or binge watching trashy reality television or some other thing that lets him briefly escape instead of being stuck headfirst in grief makes you feel like you should do something.

you do get yelled at—more than just a comment. you can’t even remember what you missed after the fact, though parker pulls you aside and tells you she’s done the same thing before. when you ask her if jack yelled at her too, her response makes you even more sad. besides this week, he’s never yelling at anyone. you’re not exactly sure what to do with that information, so come friday afternoon, you do what you think you’d like done for yourself in this situation. fudgy brownies with chocolate chips and huge chocolate chip cookies in yellow containers that are supposed to have sea salt sprinkled on them but you didn’t have any and you didn’t think he’d mind that much. that’s what you explain to jack abbot at six fifty-five pm before you’re supposed to start another shift. then you explain how it’s not so he stops yelling at you, because you probably needed to hear it, but just so he can have something to look forward to. and then you ramble about how everything is nut allergy safe incase he has one of those (he doesn’t) and that farmer wants a wife show is actually really, really good (he’s not watching that) and that the week’s almost done and you’ve learned a lot so thank you dr. abbot and i hope you like the desserts but it’s okay if you don’t and you can bring the tupperware back whenever, actually you can keep it if you really want and-

when you walk away to go start your shift he stares after you, wondering why and how you’d become like this, making these things for a man who has been doing nothing but yelling at you for the last week. taking frustration and sadness and anger out on you because you were an easy target. and then with the realization you still have three weeks on nights, jack abbot, distracted from his pain for the first time all week, wonders what the hell he’s going to do with you.

#quite silly. i do like farmer wants a wife though #crazy what you can get done waiting in the thrift store parking lot #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #this is like. some alternate version of night shift reader

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velvetvisionsaurora · 18 days ago

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I’ve just recently been getting into Ateez! I know I know I’m late to the party. But your Gravity story is the first Ateez one I have read and you have set the bar sooooo sooooo high! I have decided I’m officially a Mingi girlie and your portrayal of his quite protective presence is spot on.

Can I request some over protective Mingi fluff. Something like were the MC is talking to another guy/idol and Mingi comes over and just picks her up and brings her back to the group without saying a word?

Can’t wait to read anything you put out!!!! 🏴‍☠️

The way I ran so fast to write this! 💜

Mine to Protect

Mingi x Reader

Warnings: none, cute fluffy protective Mingi

Four years of friendship with Song Mingi had taught you many things: he took his coffee with way too much sugar, he practiced his rap verses in the shower, and he had an uncanny ability to make you laugh even on your worst days. What those four years hadn't prepared you for was the way your heart would practically stop when he'd finally worked up the courage to kiss you three weeks ago.

It had happened so naturally – movie night at the dorms, your head on his shoulder during a particularly boring scene, and suddenly he was tilting your chin up with gentle fingers and asking, "Can I?" in the softest voice you'd ever heard from him.

You'd barely managed to nod before his lips were on yours, soft and tentative at first, then deeper when you melted into him completely. When you'd finally broken apart, breathless and staring at each other in wonder, Mingi had rested his forehead against yours and whispered, "I've wanted to do that for so long."

"Why didn't you?" you'd asked, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Because losing you would have broken me," he'd admitted, vulnerability shining in his eyes. "You're my best friend, my safe place. I couldn't risk it."

"You're not going to lose me," you'd promised, sealing it with another kiss that tasted like the popcorn you'd abandoned and something that was purely Mingi.

The transition from best friends to dating had been surprisingly smooth, like puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. The other members had just rolled their eyes and muttered "finally" when you'd shyly announced your new relationship status three days later.

"We've been watching you two dance around each other for years," Seonghwa had said with an amused shake of his head. "Hongjoong owes me twenty dollars."

"You bet on us?" you'd asked, scandalized.

"Honey, the whole company was betting on when Mingi would finally grow a pair," Wooyoung had added with his characteristic mischievous grin, earning a pillow to the face from said rapper.

But tonight was different. Tonight was your first public event as Mingi's girlfriend, and the butterflies in your stomach felt more like pterodactyls.

——

The music awards after-party was in full swing, filled with idols, staff, and industry professionals mingling under the soft glow of ambient lighting. You adjusted your dress nervously, still getting used to attending these events as Mingi's girlfriend rather than just his best friend.

"You look incredible tonight," Mingi had whispered in your ear earlier, his breath sending shivers down your spine – something that still felt wonderfully new. His hand had found yours naturally, fingers intertwining like they belonged there. "That dress is dangerous."

"Dangerous how?" you'd teased, enjoying the way his ears turned pink.

"Because I might not be able to keep my hands off you," he'd replied with that confident grin that made your knees weak, before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Stay close to me tonight?"

You'd promised you would, but somehow found yourself separated from the group when you'd gone to get a drink. The bar area was crowded, and you'd been waiting for several minutes when a familiar face approached.

"Y/N, right?" The voice belonged to Taehyun from another popular group, someone you'd met briefly at a few industry events. He was charming and well-known for being friendly with everyone. "I thought that was you. You look absolutely stunning tonight."

"Thank you," you replied politely, glancing around to see if you could spot any of the ATEEZ members nearby. "The party is incredible, isn't it?"

"It really is," he agreed, moving to stand beside you at the bar with practiced ease. "Can I buy you a drink? I was hoping I'd run into you tonight, actually. I've been curious about ATEEZ's mystery girl."

You accepted the drink with a grateful smile, not thinking much of the gesture. Taehyun was known for being a gentleman, and industry events were all about networking and being social anyway.

"Mystery girl?" you laughed. "I'm hardly mysterious. I'm just—"

"You're beautiful, that's what you are," he interrupted smoothly, leaning against the bar in a way that brought him closer to you. "You know, I was telling my members that I wanted to meet someone genuine, someone who understands this crazy industry but isn't jaded by it yet."

The conversation flowed easily enough, with Taehyun asking about your connection to ATEEZ and sharing stories about his own group's recent promotions. He was genuinely nice, but you couldn't shake the feeling that he was misreading the situation. Every time you tried to mention Mingi or clarify your relationship status, he seemed to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"I actually should get back to the guys," you said when there was a natural lull, setting down your nearly empty glass.

"Come on, just one more drink," Taehyun pressed, his smile widening as he signaled the bartender. "I promise I'm more interesting than I seem. You know what? We should grab coffee sometime, away from all this chaos. I know this quiet little place in Hongdae that's perfect for really getting to know someone."

His hand moved to rest on the bar beside you, and while the gesture wasn't aggressive, it effectively trapped you in the conversation. You felt a flutter of discomfort, not because Taehyun was being inappropriate, but because you weren't sure how to politely extract yourself without seeming rude or creating any industry drama.

"That's really sweet of you," you said carefully, "but I should mention that I'm actually seeing—"

That's when you felt it – a familiar presence behind you, like a shift in the air that made your shoulders relax automatically. The subtle scent of Mingi's cologne reached you first, followed by the warmth of his body as he stepped closer. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was; after years of friendship, you could sense Mingi's energy from across a room.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind, and suddenly you were being lifted off your feet as if you weighed nothing. A small squeak of surprise escaped your lips, but you immediately melted into the familiar embrace.

"Mingi!" you laughed, your hands instinctively covering his arms as he held you against his chest.

He didn't say a word to Taehyun – didn't even acknowledge his existence. His grip on you was gentle but unmistakably possessive, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he turned and began walking away, carrying you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

Behind you, you heard Taehyun's confused voice calling out, "Wait, I—" but Mingi was already weaving through the crowd, his long strides carrying you both away from the bar area.

"You can put me down, you know," you whispered, though you made no real effort to escape his hold. Truth be told, being cradled against Mingi's chest felt like coming home, and the jealous possessiveness in his actions sent a thrill through you that you probably shouldn't admit to.

"Not happening," he murmured into your hair, his voice low and determined. "Not until you're back where you belong."

Still silent, Mingi carried you through the crowd, his jaw set in determination. You caught glimpses of surprised faces and amused smiles from other party-goers, but Mingi seemed completely unbothered by the attention. He moved with purpose until he reached the corner where the rest of ATEEZ had gathered.

"And he returns with the princess," Wooyoung announced with a mischievous grin as Mingi finally set you down gently, keeping one arm securely around your waist.

"Was that really necessary?" you asked, looking up at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows, though you couldn't hide your amused smile. "Taehyun is actually really nice. He was just being friendly."

Mingi's confident exterior cracked slightly, revealing a mix of sheepishness and something darker. "He wasn't just being friendly," he muttered, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck – a nervous habit you'd noticed since your friendship began. "I watched him for ten minutes before I came over."

"You were watching me?" The thought sent another little thrill through you.

"I couldn't help it," he admitted, his ears turning pink. "You looked so beautiful tonight, and then I saw him lean in close, buy you a drink, stand way too close..." He trailed off, jaw clenching slightly.

"He asked for your number," Mingi continued, his voice matter-of-fact but tinged with something possessive that made your heart flutter. "And suggested a coffee date in Hongdae."

"And how exactly do you know that?" you challenged, though you were fighting back a smile at how protective he was being.

"I have excellent hearing," he replied seriously, causing Yunho to snort with laughter from nearby.

"Sure you do," Seonghwa added with a knowing look, appearing at your other side with an amused expression. "That's why you practically teleported across the room the moment you saw him lean too close."

"I did not teleport," Mingi protested, though his grip on you tightened slightly.

"Hyung, you literally interrupted our conversation mid-sentence to go save your girlfriend," Jongho chimed in, joining the growing circle of teasing members. "Hongjoong was trying to introduce you to that producer, and you just walked away."

"The producer will understand," Mingi said firmly, then looked down at you with an expression so tender it made your chest tight. "Some things are more important than business."

You turned in his arms to face him fully, reaching up to cup his cheek. The confidence was still there – it was impossible to miss in the way he held himself, the way his eyes never wavered from yours – but underneath it was something softer, more vulnerable.

"Mingi," you said gently, "we've been best friends for four years. Did you really think three weeks of dating would make me interested in someone else?"

"It's not about trust," he said quietly, his forehead resting against yours. "I remembered that we haven't told anyone outside the group about us yet. So to him, you're single. Available. And I can't stand the thought of anyone else thinking they have a chance with you."

"I'm yours," you confirmed softly, standing on your tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Have been for longer than you know. Even when we were just friends, it was always you."

When you pulled back, Mingi's smile was radiant, all traces of uncertainty gone. "Good," he said, the confidence returning to his voice as he pulled you against his side. "Because I'm not planning on letting anyone else get that close to you again."

"Even if it's just friendly conversation?" you teased.

"Especially then," he said seriously, making you laugh. "Friendly conversation is how it starts. Next thing you know, they're asking for coffee dates and complimenting your dress..."

"Complimenting my dress?" you interrupted with a grin. "Is that what this is really about? You're jealous that someone else noticed I look good tonight?"

Mingi's cheeks flushed, but he didn't deny it. "You look incredible," he said softly, his eyes roaming over you appreciatively. "That dress, your hair, your smile... I've been trying not to stare all night, and then I see some other guy getting to stand close enough to smell your perfume and—"

"Okay, okay!" Wooyoung interrupted loudly, covering his ears dramatically. "This is getting way too romantic for me. Can we please go back to making fun of Mingi's caveman rescue mission?"

"Never," Mingi declared dramatically, pressing a loud kiss to the top of your head that made you squeal and laugh.

As the evening continued, Mingi kept you close – not possessively, but protectively. His hand never left yours, and every so often he'd lean down to whisper something that made you laugh or blush. When other people approached to talk, he was polite but made it crystal clear that you were with him.

"You know, we should probably talk about going public soon," you said during a quiet moment, watching as another industry figure glanced between you and Mingi with obvious curiosity. "People are starting to ask questions."

"Let them ask," Mingi replied, pressing a kiss to your temple. "But you're right. I want everyone to know you're mine."

"Yours?" you raised an eyebrow teasingly. "That's very possessive of you, Song Mingi."

"Only when it comes to you," he admitted without shame. "Four years of watching other guys flirt with you and not being able to do anything about it was torture. Now that I can finally call you mine..." He trailed off with a shrug that was anything but casual.

"You could have done something about it years ago," you pointed out, bumping his shoulder with yours. "I wasn't exactly subtle about my feelings either."

"Weren't you though?" Mingi laughed. "You dated that guy from your university for six months. I thought I'd missed my chance completely."

"That was a rebound relationship because I thought you'd never see me as more than a friend!" you protested. "And you started avoiding me whenever he was around."

"Because it killed me to see you with someone else," he confessed, pulling you into a quiet alcove away from the main party. "Even before I admitted to myself that I was in love with you, the thought of you with anyone else made me crazy."

Later, as the party wound down and you found yourselves on a quieter balcony overlooking the city, you wrapped your arms around Mingi's waist and looked up at him with a soft smile.

"You know I can take care of myself, right?" you said gently. "I did it just fine for four years before you finally made a move."

Mingi chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer. "Don't remind me how long it took me to get my act together. Hongjoong still teases me about how obvious I was."

"Obvious?" you laughed, leaning into his warmth. "Mingi, I thought you saw me as just a friend until you kissed me! You were terrible at showing your feelings."

"I was terrified of ruining our friendship," he admitted, his chin resting on top of your head. "You were too important to lose over feelings. But the number of times I wanted to punch guys who hit on you..."

"Like tonight?" you teased.

"Tonight was different," he said, his arms tightening around you. "Tonight you're actually mine, and I don't have to pretend it doesn't bother me anymore."

You turned in his arms to face him, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "I love that you want to protect me," you said softly. "But you know you don't have to worry, right? It's always been you, Mingi."

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours. "Promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Promise me that if anyone ever makes you uncomfortable, you'll find me immediately. I don't care if I'm in the middle of an interview, a meeting, or performing on stage. I want to be the one who protects you."

The intensity in his voice made your heart skip. "I promise," you whispered.

"Mine to protect," he said simply, echoing his earlier words. "Mine to care for. Mine to love."

And when he kissed you this time, soft and sweet under the Seoul night sky, you knew that being Mingi's – and him being yours – was exactly where you belonged.

"I love you," he whispered against your lips, the words finally spoken aloud after dancing around them all evening.

"I love you too," you replied, smiling so wide it hurt. "My overprotective, jealous, wonderful boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend who's going to carry you away from any guy who even thinks about flirting with you," he added with a grin that was equal parts mischievous and sincere.

"Promise?" you teased.

"Promise," he confirmed, sealing it with another kiss that tasted like champagne and forever.

In the distance, you could hear the other ATEEZ members calling for you both, probably ready to head back to the dorms. But for this moment, wrapped in Mingi's arms with the city lights twinkling below and his heart beating steadily against yours, the rest of the world could wait.

After all, you had forever to figure out this whole dating thing. But one thing was certain – you'd never have to wonder if Song Mingi would fight for you. Tonight had made that abundantly clear.

"Come on," he said eventually, taking your hand and intertwining your fingers. "Let's go home."

Home. With Mingi, that word had taken on a whole new meaning, and you couldn't wait to explore what it would become.

#ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #song mingi x reader #song mingi #song mingi x y/n #mingi x reader #ateez mingi #mingi #mingi fluff #song mingi fluff #ateez #ateez fic

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finelinefae · 1 year ago

Text

rose [tattooH x innocenty/n]

synopsis: Harry's a tattoo artist who can't figure out the best way to say how in love he is with the flower shop owner next door

word count: 10.5k

content warnings: smut (first time oral f recieving, daddy kink, praise kink, virgin Y/N), brief mentions of violence

read part 1 here

this is a lot !! like a lot happens !! also everyone smiles a lot,, i can't help it they're happy

. . .

Harry had come to the conclusion that of all the things he had had to do in his twenty-six years of life - all the things he had to do and say to get where he was today - saying I love you to his girlfriend was proving to be one of the most intricate tasks he had encountered.

And it wasn't because he didn't love her. From the moment she stepped into his tattoo shop with determination and fear all intertwined into one expression right up until now, he was pretty sure his relationship with Y/N was the physical embodiment of what it meant to be loved and to love in return.

He had learnt so much about the sweet, pretty girl next door. From her little habits and small quirks that she didn't think he ever noticed.

Y/N loved wearing Harry's clothes. He had bought a new band tee from an online shop one of his friends had recommended to him. When the parcel hadn't arrived on time, he wondered if it had gotten lost in transit or they'd delivered it to the wrong address. He had emailed them once or twice to see its whereabouts only to find the Fleetwood Mac t-shirt on the body of his girlfriend asleep on his sofa when he came home from work. "But Harry, they're so soft and comfy!" She argued when he accused her the next morning. "Know that baby but I need clothes to wear." He was trying not to smile and pinch her cheeks when he caught a glimpse of her pouty lips. "But Harry-" He couldn't help but interrupt her with a quick kiss to her lips, "Can use some of my old shirts flower, y' can pick them out. C'mon sweet girl," He led her to his wardrobe and let her scramble through the box of his old shirts.

She loved being praised. Harry thought it was the cutest thing ever when he'd compliment her or tell her how good she was for him and her cheeks would turn a dusky pink colour. He'd often find himself kissing the crescent moon-shaped dimples on her cheeks whenever she'd beam up at him after he mumbled sweet praises into her ear, "M' good girl," He'd say, "Best girl, m' favourite flower."

She loved physical touch from him and him only. His favourite time of day was coming home after a busy day of working and finding his darling girl sitting up in bed, either reading or watching TV, waiting for him in his favourite soft, satin pyjamas she wears (he loved the feel of them under his hands whenever he held her). She'd make grabby hands for him as soon as she saw him walk through the door of her bedroom, wanting to touch him almost immediately. He'd kiss her a few times, run his fingers through her hair, stroke her cheek and brush his fingers over her arm. Even when they were walking through the streets of the town, Y/N would often cling to Harry - feeling anxious being around too many people. He'd comfort her with soothing touches, rubbing circles on the pulse point on her wrist to make sure she was okay.

There were so many things Harry had come to adore about his favourite girl in the entire world. From the way she'd look at him with big rounded eyes as though he hung up the moon and stars in the sky or knew the answer to everything she asked, to the way she'd melt under his touch whenever they'd do something even slightly intimate. He was so in love... He just didn't know how to tell her that.

Harry had never been in a serious relationship before so the idea of love didn't come easy to him. He had spent the majority of his life believing he was destined to be lonely, finding himself in one-night stands and never getting past the first date for lack of connection. He didn't know what romantic love looked like, felt like or even if it existed at all until he met his favourite flower.

Moments would crop up where he could feel the first syllable spike the tip of his tongue but invisible hands wrapped themself around his neck as he tried to let the words out. Y/N would sit patiently, waiting for him to continue speaking, but he'd just end up kissing her, hoping he could communicate his words without saying them.

He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting when it came to saying those three simple words, words that carried so much weight between them. Maybe it was because he wanted the moment to be special and memorable for her, so he waited for the perfect opportunity to confess. But the anticipation was driving him a bit crazy.

It was very early Wednesday morning. Y/N was cutting up sheets of tissue paper since it was nearing winter and people would be out buying gifts soon for their loved ones. She had ordered a bunch of new seed packets and planned to make little gift sets to sell.

Harry was sitting at the workshop table in the middle of the shop. He was wearing his shorts and a black hoodie with the hood pulled over his head. He wore his worn-out, white Vans as if they were slippers, with the left shoe dangling precariously from his toes, threatening to slide off at any moment. His tired eyes tried to remain focused on counting the coins for Y/N's till since she always miscalculated and would have to go visit him for more money even though his shop was cashless which he reminded her every time as he slipped her a five-pound note from his own back pocket.

The shop was silent in the early hours of the morning as the two worked separately. Y/N enjoyed that she didn't constantly have to make conversation with her boyfriend for him to be interested. They were happy to just be in each other's company for as long as possible.

"Baby," Harry's raspy voice broke the comfortable silence between them. Y/N's head lifted naturally in response, "C'mere." He opened his arm out but his eyes were still trained on counting the coins.

Y/N smiled tiredly and walked over to him, tucking herself into his side and holding onto the arm that wrapped around her. He kissed the top of her head, "Didn't get to hold y' this morning, left me cold." He murmured against her.

"M sorry, H. It's always stressful when the season changes." She sighed, thinking about all the work she still had yet to do before autumn passed.

"S okay, just missed you is all." He hummed. Y/N turned herself so she was pressed against the worktop and looking up at him. She loved every version of Harry at all times of day but something about Harry in the morning made her swoon. He was so soft and cuddly, needy and grabby, she'd always have to pry his hands off of her in the morning so she could get to work on time.

Y/N grinned and leaned her head forward, past the hood of his sweatshirt, to kiss him. "Wanted to ask you if y’ would come on a date with me this Saturday.” He whispered, eyes still closed from kissing her.

Every eight weeks, Y/N’s shop would close for the entire weekend. Since her shop was open most days, she wanted to give herself at least some time off to look forward to. Harry knew that particular weekend was coming up because of how much she was looking forward to it so he made sure to free up his weekend too so he could take her out for the day.

They had been on dinner dates and done a few other things here and there but there was only so much they could do in their small town. So as soon as he thought of the idea, he booked train tickets to take Y/N to the coast for the day.

“Hmmm,” Y/N sighed, reaching into his hood to wrap her arms around his neck, his skin warm against her touch. “Where would we go?”

“S a surprise,” He whispered into her ear, his breath warm.

“I’d love to go on a date with you Harry,” She replied, voice soft.

“Yeah? It’ll be cold so you’ll need to wear a sweater.” He told her.

"I only own sweaters," She rolled her eyes, pushing away from him so she could get back to work.

"Yeah, my sweaters." Harry teased.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, "Get back to counting those coins or you'll be fired."

"Yes ma'am," He couldn't stop smiling to himself as he carried on counting each penny.

. . .

The small train was busy on the way to the coast on Saturday morning but luckily they had managed to grab two seats next to each other by the window. Y/N insisted that they listened to one of the very many playlists she had curated for them both to listen to. It wasn’t long into their relationship that Harry had come to realise that music was one of Y/N’s love languages.

He remembered when he first moved in and heard her music through the walls of her apartment as he bought his food shopping up the stairs his first night. The music played well into the night and he had planned to knock on her door and ask her to turn it down like she had done to him the day they had first met, but his ears caught onto her singing. He pressed his ear up against the door and listened as she sang to herself whilst dishes clinked together. She wasn’t the best singer he had ever heard but something about her soft voice soothed him, so he turned around and went about his night with the girl singing next door.

Y/N pulled out her wired earbuds not long after they’d sat down and gave one of them to Harry. After Hours by The Velvet Underground started playing and Harry smiled to himself as he watched Y/N gaze out the window of the train. He reached for her hand which was covered by her fingerless gloves she had crocheted herself and intertwined their fingers together.

The train pulled into the final station an hour later. Harry held tightly onto Y/N as people bustled to get on and off the train at the same time. The weather wasn’t perfect when they had arrived - slightly overcast and grey - but it didn’t stop Y/N from gasping at the sight of the ocean in front of her.

“Harry look!” She pointed as the waves rolled into the shore. She looked adorable in her white hat and earmuffs, her white puffer coat made her look like a giant marshmallow. She was almost matching Harry, in his black puffer coat and green bobble hat.

“Y/N! Slow down baby,” He called for her as he ran to catch up with her.

They walked down the steps and onto the beach which was practically void of any people other than a few dog walkers. He was thankful he had told her to wear a thick coat since the wind was bitter and cold. Harry’s smile was so wide, that his dimples pierced each one of his cheeks as he watched her run around in her UGG boots and leggings.

“Beautiful,” Harry whispered, hoping the words would get caught in the wind and blow straight to her so she could hear them.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sea,” She closed her eyes and inhaled the fresh sea air. Harry came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

They walked side by side with each other. Harry held Y/N’s hand inside the pocket of his coat and every once in a while, she would stop to pick up a shell which she would pass to him to put in his other coat pocket. At some point, it started to drizzle down with rain but they carried on walking and talking along the beach.

Harry would watch as Y/N ran up to the sea to pick up bits of sea glass and try to not get caught by the water. She looked adorable as she ran up the beach looking back at him with her woolly hat and giant coat swamping her. Strands of hair stuck to her damp, rosy cheeks as rain dripped from her coat since they had been out so long. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of her as she crouched down to look at something she’d found in the sand. He made a mental note to share it on everything he possibly could so everyone in his life would know how much he loved her, even if she didn’t know just yet.

Harry swore he was going to tell her he was in love with her right there and then but his heart fell out of his chest when he watched her trip and stumble back onto the sand. “Y/N,” He rushed over, immediately wanting to check if she was okay, only to be met with her giggling and laying back on the sand like a starfish on land.

“Lay here with me,” She patted the spot next to her.

The last thing Harry wanted to do was get his new black trousers wet and dirty from the sand but he would do anything and everything she asked him to do so he fell onto the sand and laid right next to her.

His pinky finger hooked with hers as they both looked up at the sky, “Are you happy flower?” He asked.

“I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life,” She confesses and the words make Harry’s heart grow ten times the size. “I think spending time with you is when I’m the happiest Harry.”

When it reached past midday, Harry took Y/N to grab something to eat before they had to take the train home again. Their coats were dripping when they stepped inside the small cafe Harry had picked out for them. The kind owner had even offered to dry them both for them before they had to leave again.

“Harry,” She gasped, “They do blueberry pancakes!”

Harry smirked, not wanting to tell her that he had picked this cafe specifically because they made one of Y/N’s favourite foods, “Really? Tha’s your favourite right baby?”

She nods, “I’m gonna get that- ooo it even comes with the option of honey or syrup!” Y/N beams.

By the time their food had arrived, they were well invested in conversation, “Was thinking of getting my ear pierced next weekend. One of my mates has free space and thought it would be fun to get a hoop or something.” Harry tells her.

Y/N paused on chewing her pancake as she pictured her boyfriend with a hoop earring. She swallowed down her food before getting out, “That would be hot.”

Harry laughs at her bluntness, “Yeah?” He smirked, “You think so?” Y/N nodded, her cheeks tinged pink.

Although they kissed and made out at any spare moment they could, they hadn’t really branched out from the time Harry had touched her for the first time. Y/N knew Harry was trying to be patient about it - he was a gentleman like that - but she was going crazy not having his ring-clad hands touching her skin, providing that ecstasy he had given her a glimpse of for the first time.

“Y alright there flower?” Harry crooned, “Anything on your mind you’d care to share.”

Y/N shook her head, ridding them of her dirty thoughts, “M okay, H.”

“Alright,” His eyes twinkled as he smiled at her, “You look beautiful by the way.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Her eyes softened, “And thank you for bringing me here today, I’ve loved being here with you.”

Harry parted his lips as if to respond, but found himself speechless, the words trapped somewhere in his throat. Y/N looked at him expectantly, her eyes silently urging him to express whatever was on his mind. With a sigh, his shoulders slumped, and he finally spoke, "I've loved being here with you too. I love every moment I get to be with you." Y/N beamed as Harry inwardly cursed himself for being unable to articulate the depth of his feelings. Yet, as he saw the radiant smile spread across Y/N's face, he couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth and contentment wash over him, knowing that his words were enough to reach her for now.

After the train journey home, which took slightly longer than anticipated, Harry carried Y/N up to her apartment and into her bedroom where he slumped her down on her bed. Y/N hummed at the feeling of her warm, cosy sheets beneath her. “Comfy m’love?” He grinned, tugging the sleeves of his coat off so he was just in his white t-shirt and black trousers.

“I’m so sleepy,” Y/N sighed, eyes closed whilst Harry tugged her shoes off as her feet dangled over the edge of the bed.

“Cause you’ve been running around all day huh? Could barely keep up with you half the time.” Harry briefly massages the souls of her feet after taking both her shoes off, knowing they were probably aching from running on the beach all day.

“But it was sooo much fun,” Y/N whined, her tired eyes peering down at Harry.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that lovie. Need to get y’ out of these clothes so I can put them in the wash.” He tugs on her leggings.

“Can you do it?” Y/N asks, “M too tired.”

Harry pauses, “Y’ sure baby? Don’t want y’ to be uncomfortable.”

“M sure Harry, I trust you.” She tells him.

He smiles to himself as her words settle in the space between them. A smile curves his lips almost involuntarily, reflecting the quiet gratitude he feels towards her trust. “Alright, lift y’ hips for me, flower.” He instructs and Y/N does as she’s told, lifting her hips so he can pull down her leggings leaving her in her pink lacey panties.

Harry swallows as he sees the apex of her thighs. He hadn’t seen this much of her before and he could already feel himself harden in his jeans at the sight of her. “Think y’ can sit up for me flower? Jus’ so I can’t take your sweater off?” He tries to stop staring at her bare legs but he can’t seem to take his eyes away.

Y/N groans but does as she’s told, sitting up and putting her arms up so Harry can remove the sweater from her torso. Her eyes are still shut and Harry gently pulls the soft sweater over her head.

When her eyes open, the first thing Y/N sees is Harry standing above her with his gaze fixed on her figure and she realizes this is the most he's ever seen of her yet. She had nothing but a vest and underwear to cover her body. Y/N was pretty sure he could see the curve of her breasts and the outline of her nipples through the thin, white material.

“Harry…” she whispers, suddenly realising what was happening, how the temperature in the room had suddenly shifted.

Y/N shivered as Harry cupped her cheek and bent forward to kiss her. She leaned backwards onto the bed, resting on her elbows as Harry kept his hold on her cheek, using his other hand to place on her hip as he crawled on top of her. His hand was warm and big and his fingertips pressed into her skin sending a joint of electricity down through her body.

They kissed and Harry groaned as Y/N uncontrollably rolled her hips into him, “Harry,” Y/N repeated, placing her hands on his chest.

“What baby?” He asks.

“I-I feel strange,” She confesses, not really knowing how to go about telling him what was on her mind.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N shook her head immediately, “N-no nothing’s wrong. It’s just… Remember last time? When you…” she couldn’t seem to finish her sentence, too embarrassed to describe what Harry had done when he taught her how to touch herself.

“What about it?” He wonders, patience and curiosity on his face.

“I-I want to do it again but different.” She cringed at her words, “I mean, I want to try something new. L-like I want you to show me something new I mean.”

Harry’s features softened, “Yeah? You want me to take care of you huh?”

Y/N nodded, relieved he understood what she was hinting at without her having to admit it herself, “Yes.”

“What do you want me to do baby?” He kisses down the side of her neck, Y/N’s head rolling to the side to give him more room to explore her skin.

“I-I don’t know,”

“Oh I think you do flower otherwise you wouldn’t be asking for something new to try would you?” He sucks on the skin of her neck and she whines at the feeling. His green eyes meet hers as he lifts his head up, “C’mon sweet girl, tell daddy what you want from him.”

Her mouth fell open and her heart beat erratically in her chest, “I-I need you down there daddy.”

“Yeah? You want daddy to touch you down there baby?”

“Y-yes daddy please.”

“Still so polite.” Y/N seemed to melt as he crawled down her placid form, he could do anything to her and she wouldn't mind as long as he was touching her in some way.

She suddenly gasped when she felt him blow warm air onto her nipple beneath her vest. “Can I lift your vest baby? Can you let daddy see these cute tits?”

“Mhm,” She hummed, her body vibrating with excitement and nerves. Harry’s fingertips brushed the skin of her tummy as he pulled her vest up to reveal her breasts.

“Fuck baby,” Harry groaned. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Your shirt too!” Y/N insisted, feeling a little insecure as Harry was still in his white shirt.

Harry was quick to pull off his shirt to reveal his tattooed torso that Y/N had traced and slept on almost every night since they had met. Her hands were immediately on his warm skin as he kissed down the swell of her breasts. Y/N gasped as Harry gently pressed a kiss to her left nipple, sliding his other hand up to cup her other one, “See that? Y’ were made for daddy.” He said as her breast fit perfectly in his hand.

“Daddy I need you,” Y/N whispered.

“Such a greedy girl.” He tuts, “Trying to worship you ‘n you’re just begging me to make you cum.”

“N-no-” Y/N wanted to argue but Harry quickly kissed her lips before moving down her body.

“Look at these pretty panties. Can already see you’re all soaked through them.” Y/N could practically hear the smile on his face. “Can I see baby?”

“Y-Yes, daddy.” She swallowed back her nerves, even though Harry had already seen her down there, it was her first time experiencing someone be so up close. Y/N felt his fingers hook around the waistband of her panties until they were halfway down her thighs and waited for him to react.

“Fuck me,” Harry hisses. “Won’t ever get over the sight of this pretty pussy. Always manage to live up to y’ nickname, don’t y’ flower?”

Y/N’s cheeks heat but before she has time to protest Harry leans forward and presses a kiss to her throbbing pussy. She snaps her thighs shut tightly and gasps, “W-what-“

“Shhh flower,” Harry kisses her knee and then gently hooks both her legs over either of his shoulders so she can’t close her thighs to hide away from him, “Daddy’s gonna take the ache away okay? Know you’ve been feeling all needy for daddy. Gonna do something that’ll help and put you right to sleep m’kay?”

Y/N swallows harshly and fists the fabric of the blanket beneath her. Her heart was racing and her belly was swirling with need and desire as she waited for Harry to do something.

He kissed the inside of her thighs, “You trust me?” He asked, waiting for her approval, “Because I’ll stop as soon as you say so, promise y’ that.”

“Yes, daddy.” She said because she did trust him, wholeheartedly, “I trust you.”

“That’s m’ girl.” Y/N waited until she felt his warm breath blow over her pussy. His mouth pressed another kiss to her before she felt his tongue swipe across her slit. Y/N gasped at the unfamiliarity of it as he flicked his tongue softly over her to get her accustomed to it. His eyes looked up to see Y/N’s reaction at the first touch of his mouth. He smirked to himself as her breasts heaved cutely and her cheeks were flushed pink.

“Harry,” she whimpered.

“S not my name flower.” He murmured against her.

She tried to close her thighs but Harry’s head lay buried between them, licking and stroking his tongue against her. He wrapped both his tattooed hands around her thighs to keep them open, pressing his fingertips into her plushy skin. “Daddy,” she whined.

He licks up her wet cunt once more until he finds her clit. Y/N jolts at the sudden attention to her sensitive bundle of nerves. His lips pucker against her tiny, pink clit glistening with arousal, a whimper eliciting from Y/N’s lip. He moves his tongue in circles around it before gently sucking on the small bud.

Y/N’s a writhing, whimpering mess beneath him as he licks and sucks on her clit, her wetness coating his chin. She bucks her hips against his mouth and quickly removes one hand from the bed to weave into his hair. Harry groans as she tugs on his curls, his cock leaking precum in his trousers, the vibrations going straight to Y/N’s clit.

“Daddy, f-feels so good,” She mewls, continuing to tug on his hair. Harry ruts his hips against the mattress, in hopes he could get some relief as he continues his assault on her pussy.

“Y' so fucking sexy Y/N.” He grumbled, unable to stop his attention from her weeping, little cunt.

Her thighs began to tremble as she felt the coil tighten in her belly. Harry’s hand removed itself from her thigh and slid up the bed to reach for her hand that wasn’t already in his hair. He intertwined their fingers as if comforting her without saying anything.

He paused his assault on her clit, Y/N whimpering at the sudden loss. Instead, he flattened his tongue against her once more before dipping his tongue into her hole a little as if testing the waters to see whether she’d like it. Y/N’s back arched and Harry’s hand left hers to place itself flat against her tummy to hold her still, the cool metal of his rings made her shiver as they touched her skin. His tongue delved in and out of her, using his other hand to rub circles on her clit with his thumb.

Y/N’s mouth fell open, her head fell back and her legs turned to jelly. “Y close angel girl?” Harry murmured, peeking up at her to see her blissfully zoned out from his touch.

“Feels s’ good daddy, s-so so so good,” She babbled her head lolling from side to side.

“Wanna cum baby? Wanna make a mess on daddy?” He urged her, feeling her core clench.

She jerkily nodded, “Mhmmm,” She hummed.

“Lemme have it, baby, daddy worked so hard, lemme taste y’ cum.” He hastened his movements on her clit and continued to lick and suck at her pussy, “Cum f’ me baby.” He coaxed. "Can't wait to feel y' round my cock someday, practically begging to feel y' tight, little hole. 'm gonna be the first and only one to fill y' up, isn't that right? Gonna let daddy stretch you out and fill y' up. You're all mine, 'm favourite flower."

His filthy words set Y/N alight. She felt the coil snap as pleasure rushed through her entire body and filled all of her senses. Harry groaned, continuing to press himself up against the bed until he felt his own orgasm building too, his lips staying on Y/N as she came. He lapped up her juices, riding her through her orgasm and tasting all she had to offer for the first time. “That’s my girl baby, so good.” He cooed.

Harry’s eyes rolled back as his cock released inside of his boxers, his head falling to the side and resting on the inside of her thigh as he breathed heavily, “Fuck,” He groaned, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

The room was quiet other than the sounds of them trying to catch their breath. Harry kissed the inside of Y/N’s thigh and worked his way up her body, placing soft, spongy kisses on her bare skin until he was face-to-face with her.

Harry grinned lazily, his eyes tired as he brushed the hair off her face. His heart stuttered; he felt himself losing his breath all over again despite having just come down from the high of his release as he looked down at his girlfriend. Her cheeks were flushed and her skin was glowing from the afterglow, tendrils of baby hairs framed her face and her eyes were hazy and soft as she looked into his own.

“Thank you daddy,” She whispered to him.

Harry pressed a kiss to her lips. Her legs hooked around his waist as he circled his arms around her to pull her in tighter, “You okay? Was that good? Not too much?” He wanted to make sure she was okay before anything else. He’d hate himself if he did something she didn’t like or didn’t want to do.

“M okay,” She smiled, her voice tired. He kissed her once more knowing she could probably taste herself on his lips. “It felt good.”

“Y’ made me cum,” He admits, feeling the discomfort of his own release in his boxers.

“I did?” Y/N’s eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise.

“Yeah, flower. That was so fucking sexy.” Y/N whined and tried to hide herself behind her hands. Harry chuckled at her reaction, grabbing her wrists to move her hand away and kissing her forehead before lifting himself from her. “Let’s get y’cleaned up.”

Harry walked over to Y/N’s dresser to grab himself some clean boxers from the drawer he had curated from the nights he had spent with her. He also grabbed her some clean underwear and one of his shirts to wear to bed.

In the bathroom, he got himself cleaned up and grabbed a cloth dampening it under the running water in the sink for his love who was waiting for him in bed. Harry paused at the door when he entered her room after he was met with a sight he longed to treasure in his mind forever. Y/N was lying completely bare on her bed. Her eyes were shut, her chest moving up and down and her hair was sprawled out around her. He didn’t know how he got so lucky with her, she was a living angel.

“C’mere flower,” He murmured, spreading her legs apart slightly and trying not to react to the sticky, glistening mess between her thighs. He placed the dampened cloth against her and calmed her down as she jolted beneath his touch from how sensitive she was.

Once they were all cleaned up, Harry climbed under the blankets with Y/N half asleep against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and ran a finger up and down the length of her spine beneath her shirt. "Sleep now, flower," he whispered his voice a gentle caress in the quiet of the night. The warmth of his presence soothed Y/N to fall asleep.

In the hazy blur of her consciousness, she murmured, words slipping from her lips without thought. "Love you," she breathed, the three words escaping her lips as effortlessly as a sigh, yet she remained unaware of what they meant.

Harry stilled, his breath catching in his throat, “W-what?” But Y/N didn’t reply, instead, soft snores left her lips as she fell asleep beside him.

. . .

It was the Friday after Harry had taken Y/N to the beach. Fridays were always busy at the tattoo shop so Harry was working away until the late hours of the evening. Y/N sat on a chair, her legs swinging backwards and forward as she played a game on Harry's phone. The sound of the tattoo gun hummed in the air whilst a bossa nova played over the Bluetooth speaker. Harry was still working despite the fact it was nearly time for Y/N to go to bed (She had a strict regime before bed which gave her exactly eight hours of sleep each night). He had promised her this would be his last customer as she waltzed into his tattoo shop, ready to go to his apartment together.

Harry hadn't mentioned to Y/N what she had unknowingly said in her sleep. When they woke up the next morning, he gently broached the subject, asking, "Hey, do you remember anything you said last night while you were asleep?"

Y/N, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, just shrugged in response. "Not really," she mumbled, her voice heavy with drowsiness. "Did I say something strange?"

"No, not at all," Harry assured her, though inwardly, he couldn't shake off the weight of her words. "Just thought you might've had a dream or something." But even as he spoke, he couldn't shake off the lingering memory of her whispered confession, playing over and over in his mind like a sweet melody.

"Y' holding up okay there m'love?" Harry checked in, working on the final few finishing touches of the tattoo he had been working on.

"Mhm," She smiled but Harry could tell she was getting sleepy from the way he'd caught her eyes fluttering shut when he glanced over at her.

"Can go sleep on the couch out front if you're feeling sleepy." He offered, wanting to make sure his girl was okay before he finished off the tattoo for his customer. He knew first-hand how grouchy she got when she didn't get her sleep.

"M okay here Harry," She insisted, thinking she was lying to him well enough over how tired she was. "Can I watch?" She strained her neck to get a better look at what Harry was doing.

"Course flower, c'mere," Harry pushed his chair forward to give Y/N space to stand behind him so she could watch over his shoulder. He pushed down on the peddle and continued the tattoo as Y/N watched over him.

"Does it hurt?" She wondered, watching the needle press ink into the customer's skin.

"Jus' a little sting but when you've had so many it's not so bad," Harry replied.

Y/N watched in fascination. She was not only impressed by the design Harry had drawn out and tattooed to the customer so effortlessly but also how brave people must be to have such a permanent mark on their skin. She tilted her head to the side, "I want one," She mumbled.

Harry paused, "What?"

"Nothing," She replied, quickly.

Harry had heard what she said but decided he'd bring it up when there wasn't another person in the room, knowing how shy she got around people she didn't know.

After completing the tattoo, he wrapped it up and chatted with the customer for a little bit. Meanwhile, Y/N browsed through his tattoo design sketchbook with a furrowed brow. Once the conversation was done, he shut the door behind the customer and turned the sign to 'closed.'

He walked over to his seemingly overthinking flower and kissed the top of her head, "Wha's wrong m'love?" He smiled softly, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her into his chest.

"Jus' looking H," She tilted her head back to look up at him, kissing his chin in the process.

"Didn't know we were telling fibs tonight flower," He teased, spinning her around in his embrace.

"M not lying," She hid her face in his chest because he always knew when she was lying and she was most definitely lying.

"Can you look up f'me baby just f' a sec," He murmured and looked down to see the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen, round and sparkling under the blue lights of his shop. "Woah," He whispered to himself.

"What's wrong?" A crease appeared in between her brows.

"Nothin' just...you're so pretty," She whined, nuzzling her face into his neck to hide her very red face. Even though it was hard to tell under the blue lights, he knew she was blushing. "Hey, no, can I have a kiss please?" He cupped the back of her head and pulled her away from the comfortable spot in his neck.

Y/N stood on her toes to kiss him, tasting the tinge of eucalyptus lip balm she had given him when he had complained of having sore lips from kissing her too much in the colder weather. "So y' want a tattoo?" He murmured against her lips.

Y/N pulled away, "I-I was just thinking but-"

"You're not sure?" She nods. "Don't have to get a tattoo today m'love, especially if you're not sure." Harry comforted her, seeing the uncertainty on her face. He kissed the crease between her eyebrows but her eyes were fixed on a tattoo on his upper arm.

"Where'd you get that?" She asked, her fingers skimming over the small design. It was a fine line drawing of a pair of angel wings with a flower in the centre between each wing. Harry had designed it not long after meeting Y/N and had only tattooed the design onto himself a few days ago.

"Jus' a little something I drew 's all." He shrugged, "Reminded me of you."

Y/N's lips parted like she couldn't believe what he had just said, "For me?"

He nods, "Wanted to have you somewhere on me at all times."

Y/N goes quiet and Harry gives her the time to think as he packs away his things to head upstairs. By the time he's finished, Y/N's tugging on his sleeve and looking up at him with rounded eyes, "I think I'd like a tattoo, Harry."

Harry bit back a smile, "You do?"

"Mhm," She nodded, seeming sure of herself, "But I want you to do it."

"Wouldn't let anyone else do it anyways flower." He pulled out the kit he had just put away, not feeling annoyed in the slightest because he loved this girl and would set up his equipment all over again even if she decided she no longer wanted the tattoo anymore.

Y/N shimmied up onto the chair and glanced over at him, "What are you wanting on you baby?" He asked.

"I want the same one as you please Harry," She says, referring to the tattoo of the angel wings.

He smiles, "Wanna match with me, sweet girl?" He kisses her lips quickly.

Y/N nods, beaming up at him, "Yes please."

"So polite," He taps her cheek before going to his worktop and drawing out a stencil with a careful hand. Y/N sat in the chair with her feet hovering above the ground. She was fiddling with her fingers in her lap as she glanced around at the designs she had admired many times before when she'd sit and wait for Harry whilst he worked.

"M'kay lovie, where'd you want it?" Harry asked.

"Oh," She pursed her lips, "I didn't think that far."

"Didn't think that far?" Harry chortled, "How about on your arm?” He squeezed her arm softly above the crease of her elbow, "Won't hurt too bad if we do it here."

"Okay Harry," She nodded, trusting him implicitly. Harry wanted to smother her in kisses with the way she was looking at him like she would do anything he said without even questioning it.

Harry prepped everything, making sure he had all he needed to start the tattoo. He went a little slower than he normally would, wanting to give her enough time to make sure she was certain about getting the tattoo. He mixed up the ink and switched on the tattoo gun as Y/N lay back against the leather chair.

"Y' okay flower?" Harry checked again, expecting to get the same answer he had already gotten only for her to chew on her lip and scrunch up the fabric of the skirt she was wearing.

"M a little nervous," She admitted, blushing.

"Hey it's okay to be nervous," He cooed, dropping the equipment and rolling over to her on his chair. He leaned against the seat she was lying in so his face was up close to hers, he brushed a few strands of hair from her face and the feeling of his hands calmed the nerves Y/N was feeling. "It'll hurt a little bit. Some people say it feels like a little like a tiny scratch but you get used to the feeling."

"But what if you start and then I don't want it anymore because it hurts?" She realises she should have asked these questions before they had gotten this far.

"Tha's why you need to be sure you want it sweet girl. Don't wanna see you in pain either but it's a small tattoo so won't take long and it's on your arm which means it hurts a little bit less." Harry explained.

"Okay," She nodded, "B-but can you distract me a little? It'll help if you distract me."

Harry smiled, kissing her lips, "Can distract you any way you want, baby. Here," He removed the dog tag necklace he wore all the time without failure and handed it to her, "Can fiddle with this while I draw on you."

Y/N felt her shoulders relax a little as she felt the cool metal in her hands, "Okay Harry." His lips pressed against her forehead, "Okay Y/N." He grinned.

Harry pulled on some gloves and got the tattoo gun running. Y/N went stiff as the humming sound filled the room but she reminded herself of Harry's words and continued to play with his necklace. "Okay, ready baby?" He gave her one last kiss for comfort and then, when she nodded her head, the needle made contact with her skin.

She gasped as the tiny needle pricked at her skin. It wasn't as painful as she thought it was going to be but it wasn't comfortable either. She tried to relax but her muscles were all tensed up.

Harry tried to comfort her as best as she could. Whispering words of encouragement, "So good baby, y' so brave." He'd say and tell her it would be over in a moment even though a moment felt like an eternity in her mind.

"Is it over yet?" She was starting to feel the discomfort and was already waiting for it to finish.

"Almost angel," He cooed and finished up the final lines of the drawing. "There we go, all finished."

Y/N let out a long breath she didn't know she was holding and immediately her eyes flickered down to the tattoo Harry had drawn on her. She was in awe of how beautiful and intricate the design was and how quickly Harry had managed to draw it so perfectly. It was a perfect size on her arm, the angel wings matched exactly the same as the ones Harry had done on himself. She almost squealed with how happy she was with her first ever tattoo and how it was a permanent reminder of her sweet and loving boyfriend.

Harry grinned as he watched her face light up when she saw the tattoo, "'Y like it?" He asked, preparing the cream and wrap to put on it before she did something that would get it infected - they both knew she would do that if he wasn't careful.

"I love it, Harry!" She grinned, her smile lighting up the whole room.

Harry laughed at her happiness, "You're welcome baby." He applied the cream and wrapped it up before she could move anywhere. Instead of leaping out of the chair, she wrapped her arms around Harry and pressed her lips to his. He hummed, "Best tip I've ever gotten." He murmured.

"I kinda want another one," She couldn't stop looking down at her tattoo and taking in how pretty it was.

"Woah, slow down there flower, think you should wait a while until the next one." He repressed a smile. "But I'll happily draw up another one f'you."

"Okay Harry," She said, not really paying much attention to him.

"Alright c'mon, le's go upstairs. Wanna kiss you in bed if tha's okay." He quickly put all of his equipment away as Y/N gawked at her tattoo.

"I think I'd love that more than the tattoo," She sighed. Harry decided not to pull her up on the fact she was probably telling another fib.

. . .

"Y/N is that a tattoo!" One of her friends, Shakira, spoke out.

It had been two weeks since Y/N had gotten her first tattoo and she still wasn't over how pretty it was. Every morning she'd wake up and look at her arm and tell Harry how good of a job he did.

"No wonder you're a tattoo artist Harry!" She'd say, to which he'd just smile and sit patiently as she rambled about how much she loved her tattoo and how she wanted him to draw her another one.

"Oh yes!" Y/N rolled up the sleeve of her pyjama shirt so her friends could get a better look, "Harry did it. Isn't it pretty?" She sighed, thinking of her boyfriend who she hadn't seen since this morning.

Y/N had planned a slumber party at her place a few weeks ago since she hadn't seen her two friends, Shakira and Layla, in forever. She'd known them since high school and were the only two friends she really had other than Harry who was also her best friend.

Harry had promised he'd stay away and give her some much needed girly time. Although Y/N didn't like the idea of being away from Harry, she knew it was needed. He had some things he needed to do anyway and she wanted to give him space to do that too.

"Do you think he could do one for me?" Layla asked, her arm already littered with small tattoos.

"I can ask him for you if you'd like," Y/N offered, receiving a nod from Layla.

"What's it like being in a relationship?" Shakira asked, "I mean Harry seems the complete opposite of you, I'd never have pictured you together."

Y/N smiles, thinking back to their first interaction and how intimidated she was by him. Now she couldn't get enough of him, wanting to be with him and touch him whenever she could. "I know but Harry's... I don't know, he's not like how people assume. He's kind, caring and lovable. We have a lot more in common than most people think and even the things we don't have in common, Harry always listens to the things I have to say even when he doesn't completely understand."

"Awwww!" Y/N blushed when she realised she had been rambling too much again.

"You're so cute Y/N," Layla grinned. "And we're so happy for you. Harry seems like a great guy."

"He is," Y/N agreed, shyly.

"Have you said I love you yet?" Shakira smirked.

Y/N's smile faltered, "N-not yet..." She looked away from their gazes, "But I think I'm just waiting for the right time. Harry always has these moments where I think he's going to say it but he never does and part of me thinks he's still questioning it." Y/N admits.

Layla offers her a sympathetic gaze, "I'm sure he's just waiting for the perfect moment to tell you Y/N. Saying I love you can be a pretty big deal for some people."

"I know," Y/N nods in agreement, "And I'll wait for him, however long it takes."

Y/N spent the remainder of the evening gossiping and watching movies with her two best friends. Now and then, she would look down at her phone just in case Harry had sent her anything but nothing appeared other than a blank screen. She couldn't help but feel a little bit deflated that he hadn't checked in on her like he usually would but she quickly pushed the feeling away. Harry had other things he was doing, she'd see him later.

"Thank you for having us Y/N! It was so good to see you, we need to do it again sometime," Y/N stood at the door to say goodbye to her friends. It was nearing midnight and she wondered if Harry was in his apartment waiting for her.

"Thank you for coming! I missed you guys," Y/N chirped, she really did miss having her girlfriends around. She was so busy with work and spending time with Harry, that she rarely had time outside of those things. But after today, she was going to make it a priority to see her friends again.

"See you later Y/N!" Her friends waved as they walked down the steps from her apartment. Y/N smiled and waved until they were out of sight. She planned on calling Harry to check in on him and see if he was alright but a crash from his apartment halted her steps.

She paused, stilling herself so she could hear a little better. Another thud came from his apartment followed by a string of curses and something that sounded like a clutter of things falling on the floor.

"Harry?" Y/N called through the door but received no response. "Harry, are you okay? It's me, it's Y/N."

"Y/N," Harry's voice murmured through the door. Y/N relaxed a little at the sound of his voice but she was still worried about him. It wasn't normal for him to keep his distance from her like this.

"Harry, are you okay?" She rested her hand on the doorknob, preparing to open it so she could see him with her own eyes.

"I-I'm fine baby. Go t' sleep m'love. I'll be there in a little while," Y/N frowned when she heard him wheezing a little as he breathed between words. He spoke much too slowly compared to his usual drawl as though it was too much work for him to speak.

"Harry please, jus' wanna see you." She tries again, hoping he'll open the door.

"Promise I'll be there t' give you your kisses baby but I jus' need... a moment," Y/N's face fell.

"H-Harry you're scaring me," She said, quietly.

Harry was on the other side of the door, clutching onto his side. He was already hurting but hearing his angel begging to come in was killing him. He couldn't leave her out there. She looked the perfect remedy to his currently aching body when he looked through the peephole of his door and saw her already in her pyjamas, looking all snuggly and cute.

"Not tryin' t' scare you, dove. Please I'll be out in a minute." He hoped she would listen like she normally would. He needed enough time to clean up as best as he could so he could return to her- looking like the Harry she knew- but she wasn't having it, reminding him of just how stubborn she could be when she wanted to.

"Harry, I-I'm gonna open the d-door. I have to see if you're okay," She spoke, clearly and carefully.

Harry looked down as the doorknob twisted. He wanted to twist the key and lock it to keep her out but he lost control of his own mind as he stepped back and allowed her to push the front door open.

He stood under the dim light of his living room. He had been meaning to get the lightbulb fixed but he'd been spending too much time at Y/N's apartment to remember.

Her eyes went from his feet all the way up to meet his face. Her lips parted and her eyes started to water, his heart ached at the sight. "No baby," He stepped forward, pulling her into him and holding her to his chest even though it ached to do so.

"H-Harry," She whispered, her voice cracking, "What happened?"

She pulled back and cupped one of his cheeks in her small hand. Harry's eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, he could have sworn every ounce of pain lifted from her touch alone. "Was out with a friend, you know, the one who deals," He explained, referring to Mike who Y/N had met. He didn't want to hide from her and she already knew he smoked weed regularly so it was no surprise to her when he told her he'd been smoking, "We pulled over so he could drop something off but I guess the customer got a little aggressive. He was probably on something but he was refusing to pay I think Mike said. I was in the car and all I saw was this guy trying to swing at him. I ran out to help him and we managed to get away before he had the chance to do anything worse but he obviously managed to get a good few hits in before."

Harry hadn’t remembered the last time he had gotten into a fight other than when he was a teenager just after his parents got divorced. He had managed to get a few punches in, making his knuckles all red and cut up, but he'd also been the victim of a few hits too. He had a black eye, a busted lip and a pounding headache from the impact of the punch he had received.

"Harry," Y/N choked on a sob, "Y-you could have been seriously h-hurt,"

"I know baby, I know." He cradled her head in his arms as she wrapped her arms around him, not squeezing too tight because she knew he was in pain. "But 'm here now."

Her eyes were red-rimmed as she looked at him, "You were helping Mike?" She asked.

"'s all I was doing baby, promise." He hated how worried she looked so he was willing to do anything to comfort her until she knew he was okay.

She pulled away, "W-where are you hurting?" She looks down as if checking him for any more bruising. He could see her visibly starting to panic, her hands shaking and her chest moving up and down rapidly.

"Hey, c'mere, c'mon now." He picked her up and brought her over to the couch, "M okay sweet girl, nothing to worry about anymore. Calm down f' me, please. Hate seeing you in a panic." He uttered to her, rocking her back and forth with her face buried in his neck.

"You're all b-bruised," She whimpered, "Y-you must be in so much pain."

"Not anymore my love. Hmmm, my flower is here, takin' all m' pain away aren't you dove?" He kissed her shoulder.

"C-can I help you?" She whispered, eyes blotchy and red from crying a little.

"Wanna patch up m' bruises love?" She nods as if there was nothing else she'd rather do than be there for him. "Alright, le's go to the bathroom and y' can help me." He carried her to the bathroom and placed her on the counter near the sink. He grabbed a first aid kit from the cabinet under the sink and handed it to her. "Didn't know m' girlfriend was a little nurse." He smirked, a blush covering her cheeks.

Harry stood between her legs with his hands on the counter on either side of her. He watched her as she cleaned the cuts and treated the bruise covering his eye. He smiled when the tip of her tongue stuck out between her lips, "Be careful, I'll bite that tongue." He teased.

Y/N squeaked hiding her tongue away, but quickly composed herself, "You're not getting anywhere near my tongue mister." She sasses and Harry grins so wide, his cheeks hurt.

"No? You don't think I deserve a kiss baby? M in so much pain." He hides his face in her neck and presses spongy kisses on her soft skin.

Y/N giggles at the ticklish sensation, trying to push him away, "No, you can't, not until I patch you up and you stop getting into fights."

"Actin' like I get into fights every other weekend baby," He smirks, "Only f' you."

Her mouth opens and closes as she tries to figure out what to say in such a flustered state from his words. He takes the opportunity to kiss her, their lips pressing together under the low light of the bathroom. He hadn't seen her since this morning and had been missing her all day but knew she needed some time with her girlfriends without him smothering her. It didn't stop him from glancing at his phone now and then to see if she'd called him, just like she had done.

The small time they spent away from each other during the day made him all the more desperate to kiss her. He cradled both her cheeks in his hand, brushing his thumb over her cheekbones. She wrapped her arms around his neck and played with the baby strands of hair on the nape of his neck. "Missed you," She murmured when their lips parted.

"Missed y' too flower." He hummed, "Don't know what's wrong w' me to want you this bad." His hands travelled down her arms, his fingers brushing over her tattoo as he slid past it before he intertwined their fingers together. “Think m just a teeny bit in love with y’ to be honest.” He confessed.

And suddenly they were both existing outside of their own bodies.

"W-what?" Y/N's eyes glazed over.

“Oh shit.” Harry cusses, squeezing his eyes shut, his face scrunching in frustration, “Wasn’t meant to be this way flower.”

“Y-you love me?” Her bottom lip quivered, her brain not quite believing what she was hearing.

Harry's heart was racing as he looked her in the eyes, "I love you." The words left his mouth and had never felt so right or so freeing. He couldn't understand why now of all moments was the time to finally say it but a piece of himself felt whole and all the pain from his body had left as he told her the three words that had been trapped in his throat for so long.

Y/N's mind whirred as she processed Harry's words. The air seemed to thicken around them, and for a moment, time hung suspended. She searched his eyes for any sign of hesitation, but all she found was sincerity and vulnerability. "You do?" She whimpered.

"Oh no flower, don't cry. Hate seeing tears in those pretty eyes," He began to wipe them away as soon as they fell from her eyes.

"I'm sorry," She blubbered, "I never imagined... I never imagined someone could feel this way about me," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Never thought I'd be in love either but here we are," He chuckled, "Love you so much, m'favourite flower." He rubbed their noses together.

Y/N's pouty lips sprouted into a beautiful smile, "I love you too Harry, more than anyone in the whole world."

"Y’ already told me that once before." He smiled, a mixture of adoration and a touch of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I did?” She frowned.

“Mhm,” Harry nodded, “Before you fell asleep, you mumbled it and told me you loved me and when you woke up y’ didn’t remember.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help but feel embarrassed knowing she admitted something so big in her sleep.

“Honestly,” Harry told her, “Think y’ were probably dreaming or something.”

“Is this a dream? Feels like it,” Y/N whispers.

“S most certainly not a dream m’love.” Harry kissed her quickly, “Gonna love you forever I think.”

She leant forward, running her fingers through his hair as his head fell back. He hummed at the feeling, biting on his lip to stop himself from smiling so much before burying his face in the crook of her neck - in the place he loved so much. "Promise." He whispered, lips ghosting her skin.

Their fingers traced lazy patterns on each other's skin, a silent communication between them. The room was filled with the hushed whispers of their love, as if time had slowed down so they could savour the sweetness of this very moment.

Y/N yawned which made the corner of Harry's lips turn upwards, "Y' done fixing me up now? Wanna go t' bed love?" She nodded, wrapping herself around him. He reminded himself to clean away the first aid kit in the morning, his priority was getting his girl some much-needed sleep.

She curled into him when they lay in his small bed, her head resting on his chest right where her heart was. She played with his hair and he ran a hand up and down her bare back underneath her pyjama shirt, "I love you," She murmured into the quiet.

He hoped she could hear his heart beat a little faster at her words, "I love you s' much, flower. With everything in me, gonna be mine forever y'are." He mumbled the words into her ear.

Harry cupped the side of her face as her tired, glossy eyes looked at him with so much love and adoration, that he didn’t know what to do with it all. In the dimly lit room, they leaned in close, their breath mingling as their lips met in a gentle, passionate kiss. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, while hers tangled in his hair. They explored each other's mouths, lost in the heat of the moment, their bodies pressed together. Each kiss was filled with longing and desire, igniting a fire between them that burned brighter with every touch.

“I’ve never loved anyone before,” Y/N whispered to him.

“Really?” Harry smiled.

“You’re my first love.” Y/N has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling so wildly but Harry tugs her lip with his thumb and suddenly her smile is so wide her cheeks turn pink.

“You’re my first and only love.” He murmured.

She liked that and she loved him.

This was exactly where they were both meant to be —with the person who had become not only their first love but their forever love too.

A flower tattooed to his heart.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #tattooartist x innocent reader #harry styles writing #writing #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #one direction #virgin!reader #harry styles au

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theliliesofthevalleies · 2 months ago

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Who wants another idea I got from TikTok? No one? Well.. imma post it anyway.

Tim just publicly started dating Bernard Dowd and Conner Kent at the same time and decided that he very much wanted both of them to attend the annual Wayne Foundation Gala with him as his guests.

Bernard and Conner get to see Tim is the environment he was raised in, charming everyone around him, greeting old friends of his late parents, and flashing pretty socialite smiles at acquaintances with a dark tone that promises suffering upon any house that dares displease him or his adoptive father.

As the two are marveling at how Tim seamlessly transitions from threats laced with honey and bone crushing handshakes, to sweet smiles thrown their way and happy little waves from a few feet away while getting his ear talked off with questions about his plans to pull Drake Industries out from bankruptcy they fail to notice a few socialites making snide comments about Tim’s choice of dates. The disowned son of a nameless family and the son of a reporter.

Tim notices though and gets immediately fed up with it. He first means to only politely confront them but when one of the men, an old business partner of Bruce’s, makes a comment about Tim having pretty play things. Tim’s smile turns sharper his eyes fill with fire and he pulls out a random hundred dollar bill from his pocket and announces loud enough for his adoptive siblings to hear.

Tim holding up the hundred dollar bill: I have a hundred dollars right here for whoever knocks that loud mouth son of a bitch out.

Jason, not officially legally alive yet undercover as a waiter for the sole purpose of helping Bernard and Kon if they got overwhelmed, walks up grabs the man who made the comments collar and decks him just right so when he releases the man’s, now crumpled, collar he falls to the ground knocked clean out.

Tim with the same pretty, yet sinister, smile hands the money off to the crime lord and thanks him before going over to his two very shocked boyfriends.

Bernard: does stuff like this usually happen at galas..?

Bruce who walked up to see what was going on but arrived too late sighs and looks like a very tired DadTM: only when Tim and Jason exist in the same gala at the same time.

Anyway. There is more to the scene in my head I just don’t feel like typing it all out.

#tim drake #batfam #bruce wayne #batfam incorrect quotes #jason todd #dc comics #timberkon #timbern #bernkon #timkon #Tim is fully unhinged in his own silly little way #and Jason fully supports it #the rest of them fear them when they work together #i love these dorks

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bluemousewithanxiety · 2 months ago

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listen, I love a big, built like a brick house, tall, broad shoulders, tattooed, bike riding, doberman/blackcat personality types (but are actually sweethearts on the inside), older, guy. I will yap till the cows come home....

but there is something about a TALL, soft mop of hair, soft hearted, stuttering, wears soft sweaters, a little shy, slutty little waist, wears glasses, that just makes my heart flutter so gently and softly....

NerdGojo! to me is like the perfect embodiment of this type of man.

NerdGojo! is 6"3, shaggy white hair always tossed to perfection, wears his usual well fitted pastel coloured sweaters to class, always pushing up his glasses with his knuckles when it slides down his nose, has his head buried in a textbook or his Nintendo switch, always on time, has the same routine every week and never strays far from it.

NerdGojo! is a little shy, and a little experienced and will admit that when you two started talking he is texting his friends to figure out what to say, is it the right thing to say? Should he have doubled texted? He texted you at 6am, are you even awake? Shit he didn't send a goodnight text yesterday? Oh god what has he done.

NerdGojo! would constantly be in subreddits trying to figure out the things to say, information to know (ex. tv shows, Iconic movies), what girls like in terms gestures. Do you like flowers? Chocolate? Nick-nacks? Do you have a favourite flower? man's low-key freaking out.

NerdGojo! will take a suggestion from someone online about having a note on his phone of everything you said you ever liked so he knows what to get you for your birthday and any special holiday.

NerdGojo! loves when you ask him for help, could be as simple as asking him to reach something on a tall shelf, helping you with homework, even with mundane tasks like grocery shopping. He will be pushing the grocery cart with a love-sick grin on his face while you scurry around collecting things on your list, he just loves making these small memories with you.

NerdGojo! would become invested in your corny dating shows, "trash" tv, anything that you watch on a regular basis that would be considered a guilty pleasure. He started off just walking by, saying that "they had no intellectual value and how they're made to just rot your brain", but 1 season later he is glued to the couch, mochi in hand, getting annoyed if you watch an episode without him.

NerdGojo! would be the type to do stuff unintentionally to make you swoon, like grasping your shoulders lightly to move you in front of him when he sees someone speed-walking with them looking at their phone.

NerdGojo! on a busy day using public transit and people are just pressed up against one another, if you're both standing, he will stand behind you with one hand on the upper bar and one around you so you don't get crushed or bumped into. When he gets a little bit more comfortable with you, he will innocently offer up his lap when sitting after hours of walking so you can rest your feet.

If you tell NerdGojo! that sometimes when you carry stuff in your arms for long periods of time your upper back will hurt for the rest of the day he will just start carrying your luggage, purse, groceries, whatever it may be without question. He doesn't want to see you in pain and it gives him a chance to puff out his chest and put his arm workouts to use. So he's content on doing something so insignificant to most, but means the world to him.

honestly, I feel like NerdGojo! would be the type to write you hand written letters, with corny love poems, filled with your favourite quotes, stuff he saw that reminded him of you, and will actually go through the effort in going to the post office, picking out a cute stamp, and have them send it your address without saying anything to you and just waits for your reaction.

If you ever told NerdGojo! that you had a local stray cat you saw outside your house/neighbourhood and how you always stop to give it head scratches before you came to class, he will literally start carrying cat treats in his bag when he comes over.

NerdGojo! would melt the moment you first said, "Satoru." He looked at you like you held all the stars in the night sky together in a beautiful mosaic.

NerdGojo! when he realizes a few weeks in that, no matter how much he overthinks, no matter how much he thinks he's fucking up...

You will always be waiting for him to catch up, your eyes will light up when you make eye contact with him in a crowded room, you remember small details about his favourite video games, you will rub his back softly while he shrimps over his computer, you will take his glasses off his head when he accidentally falls asleep at his desk, you will always be listening like he's the only one in the room, and so much more.

NerdGojo! is someone who allowed his fears of people taking advantage of him, lying about their intentions, not only from seeing it in his family, but just the horror stories he see's online and with his friends. Initially thinking that he would be content being alone romantically, he's done it his entire life, what's another 80 years?

But, through spending time with you, NerdGojo! was able to put his guard down and realize how full his heart feels everyday with you, and how a life without you wouldn't be as bright.

#blue writes 📝#nerdgojo!#gojo satoru #JJK x reader #JJK AU #satoru gojo x reader #I NEED this off my chest real quick #Gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader

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salem-s · 2 months ago

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06 ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN ── RAFE CAMERON

SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

WARNINGS language, angst (familial issues), mentions of body insecurity and unhealthy eating habits. 18+ mdni.

WORD COUNT 8.6k.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER lacy by olivia rodrigo

Saying goodbye to Lorenza is harder than you would like.

Rafe gives her a warm hug with a million thanks for taking such good care of him, to which she kisses each cheek talking a mile a minute. Even though he has no idea what she’s saying, he assumes it’s all good stuff with the way she’s smiling – no – beaming at him, patting his cheek and fixing the collar of his shirt endearingly.

He doesn’t want to leave, like, really doesn’t want to.

He’s just gotten used to staying at the cottage, lounging at the beach, playing in the garden with the dog, being essentially catered to in a loving way versus in an obligation.

But Rafe can't imagine what's going through your head right now.

He decides to give you some space when you say goodbye to your nonna, pivoting his focus to Ticino and scratching his belly, his head, his back. The dog completely collapses at the special attention, unknowing of the tidal wave of emotion happening in the doorway of the cottage.

Sneaking a peek, Rafe flickers his gaze to watch you and Lorenza pull back from a hug, your nonna gripping you tightly by the biceps and saying something deliberately low to you: who is simply standing there and nodding with frown. It’s almost as if Lorenza is trying to reassure you of the upcoming days, smoothing down your hair and gently shaking you to get you to focus on her words.

Eventually, you respond solely with a small nod, pulling your nonna back in for another departing hug, a bone-crushing one.

Rafe physically forces himself to look away.

These past few days were simply child’s play, and now you're transitioning to the main event where your behavior matters most. He knows you're dreading it, dreading the performance you have to put on whenever you see your family.

Rafe knows the added pressure of pretending to be in a relationship is also straining your conscience, even if you don't deliberately tell him that, because he can already tell whenever you discuss the wedding and your fingers anxiously pick at your nails or your hair.

The taxi ride is quiet. You don't offer much conversation, instead somberly gazing out the window at the landscape. Rafe’s eyes shift between your profile and the land, noticing the transition between local territory to touristy attractions, the cottages and quaint shops and cafes turning into luxurious hotels and resorts with Michelin star restaurants.

The resort is right on the water, the taxi entering through a gated community to bring them right to the lobby. The contrast in settings is comically drastic, the hotel guests decked out in ridiculous designer clothes with an overpriced cocktail dangling precariously in their hands. The entire set up looks fresh out of a White Lotus episode.

Your shoulders sag at the sight, the taxi stopping right in front of the grand doors and mentally preparing for the emotional turmoil that lies ahead. You really you'll be able to slip into your room and head down to the beach to have a few hours of quiet before the storm.

Those hopes and dreams die at the door when you see Paulette standing on the steps waiting for you.

She doesn’t bother to help you with your bags, nor does she extend her arms for a hug. You're grateful for that, especially in front of Rafe who lingers behind you silently. All he does is politely nod in greeting, not trusting his words.

After some of the stuff you told him about Paulette – and he assumes there’s much more that you didn’t share – he doesn’t trust his words, anger and resentment cautiously bubbling in his chest, especially at the sight of Paulette giving a careless up and down to your outfit.

“You’re late,�� is all Paulette says, pulling out her phone as if this conversation is beneath her.

You grab your bags and bite back a snarl. “Sorry,” you say, completely unapologetic.

“Yeah, you sound heartbroken over it.” Paulette types a few buttons on her phone, bringing it up to her mouth as she speaks into it, “Yara, push my five o’clock to six and book that Himalayan rock salt massage. My shoulders are already starting to ache. Bring my daughter's room key to the front.”

The color drains from your face. “Yara?”

At your slight-panicked tone, Rafe looks to you in concern, but knows better than not to ask questions right now. Instead, he continues watching the scene in front of him.

Paulette hums, shoving her phone back in her comically large purse, unfazed and looking bored. “Yes, angel. She’s my assistant now."

“And she’s here?”

She says your name incredulously. “I can’t take a weekend off of work, you know that.”

Then from behind Paulette, a beautiful blonde emerges with bright eyes, waist length hair, and a chipper smile that shows off her pearly whites. She dangles a key card in her thin fingers, perfectly manicured. A pretty peach sundress adorns her body, a white bathing suit poking out by her neck, and it takes everything for you to not jump back in the taxi and ride back to Lorenza's.

Especially when Yara squeals when she sees you, plastering an impossibly giant smile on her face and lunging forward to hug you.

You pat her back cordially, straining to even manage a polite smile but instead it comes out as a grimace.

Yara pulls back, unfazed by your distant demeanor. “Ohmygosh, hi! I haven’t seen you in ages. You look great!”

“You too–”

“Who’s this?”

Reeling, you nearly forget about Rafe, who stands lean and tall behind you, no doubt checking the pretty blonde out if you have to guess. You don't need to turn around to know, instead pursing your lips and jabbing an absentminded thumb in his general direction at the thought of him probably drooling over Yara.

“That’s my boyfriend, Rafe.”

Rafe hates the way his heart stutters at your words, the b-word always weakening his knees, but the deadpan in your voice also makes him resist the urge to frown.

The whole ploy is fake, he doesn’t know why he’s all worked about your lack of enthusiasm when introducing him as such, but he needs to zoom out: you don't want to be here, you're probably anxious and irritable about having to deal with your family, so Rafe needs to cooperate with that.

So, cooperate he will.

A large hand splays on your waist, a possessive claim over you that pulls you taut to his side. Stunned, you manage to look up at him, surprised to see him flashing a polite smile to Yara instead of that stupid condescending smirk you've seen him use to pick up girls.

“Nice to meet you,” is all he says, but it’s enough to make you visibly relax.

Yara double takes between the two of you, almost out of shock, before flashing back to that charmer of a smile.

“Oh! I’m Yara. We went to high school together. Oh, god, that feels like ages ago!” Then she leans forward and squeezes your forearm, nearly squealing again. “Agh! This is going to be so much fun. We’ll definitely have to hang out this weekend, the four of us.”

Four?

You look from Yara to Paulette. “Four?”

You don't even try to hide the disgust in your voice at the thought of hanging out with her, your mother, and Rafe for more than five minutes.

Quizzically confused at your tone, Yara follows your gaze, then reeling back on her point with a chipper laugh. “Oh, no. I meant my boyfriend, he’s also here. It’s basically how Paulette convinced me to come all this way for work.”

“Careful, angel,” Paulette teasingly warns, and you frown when you realize she’s talking to Yara. “Remember you’re getting paid to be here.”

The pretty blonde laughs, and it’s an unpleasantly pleasant sound. “Right, of course. And quite handsomely, if I say so,” she jokes, nudging your arm.

You don't have the gall to laugh, instead offering a tight smile in return.

It doesn’t seem to faze Yara as she hands you your room key, clapping excitedly. “Your room is 405, right next to me and Grant’s. Neighbors!”

Rafe instantly looks down at you when he feels you impossibly stiffen even harder when you hear that name, your breath hitching in your throat. His mind overdrives to panic mode, noticing your apprehensive demeanor suddenly skyrocketing to heights unknown.

Toggling from this pest infecting this already torturous event, your mother calling Yara angel, and even the mere mention of him has you spiraling, checked out from whatever the girl yaps about now. Your head spins, a wave of nausea suddenly overtaking you as you shift your weight between feet.

God, you could be sick right on Yara's designer shoes.

Before you can make that incorrigible thought come true, you feel Rafe grip onto you tighter, to ground you, politely interrupting Yara.

“Could you point us towards the room? We were hoping to relax before dinner.”

After pointing in the general direction, Rafe carries his bag and wheels both his and your suitcases towards the room, passing Paulette without so much as a glance. If he wasn't so worried about your shift in demeanor, he would’ve taken the time to really look at what the resort actually looks like, noticing its extravagance and flaunt of wealth for a fraction of a second so he can keep up with your speed-walking.

Unlocking the door quickly, you beeline inside as Rafe follows cluelessly, pinching his brows in worry when you instantly start to pace back and forth without bothering to inspect the qualities of the room. The door shuts behind him, locking you both in the comfort of your own privacy, but the isolation does nothing to soothe your nerves.

He says your name worriedly, knowing not to ask if you're okay because you're clearly not.

You bite the edge of your thumb nail with a disassociated gaze. “I’m going to actually kill her this time.”

“Yara?”

“No, my piece of shit mother.” You clench your hands in tight fists, resisting the urge to King-Kong destroy the room. “She knows damn well that–”

You interrupt yourself, forcing a deep exhale to avoid saying too much, because voicing it aloud only makes the situation more real.

As if this trip can’t get any worse.

Rafe stalks towards you slowly, testing the waters by putting his hands on your shoulders and guiding you to sit at the edge of the bed (yes, bed, singular).

There’s a sliver of fear that if he kneels in front of you, he might be in the splash zone if you decide you want to hit something, and it looks like you do given how tightly you clench your knuckles, so he decides to cautiously sit next to you, barely brushing his shoulder with yours so you don't feel bombarded.

There’s a fine line of understanding, because when Rafe is pissed, utterly pissed, he doesn’t want to be touched. Let alone looked at.

In waiting for you to speak, Rafe darts his gaze between your hands resting in your lap and to your profile, your eyes distant which tells him that your mind is elsewhere, reeling, spiraling.

He decides to attempt to break the ice. “How’d you do it?”

The confusion pulls you from your delusion. “Huh?”

“How would you kill her?”

You scoff, not really in the mood to joke around.

But then you pause, trying to zoom out of the moment to see this whole scenario from his point of view. His befuddlement is probably through the roof, undoubtedly, and you're not really offering much to give him any clear answers. In his own, weird way, you realize that he’s trying to help.

So you relent. “You ever seen Game of Thrones?”

“No?”

You whip your head to face him. “You’ve never–?” Then pull yourself back on track. “Someone gets their head crushed like a melon. I’d do that.”

“You’d crush her head open like a melon?”

“Precisely.”

Rafe whistles low. “Sheesh. Remind me to not actually piss you off.”

That earns an eyeroll from you, your anger slowly subsiding into frustration instead. Your fists unclench gradually, crescent moon indents piercing through the skin of your palm. You sigh, looking down and smoothing out the marks that are already starting to irritate.

A part of you wishes that he’d do it for you, but the thought of being touched right now actually sounds repulsive.

"Obviously, I went to high school with Yara," you start slowly, her name leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. "We weren't friends. Like, at all. We were civil, sure, but definitely did not run in the same circle. She was..."

You trail off. The thought of Rafe knowing your life before college seems intrusive, so you shake off the mile long soliloquy and wave your head, signaling the end of that part of the spiel.

“And Grant’s my ex.”

Straightening up, Rafe’s heart drops.

Is he gonna have to fight someone?

“We dated in high school,” you continue, refusing to look at him. “It started right at the end of my sophomore year, he randomly asked me out after never really talking but I didn’t think too much of it because he was, like, the Troy Bolton of my high school.”

“Who?”

You scoff. “Really? I– whatever. We started going out, it was really fun. He was my first…everything, really. It wasn’t until right before junior year where we broke up, literally days before school started, because he said he’d gotten what he wanted from me.”

That makes Rafe’s skin crawl.

“Hypothetically,” he starts slowly before he can stop himself, “if you wanted me to hurt him, would you prefer it to happen before or after the wedding?”

You ignore the warm feeling in your belly at the possessiveness, but snort and nudge his shoulder teasingly. “Easy. We aren't doing the masculine gorilla-chest beat thing. There will be no fighting, okay?”

Silence.

At his lack of response, you finally look up at him to discover he’s already staring at you, definitely dead-set on beating this guy up.

As much as that would settle some long lost revenge plot in your brain, you know that's the last thing that needs to happen on this trip.

“Rafe. You’re not fighting him."

He blinks back at you.

You narrow your eyes. "Promise me.”

Rafe huffs like a kid on Christmas who didn’t get the toy they wanted. “C’mon–”

“Promise.”

Reluctantly, he bites his tongue and nods, earning a satisfied hum from you. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be nice to him.”

You roll your eyes and wave the whole thing off as if it means nothing. “It’s not even about him. The whole reason he asked me out was because my mom asked him to.”

Rafe instantly frowns.

That has him pinching his eyebrows in confusion, trying to connect the dots on why she would do that, much less, what she would gain from it.

You continue when you notice his befuddlement, swallowing the lump in your throat at the memory. “Back home, my mom runs a country club in the suburbs of the city, and promised him and his family free access for the summer if he dated me so I’d have a respectable date for the various charity events she organized.” You drop the confession so casually that his head spins. “Something about reaffirming my image and saving myself from detrimental embarrassment by being single, whatever that means.”

Rafe nearly has the urge to kill Paulette himself.

How could your own mother do that to you?

A part of him understands the circumstances, as his father would do something conniving like that for the sake of keeping the family name clean. Rafe’s gotten a swift backhand more times that he can count to keep him in line for the seasonal galas that all the wealthy families on the island host to flaunt their money. One time he even got choked out in the ballroom kitchen for accidentally spilling a glass of wine over the white tablecloth, claiming that anything he does is an embarrassment to the family.

So, yes, in some ways he can understand.

“That’s…evil,” is what he settles on saying.

You hum in agreement. “Yeah, well, that’s my mother for you.”

Rafe’s heart aches for you, deciding that you don't need lovey-dovey coddling right now. “I think she’d get along with my dad.”

The anecdote makes you lift your head, brows pinching as if to urge him on saying more, because if he can relate to having a shitty parent, then his life can’t be all rainbows and sunshines, either.

You aren't sure if you appreciate being able to empathize with him or not.

“Whatever.” You stand, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. “I want to tan and drink. Are you coming with or not?”

The rest of the day is spent in lazy leisure.

You both manage to sneak down to the resort beach without being kept too long by lingering family members. A few aunts and uncles recognize you and try to spark conversation, but you merely brush them off politely, dragging Rafe by the bicep away from the chance to introduce himself and delay your beach day even longer.

It’s pathetic the way he relishes in the way he’s essentially getting pulled around.

After your second drink, Rafe is carelessly swimming in the water, the crystal clearness of the ocean reminding him of the better parts of home. Meanwhile you stand on shore, simply getting your feet wet to cool off before you lay back down to tan longer.

There’s a point where you insistently refuse his request to join him, so he pouts and retreats from the water, pretending to go back to your spot but instead heaving you over his shoulder. You squirm and yell and attempt to break free, but the pleas fall onto deaf ears as Rafe carries you into the water, precariously throwing you where it’s too deep so you have to either tread the waves or cling to him.

He boyishly laughs when you emerge from the water, hair clung to your face like a second skin as you curse and splash him.

You - unsuccessfully - try to dunk him under the water, and then he does it to you successfully, causing you to splash him once more. Eventually, you end up trying to swim away to keep tanning but Rafe stops you by pulling at your ankles, claiming you're already in the water so you should just relax for a little.

“How the fuck am I supposed to relax when I don’t know when you’re going to dunk me next?”

Rafe pinky promises that he won’t, not anytime soon, anyway.

It takes a lot of convincing, but soon enough you're perched on his back as he swims around, pleasantly pleased to get what he wanted.

Whenever you snip at him, he simply ducks his head under the water to get his hair wet and proceeds to shake it out like a dog, which elicits a light slap on his shoulder and a curse. He doesn’t even care.

The only reason you leave the water is because you both collectively decide to get another drink. After a little chit chat and sipping, Rafe ventures back into the water claiming it’s good for his skin. From your vantage point in the chair, you stifle laughs as you watch him practice his handstand. Truthfully, it hasn't improved since the day at your private cove.

Another ten minutes go by while you peacefully tan, and you almost forget the purpose of the trip until a shadow looms over you.

Assuming it’s Rafe begging to drag you in the water again, you snort. “What is it gonna take for you to let me tan for one second? A blowjob?”

“I hardly think that’s necessary.”

You shoot your eyes open when you realize it’s not Rafe standing over you, but Paulette.

Your cheeks flush as you sit up, clearing your throat and feeling hot under your mother’s disgusted gaze. Well, that look is nothing new, it’s practically her default expression. You know better than to not try and defend yourself, knowing your words will only make things worse – like they always do, according to your mother.

“Angel, it’s nearly five, you need to start getting ready for dinner,” Paulette snaps, looking your body up and down and analyzing the way your swimsuit hugs your curves.

You frown. “I thought the rehearsal was tomorrow?”

It better be, you think. You were really hoping to just get some resort food in a drunken splendor and bring it back to the room, along with a few bottles of wine to soothe over the double-whammy discovery of your high school past meeting you across the Atlantic.

Although it's hard to concentrate on anything besides your mother's stare right now, trying really, really hard to ignore the condescending gaze.

Paulette checks her watch, as if the conversation is taking too long. “It is. Tonight is an immediate family dinner.” Then, Paulette sighs deeply. “God, do you ever listen to anything I tell you?”

Nope.

“Yeah, alright,” you grumble, beginning to collect your things. “What time do I need to be ready by?”

“Seven thirty. And it’s still a formal gathering, so none of this…” Paulette pauses, scanning your body once more up and down, “casual attire will be tolerated. I hope you have another dress than the one for the wedding.”

The dress for the wedding.

The one that "somehow" didn't fit.

Your anger spikes when you remember the dress you were supposed to wear, the lilac silk that barely zipped up your spine and was formed to fit your body type about six years ago.

“Speaking of," you snap, "it didn’t fit. I think your tailor is dyslexic.”

Paulette frowns angrily. “Those measurements are a goal. You’re telling me you didn’t work into it?” When you shake your head, not trusting your words, your mother scoffs as if it’s some major offense. “Of course.”

Great, another disappointment for the books.

“I found a replacement,” you grumble, half irritated and half defensive.

Your mother, however, is always able to pinpoint the part of the conversation when you cower, giving her the perfect opportunity to strike where she knows it'll hit you at your most vulnerable.

“If you’re not going to wear it, then give it back to me. I’ll give it to someone who deserves it.”

Ouch.

Trying to ignore the sting of her words, you simply nod and your mother takes that as her cue to leave, trudging back to the resort with difficulty as she decides to wear designer wedges on the sand.

Watching her leave, you absentmindedly collect your things, so caught up in your fleeing agenda that you don't notice Rafe emerging from the water with a skeptical look.

“What was that all about?” he asks, grabbing the towel and fluffing it over his head.

You catch a glimpse of his chiseled chest and force yourself to look away, stuffing your belongings in your bag. “Duty calls. Apparently, I’m supposed to be in my glam chair right now for dinner.”

Rafe feels a pull in his chest, not wanting to leave the beach, but begrudgingly nodding and mirroring your actions of gathering your stuff.

But you stop him. “No, you don’t have to come with. Just…stay and hang out for like another hour.”

And he does.

Rafe decides that trying to bargain with you is almost always impossible, so he reluctantly stays behind at the beach while he watches you retreat back into the resort.

But, as a matter of fact, it is extremely boring without you. Detrimentally so.

He tries to entertain himself in the water, or on his phone when he lays down, but he huffs like a child in boredom. Allowing himself an hour of wallowing self pity, on the dot he’s packing up his things and racing back to the room, hating the silence of solely being in the presence of himself.

When he arrives back at the room, you're doing your makeup at the desk with your hair cascading down your back in beautiful nonchalance, and Rafe has to suppress a smile when he sees the colorful beaded dress he got you laying on the bed, ready to be worn again.

Despite already seeing you in the dress before, it takes his breath away all the same when you're basically out the door and on your way to the lobby.

When the elevator makes it to the correct floor, Rafe’s slipping a hand in yours just as the doors open, ignoring the way your posture stiffens at the gesture. You don't know if it’s from his fingers intertwining with yours or the sight of your immediate family all congregated like cattle in the lobby, dripping in overpriced designer dresses and suits.

Spotted within the crowd are your parents and brother, your father talking animatedly to a relative while Paulette leans forward, fixing your brother’s tie and babying him like usual.

You nearly roll your eyes at the sight of your pretentious younger brother, Patrick. He’s the definition of a coddled momma’s boy: always having the most prestigious clothes, running to Paulette when there’s a sliver of inconvenience in his life, blaming everything in the world either on you or his new target of the month.

One would think siblings would have a bit of solidarity for each other, but not Patrick.

He only cares about himself, and one of his favorite pastimes is getting you in trouble. There’s too many times to count where he went and cried wolf, getting you in trouble for shit that didn’t even involve him. It's as if he thrives off of your misfortune, simply counting down the minutes until he can see you again just to make your life that much more miserable.

Point being, you don’t really get along.

And your father is just kind of…there. He doesn’t offer any assistance or support besides the occasional Venmo to help you with the bills that you didn’t ask for. Truthfully, you think he’s an airhead.

Whatever. You have to approach at some point.

Your heels clicking on the floor alert some of them.

One of them is your cousin, Jessa, the one getting married.

She gasps when she notices you, a bright smile adorning her features as she races forward, tackling you in a big hug. “Ugh, thank god you’re here. This shit would’ve been boring as hell,” Jessa winks at you with a knowing look, before turning to Rafe. “You must be Rafe, it’s so nice to meet you!”

Rafe reciprocates the politeness, flashing a charming smile. “Thanks for letting me come on such short notice.”

Jessa has such a natural beauty to her that sometimes has the tendency to make people stare, and her smile and words are (mostly) always so genuine that at first people think she’s mocking them, but she rarely ever is. She’s too nice for her own good, and it’s the main reason you and her got along so well and why you were close growing up. You both could recognize the horrors and dishonesty of your family from a mile away.

Although, while you leaned away from the monetary values in life in high school, Jessa embraced it, and that's when you started drifting apart a bit. You were still close, just not to the same degree. She was still your anchor during family events, and vice versa.

“Please,” Jessa waves him off with a laugh, “it was no problem. Besides, I wasn’t gonna let her fend off our family all on her own.”

You slip your hand back to Rafe’s, who gives it a gentle squeeze at the gesture. “Yeah, well, that means subjecting him to unlimited access to bigotry and misogyny.” Then you shrug as if the whole thing is beneath you. “At least it’s just the immediate family tonight, that way he’ll slowly get introduced to the crazy instead of all at once.”

The wince on Jessa’s face sparks a flash of panic in your chest. Why is she looking at you as if she’s walking on eggshells?

“Don’t be mad,” she immediately says, and warning bells go off in your head that you barely register Rafe’s thumb, smoothing out the skin on your hand in an attempt to comfort you. “But Yara and Grant are joining us tonight. Your mom organized the dinner so she added them to the list. If I had known–”

Then you scan the crowd behind Jessa, noticing Yara and Grant are engaged in conversation with your aunt, your ex-boyfriend’s back turned to you so you don't have the unpleasantness of seeing his face just yet.

God, this really is enemy territory. The good, the bad, and the ugly all standing here in one room.

You shush your cousin with a distant smile, as if to try and reassure that it doesn’t matter. “It’s fine, honest. I’m a grown up.” Then, you jab a thumb at Rafe, “This one, on the other hand, might start a cat fight.”

Jessa laughs in relief as Rafe rolls his eyes, but a playful smile ghosts his lips. Your cousin goes to say something else but is interrupted by her husband, Kevin, who flashes you a warm smile then leans down to whisper something in his fiance’s ear, pulling Jessa from the conversation with an apologetic smile, spinning around to tackle the next objective in sight.

It’s constantly go, go, go when it comes to her, and you can’t help but feel bad, wanting your cousin to just be able to take a deep breath. However, weddings are never a time of relaxation, especially for the bride no doubt.

To your dismay, the table isn’t ready yet, which allows time for your brother, Patrick, to saunter up to you and Rafe with a gleam in his eye that indicates he’s ready to stir up trouble, especially when he utters your name in that mousey tone that makes you want to drop kick him.

“Wow,” he nearly tsks, strolling right up and crossing his arms to buff out his chest dominantly as he looks at you up and down, “I see you’re still keen on dressing like a clown.”

Rafe has the nerve to hit the guy for coming up to you like that unprompted, and before he can cause a scene, you merely roll your eyes and scoffs, as if you're used to the behavior.

“I see mom and dad still haven’t funded your forehead reduction surgery,” you snap back, then mockingly shield her eyes with the hand that isn’t holding Rafe’s. “Jesus. Could you take a step back? It’s reflecting light right into my eyes.”

Patrick laughs condescendingly. “Wow, I almost forgot how fucking sensitive you are.” Then, he finally turns to Rafe with such a lax demeanor that he’s seconds away from slapping it out of him. “You her guard dog or what?”

You answer for Rafe, who’s holding a look that genuinely can kill. “This is my boyfriend, Rafe.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’d take that step back, he bites,” you deadpan.

Patrick takes his time analyzing the scene in front of him, wearing an ugly smile when he alternates looking between you and Rafe. Despite being older, you hate how you nearly squirm under his gaze, and slip your hand out of Rafe’s to cross your own arms defensively.

God, words can’t describe how much you can’t stand him.

“This is interesting. How much did she pay you to be here?”

You wince. “Jesus, Patrick. Could you fuck off for once in your life?”

“Nah, you’re too easy to piss off,” he says teasingly, but his eyes are trained on Rafe. “There’s no way you’re actually into that.” Patrick nods towards you with a look to say, amirite? “Did mom pay you? Be serious. It wouldn’t be her first time getting pimped out–”

You scoff, seething through your teeth, hating the way your palms sweat at the mere mention of Grant, especially in front of Rafe. “How’s that OnlyFans model, by the way? Or, wait, is that the one that took half your trust fund and ran, or am I thinking of Celeste–?”

Seeing red, Patrick takes a dangerously close step forward to get in your face. “I think you should shut the fuck up, because we can totally go band for band right now in front of your little–”

The edge in Rafe’s voice startles you. “Her little what?”

Patrick falters when Rafe takes a step forward, having a noticible few inches on your brother, as he stares down at the already cowering man. Taking a step back to compensate for the spacial intrusion, Patrick simply huffs, already seceding to the intimidation.

He goes to add some pathetic excuse but Rafe cuts him off again.

“If I hear one more word out of your mouth about her, I’ll cut out your fucking tongue.”

There’s a palpable silence between the two men, having a masculine-off and staring at each other to see who’s the first to break. With the way Patrick’s eyes are wide and fearful, it’s going to be him, as Rafe’s unfaltering stare is narrowed, cold, threatening. It’s a look that someone does not want to be on the receiving end of, and as a witness to it, now a part of you understands why he said he’d rather be feared.

Because he knows how to instill it, you realize.

Rafe is fuming yet trying to keep his anger in check. It’s obvious to everyone that he’s severely holding back. “Now fuck off.”

Patrick doesn’t need to be told twice, tucking tail and scampering back to Paulette like he always does.

Making sure your brother is fully set on not coming back, Rafe then spins around to face you, the cold stare now replaced with concern and you nearly melt at the sight, because you feel like this look is reserved just for you.

“Are you okay?”

All you can do is nod, not trusting your voice. Although you do suppress a grin, because nothing satisfies you more than your brother getting what he deserves. It doesn't happen very often given his track record of being the favorite, but those once in a blue moon opportunities are gold mines, and you know to appreciate them when they come.

Rafe doesn’t recognize your relief, instead distraught about the whole interaction as he runs his hands up and down your arms. “Baby, who the fuck was that? That wasn’t Grant, right?”

If it was, Rafe definitely would’ve knocked him out cold.

You push the thought down. “No, that was my brother.”

That causes him to pinch his brows even further. “Your...brother?”

You simply nod again, sighing out a breath you don't realize you hold.

“He’s a prick.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you complain. “He’s such a primadonna. More than you.”

Rafe’s eyes nearly bulge out of his skull as he scoffs, deeply offended. “Baby, never compare me to that jackoff ever again. You hear me?”

All you do is bite your lip to suppress a grin. He hates that you're teasing him right now.

His irritation is through the roof, especially when you don't respond, and simply look up at him with your doe eyes. “You hear me?”

“You’re so worked up,” you murmur low, a tone that makes him shudder. “We should go talk about it. Upstairs.”

“Sweet girl.” A warning.

You then laugh, and as endearing as the sound is, frustration still continues to bubble in his chest, half out of disbelief that that prick is your brother and the other half in slight arousal.

It makes Rafe spiral. His relationship with his sisters is much, much different than that, the three of them having a sort of solidarity together against their parents. A pinch of sadness pricks at his chest when he realizes that he’s who you've had to deal with your entire childhood, and given his charming behavior, Patrick probably wasn’t a very good brother.

“That’s not…” he trails off, trying to get back on track. “That’s not funny.”

You go to retort but one of the workers approaches the group to announce that the family's table is ready.

The scene in front of you is almost comical: a large group of obnoxious, wealthy socialites herding to the private outdoor table like cattle, probably already drunk off of the all-inclusive bar that hangs just outside the lobby. Expensive heels click against marble floor, jewelry clutters together at any slight movement, the men laugh with their bellies, it’s already severely overwhelming.

Unfortunately Jessa and Kevin are seated at the opposite side of the Last Supper kind of table, Jessa taking the head on that side and Yara, surprisingly, taking the head of the other end. You're placed to her right with Rafe on your right, which places you right across from Grant, who offers a timid wave to you.

Rafe puts two and two together, a lightbulb clicking in his head when he notices you overly refuse the gaze of the guy across from you.

If Rafe’s glare could kill, Grant would be six feet under in an instant.

And Grant definitely notices, and doesn't glance in your direction again.

Fortunately, Paulette and Patrick are seated at the other end of the table, so you really only have to deal with one of the two obstacles of the night, who are sitting in the closest proximity possible. Bless Yara’s heart, because she offers endless chatter so there’s no awkward pauses between you all. It’s practically the four of you in your little nook with the exception of a random aunt next to Grant who barely pays them any attention.

Appetizers run well, and you manage to stay under the radar from the table discussions, simply conversing with Rafe quietly to keep your sanity at bay. Thankfully, he indulges in your rambling, keeping your mind occupied and sharp.

Then, of course your luck runs out, because you suddenly become the topic of the table when an uncle asks Paulette about you.

“Oh?” Paulette asks in mock surprise. “Yes, she’s still in school. She’s at the end with her boyfriend, Rafe. Angel?”

You hate how you and Yara both pick your heads up at the nickname.

“I’m sure everyone wants to hear about you two,” Paulette jabs innocently, everyone else missing the very pointed look she gives you.

Well, everybody except you and Rafe, who finds your thigh under the table to squeeze in comfort.

Everyone’s eyes are on you, and you absolutely hate the attention. “Uh, yeah. This is Rafe. We met at school.”

There's a pause, your family expecting you to continue, but the words die in your throat at the implication.

How much of the truth should you reveal? Do you say you've been dating since you started fucking? Or from when you met? Should you introduce him instead of talking about your so-called relationship? What do these people really want to know?

Your anxiety spikes at your mother's raised brow, a wordless plea to keep talking, to not embarrass her.

Yara, surprisingly, saves you. “What do you study, again?”

Phew-

“Software engineering and romantic languages,” you reply, thankful for the distraction.

Rafe tries to play it cool, but his heart pinches. He didn’t know that. He should’ve asked you way sooner.

“Oh!” Yara beams. “That’s so interesting. So you must be, like, a hacker, or something!”

Despite how annoying she is, you find yourself stifling a chuckle. “Uh, yeah, something like that–”

Paulette interrupts tightly by saying your name, a fake smile plastered on her lips as she blinks like a doll. “Enough about computers. Tell us more about you two, your aunts are dying to know.”

Ah, there it is.

The obvious distaste for your real hobbies and interests, always pinnacling the conversation back to your relationship status, to your desirability. Of course, because no one actually cares about what you want to do with your life. Why would they?

Your eyes dart between your three aunts at the end of the table, leaning in eagerly. Rafe’s hand gives another squeeze under the table, and before you can speak up and bullshit some lie about your relationship, he cuts you off, to your surprise.

“She started tutoring me last semester,” Rafe starts charmingly. “It was American history, and I really suck at memorizing stuff like that so she was nice enough to help me out. Ended with an A, even. Eventually, we became friends. I’d bring coffee to our study sessions to basically beg her to go out with me.”

That earns a few endearing laughs from your aunts. Patrick rolls his eyes. Your father raises a brow.

“But she always said no. I was almost tempted to take another history class so she’d be able to tutor me again.”

Rafe sneaks a glance at you, watching him make up the story on the spot with a soft gaze. Even though it’s pretend, he sounds pretty convincing.

“And I did. Art history. Unfortunately, I’m not much better at it,” he laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “But, then again, I have a pretty good tutor. So I made a deal with her that if I got above a ninety five on my Italian Renaissance exam, I’d get to take her out on a date. And I think she agreed to that thinking I wouldn’t score that high.”

The table chuckles at that. You find his hand under the table and squeeze.

Rafe shrugs. “But I did. I studied a lot in secret, but scored a ninety seven. So, I had the privilege of taking her out to dinner, and then one thing led to another…” he trails off.

God, that was charming.

You aren't sure whether to be impressed on how he commands a room or how quickly he had that lie locked and ready to go.

Maybe his inspiration came from you talking his ear off about Macchiavelli and the fifteen-hundreds in Italy, as well as knowing random tidbits about the Sicilian architecture that you'd point out in town. Truthfully, you assumed he wasn’t listening to any of it, letting it go in one ear and out the other like people normally do when you have something to say.

But, to your surprise, he listened, whether fully or partially, it doesn’t matter. He still listened.

One of her aunts, Willa, nearly swoons at him. “Oh! How lovely.”

Another aunt, Nancy, leans in further. "Where are you from, Rafe?”

“North Carolina, ma’am.”

“And what will you do when you graduate?”

Rafe subtly tenses at the question, you being the only one to notice. “I’m studying business affairs and commercial real estate, so I’m hoping to work under my dad to get some experience and then move up north and join a firm there.”

The table seems pleased with his put-together plan. This time, your father speaks up while swirling his wine glass. “What does your father do?”

“He owns a real estate firm, Cameron Developments,” Rafe responds curtly, offering a tight smile. “It’s catered to the Carolinas and neighboring states, selling estates and buying out buildings to make affordable housing on the island to encourage more commercial viability.”

Eventually, the talk fizzles into something that pushes Rafe out of the conversation, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest so he can turn back to you, staring at him with a grateful smile.

“Holy shit,” you whisper to him. “Thank you. I thought I was going to have to make something up. How’d you pull that out of your ass?”

Rafe shrugs, suppressing a grin, feeling pride that he got to swoop in and save the day. “Contrary to popular belief, I was actually listening to your little nerd rants.”

You flush. “You seem to get their approval.” You roll your eyes playfully. “Of course, you get it in five minutes whereas it took me nearly twenty years.”

You take a long sip of wine, missing the way he frowns.

“Who cares about these bastards,” Rafe grumbles, grabbing your hand in solidarity, skimming his fingers over your rings. “Software engineering sounds pretty badass.”

“Oh, please, it’s not cool at all.”

“It is,” he says, softer, yet firm. “What else are you hiding from me?”

You beam, laughing a little louder than your quiet volume. “Nothing that warrants a search.”

Rafe narrows his eyes playfully, intently staring. “Nah, I feel like there’s something so crazy about you that I can’t guess. Like, you’re secretly a klepto. Or a rockstar.”

“Oh!” Yara interrupts gleefully, catching the tail end of your conversation. “That’s so funny, because she kind of was in high school.”

Annnnnnnd now Yara's back on your shit list.

He whips his head to look at you, eyes wide in surprise. “You were a klepto?”

The scoff you let out is far from attractive, and the dramatic eye roll kickstarts a migraine. “I was not a klepto.” Then you pause. “I stole from CVS once, and it scared the shit out of me and I never did it again. But no.”

Rafe furrows his brows in calculation. “You were a—“

“Rockstar!” Yara practically beams.

You ignore Rafe’s stare, as well as Grant’s.

Suddenly, you're squirming under the spotlight, hating the way your chest pulls tight at your two very different works colliding right now. Rafe knowing tidbits about your high school endeavors feels intrusive, and you practically rip your hand from his at the breach, and continue to ignore his stare.

Swallowing thickly, you suck in a breath. “That term is a bit dramatic.”

The shift in tone is sure to set the conversation elsewhere, but happy-go-lucky Yara doesn’t seem to get the hint, instead she further leans into the topic and even grabs Grant’s bicep to emphasize her point, who doesn’t look pleased to have been dragged into the discussion.

“Dramatic? But it’s true!” To your horror, Yara turns all of her attention solely to Rafe, who’s still frowning about his hand not holding yours anymore. “She played guitar with college kids, which was all the rage as a junior in high school. Their band won the student music competition which is, like, the Oscars for NYU students.”

“That’s the Grammys, angel,” Grant murmurs, Rafe narrowing his gaze at the first words he’s heard the guy say all night.

Yara doesn’t flinch. “Oh! I’m sure he gets the idea. But isn’t that crazy?” She doesn’t give Rafe time to respond before she turns to you, almost apologetically by the way she places a dainty hand on your forearm. “That’s why I was so surprised to hear you weren’t studying music. Everyone thought you’d be the next, like, guitar person, or something!”

Strongly resisting the urge to scoff, you simply shrug politely instead.

You aren't sure why Yara is so insistent on this notion that you were friends in high school. You weren’t. At all. You existed in different social circles that occasionally intersected at parties and other gatherings.

Realistically, you only had two really close friends in high school, Joel and Quinn, who always got into fun trouble together. You didn’t care about having a large friend group, and preferred keeping your circle small because you knew that it was genuine. Sure, you liked to show up to parties — not to show face but to get free drinks — which ultimately made Yara’s group think you were all tight.

Yara and Grant were friends with the pretty rich girls and athlete guys who dated within their group, their personalities thin and weightless and their pockets deep with cash. They were stuck up and arrogant, walking around the halls as if they owned it (which their families probably did) and often picking fights with the nerdy kids or snorting in the bathroom. They were the cool ones, the popular ones, the people that everybody wanted to be.

You remember a time when Paulette incessantly tried to push you into that friend circle: the rich kid group. She’d force you to attend charity galas and sit with all of them since all of your parents were friends, she’d invite Yara’s family and other families to your house without telling you and would proceed to force you to mingle.

She’d even go as low as bribing one of her friends’ sons - a certain someone sitting across from you at this very moment - to go out with you to prove you can be like them, talk like them, look like them.

After that stunt, you separated yourself as much as possible from that scene, much to your mother’s dismay. You joined Joel’s older brother’s band and the three of you simply preferred their company to those from your high school. Word eventually got out that you, Quinn, and Joel were kicking it with college kids, and of course Yara’s friend group had to intrude on that as well, proving that they, too, could be cool.

So, yeah. Yara went to your shows. Not as a friend but for attention.

“Well,” you feign nonchalance. “That was a long time ago.”

Yara sighs dreamily. “Indeed it was.”

The food arrives, pulling them from the trip down memory lane. Rafe’s hand reluctantly leaves your thigh to pick up his fork and knife, nearly salivating at the assortment of pasta and meat sitting in front of him.

The thought still lingers in his mind, though, about you in high school.

He ponders over if you'd be together like you are now, or even friends. But as much as he wants to believe that, he knows you probably would’ve never given him the time of day.

Contrary to popular belief, Rafe was a bigger asshole in high school than he is in college. His chest feels funny at the notion that you have this whole other side of you that he doesn’t even know about, envious of those who’ve known you for the entirety of your life. How could he not know you played guitar? Or joined a band?

His mind only reels. What other mischief did you get into? Why don't you do any of that stuff at college? Or do you, and he simply has no idea?

Rafe frowns at the fact that he wants to know more. Not even more, he wants to know all of it. But he shouldn’t. This is fake. He’s playing a part.

Then why does he yearn for more?

Physically shaking his head at the thought, Rafe pushes it away and begins to eat. It’s good, but he finds himself sagging his shoulders.

Rafe leans down to you with a joking smile. “I think Lorenza ruined food for me. I’ll never have anything as good as her cooking ever again.”

A quiet hum is all you respond with.

Displeased with the lack of enthusiasm for his banter, Rafe goes to say something else but notices you're looking down at your plate, swishing the food around with a fork.

Or lack thereof.

First, he’s confused at the notably smaller portion that you have in comparison to his. Then, he furrows his brows and looks around the table, seeing everyone has a normal, hefty plate, except you. It’s as if the meal is for a child.

Rafe scoffs. “Baby, the kitchen totally scammed you.”

“Wasn’t the kitchen.”

Rafe studies your indifferent expression, not looking up at him but instead down the table past his eyes. With curiosity, he follows your gaze and his stomach drops when he realizes you're looking at Paulette, who eats a veggie platter rather than the pasta with a bright smile, completely oblivious to his stare.

Then Rafe starts fuming.

His hand curls around his fork and knife, knuckles turning white at the ferocity of it, at the thought of your mother pulling this stupid shit again. Of course she would. She’s the one who organized the dinner so she’d have full reign to make her own accommodations, always jumping on the first chance to embarrass her daughter.

It makes his blood boil.

Rafe takes a deep breath, reminding himself that a loud crash out is not the appropriate response, especially in front of your entire family, even though he has more than enough words to say that are nothing nice. Despite his flaring temper, he regulates his breathing and composes himself.

Without question, Rafe starts scooping out pasta and meat from his bowl into yours, not trusting his words.

Your voice is so small, so unlike you, that it further pisses him off. “Rafe. Stop. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fucking fine,” he hisses quietly, gradually piling more food from his plate to yours. “You’re having some of mine.”

“But I—“

“No. End of discussion.”

“You don’t—“

Rafe ceases his movements to glare at you, really glare, with such intensity that it shuts you right up. Your breath hitches, feeling hot under his piercing blues, squirming uncomfortably as if you're in trouble. There's no baby or sweet girl to lull you through this dilemma, and you can't help but shrink under his gaze.

The two of you stare at each other, having a silent discussion that you aren't going to win. He almost relents when he realizes that you're not looking up at him with anger, but rather embarrassment, shame, guilt.

It makes him hate Paulette even more for putting you in this position to begin with.

“We’re sharing,” he says evenly after the tension filled silence. “Okay?”

You blink, knowing you're not winning this one. “Okay.”

Reluctantly, you let Rafe continue until your portions are the exact same, deliberately trying to ignore your mother’s laser gaze from down the table as you quietly take your fork and eat.

You want to agree with him that, yes, your nonna’s cooking is better, but you can’t seem to find the words. Or any words, for that matter. Not while your mother is watching you like a hawk, and not while Rafe eats next to you as if that whole thing wasn’t severely intimate, as if he also isn't watching you to make sure you do what he wants you to do.

Because you hate the way that he understands what’s wrong without you having to say anything.

You're not sure if you appreciate someone being so in tune with your thoughts, or if you're scared of it.

Teetering between the two feelings, you continue to eat and sip your wine every few bites, refusing to look up from the plate to let the flushed feeling in your face relax.

“I’ve seen you hangry before,” he says after a few minutes, his voice barely heard over the laughter and chatter of the rest of the table. “You literally choked Elliot last week because he forgot to place our bagel and coffee order after waiting an hour.”

You shrink at the anecdote. “I was hungover.”

Rafe snorts. “Baby, you were so scary. I feared for my life.” Then he notices you're looking at him instead of eating, and nods towards your plate. “I’m not ready to die. Eat.”

Suppressing a giant grin, you swirl a forkful of pasta and take a bite, for once thankful for his bossy attitude.

He’s been stupidly perfect tonight, saying the right things and smiling in a pretty way that makes your knees weak, but also glaring at Grant so intently that he doesn’t try and attempt small talk with you. His touch alternates from your thigh, to your hand, to your shoulder when he slings his lean arm across the back of your chair, as if he’s caging you in, a notion of possession you're surprisingly grateful for.

It’s too much. But in the right way.

Rafe’s playing the hell out of the boyfriend role so hard that you're beginning to believe it, too.

You've already made up your mind: you're totally going down on him later.

notes apologies for the delay on posting. thanks for all the support, genuinely !!!!!!

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