v1sexual

[v1sexual]

im unfortunately apart of the small titty club and you cant convince me otherwise, that kate wouldnt love having her whole hand cover your one of your tiddies

like she'd eat that shit up

oooo yes i love that! me too #smallbittygirliesstandup

kate stood behind you, the mirror was fogged up and the bathroom was warm and comforting haze. her body pressed against yours, her warmth seeping into your skin, creating a sense of intimacy that made your heart race. you could feel her breath against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

with a slow, deliberate motion, kate's hand moved up your side, her fingers grazing your skin lightly, almost teasingly. when her hand finally cupped your breast, it covered it completely, the size difference making you feel both so damn needy. her touch was firm yet gentle, her thumb brushing over your nipple, eliciting a gasp from your lips.

"you’re so perfect," she whispered, her voice low and filled with admiration. "the way you fit in my hand... it drives me crazy, baby."

you looked at your reflection in the foggy mirror, seeing the way kate's hand enveloped you, her other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close. the sight of her tall, strong form behind you made you feel protected and adored.

she continued to knead your breast, her touch sending waves of pleasure through you. her other hand slid down to your hip, pulling you even closer against her. you could feel her heartbeat against your back, steady and strong, a perfect rhythm that matched your own racing pulse.

"kate," you moaned softly, your head falling back against her shoulder, your eyes closing as you surrendered to the sensation.

she pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, her lips warm and soft against your skin. "love the way you respond to me," she murmured. "it’s like our bodies were made for each other."

her words sent a thrill through you, and you turned your head to capture her lips in a passionate kiss. the steam and warmth of the bathroom seemed to cocoon you both in a world where only the two of you existed, where every touch, every kiss was a testament to your connection.

if you enjoyed, any interaction is greatly appreciated!

with love, rylin 𝜗𝜚

[v1sexual]

guilty as sin ୨୧

summary: teammate!reader and kate are urged to stop crushing on each other because it interferes with their gameplay, leading to tension

warnings: angst, fluff towards the end

a/n: based on the song guilty as sin by tswift! i don’t listen to her so i hope i did this right lmfao

ever since coach bluder sat you down and chatted with you about kate, you hadn’t been speaking to her very much. before the mandatory meeting with bluder, you and kate had undoubtedly been feverishly crushing on each other to the point of it interfering with how both girls played; in and out of practice. plays being disrupted, catching fouls, and missing shots had all been a result of being too focused on kate. she was the only girl on your mind, and you were dedicated to being near each other all the time. you were told to either get it together, or forget the idea of being romantically involved with her. it was obvious the connection was still there, but you both agreed with bluder and ended up not interacting as much besides being on the court.

one specific moment in the locker room confirmed your distance from kate. you had arrived late to practice and was already irritated, when kate came in for a bathroom break. just you two in the room, she tried to negotiate the separation.

“you know…” she started out cautiously, “we don’t have to listen to coach bluder if we don’t wan-“

“kate please just let it go,” you urged, as if bluder was listening. it was hard enough to say that, but kate persisted.

“i’m serious, i still really like you.”

she was making it harder and harder. you helplessly dropped your arms to your sides, uncomfortable with the confrontation, but wanted to make yourself clear.

“i still like you too. so much. i really wanted it to work but bluder and the other coaches are right. so are our teammates,” you began. a drawn out pause followed your words, and you continued.

“i mean, everyone has seen how this is just getting in the way of how we play, kate. we can’t get anything done because we’re too focused on each other,” you said, exasperated and voice trembling with emotion. kate gazed at you with the same helplessness, but both of you knew it wasn’t over.

this cage was once just fine

am i allowed to cry?

the forced distance apart only seemed to strengthen the feelings between you and kate. although you hadn’t exactly been flirting anymore, it was like you were convinced everything she did was a sign towards you; and each word from her mouth a symbolic message. you would see the glimmer in kate’s eyes as they would linger on yours for an extra moment during team huddles, certain that she could read your thoughts. as much as you loved hearing her voice as team captain, it would frequently get drowned out by all the wild things you wanted with her.

i keep recalling things we never did

messy top lip kiss

at times it felt unfair; as you and kate never got the chance to advance to something more serious. all you experienced was touchiness and bold flirting with nothing more. you wanted so badly to be something more with her, do something more. but every time you stared at kate a little too long during practice, bluder saw right through both of you. petty little sidecourt lectures weren’t your thing, but it wasn’t like you could just give up on kate that easily.

several practices and games went by with no progress in advancing with kate. in fact, the sexual tension once so familiar turned to irritable tension. even through the passive aggressiveness and pointless bickering on the court, your desire for kate was growing unbearable. her scolding you became a new source of interest, almost trying to get her mad at you.

“you’re acting like you’ve never done this before,” kate’s stern voice called out to you. it was nearing the end of an exhaustive practice getting ready for the next day’s game, and you were at the end of your wits.

unsure of how to reply, you stood there after messing up your defensive play, ball on your hip. you stared at her knowingly, but kate did not take your silence as an answer.

“can you stop standing there and actually do something?”

“can you actually act like a captain instead of just bossing me around,” you shot back coldly, maintaining eye contact.

kate paused and shifted in her stance. she took a moment to look away from you, either thinking or making sure nobody’s near, and promptly returned her gaze. almost without missing a beat, kate lowered her voice.

“what if i wasn’t talking about basketball.”

her unexpected question flustered you, making your eyebrows furrow and break the eye contact. it was embarrassing how quickly she made your heartbeat skyrocket. you knew it was exactly what you wanted her to say, but kept up with the act.

“kate, not now, not here.”

she scoffed and looked around once more before stepping even closer to you. she kept her head low along with her voice when talking to you, although she seemed to not care about keeping distance anymore. if coaches came around at any moment, you were sure she wouldn’t budge.

“you know you want to.”

why does it feel like a vow

we’ll both uphold somehow

the look in your eyes changed from resentment to need. every time she cornered you like this, it was like you and her magically became the only two on the court. kate managed to move even closer to you, and your eyes were stuck on her. your mouth hung open as you trusted words would come out, but the illusion was quickly broken away when you felt a firm pat on your shoulder.

looking behind you, coach bluder was standing there expectantly, her eyes darting back and forth between you and kate. the look in her eyes was apparent, but she went easy on you.

“practice is over, girls. go head in.”

you slowly began to step away from kate, your eyes still fixated on her before you turned around and picked up your pace. from behind you, you heard coach bluder order kate to stick around a bit longer for a talk with the other coaches. half of you was relieved to not walk in the locker room with her, but the other half wanted to.

when you joined your teammates in the locker room, their lively chatter seemed to dissipate as they saw you come in. they knew of your situation with kate and used to be supportive, but now backed off since the angst began. some were even convinced that kate was bullying you.

“you really shouldn’t let her talk to you like that,” jada encouraged.

already over what they had to say, you side eyed her and just tried to continue getting ready to go home.

“you’re seriously just gonna let her be that way?”

“jada, i don’t care. i just don’t,” you practically snapped at her, “plus, you guys don’t even know what she said to me.”

jada was taken aback at your sudden defensiveness.

“girl the whole gym heard her yell at you,” jada pressed.

“she wasn’t yelling at me. you guys don’t even know what’s going on, just stay out of it please,” you said, turning away from her. the interaction alone made you replay the moment with kate a hundred times over again.

they don’t know how you’ve haunted me

so stunningly

after losing the next day’s game at home, it was only a matter of time before you ran into kate again. you were truthfully waiting for it to happen, and the exact event did happen when walking out of the arena after the game. you were one of the only girls on the team to leave out the back door; a typically lonely walk to your car. kate knew this and took it to her advantage. so when you stepped into the cold night and saw her leaning against the wall, it didn’t surprise you.

“don’t get mad at me yet,” kate’s said smoothly.

the look on her face and tone in her voice told you she was being genuine, and you felt no need to be tense. you unclenched your jaw and dropped your shoulders. in fact, kate seemed to be the nervous one this time.

“kate what are you doing out here, it’s freezing,” you questioned, wrapping your arms around yourself.

she stood up from against the wall and inched towards you, seeming to really think about her words before saying them.

“i know we’ve been mean to each other lately and,” kate paused, maintaining eye contact to confirm your agreement, “and i think we both know it’s bullshit.”

her words were soft, but truthful and deliberate as they came out. it was like the fourth wall was broken with the acknowledgment of the act you two had been keeping up, and it was a relief to know she wanted it to end too. still, she was taking it a little too slow, and it only seemed to get colder outside.

“kate if that’s what this is about-“ you started to turn away, but kate promptly grabbed your wrist and faced you back to her. you realized she was being serious.

“please, just hear me out. i want to make things right again,” kate begged, her hand still around your wrist.

you looked around the dark parking lot, remaining paranoid of anyone who might hear the interaction. the only lights illuminating your faces were high up on the arena walls, and no one else appeared to be in the area. looking back at kate, she was looking back intently, waiting for a response.

“kate... you were pretty mean to me,” you replied honestly, but still wanting to work things out. she blinked and took a deep breath, realizing it might not have been as easy as she thought.

“you’re right,” she said nodding, “i’ve been a fucking asshole to you. i yelled at you when i was supposed to help you, i embarrassed you, i...i have no excuse.”

“so what now...we’re just supposed to act like we didn’t hate each other for weeks?”

between losing the game, being tired, and the coldness of the night, it was turning into a bit of an argument. you didn’t want it to, but weeks of taking shots at each other wasn’t easy to forget. kate’s mouth hung slightly open without words, and you could see her exasperated huffs into the air. she remained silent.

“seriously, i mean it never had to be like this,” you said, narrowing your eyes and moving your head away. without missing a beat, kate took her hand up to your cheek and moved your head back to her.

“just look at me...”

her hand ever so slightly touched your face, almost hovering, as if the world would implode if she touched you fully. although you were being stubborn, her tone remained patient and calm. with her hand rested on your face and the other hand finding its way back to yours, it suddenly felt like nothing had ever changed. the way her hand perfectly cradled yours and gave it a gentle squeeze made you feel like you never fell out with her at all.

the gentle squeeze of your hand was thought to be permission, as kate lowered her hand down to your jaw and held your face closer to hers. you weren’t sure there were any words needed, but you spoke anyway.

“kate, please,” you were now whispering, just inches away from her lips, and that was all it took.

you could feel the longing and anticipation in the kiss, the way kate’s lips pressed on yours so softly, yet biting down on your bottom lip. the kiss flowed back and forth, electrifying both of you in the way you needed it most. kate ran her hand down your neck and your arm, testing how you reacted to her touch. you needed more so desperately, cupping her face in your hands. it felt like hours had gone by after just several seconds, and you broke the kiss to take a breath.

these fatal fantasies

giving way to labored breath

kate’s forehead was pressed against yours as you caught your breath and began smiling. the intense kiss made you forget about the nightly cold, and instead gave way for warmth. kate kept her hands on your arms, giving them a gentle squeeze as if you’d disappear right then.

“was that ok?” kate questioned.

you laughed at her sheepish question, nodding your head. “i’ve been waiting for that forever, kate.”

taking all of me

we’ve already done it in my head

both girls decided making out in the middle of the night outside your basketball arena wasn’t very ideal. it was also decided you couldn’t just part ways after exchanging such a telling kiss, and kate allowed you to follow her back to her apartment. there was no practice the next day, and neither of you were busy.

kate’s apartment was a cozy little place, with just enough room for the both of you. you imagined all the times you could’ve been in her apartment before, if you had just been able to work it out earlier. you collapsed on her bed and didn’t even give any mind to getting unready. all you knew was that you were about to be lying in bed with your love, and there was an open day ahead of you.

once kate was done with her night routine, she joined you in bed. neither of you had the energy for anything more than a few short kisses peppered all over her face and head. being held by kate felt so right, and you were sure making up with her was the right decision. with your head rested on kate’s chest, she planted one last kiss to your head before whispering goodnight.

what if the way you hold me

is actually what’s holy?

[v1sexual]

GIRLLLL YOURE FILIPINO???? can I request a kk Arnold x filipino! gf! reader 🙏🙏

#bakla

𖥻 ATE OR ATE ?! kk arnold x filipino!npc reader

synopsis: kk arnold dating a … *gasp!* filipino!npc reader ?!

notes: hey… hey y’all… been a minute… and also hi nonnies, AND my first ever 😸 nonnie hehe YIPPEE!! welcome! i decided to combine all your requests as they were general enough to use as simple prompts! i’ma be real, kk would probably? not really mind your roots? i lowkey had big writing block doing this so the length’s kind of bad but it’s made with a lot of love i promise!! but also its kind of ass. and also, thank you so much for the kind words my loves. i prefer interactions being sent to my ask box so I'll be able to properly get to them.. . but just know I truly appreciate it. you lot are so sweet. #bakla!!!

cw: kk being notoriously bad at pronounciation, paige n ice make a cameo but don’t really have dialogue, i’m posting this sleeeeeepy deepy eepy… goodnight.

THANK YOU FOR THESE REQUESTS you are both geniuses. assuming that you’re talking about a filipino npc gf, i’m just going to automatically assume you’re like fresh from the philippines. maybe you have a student visa, or you just moved here a couple months/years ago and youre still getting used to it, but the point is you’re fresh off the soil of the MOTHERLAND 💪

the way you met + got close was the same as what i wrote in TRU-LY FRU-ITY. the pen-returning first meet, the epiphany at the game kk had, the pining—all of it is the same. There’s no need to elaborate more on it besides the fact that if you have an accent, it made kk’s eyes quirk up a bit—not because she minded it, or that she recognized it— but because it was so uniquely yours. whenever you spoke over her, she was pouty, yeah, but she couldn’t help but notice your voice (again)— and how pretty it sounded overlapping hers. dare i say you’d make sweet music together .. . hahahaha. js kidding. that was a bad innuendo

kk doesn’t outwardly show interest (may or may not be a direct lie)— that is to say, she doesn’t ask about things unless they spark her interest. the problem is, everything sparks her interest. kk in actuality is a very curious person—she’s going to definitely be interested in your culture, but she’ll do it in a way that is lowkey and … #nonchalant.

kk tries to be as lowkey as possible when it comes to her curiosity about your language, but sometimes its hard when hearing your voice— that filipino accent along with it— is such a significant part of her routine. she’s so quietly fascinated by the way your voice sounds like speaking tagalog–to the way your voice sounds like in general– and she finds herself simply exchanging words with you for no real reason other than to hear your voice. she like absorbs information during times like these, don’t get her wrong, but lowkey in the middle of your ramble she just goes off into dreamland and your voice lulls her deeper into it.

“my day was okay,” you begin, kk’s head on your shoulder and her eyes closed as she listens. “yeah?” she replies, “what happened? talk about it.” she insists, snuggling deeper into your neck. you laugh; an airy thing, and you feel kk’s hand on your arm tighten. she curls herself smaller into your space, kissing your shoulder. you raise an eyebrow, “you promise not to fall asleep?”

kk pauses. opens one eye. “girl, don’t start.”

when she sees you reading through tagalog websites, blogs, etc. she cranes her neck slightly down at your device just to see how words are intertwined in your language. she definitely tries to pronounce some words in her head.

you weren’t doing anything, really.

there was a new post from your favorite newsletter— it just happened to be typed out in tagalog, and you were reading it. despite being so far away from home, you tried to keep up with your country’s current events. It wasn’t born out of anything—just curiosity. Your eyes scanned the site, not noticing the looming kk behind you, staring at the screen and tilting her head as if trying to sound the words out.

“mag…” she began, startling you out of your zone as you looked back at her. you looked between her and the screen, leaning back a bit, challenging her to read it as a smirk began to form on your lips. “mag—“ she repeated, butchering it efficiently, “ingat?” she murmured, before saying it out loud again. “ingat.” eenjat.

loud and wrong.

“po kay-o.”

you laugh into your hand, shoulders shaking, and she just stares—trying to sound out the next sentence.

she tries! she’s a huge tryer. not a very huge successor but sometimes she gets it with enough coaching! however, half the time, she focuses more on your voice rather than what you’re actually pronouncing. you’re trying to teach her how to pronounce ‘mahal’ and she’s just staring down at you and your mouth moving. my girl is NOT absorbing anything you’re saying she just thinks you’re pretty

“kk, are you listening?”

“yuuuuup.”

“to what i’m saying, kk.”

“nooope.”

she’d be interested in filipino trends— think the budots craze, for example. we all know kk loves her tiktok dances, and so simply peeking over your shoulder, watching a video of someone completely eating up the dance, would send her into an intriguing phase of . … how u say …. DIGGING.

she ends up learning the tiktok dance herself, doing it, posting it, and not realizing that filipinos have lots of pride. she opens her phone to comments that are literally just ‘UYYY PHILIPPINS🔥🇵🇭’ but in different fonts. she’s actually JUBILANT about it. she even shows you!

“bae-bae!” your head perks up, and you slowly blink as you turn your head to a very happy kk. she greets you with a big smile, presenting her phone to you as if it were blessed by God, holding it up simba style and all—all to show you a …. a tiktok comment section? “kk, what?” your eyebrows furrow, leaning back as if to see better even though you’re not even registering whatever’s being shown to you at all. kk pushes the phone closer to you, “look at these comments!” she giggled, “i got em welcoming me and stuff…”

on the topic of social media… i did say that she didn’t necessarily hard launch you, but she would make it known she was taken. under the assumption that you have a filipino surname, you’d immediately get attention considering filipinos are EVERYWHERE . i am serious . maybe you make a cameo on live, speaking tagalog, or maybe you make an instagram post with a plate of kakanin (yum❤️❤️) at your side, or maybe kk posts you too much (while still trying to stay nonchalant & totally chill about you) and lowkey has people curious enough to stalk you a bit … respectfully. point is, you get outed (is that the right word) as having filipino roots and suddenly everyone is, once again, like: “UYYY PHILIPPINS!!!”

likely every one, and i mean every one of kk’s fans begin to call you ate (big sister). it was started by a filipino portion during a live, and ever since then, you’ve been referred to as ate by kk’s fans. or literally the entirety of uconns fanbase.

SPEAKING OF LIVES ACTUALLY… heres how the usual live goes between the team and you:

kk positioned the phone on a makeshift stand, perching it up on her bedroom wall as paige & ice began to gather around it—with ice pushing you forward to get closer, too. it wasn’t pushing, actually. more so gentle beckoning that felt like a push because she was a D1 basketball player. you digress. kk greeted the live, smile wide as she waved— “hey y’all! it’s beeeeen a minute…. i know, i know, y’all missed us?” she grinned, watching the comments pile up. “we missed y’all too! anyway, for today’s live…” she paused, “i actually don’t really wanna do nothing big.” she shrugged, before shrugging again but this time emphasizing it so as to add comedic effect. you stood stiff as a board behind her, and regardless of whether or not you dressed to make a statement, comments began flooding in.

“who dat in the BACKKKKK”

“i think there’s a statue behind u kk”

“can we get a bueckers cameo” (paige peeked her head into the camera)

“ice brady i love u”

“is that ate?”

“hiii ate!”

“baby, they saying hello to you,” your girlfriend giggled, and you waved. “hello,” you said back, grinning at the comments as they seemed to increase. in complete spirit of spontaneity, kk asked: “actually, is there a hello in tagalog?”

“Tagalog lessons with ate!”

“HEHEHEHE uyy philippins🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭”

“🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭MOTHERLAND🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭🇵🇭”

“it’s just hello kk 💔”

“that comment.” you murmur, pointing briefly at it. “they’re right. literally just ‘hello’, kk.”

“oh! so like, kamusta…”

“when did i ever say that—“

it’s legit just kk asking you to ‘rep the home country’ and you blinking confused into the camera. and then the comments are like “i love you both . adopt me”

KK IS SO CURIOUS . but she doesn’t want to seem too overbearing. BUT SHES SO CURIOUS. but she’s nonchalant about it.

her curiosity comes in what she thinks of as ‘slick remarks’, pointing at things like tables and microwaves and asking you “yo, what’s that called in philippines? is it like different or something?” — of course, you satiate her desires. you respond. this comes, also, in the form of sharing your snacks with her.

i feel like kk would fw mik-mik— it’s like, this sweetened powder that boomed mostly in the 1990s. once you tossed kk a pack, she ended up hooked on those little fuckers. she downs them like they’re crucial to her existence.

“kk.” you called, hands already working to untangle a long chain of the mikmik packets—tearing one off and tossing it to your girlfriend, who already had her head perked up like a very curious puppy that loved you to a degree that was concerning. she caught the packet, hands clasping around it as she blinked. “what’s this?” kk asked, despite already tearing open the packet.

“just eat it.” you ordered, simply. she blinked again, and then because you were her girlfriend and she practically worshipped the ground you walked on, she obeyed!

she dipped the powder into her mouth, letting it soak before her eyes widened in awe—as if she were a renaissance artist, discovering anime for the first time. she looked at the packet in awe, lips parted, and you broke into a grin.

“yo, get me some more of this!”

despite your culture not playing a significant part of the relationship, kk notably acknowledges and adores it as what makes you you—and so, one might say that she loves you even more—but she already loves you the most she physically can.

so she loves you all the same.

@likelysobbing.

[v1sexual]

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ GONNA TAKE MY TIME. I HAVE ALL THE TIME ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ IN THE WORLD, ‎‎‎‎‎TO MAKE YOU MINE. ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎

cw  # 18+ minors and cis-men do not interact, filth based on two nonnie requests that had me combusting, dom!camgirl-reader + sub!ellie, mutual masturbation, spit, fucking machine, reader is kinda rough and mean, mocking, degradation, slight spanks, finger fucking, use of toys (duh) tons of dirty talk, i may be forgetting things but nothing extremely weird. mutuals look away.

side note  # first of all, i'm sorry. depeche mode's ultra cd makes me do stuff. crazy nonnies you have done it- i don't know if you guys are the same person, but you both fought this war with a sword and no shield, so this 3.3k word-nasty-piece of work? all yours. i must say i changed a few things like, there's no stream in the end but home-made porn? i've fallen for the sub!ellie propaganda and i'm rotting in the pits of hell with your ideas, do i care? no, i'm living for it, hope you enjoy too x // check out the fic directory!!

"i think you're doing it wrong," cocky bitch. you're mocking at her, teasing her choices while looking at her comfortably seated on the other side of the kitchen island — "there's also sugar and lemon in a mojito, baby. not just rum, mint and sparkling water."

baby.

the word sticks with ellie for a while as her cheeks gain a subtle shade of pink in response and she has to look at the drink she's re-making for the fourth time already trying to somehow make a half-decent mojito for you: it's never too late to know about her awful bartending skills.

"that's why it's not working out, love" you say again, holding the laugh in—. "you're missing the main ingredients."

"oh that makes sense," man. it's adorable. you find it adorable when you're invading her space as you stand behind her: are you drunk? is that it? ellie's been making you try drink after drink even when you scrunch your nose in disgust and laugh it out trying to be nice about the bad taste: it's neither too strong, too sweet or too minty "should i do it again?"

"yeah, you should" you breathe out making her feel your warm breath against her naked shoulder, and for a moment, ellie struggles to concentrate when your hand finds her waist, cold-silver rings that makes her shiver for a moment, "i'll be here to help you out with your poor sense of proportions."

"so you're a professional now huh?" she's been standing down the barrel of a gun for a while. playing this game she's sure is going to get her burnt without any control of it. "okay then. help me out."

it's almost an invitation. a dare cause you've been acting up like nothing happened already a week ago, like she didn't saw you on a live stream, like you didn't asked her to come over after being friends online for like a month or two cause you live in the same city she does.

friends is an understatement surely — but how do you call the girl ellie's been masturbating to the last six months? how do you explain the insane amount of tokens she had to spend because she needed to get your attention to herself at least for a breach of seconds? that's not how you treat a friend.

things got messy when you begged her for a video call. and now that she's looking back at it while her hands work on auto-pilot, ellie should've know that the thin line of just talking was going to be fuzzy as ever.

what was she thinking about when she talked to you for the first time? that she would have it under control? it seems inevitable when ellie's sliding in your dm's like she already belonged in your life from the beginning. flirty texts, some deep conversations and all suddenly? you're giving her your personal number, video-chatting almost every day until last week when your face's popping up on her phone after a rough session of exercise, and it's all the combination to be a massive disaster.

the adrenaline rush hits hard, cause you got ellie staring at the sweat that comes down your neck, clearing her throat like she just smoked the whole pack of cigs still guarded on her black jacket — she's saying something about your hair looking good, you're blatantly flirting back, showing her your cute attire for working out before a comment about your tits fucking slips from her mouth and that's all it fucking takes. all. it. fucking. takes.

"masturbate with me on a live stream," you're the first one to surrender when things got heated, pouting for her delight as you stare at your phone screen — "don't show your face if it makes you uncomfortable, it's just- god. such a good fucking view everybody needs to see what i'm claiming f'me, ells."

so her words stumble upon each other in search of an answer, twisted fantasies since she's damn weak at this point, begging to get all of you as she's changing her video-call to her laptop, making sure you're watching when she's unbuckling the belt around her blue jeans, letting it hang between her legs as own hand slides under the white tank top — "c'mon quick before i regret it, don't be greedy. let your horny fans know who you're touching yourself to."

no. ellie's not used to it. maybe that's why she's face red when you're live streaming the whole thing, when you're putting up a show for her and suddenly she's feeling no damn shame in touching herself from over her already wet underwear, rough voice as she encourages you to masturbate too, she don't care if she's being seen by what? 12k? 15k people? let the fucking tips keep coming.

"the lemon, ellie" you're biting on her shoulder as she lets out a moan in response, dragged again back to reality. fuck — did she just got hit by a sex memory? "what was that huh? you zoomed out."

"just thinking," she replies already embarrassed. being this close to you, having your teeth biting on her skin and leaving a damn mark: she brought this upon herself.

"what are you thinking of?" you curiously ask, chin resting against her shoulder before your hand find hers, directing her to take the lemon from the fruit basket "something nice?"

"yeah" something she forgets about it seems when her ass is pressing against your front and now she gets why ghost was such a big deal in the 90's "yeah it was nice."

now, to say the truth, ellie's been out in the blue for a while cause no, she never met you in real life before. yes, you live in her city, yes, you video-chat every day or so, but when you disappear after that until damn saturday night she doesn't really know what to do exactly.

"i miss you" you texted hours before the encounter — "you live too far from my place?"

it does not matter that in reality, it's a 45-minute-drive. ellie's there anyway. the sound of the vinyl constantly spinning on the turntable spiraling like she does when you're dictating her movements, and fuck's sake it's so damn hot it should be a crime cause there's nothing sexual about it, but your hand covers her when you're using the knife to cut the lemon in a half, and your fingers blend with hers as they squeeze the lemon right over the mojito, making the juice coat your fingers, go down ellie's arm and before she can think about it, she's looking at you from over her shoulder with glassy eyes, half-lidded and that smile that just screams fucking-shatter-me.

"i'm gonna kiss you now" you reply like a fair warning, falling for the erotic sight of her needy state "can i kiss you?"

so it's an sloppy kiss when ellie's able to nod, saliva blends on itself, teeth, desperation and need, makes the girl want it all to herself. you hold her jaw tightly, making her stay in the same spot, contorted and kissing you back like it's a religious experience that gets her closer to a divine force.

your fingers smell like lemon and the mojito seems long forgotten when your hand slide down the tank top she's wearing and ellie's letting you take control — shit. she fucking wants you to take control. she knew you would do her no good when she first talked to you already, know that you're dangerous and a hazard to her well-being when you're pushing the door of your bedroom among an explosion of words that make her blood boil.

"do you have any idea of much i've been thinking about you?" you ask, but ellie's already chaotic when her top's already falling to the floor "how much i missed you the last days i've been without you? fucking hell, i tried so hard to avoid it, ellie. it's simply not fair."

"no it isn't" she agrees with you, cause it's not. cause she cannot possibly be silent about it when you're touching her, impossible to have a little self-respect when she's letting you have it, a need that goes beyond from what your hands are able to grab and feel, "god- it fucking isn't."

it's better than any fantasy ellie had before, and the greater power in the universe knows how much she's been craving this, how long she's been acting up like a damn freak: avoiding her friends cause she wants to hear your voice, entire days with the damn sounds of your moans etched on her skin, marked like a tattoo among the moth in her arm — it's better than whatever dream she's been having lately when your mouth closes on the valley of her chest, making her skin shiver cause she can physically see the traces of saliva in her skin like a trophy, the tug on her underwear when you're biting on the fabric since it only getting in the damn way. annoying you.

it goes through her soul much like the devastating shred of the guitar who's capable of trespassing her entirely. you're so in control. so damn aware of yourself when ellie's already lost in this hazy cloud of lust, always in control and pulling her back to reality.

"shit you're so needy," you breathe out as she's blushing, the speckled freckles coming in contrast with the red that pops on her face — "i'm gonna take my time with you until you have no idea on where you end, and i begin to exist."

how does simple words can turn her on to this point of no return? the tone you use to admit, out loud, how willing you are to devastate her? must have know it when the most slutty moans escape from her parted lips: fucking tease. that's what you are when your fingers slide from under her classic jeans, when you notice how her underwear sticks sinfully to the outlines of her pussy just by touching, drenched, sticky, it already covers your hand by the slightest stroke.

"can i record this?" she can tell you're wrecked too, impatient by the unevenness of your voice. "for us. don't care about the site-"

"yes-" she's gonna turn fucking purple at some point when she's repeating it multiple times, already shaking her head in approval "yes please, record it- send me a copy- just fucking do it."

"you're such a whore" you pant, and before ellie can say anything, you're taking her phone to open up the camera icon and point the lenses back to her face "what was that? say it again."

"please" it makes ellie's cunt clench in response while your lips curve in a smile, pleased as you're using just a slight amount of force to push her right over the edge of your mattress — "please record it, send me a copy m'am. please."

"begging so quick already huh?" placing yourself between her parted legs, ellie's hand roam against your sides before you're making her look up, pulling on her hair to oblige her to stare at your eyes "beg so beautiful i might have to make you do it again."

your thumb trace the confines of her lips, cold skin before ellie's biting on the finger playfully — "please- i can't deal with any more teasing."

"okay then greedy. all fours then. i want you in all fours" you reply as the camera points at her, giving you the perfect look of ellie's face, how she seemed, for the first time, pleased to follow orders without putting up a fight. "leave the panties on."

and in the camera it looks so fucking hot you forget to keep her in the frame for a second, distracted cause your eyes scan the exposed skin; cause her body's like a halo that holds some sort of holiness when she's doing what you demanded: her cheek rests against your wrinkled duvet as her backside is up like a present ready to let you take whatever you want from her.

so you're grabbing her ass, squeezing the flesh in one hand as the other seemed to remember it's job while recording, giving a good image of your viewer's body as the lenses catch every detail you're missing out as a victim of the adrenaline.

"you're always this good at submitting? or is it me who's having the pleasure of seeing this?" you question, but at this point ellie cannot find the words to say something about how she's not submitting, even when in reality the spank you gave her makes her body go stiff for a moment, an involuntary gasp leaving her parted mouth in response. she has no face to lie to you. "talk to me, dummy. or have you forgotten how to speak properly?"

"uh please," she whines "don't do this to me."

"poor baby," you pout for a moment before a smirk pulls the corners of your lips back up — "can't handle a little teasing? really are an impatient little slut."

ellie's hand grip the covers beneath her when you're finally taking care of the ache she's so bad to control in between her legs, when you mumble something about her underwear sticking to her folds like glue, the white cotton already dampened as it reveals the pink color you're quick to stare at as your fingers slide right in the middle: sticky, coats your hand like its meant to land on it, makes you follow like the moth is drawn to the fire.

"breathe," you instruct when the camera points to ellie's cunt. grimy and so good as the video catches on the transparent strands of her arousal connected to your palm, how ellie's hips move ever so slightly in search for more friction, anything at all when your fingers perpetuate the torture in keeping her hanging on a thread "you'll thank me for this. i need you loose for the fucking machine."

she would like to investigate further, ask what-the-fuck you're talking about, but the only thing that comes out of her mouth when your fingers slide filling her drenched cunt, is a loud whine that puts her damn right under your control. roughly biting on her lips to somehow stiffen the sounds of how pathetic she already is under your hands, how her hips unbuckle on her own to follow the length of your digits splitting her open.

"oh fuck-" you moan slowly falling to pieces, sounds so damn inviting at this point—. "fuck you're so tight- so warm."

"more," there's a lewd sound that your fingers make when there're sinking in deeper inside her pussy and withdrawal almost entirely before slamming back in, in her moans and incoherent words to make you go faster, take more from what ellie's already presenting to you. "more, more- more."

it makes you laugh, and ellie's face already too red to keep on blushing as you mock her words — "more, more more. is it the only word you fucking know?"

she asked for it now that she's seeing the video back in your phone with you already invading her space. soft, lazy kisses against the crook of her neck. takes it like a champ when ellie can hear the mechanic sounds filling the air, irrupting the silence and her needy moans as you position the machine right next your waist, roughly moving her where you needed her to be.

"you look so fucking hot," ellie hears as she stares at the screen, blushing again like she's not already embarrassed from her previous behavior recorded on camera "do me a favor and spread yourself out, need to see your pretty hole."

she's quick to spread her ass-cheeks for you without a second thought, making you gather a good quantity of spit on your mouth to toss against her already abused opening, lubricating the entrance.

her moans drive you crazy, how could they not? ellie tries to muffle them but failing miserably before the tip of the silicone dildo kisses her entrance, using your free hand to guide her movements and push her against the fucking machine as the toy's already moving at a constant pace.

"make room for my cock," your hand slides down her spine, following the bones of ellie's column. the phone still points to her cunt greedily swallowing the blue color until it disappears inside. makes you dizzy at the sight—. "such a good girl taking my cock."

"s'too big, ah-too much" ellie whines, pressing her cheek against the mattress as you keep the pace of the machine in the slower level, making her gasp when you're the one with enough force to move her hips against the machine for her. "mff-good fuck."

"yeah baby, that's right keep talking to me" you encourage her as your fingers slowly make the machine go faster than before — "keep telling me how good my cock's making you feel. i'm all ears."

"stretching me out s'good" she's able to say as her brain's already combusting by itself. the mechanic sounds mixing already with her drenched cunt as the phone keeps recording right against ellie's entrance, giving you a hella good view when you're able to see the white-creamy-traces of her cunt already coating the dildo "ah-you're making me feel so full."

so as she rewatches the video recorded on her own phone, she's aware of the debased stated you reduced her. how saliva's coming down her parted lips to coat the bed you sleep in every day, glassy eyes already in the verge of tears cause the pleasure's so intense ellie could cry from the stimulation she has never felt before.

it's a bomb ticking her way back to zero. your fingers play with all the levels of the machine and ellie can see that you're enjoying it too, the red imprint of your hand on her ass, the way you're pushing her face against the mattress to have her arching her back in a better angle, to allow the dildo in reaching deeper levels even when her legs shake struggling to hold her own weight.

"shh, don't whine" you say on top of her when your fingers thread against ellie's hair, pulling it roughly. "don't whine, you asked for more remember? be a good fucking slut and take it good. you're there already."

damn right she is. she wants to be good for you. please you even when the machine's so fucking loud she cannot hear her own thoughts, when her brain's malfunctioning and its fucking leaking through her ear into your sheets — you're pushing her against the dildo, impaling her balls-deep in the silicone you keep calling your cock, and suddenly her vision's fading to black, blinded momentarily since she dissolves into lust and becomes one with the pleasure, you fucking win.

it's not a competition, it's not a game anymore. not when you're switching your attitude so fast got her confused for a second when all the roughness dissipates and you're pressing soft kisses against her back as she's coming down from her high — "you okay there, beautiful? was i too rough on you?"

"fuck- i think i need a moment to breathe- hold up a second."

the video comes to an end seconds after, but its there on ellie's memory like a poor movie with bad camera anglings. you're helping to lay in bed after, praising how she's basking under the glimmer of sex, placing soft kisses in the red marks you leave on her skin like a permanent reminder.

so ellie stays that night, cause you were right when you said it before.

you took your time with her until she has no damn idea anymore. until you make her torn cause even when she's looking at the video with you sleeping on her side all over again, she still have no idea on where you ended, and she begins to exist.

man. ellie knew it was no good.

[v1sexual]

hiii would you ever do a ellie x reader where the reader is like super duper rich and a little bit of a snob and brat but her and ellie are dating??

୨୧ ellie is capable of tolerating anything, including your bratty attitude.

contains: mild smut at the end.

When Ellie first met you, she wanted to throw you off the balcony.

You were sitting cross-legged on Dina's white leather couch, wearing something sheer and sparkly with sunglasses indoors and a wine glass in your hand like a goddamn celebrity. Ellie offered you a beer and you blinked at her like she'd handed you sewer water.

"Do I look like I drink beer?" you asked.

Ellie scoffed. "Jeez. Fuck me for trying to be nice.”

It was hate at first sight.

You were stuck-up, spoiled, dramatic. She was blunt, rough around the edges, and couldn't care less about labels—unless they were on a guitar pedal. You thought her boots looked like they'd been chewed on by a dog. She thought your purse probably had a security code.

But for whatever reason, the two of you kept running into each other. Dina's parties, bookstore openings, a concert where Ellie caught you looking way too long during soundcheck. 

And one night, when it was just the two of you on the rooftop, tipsy and sniping at each other in the moonlight—you kissed her.

Hard. With teeth.

"You're the worst," you panted.

"You're fucking unbearable," she muttered.

And she still pulled you onto her lap.

Now, you're dating. God help everyone.

Ellie never thought she'd be this whipped.

This down bad.

But somehow—she is. And honestly, it's starting to get concerning.

You throw tantrums when you can't find your lip gloss. You're always dragging her into overpriced boutiques, always late to dates because your outfit isn't perfect, always demanding her attention like you're a spoiled little popstar.

And Ellie?

She loves it.

You give her the silent treatment over the smallest things—she buys the wrong oat milk, forgets your charger, puts your cashmere sweater in the dryer—and she just looks at you like you're the eighth wonder of the world.

"You done pouting, baby?"

"No."

"Don’t mind it. You look really cute like this."

She's addicted to it. Your attitude. Your big, ridiculous sunglasses and your shopping bags and your scowl when someone dares to flirt with her in public.

"Ugh, people here are so thirsty," you hiss one night, practically draped over her at some party. Ellie just grins and lets you stake your claim.

You try to push her buttons constantly.

Rolling your eyes. Giving her that bratty little smirk. Saying shit like "I could do better" just to see if you can get a rise out of her.

But Ellie never takes the bait.

Not in public, anyway.

Because behind closed doors?

When you've finally gone too far—when you've huffed and pouted and whined just a little too much—Ellie grabs your wrist and yanks you into the bedroom with that look in her eyes.

"You wanna act like a spoiled little brat?" 

she growls, voice low in your ear. "Keep talking, princess. I’ll fuck that attitude right outta you."

You whimper. Instantly.

And it embarrasses you.

No one has ever had you this flustered, except her.

She bends you over her lap and makes you apologize with your face pressed into the sheets, muttering sweet, cruel things while her fingers work you open slow.

"Can't stand how fuckin' bratty you are sometimes."

Then a kiss to your shoulder.

"But I love it. God, I love it."

You're too pretty to punish. She says that every time.

Even when you're whining, even when you're begging, even when you're grinding back on her hand with tears in your eyes— Ellie's still kissing you like she worships the ground you walk on.

Because she does.

You're her spoiled little princess.

And she wouldn't change a single thing.

[v1sexual]

Wait a fucking second…

Hear me the fuck out…

[v1sexual]

here comes the sun - vi x f!reader

wc: 2k

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

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

The first ultrasound made it real.

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

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

The first kick happened on a Sunday.

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

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

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

You froze.

Vi looked up. “What’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

The first baby clothes arrived a week later.

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

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

She looked particularly proud of that one.

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

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

──────────────────────

The first crib took forever to build.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She already is” you whispered.

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

──────────────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

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

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

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

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

It was a perfect day.

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

──────────────────────

You were thirty-eight weeks along when labor started.

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

It tightened. Eased. Then came back, stronger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—crying.

Not yours. Not Vi’s.

A new sound.

Small. Fierce. Alive.

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

She was perfect.

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

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

──────────────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her words made your heart squeeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────────────────────

masterlist - next part

[v1sexual]

𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚞𝚙 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you watch your best friend live out her dream

The light was mellow—late-afternoon golden, tinting Azzi’s face the color of a memory. She was curled in the passenger seat, left foot tucked up on the edge of the leather, phone in one hand, your fingers resting gently in the other. The stadium wasn’t far now. Just twenty minutes and a few turns stood between you and the Target Center.

Paige’s home debut.

“I’m not gonna cry,” Azzi said softly, not looking up from her phone.

You glanced at her sideways, a smirk tugging at your mouth. “You literally cried during the Wings’ media day reel when they showed her dunking on that tiny plastic hoop from when she was little.”

“That was nostalgic,” Azzi insisted. “And Paige looked—”

“—like she was trying not to trip over shoes three sizes too big.”

Azzi snorted. “Shut up.”

“You’re gonna cry,” you said, squeezing her fingers. “You always cry.”

She leaned her head against the passenger window and looked at you. “Only over you and Paige.”

You gave a one-handed shrug. “Fair.”

There was a pause. Soft hum of tires. The distant curve of the skyline.

Then Azzi asked, “Do you remember when she locked us in that room?”

You smiled immediately. “She was so dramatic about it.”

“She had snacks prepared,” Azzi said, grinning. “Like she thought we’d be in there for days.”

“Emergency granola bars. Two bottles of Gatorade. Her mom’s old iPod.”

“And a post-it note that said ‘Just talk. Stop being weird.’”

You both laughed.

Azzi leaned her head back and exhaled through her nose, a smile still lingering. “That’s still the moment everything changed.”

“Yeah,” you said, quieter now.

Another beat passed.

“Are you nervous about today?” she asked.

You blinked. “You mean for Paige?”

“I mean… about being seen. With me.”

You kept your eyes on the road, but your grip on her hand tightened. “No.”

“Even if people ask who you are?”

“They will.”

“And even if they post it online?”

“They will.”

Azzi looked over. “You’re sure?”

You turned to meet her eyes, steady and sure. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

She smiled. Soft. Proud. A little in love. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Shut up, Han Solo.”

You arrived with Paige’s family—her mom, her brothers, her dad. Azzi knew them all by name now. You had since kindergarten.

Azzi was wearing a white tee with Paige’s SLAM magazine picture and her natural curls tied up. You were in cargos and a vintage Paige Bueckers Hopkins jersey, sleeves cuffed, the old school logo sharp across your chest. You weren’t trying to make a statement. You were just honoring history.

Your history.

Azzi settled into her seat beside you. She sat close. Always did. One leg tucked toward you, one hand scrolling on her phone, the other drifting lazily toward the nape of your neck like it had a mind of its own.

She didn’t even realize she was doing it.

But everyone else did.

A girl two rows back gasped.

Another nudged her friend and held up her phone.

By the time Azzi’s thumb brushed over the shell of your ear, three separate TikToks were recording.

You were focused on the court—watching warmups, trying to find Paige’s jersey number amidst the movement—but you noticed it. The eyes. The pointing. The wave of recognition that started like a ripple and was building like a tide.

“Babe,” you murmured. “You’ve got fans.”

Azzi blinked, looked up. “What?”

You gestured with your chin toward the girl now standing at the edge of your row, nervously holding a phone.

“Hi—sorry,” the girl said, voice shaking just a little. “Are you… Azzi Fudd?”

Azzi stood instantly, polite, warm. “Yeah. Hi.”

“Oh my god. I’m such a big fan. Could I maybe get a photo?”

Azzi smiled. “Of course.”

She turned to you, whispered, “Hold my phone?”

You nodded, taking it as she moved to pose.

But the girl wasn’t alone.

A second person stepped down.

And a third.

And suddenly, you were watching a spontaneous line form in the aisle—all of them holding phones, whispering, pointing, buzzing with barely contained excitement. A few of them kept glancing at you.

Azzi returned after the third photo and sat back down, stunned.

“What just happened?” she whispered.

You handed her phone back. “You got recognized. And now you have a fan club.”

Azzi groaned. “I was trying to be lowkey.”

“You’re Azzi Fudd. You can’t be lowkey.”

She laughed, embarrassed. “Do you think they’re posting it?”

“You’re probably viral by now.” you said.

@/user: Azzi Fudd at the game with some girl and she’s caressing her neck, like they’ve been in love since the dawn of time???

@/user: WHO IS SHE? WHO IS SHE? WHY DOES SHE KNOW PAIGE’S MOM?

@/user: this woman looks like she could kill me and then carry me home with one hand.

@/user: Is that Paige’s childhood best friend? I found a picture from 2016. THEY GO WAY BACK??? I AM FERAL.

Azzi sat back in her seat, exhaling slowly. “I feel like I’m being watched.”

“You are,” you said. “By the entire internet.”

“I’m not even a player tonight.”

“You’re still the main character.”

She smiled and took your hand again, curling your fingers together in her lap.

“You okay?” she asked.

You leaned closer. “Only because you’re here.”

She brushed her thumb over your knuckles. “Same.”

The lights dimmed. The music changed. The announcer started calling player names.

Paige’s name was last.

The arena exploded.

You both stood, clapping, cheering. Azzi’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas.

“Look at her,” Azzi whispered. “Look how ready she looks.”

You smiled. “She’s finally here.”

The game was five minutes in, and Azzi had already made six comments under her breath that made you want to kiss her.

“She’s not setting her feet,” she mumbled, watching one of the Wings’ forwards brick a corner three. “Too much hip rotation. It’s rushed.”

“She’s trying to get it off before the closeout,” you replied, eyes locked on the screen. “But she doesn’t trust her release. You can see it in the elbow snap.”

Azzi turned to you slowly, eyebrows raised. “You know, sometimes I forget how smart you are when you’re not looking like a walking Nike ad.”

You smirked. “Flattery won’t get you out of me dragging that last outfit you wore on the Under Armour shoot.”

“It was a jumpsuit,” Azzi hissed. “It was experimental.”

“It was a war crime.”

She bumped your shoulder with hers, stifling a laugh.

On the court, Paige brought the ball up, calling for a flat screen. She faked left, slashed through the paint with two defenders chasing, kicked out—and again, the Wings missed the open three.

Azzi groaned. “That was the right pass. And it’s wasted. Again.”

“She’s too deferential,” you muttered. “She’s acting like she’s still trying to prove she belongs.”

“She is the offense,” Azzi whispered. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

You both sat back as Paige jogged back on defense, visibly frustrated.

“Geno would’ve already called a timeout to yell at her,” you said.

“Then bench her to make a point,” Azzi added.

“Then whisper something encouraging after the game like he didn’t just emotionally disassemble her for 40 minutes.”

Azzi sighed. “I miss college sometimes.”

You glanced at her. “You miss yelling in practice.”

“I miss you yelling in practice whenever you visited.”

You blinked. “I wasn’t that loud.”

She gave you a look.

You laughed under your breath. “Okay, I was, but that was leadership. Not volume.”

“You once screamed at Paige during a timeout to ‘be Michael Jordan, not Mother Teresa.’”

“She passed up three open looks that game!”

Azzi snorted. “You were so in love with her game.”

You smirked. “Now I’m in love with yours.”

Azzi bit her lip and leaned closer. “Good. Because I’m still in love with you.”

You were about to say something back when a flash from behind caught your attention.

You turned, just in time to see a girl with a phone lower it awkwardly and mouth, “sorry.”

Azzi blinked. “That was the fourth time.”

You nodded. “We’re trending harder than Paige right now.”

@/user: paige bueckers looks good, but can we talk about the person azzi is sitting next to? she is giving tall, attractive, and emotionally stable. I’m weak.

@/user: WHO IS SHE??? HOW DOES SHE KNOW PAIGE’S MOM??? HOW IS SHE SITTING NEXT TO AZZI LIKE THEY’RE MARRIED???

@/user: Azzi Fudd casually brushing that girl’s neck while calling out plays and scouting Paige like they’re in a boardroom. This is too powerful.

@/user: okay but how do we not know who this woman is?? why do I feel like she owns a security company and could body me with one sentence.

@/user: So I found a photo of Paige at a middle school banquet and THAT GIRL is there. same face. Same eyes. Best friend theory CONFIRMED.

Back on the court, Paige made her first real statement of the night—splitting a double team at the top of the key and finishing a reverse layup off the glass with a foul.

Azzi stood and clapped hard. “Yes.”

You whistled. “That’s the Paige I know.”

She hit the free throw.

On the next possession, she pulled up from 26 feet.

Swish.

The crowd roared.

You leaned toward Azzi. “You think someone finally yelled at her?”

“I hope so.”

“She only listens to you,” Azzi said. “We all do.”

@/user: Found her. She’s not tagged in anything. No Instagram. No TikTok. Nothing.

@/user: no no no. this is terrifying. she has to be a ghost or something. no trace online and yet everyone knows she’s THAT girl. I’m obsessed.

@/user: i don’t know her name but she definitely calls azzi ‘baby’ and opens jars without trying.

@/user: she looks like she slow dances with azzi in the kitchen to 90s r&b. you cannot convince me otherwise.

You slouched in your seat as halftime started, giving the phone back to Azzi.

“They think I’m a kitchen slow dancer,” you muttered.

“You are,” she said, proud.

“Also a jar-opener.”

“You do it with one hand and a cocky little smirk.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Azzi leaned in, lips brushing your cheek. “I’m enjoying you.”

You groaned. “You’re such a flirt.”

“And you’re not complaining.”

You sighed. “I literally can’t.”

Azzi tilted her head. “You okay, though? With all of this?”

You looked at her—really looked—and nodded. “If I get to sit next to you? I don’t care who sees.”

She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and smiled, shy even now. “Good.”

The lights dimmed again. The third quarter buzzed to life.

And right as the ball tipped again, Azzi leaned over and whispered, “I want the internet to know… you’ve always been mine.”

The last seconds of the second quarter ticked off, and the buzzer sounded.

You watched Paige jog to the tunnel with a towel slung around her neck, nodding at a teammate, sweat slick on her brow, her expression unreadable. Too much passivity. Too much thinking. That’s not who she was.

You knew it. Azzi knew it.

“She’s overthinking everything,” Azzi muttered beside you, already halfway out of her seat. “If she doesn’t flip the switch soon, they’re gonna get blown out.”

You stood too. “Come on.”

Azzi looked at you. “Wait—seriously?”

“Let’s talk to her.”

She blinked. “We’re not even cleared back there.”

“We’re not going back. Just the sideline. She’ll see us.”

Azzi paused, gave you a once-over. “God, you’re hot when you’re bossy.”

“Focus, Fudd.”

You both moved quickly down the aisle, weaving through the edge of the VIP row toward the court. Paige hadn’t made it all the way into the tunnel yet—she was standing at the corner of the bench, gulping from a Gatorade bottle, head down.

Azzi called softly, “Paige.”

She looked up instantly.

Saw you both.

And jogged back toward you.

She stepped just inside the boundary, separated from you only by the barrier by the tunnel. A security guard gave you a disapproving look, but neither of you cared.

Azzi spoke first.

“Why aren’t you shooting?” she asked.

“I—” Paige started.

“Don’t give us the ‘just trying to be a team player’ speech,” you cut in.

Paige’s shoulders dropped. “I’m just trying to get them going—”

“They need you to get them going,” Azzi said. “They don’t need a facilitator. They need a floor general.”

“They need Paige Bueckers,” you added.

“I’m trying to feel it out,” Paige said, a little defensive now. “It’s my first home state game—”

“And you’re playing like it’s your first AAU showcase,” you said, no venom, just truth. “Paige, I love you. But you’re dancing around it.”

She rubbed her hands on her hips. “I don’t wanna take over and alienate anyone—”

Azzi stepped closer, hand gripping the barrier. “Taking over isn’t selfish. It’s leadership.”

“You’re one of the smartest basketball minds on that court,” you added. “You see things nobody else does. So use it.”

Paige looked between you both. Her jaw clenched, then softened. “You two really came down here to coach me?”

Azzi smiled. “You’d do it for us.”

“I did do it for you,” Paige shot back. “You were both disasters that first year.”

You shrugged. “Exactly. And you pulled us together. Let us do it for you now.”

She looked at you for a long moment, then to Azzi. She nodded, just once.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I got it.”

You reached over the barrier, tapped her chest twice with two fingers. “You know who you are.”

Paige grabbed your wrist before you could pull away. “Thanks, Coach.”

You grinned. “Go find your rhythm, Bueckers.”

She jogged back toward the huddle just as halftime ended and players started returning to the floor.

You and Azzi turned to head back to your seats.

But not before noticing the cluster of fans behind you… all pointing.

Phones up. Mouths whispering. Eyes wide. You looked at Azzi. She looked at you.

“Oh no,” she said.

“Oh yes,” you muttered.

@/user: UHHH WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?? Azzi Fudd and this girl just walked up to Paige during halftime and it got INTENSE??

@/user: they looked like they were giving her a halftime talk down. Did y’all see that???

@/user: if those two gave me a pep talk I’d probably ascend. she tapped paige’s chest like she was making sure she understood.

@/user: so first azzi’s caressing neck lovingly and now she’s rewriting paige’s programming mid-game. WHO IS THIS WOMAN?

You slid back into your seats just as the third quarter tipped off.

Azzi shook her head, already pulling out her phone. “Yup. We’re on video.”

“How bad?” you asked.

Azzi showed you her screen. There was a close-up of you tapping Paige’s chest, saying something that couldn’t be heard over the arena noise—but your expression? Focused. Sharp. Intense. Azzi’s was too.

The tweet had 23,000 likes already.

You sighed. “We’re gonna be a meme, aren’t we?”

“We are a meme,” Azzi confirmed, laughing.

You rested your chin on her shoulder. “At least we look good.”

She kissed your cheek. “You always look good.”

On the court, Paige drilled a step-back three.

Then got a steal.

Then hit a no-look pass for an assist.

Azzi sat up straight. “There she is.”

You grinned. “God, I missed her.”

Azzi glanced over. “She missed you, too.”

Paige came out of halftime like someone had flipped a switch—though you and Azzi both knew exactly who flipped it.

She scored seven straight. Didn’t look to pass unless it was the smartest play. She talked more—called out rotations, demanded the ball, barked for better spacing. And when a defender got up in her jersey too tight?

She hit a pull-up in her face and smiled walking back.

“She’s proving a point.”

“She’s proving us right.”

By the final buzzer, Paige had 12 points, 10 assists, 3 steals, and a plus-minus that still couldn’t save the game.

The Wings lost by 4.

Too many defensive lapses. Too many missed threes. Not enough rhythm outside of her.

But Paige?

Paige showed the league who she was.

And as she walked off the court—drenched in sweat, towel hanging off one shoulder—her eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on the two of you standing just behind the tunnel rail.

Azzi waved first.

You just stood still.

Paige came straight toward you.

The moment she reached the rail, she didn’t even hesitate—she pulled you into her arms, the way someone only does when they’ve loved you longer than they’ve known how to say it.

“Thank you,” she murmured into your shoulder.

You hugged her tighter. “You didn’t need us to tell you who you were.”

“Yeah,” she said. “But I needed to hear it.”

Azzi stepped in next, wrapping her arms around both of you.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispered.

“I know,” Paige replied, voice a little thick. “I felt it.”

You pulled back slightly to look her in the eyes.

“Double-double at home?” you said, teasing. “You always were a showoff.”

“I had to prove Coach wrong,” Paige said.

“I’m not a coach,” you protested.

“You are,” Azzi said. “You just don’t want the job.”

“You could be my personal coach you know?” Paige suggested.

“Uh, no thank you.” You said with a face.

“Okay, rude.”

Azzi raised a brow. “You crying right now?”

“No,” Paige said instantly.

“You are,” you teased.

“I’m not crying,” Paige insisted, brushing at her eyes. “It’s just—sweat. Emotional sweat.”

You smiled. “You’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to be mad, too.”

“I am mad,” she admitted quietly. “We could’ve won.”

“You will,” Azzi said. “You will a lot.”

Paige looked down, kicking her sneaker lightly against the rubber tunnel floor. “I just want to do this right.”

“You already are,” you told her. “And the losses don’t take away the fact that you belong.”

Paige nodded, slow, thoughtful.

Then glanced up and gave you that same grin you’d known since she was 13, chasing boys off the neighborhood court and handing you Gatorade like a little league coach.

“You know,” she said, “this is the part where I’d usually say something sarcastic.”

“But?” Azzi prompted.

“But I’m really glad you guys were here.”

You leaned in and bumped your forehead gently against hers. “Always will be.”

Azzi nudges Paige’s arm. “You hungry? We were thinking late-night diner run.”

Paige perks up slightly. “The one a couple blocks from home?”

You and Azzi exchange a glance.

“Knew you’d say that,” you murmur. “We’ll drive.”

Paige grabs her bag and nods once. “Cool. Just lemme change real quick.”

As she disappears down the tunnel, Azzi looks over at you, that small knowing smile back on her face.

“She’s okay,” she says.

You nod, your chest a little lighter. “Yeah. She will be.”

[v1sexual]

⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ☆ ♯OO4 FABLE INDEX

# ellie williams ࣪𖤐.ᐟ fable

tldr; lonely and isolated on your father's farm, you seek out company from his farmhand, a quiet and reserved woman who's trying to keep her head down. Will you manage to convince her to let you in?

`# cw sexual themes, acrophobia, cross-dressing, internalized homophobia, southern!ellie, religious guilt, injury, sickness

INDEX; ── # 001 farmhand ── # 002 barn dance ── # 003 blizzard

࣪𖤐.ᐟ ── psst! #tlou

[v1sexual]

hi. drummer vi? drummer vi who is also hockey vi? 👻🚬

say less babes omygod hockey player AND drummer vi?! those are like my two favorite things in the world. anyways, i hope i did your request justice🙏😔

you can find the fic right here: dive | vi x reader

[v1sexual]

dive | vi, arcane

drummer & hockey player! vi x reader

based on this request

warnings: cursing, mentions of alcohol, loser lesbians, and author having no hockey knowledge

preface: a quick little blurb (its actually not quick and little) on how you and vi met.

note: okay omg i loved this idea sm thank u anon for this request! i do apologize if this is ass LMAO like all of my fics this was written at around 3am-7am 😔 anyways, should i make this into like a little series or smth also could not think of a title but i was listening to “dive” by ed sheeran while writing this so here we are.

you first met drummer and hockey player vi! during a year-end party on your freshman year of college. it was at a pub called “the last drop” that the student’s from zaun university claimed as theirs. hosting parties, celebrations, wins, and every little victory that they had during the school year at the said pub.

the last dropped was packed. a sea of sweaty bodies, filled every nook and cranny of the place.

you were getting antsy, tucked away in the corner of the booth you and your friends were sitting. as the night dragged on, one by one your friends left the table. some went to go get drinks, some went to socialize, and some went to go dance.

taking that as a sign to leave, you fished your phone from the back pocket of your jeans to text the group chat that you were heading home. but then the loud music stopped, and someone spoke into a mic.

you looked up from your phone, your gaze snapping to the massive stage at the other side of the dance floor. powder, another freshman whom you knew from one of your classes, spoke into the mic. she introduced their band, arcane, and that’s when you saw her.

dark pink hair cut short, she was rocking a black tank top showing her arms as the muscle flexed as she gripped her drumsticks.

“— and lastly we have my older sister vi playing the drums! you probably already knew her she’s pretty popular with the ladies, AND she’s single! but she’s pretty fucking gay though sorry boys.”

you zoned out after that, watching as the band started to play their rendition of a popular song that you couldn’t care less about. the sea of people blended in the background, you kept your eyes on vi watching her every movement in awe. the way she played kept you captivated you swore you could feel every beat of her drums, and then her eyes meets yours.

then she winked at you, her lips stretching into a smile as your heart stuttered against your chest. just as you were about to smile back your best-friend crashed next to you, her body slumping down against your side as she begged you to take her home. sighing, you obliged. you walked out the door supporting your friend’s body weight as much as you can and never looked back.

˚⁎⁺˳ . ⊹ ⋆ﾟ

weeks have passed and you’re back home, you still think about her though. you think about her a lot. you followed arcane’s official instagram account but never followed the members officially, except for powder of course since you two exchanged accounts when paired up for a project.

having nothing better to do, you decided to stalk the band’s instagram. watching reels of them doing song covers, playing pranks on each other, snippets of their original songs, etc.

just as you were about to doze off your door slammed open.

“(name)!!” your five year old sister, andie, shouts. “can you pleaseeee take me to hockey camp?”

you laughed, taking in the younger girl’s appearance. she was wearing full-on hockey gear, her hair in two braid, and she was clutching a duffel bag twice her size in one hand while the other held a hockey stick (that was seconds away from slipping and falling).

you stood up, taking the duffel bag from her, “i thought mom was taking you.”

“she was but i wanted you to go with me,” she shrugged and used her free hand to hold yours. “please?”

you swore your heart melted on sight. you loved your younger sister more than everything in the world, she’s got you wrapped around her little finger from the moment she was born. at first your parents were actually worried at the fifteen year age gap that you and andie had, but fortunately they were worried for nothing when you and your sister became attached to the hip.

“let me know how it goes okay?” your mom says as she kissed the two of you goodbye.

the drive to the rink was fast, only fifteen minutes. it honestly would have been only ten but andie pleaded for you to stop by your favorite café for a pastry and some strawberry lemonade, she was all pouty and batting her eyelashes so who were you to say no. when you arrived, you carried her duffel bag and hockey stick as she held on to the almost empty cup of strawberry lemonade.

andie led you to the locker rooms when she met up with her friends, they were such a cute bunch and you couldn’t help but snap a picture to send to your mom.

“can you help me put my skates on please?” andie asks, her small fingers tugging on your sweatshirt.

“of course you little gremlin,” you grinned and picked her up, setting her down on one of the benches. when you finished, andie hopped down the bench and waddled as she grabbed her hockey stick.

before you let her walk off, you grabbed her helmet and secured it onto her head. she thanked you with a hug then proceeds to hold your hand, dragging you out the locker room and into the rink.

“can you come with me (name)? im really nervous,” she whispered.

you nodded. “of course i will bub, plus i have to talk to your coaches.” andie cheers and hugs your leg as the two of you walked to the rink.

the rink was smaller than you remembered, you swore that it was at least two times bigger two years ago during your last figure skating competition. a smile forms on your lips as old memories began to resurface, if only you didn’t injure yourself then you would have probably still be skating.

“(name)! oh my god what’re you doing here?”

powder’s familiar voice brings you back to the present as she stood up from one of the seats.

“hey pow,” you greeted as she pulled you in for a hug. andie looks away shyly, her small frame hugged your leg as she hid behind you.

“aww, who’s this?” powder asked as she crouched down to andie’s height. your sister peeked at her then buries her face on your leg.

“this is andie, my younger sister.” you said. “say hi to powder ands.” andie detaches herself from your leg and whispered a small “hey”, before running off (more like waddling) when one of her friends called out to her.

you watched as your sister and her friend goes inside the rink with the help of one of her teammate’s parents. once she’s happily skating across the rink, you turned back to powder who dragged you to one of the seats.

the two of you engaged in small talk, asking how each other’s summer were going, the band, etc.

“so,” you started. “why are you here?”

“my sister vi is here! she’s helping coach the kids as a summer job.”

you short-circuited then turned your head to the side of the rink were the coaches are, then lo and behold there she is. violet lanes. she wore a black long sleeve compression shirt, white breezers, and her hair was in a low-bun. she held a clipboard, occasionally writing on it as she talked to the huddle of parents surrounding her.

while you were busy staring at vi, you don’t notice powder as her lips turn up into a shit-eating grin clearly noticing that you’re focus was on something else entirely.

“you should talk to her,” she says casually pulling you away from your thoughts.

“uhm what? no? why would i?” you rambled.

powder laughs at you, clearly entertained as you mutter under your breath. “well for starters she’ll need to talk you about practice schedules, you or your parent’s contact info,”

you let out a small “oh” before sinking back into your chair, holding your head in your hands embarrassed. this only makes powder laugh harder, the blue haired girl clutching her stomach and wiping away an invisible tear.

“oh god you have a crush on my sister!” she exclaims, you only groaned in response.

powder teases you for a good couple of minutes before settling down next to you.

“you know,” she starts. “you’re gonna have to actually talk to her right?”

“yeah i know,” you nodded.

powder hums. “want me to go with you? i can introduce you first, help break the ice?”

“huh, that’s actually not a bad idea.” you tell her. she then stands and pulled you up with her, powder link her arm with yours as she lead you to where vi was.

violet lets out a sigh of relief as the last parent walks off, practice hasn’t even started yet and she was already this tired from just talking to a whole crowd of anxious parents. she checks her clipboard again, eyes flicking through the names of the kids she’ll be coaching today.

“heyyy,” she heard powder call out. vi chose to ignore her sister and continued to check her clipboard, she then stumbles upon a name.

andie (last name).

vi knew that the kid was here, one of the other parent’s mentioned how sweet andie’s older sister was for always showing up to her extracurriculars especially when she was away for university and how she’d always drive the kid around no matter what.

“yo vi?” powder says but this time vi’s younger sister flicks the clipboard she held.

she groans, annoyed at her sister’s antics. “can you not? im busy pow, there’s this kid and i haven’t talked to her guardian yet and i can’t start without—“ your eyes meet and vi stopped talking, from that moment forward she knew she was a goner. she knew you, not personally of course, but she remembered that night from a couple of weeks ago when she first saw you at the last drop.

from the moment you entered her father’s pub, vi could not take her eyes off of you. she debated on wether or not to approach you but her nerves got the best of her so she stayed glued to her seat, pretending to listen to whatever her sister was saying.

“she doesn’t bite you know,” powder said pointing to your direction. “we were paired up for a project and she’s literally the sweetest person to ever exist, talk to her.”

“i don’t know,” vi shrugs and looked at her half empty glass, suddenly finding the half drunken liquor interesting. powder rolls her eyes and decided to talk to their other bandmates, leaving vi alone with her thoughts.

vi downs the rest of her liquor and decided to talk to you, but just as she was about to walk to where you were seated powder grabs her arm. “it’s showtime.” her sister says and violet tries her hardest not to pout as they walked backstage. she drowns the noise out as powder began talking into the mic, to introduce the band. during the time that they were playing she mostly kept her eyes closed or just looking at her drum set, focusing on hitting the right beats.

but then she looked at the crowd, eyes scanning the crowd for you. she wondered if you went home already or if you’ve left with someone or if you’re watching them perform, watching her perform. when vi finally spots you she felt her heart stutter when she found that you were already looking at her, then she winked at you. with a new found energy she played harder, eyes never leaving yours until she saw your friend (who was also powder’s friend) throw herself against you probably drunk out of her mind. vi didn’t take her eyes off you even when you helped steady your friend as the two of you attempted to leave the last drop.

vi thought about that night a lot, she wished she wasn’t such a pussy and approached you. but now you’re here, standing in front of her arms linked with her sister’s. vi opened her mouth and closed it, she didn’t know what to say.

“oh brother,” powder murmured under her breath. “vi this is (name), andie’s older sister.”

“huh?” vi responds which made powder roll her eyes for the millionth time.

“christ on a cracker, remember the kid whose guardian hasn’t talk to you yet? the one you were ranting about two minutes ago? well this is her. (name)’s her older sister and her guardian.”

vi let’s out a small “oh” which made you laugh a bit. “shit im sorry,” she tells you. “i’m just a bit distracted— nervous, i haven’t coached before.”

“oh don’t worry about it,” you smiled. “i’d be nervous too, kids are terrifying.”

as you and vi engaged in small talk, powder took that as a sign and quietly slipped away. she walked towards the side of the rink where ekko was rounding the kids up, she tapped on the glass and pointed to where you and vi were. ekko followed the direction where powder was pointing, he sent her a knowing smile and laughed.

“i didn’t know you play hockey?” you tell her, vi’s eyebrow twitched in amusement. “yeah im actually team captain of our uni’s hockey team.”

you looked at her, surprise and awe evident on your eyes. holy shit not only is she hot, ripped, tattooed, and a drummer, but she’s also the ding dang captain of your university’s hockey team? if you didn’t know you were gay you’d definitely know now.

“guess i’ll have to watch one of your games,” you shrugged. vi grins at you and nodded “guess you should.”

as the two of you talked the more comfortable you became with vi, “how do you manage that though? hockey, school, and the band?” you asked her to which she replied with a shrug.

“i don’t know either,”

you hummed in response as she glanced at her clipboard again. vi cleared her throat and began to discuss your sister’s practice schedule, safety concerns, gear, etc. you happily listened, nodding along and taking mental notes of important stuff you need to let your mom know when you get home.

vi finally looked up from her clipboard and smiled, “so yeah that’s pretty much it.” you replied with a nod.”

“will you be staying?” she asks you. “i mean uhm, are you going to wait for your sister?”

“yeah, im pretty much her chaperone so…” you replied with a smile, your gaze finding andie’s. your little sister waived at you, smiling from ear to ear as you waived back.

if vi wasn’t already smitten with you she definitely would be now as she watched the small exchange between you and your sister. vi has always been a family oriented person, she and her family were close (especially her and powder), and knowing that you were pretty much the same? you just got promoted from being a small crush to her literal ideal woman.

“so does that mean you’ll be dropping her off every practice?” she asks excitedly, which made you chuckle in response. “yeah,” you nodded. “our parents are pretty much swamped with work and my shifts are usually in the mornings sooo, yeah. i’ll be dropping her off and picking her up from practice.”

vi nodded, trying to act as normal as she can when in reality she’s mentally cheering. just as she was about to say something, ekko called out for her. and just like that vi remembered that she was actually supposed to be coaching and teaching the kids hockey.

“i need to help ekko out,” she says. “but uh— can i grab your number?”

“is this you shooting your shot at me or?” you joked. you swore vi’s cheeks became the same hue as her hair, she playfully rolled her eyes at you.

she huffed, “it’s for your sister’s contact information you dummy.”

“sure,” you replied, taking her pen and writing your number down next to your sister’s name in her clipboard.

vi smiles at you and began to head towards the rink, but just before she skated towards ekko and the kids she called out to you. “i lied, that was just me shooting your shot.”

you smiled at her, cheeks heating up. you watched as vi effortlessly skated, her posture and aura changing. watching her demonstrate how to play (with ekko’s help), sent butterflies to your stomach.

oh boy, you can’t wait to actually get to see her play.

note: this is literal ass im so sorry😔 i still hoped ya’ll enjoyed it though.

[v1sexual]

ya’ll trust im working on those requests🙏

[v1sexual]

pls send me reqs or questions or anything😔🙏

[v1sexual]

something about lesbians with hand tattoos…