SO CUTEEE

on my hands n knees begging for a vi x reader fic where they keep getting interrupted which leads to desperate, whiny, quickie

i'll be quick | hockey player!vi x fem!reader, fluff, smut (mdni), wc: 6k+ | masterlist

content warnings: college/modern!au, smut (+18); vi being a needy/horny/whiny brat, service top?vi, bottom!reader, semi-public sex, kissing, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), overstimulation [idk what else i’m missing help]

note: first request!! ty for requesting!! i’ve been so excited to write for vi it was killing me. wrote it as modern au iydm as i could think of a more ways they got interrupted/where they would do it lol

Vi swears it’s not her fault—how could it be, when you look the way you do? She doesn’t think anyone could blame her, not really, not when you manage to completely undo her without even trying. You don’t even realize you’re doing it, that you’re so effortlessly pretty that she is left utterly useless whenever you’re around.

And God forbid you actually notice her staring—when you glance up at her from over your laptop, giving her that small, knowing smile, like you know exactly what you’re doing to her.

And she tries to keep it together, she really does, but you make it impossible.

It’s not just about how you look, though that’s definitely part of it. But she loves how you carry yourself, how smart you are, how dedicated you are. You’re an excellent student—always organized, always ahead of your deadlines, always balancing ten different things like it’s nothing.

And Vi knows she’s smart too; she wouldn’t have made it into this school, wouldn’t be holding onto her hockey scholarship, if she weren’t. But there’s something about the way you approach every little thing, like you know you’re capable of anything, that makes her want you even more.

It’s intoxicating, being around someone like you.

And maybe it’s selfish, but she loves the fact that you’re hers—that no matter how busy you both get, you still make time for her, still let her pull you into her arms, kiss you senseless, or fuck you so, so good.

These days, the problem is time.

There never seems to be enough of it.

Between your rigorous schedule and her demanding practices, you’re both constantly being pulled in different directions, and it drives Vi crazy. She hates how little time you get to spend together, how often she finds herself lying in her dorm room late at night, thinking about you and wishing you were there with her, laying in her bed, your clothes forgotten on her floor as she pushes your knees apart, listening to those delicious whines of yours while she inches her face closer… and closer… and closer to your wet pussy.

Vi groans loudly, annoyed she cant have you now.

And it doesn’t help that you don’t even share a dorm. You’ve each got your own roommates, which means that even when you do manage to carve out a few hours together, there’s always the risk of someone walking in.

It’s maddening, really—trying to navigate your relationship around other people’s schedules, stealing kisses in empty hallways and brushing your fingers together under the table in the dining hall, never able to just be with you the way she wants to be.

And then there’s the fact that she can never stop wanting you. She loves making you feel good, loves the way your body reacts to her touch, the way you whisper her name in that breathless, needy way that makes her heart race.

But no matter how much she wants you, something always gets in the way.

Maybe it’s your phone buzzing with a reminder about a study session, or the alarm on her watch going off to remind her she’s got practice in ten minutes. Maybe it’s the sound of your roommate’s key turning in the lock, making you both scramble to look presentable before they walk in.

Whatever it is, it always happens just when things are starting to heat up, leaving Vi groaning in frustration as she pulls away from you, her forehead resting against your shoulder as she mutters something about how unfair this all is.

And you—you always laugh softly, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before telling her that there’ll be other nights, other moments, other chances.

But Vi doesn’t want other nights. Not when she wants you now.

She had been frustrated since that time she was sat next to you in your dorm room, alone and studying.

The soft hum of your room’s desk lamp filled the most of quiet, broken only by the sounds of pages flipping and your voice drifting lazily into her Vi’s ears. You were perched on the carpeted floor, leaning slightly over the low table scattered with textbooks, notes, and half-finished assignments. Vi sat next to you, her legs stretched out in front of her, one elbow propped on the table as she twirled a pen between her fingers.

“And I don’t think he explained it very well, honestly,” you said, absentmindedly brushing your hair out of your face as you scanned your notes. “He kept going off on this tangent about historical context, which, honestly, is fine, but it didn’t really help me understand the actual analysis part. Do you think the midterm essay will—”

You paused mid-sentence, suddenly aware that Vi hadn’t responded in a while. You glanced up at her, and sure enough, her blue eyes were fixed on you, but not in the way you’d expect from someone actively listening.

She wasn’t looking at your notes, wasn’t even pretending to follow along. No, her gaze was focused on you, eyes drifting down to where the hem of your skirt meets the bare skin of your pretty thighs—her eyes a little too intense, a little too amused, and far too obvious for her to deny it.

“Vi,” you prompted, drawing out her name as you raised an eyebrow at her. “Were you even listening?”

“Hm?” she hummed, clearly unbothered as a slow smirk tugged at her lips.

She didn’t even try to cover up her distraction, and instead of answering, she leaned forward slightly, kissing your shoulder as her hand brushes against your knee.

You rolled your eyes, returning your attention to your notes. “You know, this is going to be on the midterm. You could at least—”

But you didn’t get to finish, because her hand was suddenly sliding just above your knee, her fingertips brushing lightly against the skin of your thigh. You stiffened, your words faltering as you glanced at her. She didn’t look guilty, not in the slightest. If anything, she looked like she was having the time of her life, her smirk growing as she noticed the way your breath hitched.

“Vi,” you said again, this time a little softer, your tone caught somewhere between amused and warning.

“Mmhm,” she replied nonchalantly, like she hadn’t just started trailing her fingers higher, pushing the hem of your skirt up with an almost maddening slowness. “You were saying something about… historical context?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, sitting back slightly and shooting her a knowing look. “I think we’re having trouble focusing, Violet.”

“Can you blame me?” she asked, her voice low, her fingers now drawing lazy circles against your thigh before slipping underneath your skirt completely, the tips of her fingers playing with the soft fabric of your panties.

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting back the grin that threatened to spread across your face. “We’re supposed to be studying.”

“I am studying,” she quipped, her tone light and teasing as her hand crept a fraction higher and her face coming close, feeling her breath against your neck. “I’m just… multitasking.”

Before you could respond—or give in to the way your heart was starting to pound against your ribs—the sound of a knock echoed through the room. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to make both of you freeze. Your head whipped toward the door, your face heating immediately as you scrambled to push Vi’s hand away.

“Hey, you in there?” your roommate’s voice called from the other side of the door.

Vi groaned quietly, leaning back and dragging her hand through her hair, her smirk quickly replaced by an exaggerated pout.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath, slouching back against the table like the universe had personally conspired against her.

You shot her an apologetic look as you stood, smoothing your skirt back down and trying to look as composed as possible.

“Yeah, just a second!” you called out, your voice a little too high, a little too hurried.

Your girlfriend just shook her head, the corners of her lips twitching like she couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or glare at the door.

Then, it happened again.

It had been a long, exhausting week, another one where your schedules never seemed to line up. Between Vi’s practices and your mounting workload for your classes, you barely had time to breathe, let alone spend time together. So when Vi got that text from you that your roommate just left for her classes, she showed up at your dorm that Saturday afternoon, sweaty from an early morning workout but unmistakably eager, you didn’t even think twice before pulling her inside and shutting the door behind her.

She looked good—too good. Her hair was damp from her shower after the gym, and she was wearing that snug black hoodie that you loved, the one that clung to her frame and her muscles just enough to drive you a little crazy.

Her hands were on your waist the second the door clicked shut, her lips brushing against your temple, then your jaw, then lower, like she’d been starving for your touch all week.

And, she practically was.

“You missed me,” you teased, your voice light as your fingers slid up the front of her hoodie.

“Mhmm… missed you,” she murmured against your neck, nodding her head as her hands grip your hips, tugging you closer before grabbing a handful of your ass. “Been thinking about you all morning. All week, actually.”

You laughed softly, your heart fluttering at the way her voice dipped, low and warm. She backed you toward your bed, her movements a little less teasing than usual, a little less patient. It wasn’t like her to rush, but you could feel it in the way her lips moved against yours when she kissed you, in the way her hands tightened around your waist. She’d been waiting too long for this, and she wasn’t shy about showing it.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed, and you sank down onto the mattress, Vi following you immediately. She slid one knee onto the bed, her weight pressing you back gently as her hands trailed up your thighs, bunching your oversized shirt as they went. You could feel her smirk against your lips, her breath hitching slightly when your hands tangled in her hoodie to pull her closer.

And then—like some cruel joke—her phone buzzed.

She ignored it at first, too focused on the way your body shifted beneath hers, too caught up in the way your lips parted for her. But when the buzzing didn’t stop, her forehead dropped to your shoulder with a frustrated groan.

“Don’t,” you whispered against her ear, a quiet plea as your fingers slipped under the hem of her hoodie. “Just let it ring.”

She wanted to—God, she wanted to.

But she knew better.

“It’s probably my coach,” she muttered, the irritation thick in her voice as she reluctantly sat up, pulling her phone from her pocket. Her jaw clenched when she saw the name on the screen, and she ran a hand through her hair, looking at you with an apologetic grimace.

You watched her, sitting there with her phone in hand, clearly torn between staying with you and answering the call. “Vi,” you said softly, placing a hand on her thigh, “it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” she snapped, though the frustration wasn’t directed at you. She tossed her phone onto the bed and dropped her head into her hands, exhaling sharply. “I swear the universe has something against me or something.”

You could see it in her posture, the way her shoulders slumped, how her fingers curled into her hair like she was holding herself back from punching something. She didn’t say it outright, but you could tell how much this bothered her, how badly she wanted to stay.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, rough around the edges as she looked up at you. Her eyes softened when they met yours, guilt flickering behind her frustration. “I swear I’ll make it up to you.“

You leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss against her cheek, and smiled. “I know, baby.”

But as she left, throwing her hoodie back on and muttering under her breath about how ridiculous the timing was, you couldn’t help but notice the way her jaw tightened when she glanced back at you one last time. She looked like she was already planning how to make up for it, her frustration tempered only by her determination to make you feel as wanted as she knew you were.

Vi didn’t know how much longer she could go without having you.

It just kept happening. Again and again.

All the way up to the day of her big game.

The noise from the rink was still echoing faintly through the hallways of the arena, cheers fading as the crowd filtered out, but it all felt distant compared to the weight of Vi’s eyes on you. You were waiting outside the locker room as usual, leaning casually against the cinderblock wall as players and staff rushed past you, voices loud in celebration.

The door swung open, and Vi stepped out like she’d been looking for you the entire time. She spotted you instantly, her eyes locking on yours, and you couldn’t help the small smile that curved your lips. She looked a little flushed, her hair damp and sticking to her neck under her hoodie, her bag slung over her shoulder.

But there was something else too, something in the way her gaze didn’t move from you for even a second. It was heavy—her eyes dragging over you, slow and warm, like she couldn’t help herself.

You pushed off the wall and walked toward her, your voice light.

“Hi, superstar,” you teased, hoping to coax her into her usual cocky grin.

She didn’t smile. Vi’s lips stayed pressed in a thin line, and the way she looked at you sent a shiver down your spine—hungry, focused, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“You did so good, Vi,” you went on, trying to fill the quiet. “I heard everyone’s waiting for you at the party. They’re probably already chanting your name. It’s like…”

You trailed off as Vi took a small step toward you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you—her eyes roaming your face, dropping to your lips, then back up again.

Slowly, she shook her head, almost as if she was answering a question you hadn’t asked.

“Vi?” you murmured, tilting your head. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice was quiet, but the rough edge of it hit you square in the chest.

“I need you.”

It was so soft, so desperate… you wouldn’t be lying if you said that it almost sounded like she was about to cry.

Your breath caught, the words landing heavy on your chest. You blinked up at her, trying to process what she’d just said, but Vi didn’t let up. She stepped in closer, so close that you had to tilt your head back to meet her eyes. Her hand reached out, fingers brushing over your wrist before curling gently around it.

“Vi…” you started, unsure of what to say. You could hear the distant hum of people talking, laughter spilling from somewhere down the hall. “Everyone’s going to be looking for you. It’s your party—”

“I don’t care,” she cut you off, her voice low, breathless and strained.

She brought her free hand up to cradle your jaw, her thumb brushing softly along your cheek before letting it fall to your waist to pull you in a bit closer.

“Please… I’ll be quick, baby, I promise. Just…” Her voice wavered as her eyes searched yours, almost pleading.

You swallowed hard, the intensity of her gaze making your pulse race. You could feel the heat of her hands on your skin, could see the desperation written so plainly on her face. Vi didn’t usually let herself get like this—didn’t let her restraint snap—but tonight, it was barely holding together.

“Please,” she said softly again, leaning in to peck your lips softly as another way to convince you.

You didn’t have time to respond before Vi gave your wrist a soft tug, leading you down the hallway with an urgency that sent a thrill straight to your core. Her grip wasn’t rough, but there was no mistaking the purpose behind it.

The sound of the arena faded with each step as Vi pulled you into a quieter hallway, finally stopping when she found an empty room—a storage space of some kind, dimly lit and empty of everything but shelves of sports gear.

The door clicked shut behind you, and before you could even turn to say something, Vi was on you—her hands gripping your waist as she pushed you back against the wall. Any words you might have had died on your tongue, cut off as Vi crashed her lips against yours in a kiss so fervent it sent a shiver straight through you.

She kissed you like she’d been starving for days, her lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. The soft whine that left her throat was barely muffled by the kiss, high and desperate, a sound that sent a jolt of warmth pooling in your stomach.

God, if the universe took this away from her again, right now, she’d probably let the world burn.

Her hands roamed eagerly, gripping at your hips, sliding around your waist as if she needed to feel you.

You tried to speak—tried to gasp out something teasing, anything to break the tension—but Vi didn’t let you. Her lips moved down to your jaw, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Vi…” you managed, breathless, but the sound was cut off as her hands splayed across your lower back, then trailing down to grab your ass.

“Fuck, baby, you’re killing me,” Vi muttered against your skin, her voice low and strained. She kissed her way back up to your lips, pressing her body flush against yours as she did.

Her thigh slid between yours, drawing a soft moan from your lips that only made her whine again in response—higher, needier.

“Violet,” you breathed again, half scolding, half pleading, your hands reaching up to curl into her hoodie.

“I can’t help it,” she whined softly, pressing her forehead to yours for just a second as her chest rose and fell, her breathing heavy and uneven. “You—fuck, you always look so good. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Her voice cracked slightly, her desperation bleeding through as she dipped down to kiss you again—slower this time but no less needy. Her lips lingered, moving with purpose, her tongue brushing teasingly against yours.

Your fingers curled tighter into her hoodie, trying to hold onto something, anything, as Vi made a quiet, almost pleading noise into your mouth, like she wasn’t just kissing you—she was begging for you. Her hands slid down to your thighs, gripping just above your knees as she pressed herself closer, her body impossibly warm against yours.

“Please,” she whispered softly against your lips, the word barely audible but heavy enough to make your head spin. She pulled back just enough to look at you, her flushed face inches from yours, her eyes dark and wide.

“I need you so bad.”

Her voice cracked again, and it was almost her undoing. Vi looked desperate—like she was barely holding herself together, like the sheer sight of you had unraveled her completely.

You could see it in the way her hands trembled just slightly against your thighs, in the way her lips were swollen and parted, like she’d been kissing you for hours instead of minutes.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but Vi didn’t give you the chance. She kissed you again, harder this time, her hands sliding up under the hem of your shirt, her fingers grazing your bare skin. Every quiet moan you let out, every sharp inhale, only seemed to make Vi whine more—desperate, pleading little sounds that escaped her lips like she couldn’t help herself.

She sighed when she finally broke the kiss, panting softly as her forehead rested against yours again.

“Been wanting to fuck you for weeks...” Her voice was strained, so thick with need that it made your breath hitch.

Vi’s hands slid upward, her palms were warm against your skin as she pushed your shirt higher, her breathing shallow and uneven as though she was holding herself back. But when her hands finally cupped your tits, her restraint shattered.

“Fuck…” she whispered, almost like she was talking to herself, her voice husky and breathless.

Her thumbs brushed over the peaks of your breasts, and the moment her fingertips rolled softly over your nipples, you gasped, your back arching involuntarily.

Vi groaned in response, the sound deep and raw, her lips brushing against the curve of your neck as she pressed herself closer to you. Her fingers teased you again, rolling your nipples between them. She was trembling now—excitement coursing through her veins at the thought of finally being inside you, all wet and warm, all because of her… oh, fuck.

“V-Violet—“

“I’m here, baby.”

She worked her way across your neck and down to your collarbone, her mouth hot and unrelenting as she left a trail of hickeys that you knew would be impossible to hide. Her teeth nipped at your collarbone, making you gasp, and she chuckled softly against your skin—a low, breathy sound that only made you squirm against her more.

But her hands—her hands were just as impatient as her mouth. They trailed down from your chest, slipping under your shirt to tease the bare skin of your stomach.

She gave your tits one last squeeze before moving lower, her fingers dragging purposefully over your thighs and slipping beneath your skirt. Vi’s touch was rough and hurried now, her breath hitching as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down impatiently.

You let out a soft whine as the cool air brushed against you, your hands gripping at Vi’s shoulders to keep yourself steady. She smirked, straightening just enough to pull your panties free before shoving them into her back pocket like a prize.

Her eyes flicked up to yours, dark with hunger, and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a teasing grin.

“I’ll keep these safe for you,” she murmured, her voice low and possessive, her fingers brushing over your thigh.

Vi’s smirk faltered the second a hand slid up, brushing over the soaked heat between your legs. Her breath hitched, and she froze for half a second, like the realization of just how wet you were short-circuited her brain. Her fingers pressed against your pussy more firmly, teasing, slipping through your wet folds.

“You’re so wet for me,” she murmured, the words coming out like a growl, low and desperate.

Her lips found your neck again, kissing and biting as her fingers finally moved, slipping inside you with eagerly. Vi groaned at the way you clenched around her, her forehead pressing harder against your skin.

“You feel so fucking good,” she rasped, her voice strained, her fingers curling slightly as she started to move.

Vi’s lips curved into a sly grin as she felt how tight you were around her fingers, the heat of you gripping her so perfectly it made her groan low in her throat. She eased another finger inside your pussy with a soft moan against your neck. The stretch made you gasp, muffling the sound against her shoulder, your fingers digging into her strong biceps as your body trembled beneath her.

Her fingers moved faster now, thrusting and curling inside you, hitting that spongy spot inside you that made your body jerk and your breath catch in your throat. She couldn’t hold back her groans as she felt you grow wetter around her fingers, the slickness making her movements effortless as you drenched her hand. The sound alone—the wet, obscene noises and squelches of her fingers working—had her biting back a moan of her own.

You whimpered softly against her neck, your lips brushing her skin as you whispered, “Vi, d-don’t go too fast, I’ll be too loud.”

But Vi wasn’t listening. She didn’t stop, her fingers curling just right, the angle of her wrist shifting as she drove you closer to the edge. Her lips brushed against your ear, dazed and lost at the feeling of you.

“No… wanna hear you,” she murmured, shaking her head softly. “Need to fuck you like this… please…”

Your response was a broken moan that you immediately tried to smother against her neck, your face buried in her skin as your body shook. Your muffled cries vibrated against her. She didn’t slow down—if anything, her pace became more deliberate, her fingers thrusting deep and curling just right, her thumb brushing over you in a way that made you jerk in her arms.

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything but press yourself tighter against her, hiding your face in her neck as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your muffled moans and cries slipping past your lips no matter how hard you tried to hold them back. Your hands clutched at her shirt, desperate for some kind of anchor as she drove you closer and closer to the edge, her fingers relentless.

She slid her thumb up to press firmly against your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through your entire body. You gasped, hips jerking involuntarily as her name slipped from your lips in a breathless cry.

Vi groaned, her forehead pressing against yours again as she whispered, “That’s it, baby. I’ve got you.”

Her pace quickened, her thumb working in tandem with her fingers, brushing and circling your clit. You could feel the pressure building rapidly, your hands clutching at her shoulders, nails digging into her skin as your body writhed beneath her touch.

“Vi—” you whimpered, but she only groaned again, her thumb pressing harder.

“Come for me,” she whispered, her voice raw and wrecked, the need in her tone making your chest tighten. “Please, baby. I want to feel you.”

Her thumb circled faster on your clit, her fingers curling deep inside you, brushing that spot that made your hips buck. Your entire body tensed, and Vi could feel it—could feel the way your walls tightened around her fingers, the way your legs trembled against her.

You jerked again, your hands flying up to grip the back of her neck as your orgasm crashed over you, soaking her hand. Your cries spilled out in broken moans against her shoulder as you buried your face there, trembling uncontrollably.

Vi groaned at the feel of you, her fingers slowing but never stopping, working you through your orgasm.

“Oh.. fuck,” she murmured, her voice thick and low as she pressed kisses to your temple, her free hand running soothingly along your back.

She didn’t stop until you were shaking, your body softening against hers, completely undone. Only then did she ease her hand away, holding you close, her lips brushing against your ear.

Vi pulls back slightly, her chest rising and falling as she watches you with hooded eyes, her lips still parted as though she can’t quite catch her breath. Her hair is slightly disheveled, her jaw tight, and the flush on her cheeks deepens as her gaze sweeps over you—your trembling legs, the way your chest heaves, your swollen lips.

It’s enough to make her look intoxicated, drunk on the sight of you.

Your breaths come unevenly, and you try to regain some semblance of composure as your hands smooth down your skirt—though it does little to cover the disheveled state you’re both in.

With a breathy laugh, you tease, “Your friends are probably wondering where you are by now.”

You press your hands against the wall for balance, trying to steady yourself, but your legs feel weak, unsteady.

Vi blinks slowly, her expression soft yet utterly dazed, like her mind is still stuck on you and nothing else. Her fingers twitch at her sides, and she shakes her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“They can wait,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough, her eyes still fixed on you as though she’s already made up her mind. “A little longer.”

Before you can respond, before you can even process what she’s doing, Vi drops to her knees with a quiet thud, her hands gripping your hips as she looks up at you, eyes dark with determination.

You start to stammer, “Vi—w-what are you—” but the words dissolve into a sharp gasp as she tilts her head forward, burying her face under your skirt.

The heat of her breath against your sensitive pussy is enough to make your knees buckle slightly, and you have to press a hand to the wall for support.

“Oh my god—” Your words trail off into a moan as her lips move with purpose, her hands sliding up to grip your thighs, holding you in place as she starts working you over again.

Her tongue drags along your sensitive folds hungrily. She’s relentless, almost feral in her need to keep going, and every sound you make seems to spur her on, her grip tightening, her pace quickening as if she can’t help herself.

“Vi—” you gasp, your fingers tangling in her hair as your body presses back against the wall for support.

The world outside this storage room feels a million miles away, irrelevant in the face of her overwhelming need to claim you, to pull more of those beautiful sounds from your lips. She clings to your thighs, her fingers digging into your skin as though she’s afraid you’ll slip away, pulling you closer to her face. Her breaths come heavy and uneven, breaking between every flick of her tongue, and you can feel the soft, frustrated whines vibrating against you.

She buries herself deeper, pressing her sexy nose against you, brushing against your clit as her tongue moves faster, more purposeful, and the sounds she makes—those low, needy whimpers and breathless moans—send heat pooling in your stomach.

“Vi—W-Wait—” Your voice cracks, your hands instinctively reaching down to tangle in her messy pink hair.

You tug lightly, trying to pull her back just enough for you to catch your breath, but it only seems to spur her on. She lets out a guttural noise, muffled against you, and tightens her hold on your hips, keeping you pinned against the wall as her tongue delves deeper.

She’s not just eager; she’s ravenous, her tongue lapping at you with a reckless kind of determination. She drags her lips along your folds, pausing to suck gently, then harder, her moans spilling against your skin like she’s losing herself in the act. Her hands slide down, fingers curling just under the curve of your ass, pulling you further into her mouth as though she needs more of you, as though she can’t get enough.

“Tastes so good… fuck,” she mumbles hoarsely between movements, muffled by your pussy.

She tilts her head slightly to look up at you, her pupils blown wide with need, her lips slick and glistening, and her expression is nothing short of worshipful.

You can only moan in response, your body arching involuntarily as she sucks hard on your clit, sending a white-hot jolt of pleasure through you. Your knees buckle, but she’s quick to adjust, one arm moving to support you as she keeps her pace relentless. Her mouth never falters, never stops, even as her breaths turn shaky, and you can feel the tension in her body like she’s wound up so tight she might break.

She starts to whine again, this high-pitched, needy sound muffled against you, and it makes your whole body burn with want. It’s almost too much, the way she’s devouring you so completely, so thoroughly, her desperation written in every trembling moan and ragged breath.

You feel yourself getting closer all over again, the knot in your stomach tightening with every passing second, and you can’t even form the words to warn her.

Vi seems to know, though, because she presses harder, faster, the vibrations of her needy whimpers pushing you over the edge.

You cry out, your voice breaking as another orgasm racks through your body, and she groans deeply against you, her fingers tightening their grip as she keeps going, drawing every last bit of your release from you. Even as your legs tremble and your body tries to pull away from the overwhelming sensation, she doesn’t stop, her tongue still flicking against you with unrelenting hunger.

“Vi—” You whine, tugging weakly at her hair, your head falling back against the wall.

She finally slows down, her lips lingering as though she can’t bear to part from you just yet, her breaths coming hot and heavy against your skin. When she finally pulls back, her chin is glistening with your cum, her lips swollen and parted as she looks up at you with a dazed, almost drunk expression, her chest heaving. Vi stays on her knees for a moment, her hands still gripping your thighs as she looks up at you, her chest rising and falling with every heavy breath.

She’s grinning, wide and wolfish, her lips shiny and swollen, her cheeks flushed, and there’s a satisfaction in her eyes that only comes from getting exactly what she’s been craving. Her pink hair is a mess where your fingers had tugged and twisted, strands sticking out at odd angles, but she doesn’t seem to care.

If anything, it makes her grin even smugger.

She wipes her chin lazily with the back of her hand, the movement slow and deliberate, like she’s savoring the moment.

“Told you I’d be quick,” she says, her voice husky, tinged with a playful rasp. “Though, honestly, I think I deserve extra credit for being that good under pressure.”

You groan, your face still warm from the aftermath, and roll your eyes as you push at her shoulder lightly with your knee. “You’re impossible, Violet.”

Vi stands up slowly, stretching her back as she towers over you again, but her grin never fades. She leans down, bracing one hand against the wall beside your head, her face hovering close to yours, her lips quirking in that trademark cocky smirk.

“Impossible to resist, maybe,” she teases, her voice dropping low, brushing a kiss over your jaw before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

You shake your head, exasperated but unable to fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Full of you, actually,” Vi quips shamelessly, her tone dripping with cheekiness, and she snickers at the way your face heats up again.

You roll your eyes, trying to catch your breath, but her playful expression makes it hard to keep your composure.

“Can I have my panties back now?” you ask, your voice strained but teasing, as you reach down to try and adjust yourself, realizing they’re still tucked into her back pocket.

Vi looks down at the waistband of your panties for a second, feigning deep thought as she taps her chin, her smirk never leaving her face.

“Mmmm,” she hums, looking up at you with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “No.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious.”

And she really was.

Because the whole night, she didn’t let you forget—whispering in your ear about how you were bare underneath your skirt as everyone else danced around you, her breath warm against your skin.

Her playful smirk never left her face as she leaned in close, whispering about how you looked so much better without them, her fingers grazing the edge of your skirt as if to remind you of just how good she made you feel.

ty for reading ! | masterlist

Christmas Together

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Natasha arrives at her daughter's ballet recital, only to discover a small problem.

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2896

Stepping outside the brightly lit school building into the crisp night air, you pull your jacket tightly around yourself, bracing against the sharp bite of the snowy Christmas Eve wind. 

The muffled sound of excited chatter and laughter filters through the heavy doors behind you as you retrieve your phone from your pocket. You don’t need to look at the screen to dial anything; her number is the first on the list of your favorite contacts. 

Pressing the call button, you glance around, offering polite smiles and nods to the other parents and guests who stream past you into the building, bundled in scarves and coats, their faces glowing with anticipation. 

Your breath clouds in the freezing air as the phone rings, each chime making your stomach twist a little tighter. 

On the third ring, the line clicks, and you speak quickly, barely giving her a chance to greet you.

“Natasha, where are you?” you ask urgently. “The show starts soon.”  

There’s a muffled grunt on her end, followed by a sharp thud that makes your heart skip. Then her voice finally comes through, faintly breathless but steady.

“I’m on my way, moya lyubov.” 

You exhale sharply, your breath fogging the cold night air. But before you can relax, there’s a distant boom on the line—small but unmistakable. Your pulse quickens.

“Natasha—” you start, the question already forming.

“I’m okay,” she interrupts quickly, her tone firm and reassuring. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.” 

You lean against the cold brick wall, shoulders sagging with a mix of exasperation and concern. 

This is the perpetual tightrope of being married to Natasha Romanoff—one moment, she’s your wife, the woman you share quiet, mundane moments with. The next, she’s an Avenger, her world filled with danger and unpredictability.

A sudden gust of icy wind cuts through your coat, making you shiver and clench your jaw to stop your teeth from chattering. 

Natasha must hear it because her voice softens, tinged with concern.

“Are you outside in this weather?” she asks, the slight edge of disapproval unmistakable. 

“It’s too noisy to hear anything inside,” you reply defensively. 

The warmth and bustle inside the building are a stark contrast to the biting cold out here, but you needed the quiet.

You glance back toward the entrance, catching glimpses of parents and grandparents eagerly chatting, their hands clutching bouquets and cameras. The auditorium is filling fast, the anticipation palpable as everyone waits for the ballet recital to begin.

“I just…I wanted to check in,” you admit, your voice softening as you think about the conversation you had earlier with your daughter behind the stage. 

Her small hands had tugged at your sleeve, her wide, hopeful eyes searching yours. 

You let out a small sigh.

“She’s asking if you’re still coming,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. 

On the other end of the line, there’s a brief pause. The sounds of scuffling and distant chaos seem to fade, leaving only Natasha’s steady breathing.

“Get inside, moya lyubov,” she finally says, her voice gentle but resolute. “I promise I’ll be there in time.”

You close your eyes, letting the certainty in her tone wash over you. Natasha has faced impossible odds more times than you can count, and she’s never let you or your daughter down before. 

“Okay,” you reply quietly, your trust in her unshaken.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha bursts through the school doors, her movements swift but controlled. The faint scent of winter snow clings to her Black Widow suit, and her sharp eyes immediately scan the empty hallway. 

A quick glance at her phone tells her she’s still ten minutes early. Relief washes over her, and she takes a deep breath, allowing the warmth of the building to seep in. 

Natasha strides toward the auditorium, intent on finding you and settling in before the performance begins. 

But just as she reaches for the door, she hears the soft pitter-patter of little footsteps behind her. 

She turns, instinctively dropping her defensive stance when she sees the familiar streak of red hair flying toward her.

“Mama!”

The little girl barrels into Natasha, wrapping her small arms tightly around her legs. Her face buries into Natasha’s suit, her muffled breaths quick and uneven. 

Natasha immediately returns the embrace, her heart softening as she strokes her daughter’s hair. 

“Hello, Lena,” Natasha whispers gently, her voice soothing. She uses the nickname affectionately—a nod to her sister, Yelena, whom Lena adores and calls “Aunty Yelena.”

But Lena doesn’t respond to her greeting, her head remaining firmly tucked against Natasha’s body. 

Her small shoulders tremble slightly, and Natasha can feel her little hands gripping the fabric of her suit tightly.

Concern flickers across Natasha’s face. She glances up, spotting you standing a few steps away. 

You’re standing with your arms crossed, your expression a mix of worry and exasperation. When her gaze meets yours, she tilts her head slightly, silently asking for an explanation.

You sigh, offering a helpless shrug before mouthing the words, She’s scared. 

Natasha’s brows knit together. 

Without hesitation, she kneels fully, carefully extracting herself from Lena’s grasp to bring herself to her daughter’s eye level. Her hands move with practiced tenderness as she brushes the unruly strands of red hair away from Lena’s face.

“Lena,” Natasha coaxes, her voice warm and patient. “What’s wrong?”

Lena shakes her head, refusing to look up. Instead, she leans forward, burying her face into Natasha’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her again.

“Too many,” she mumbles, her voice trembling.

“Too many people?” Natasha asks gently, and Lena nods, her lower lip quivering.

Natasha’s heart clenches. 

She remembers all too well the fear of performing under a watchful audience, though for very different reasons. 

But this isn’t about her—it’s about her daughter.

“Do you still want to do this?” Natasha asks, her tone careful. “It’s okay if you don’t. We can go home.” 

Lena pulls back slightly, her tearful eyes searching Natasha’s face. There’s hesitation, a flicker of doubt, but beneath it, Natasha sees something unmistakable—determination. 

Her little girl is scared, but she doesn’t want to quit. 

A small smile plays on Natasha’s lips as an idea forms. 

“What if I join you on stage?” she offers, her tone light and inviting.

Lena’s face scrunches in thought before a soft pout emerges. 

“But you don’t know the dance,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with uncertainty. 

Natasha raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. 

“Did you forget who I am?” she teases, her voice taking on a dramatic flair. “I’m a superhero!” 

Without warning, Natasha launches a playful tickle attack, her fingers finding the sensitive spots along Lena’s sides.

“Whatever you need, I’m here for you.” 

Lena bursts into giggles, squirming as she tries to fend off her mother’s relentless fingers. The sound of her laughter rings through the hallway, chasing away the tension that had hung in the air moments before. 

Natasha grins, feeling the warmth of the moment seep into her chest.

When Lena’s laughter finally subsides, Natasha stands, brushing off her suit, and glances toward you. 

“Can you ask her teacher if there’s a spare pair of ballet slippers?” she asks with a faint smirk.

You hesitate, your expression shifting to one of quiet concern. 

Natasha’s relationship with ballet is something you’ve never been able to forget—the Red Room, the forced lessons and training, the precision that was more weapon than art.

“Natasha,” you say carefully, your voice tinged with worry. “Are you sure about this?”

She meets your gaze head-on, her green eyes steady and resolute. There’s no shadow of the pain she once carried in them. Instead, there’s something else entirely—resolve, a quiet strength, and even a spark of joy.

“I’m sure,” Natasha replies, her hand resting gently on Lena’s shoulder. She smiles, a genuine, heartfelt smile that lights up her face. “I want to dance with my daughter.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You return to your seat, settling in as Natasha and Lena make their final preparations behind the stage. Your hands work to turn on the camcorder, ensuring it’s ready to capture the moment. 

As you adjust the settings, a low commotion at the back of the auditorium catches your attention.

Murmurs ripple through the audience, accompanied by the sound of heavy boots and the faint clinking of metal. 

Turning around, you spot the unmistakable figures of the Avengers entering the room, drawing stares of awe and excitement from the surrounding parents and guests. They’re still dressed in their battle gear, dusted with dirt and scratches from whatever fight they must have just finished. 

Steve spots you first, his sharp eyes scanning the room before landing on you. He calls and gestures for the others to follow as they weave through the rows toward the seats you had saved.

“Where’s Nat?” Steve asks as he sets his shield carefully on the ground beneath his seat, his tone casual despite the circumstances.

“She’s backstage with Lena, getting ready,” you reply, amused as you watch the team settle in. 

Wanda sits beside Clint as he removes his quiver, propping it against the seat beside him, while Thor tries to wedge Mjölnir under the narrow chair legs, much to the whispered amazement of nearby onlookers. Bruce tries to adjust his torn shirt before sheepishly giving you a grateful nod when you pass him your jacket, while Sam nudges Bucky, who’s muttering something about how much he hates crowds. 

Tony, true to form, leans forward over Steve and waves dismissively at your camcorder. 

“Come on, that thing’s archaic. Enjoy the show and let the suit handle it—I’ll have a 4K file sent to you before the night’s over.” 

You roll your eyes but concede, stowing the camcorder away. 

Knowing Tony, he’s probably not joking.

The lights dim, signaling the start of the performance. A hush falls over the audience, and your heart beats in anticipation as the curtains part to reveal the young dancers in their opening positions. 

You immediately spot Lena, her red hair tied back into a neat bun, standing in formation with the other children. Her posture is straight, but you can see her nerves in how her eyes dart across the audience. 

Then, she finds you. 

Her gaze softens, and her little shoulders visibly relax when she sees your encouraging smile. Her eyes shift slightly to the row beside you, where the familiar faces of the Avengers sit. 

Thor gives her an exaggerated thumbs-up while Clint offers a subtle nod of approval. 

Lena’s lips curve into a faint smile, and the tension in her posture begins to melt away.

Her gaze then moves to the stage, where Natasha stands poised in position with the ballet teacher, seamlessly blending in with the other performers. Natasha catches Lena’s eye and gives her a subtle, playful wink. 

That’s all it takes to bring a brighter smile to Lena’s face.

The soft strains of the piano begin, the timeless melody of The Nutcracker filling the room. 

The dancers spring into motion, their movements light and deliberate. Your eyes follow Natasha and Lena, the pair moving in perfect sync with the other performers. 

Natasha glides effortlessly across the stage, her movements precise and graceful. Yet her focus is on Lena, her face alight with a rare softness as she watches her daughter perform. 

Lena, bolstered by the presence of her mother and the familiar faces in the audience, dances with a newfound confidence. Her steps are fluid, and her timing is impeccable. 

You feel your heart swell as you watch them. 

Natasha’s expression is one of pride and joy, her past struggles with ballet fading into insignificance as she turns something once painful into a beautiful moment with her daughter.

When the final notes of the piano fade, the dancers hold their ending positions, and the audience erupts into thunderous applause. 

The sound is overwhelming, and yet Lena doesn’t seem to notice. 

As if breaking from the performance mindset, she darts toward Natasha with a gleeful laugh, throwing her arms around her mother’s waist. 

Natasha catches her effortlessly, spinning her in a small circle before holding her close.

From the stage, Natasha looks out into the crowd, her eyes easily finding yours. She holds your gaze for a moment, her expression softening even more as she reads your reaction, and you blow her a kiss, clapping enthusiastically along with the rest of the audience.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You carefully top off the mugs of hot chocolate with a generous sprinkle of tiny marshmallows, the warm aroma filling the kitchen as you place them on a tray. Balancing the tray in your hands, you head to the living room where Natasha and Lena are sitting. 

The sight that greets you as you round the corner softens your expression instantly. 

Lena is nestled against Natasha’s side, her head resting on her mother’s shoulder, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. Her little hand clutches a blanket loosely, a faint smile still lingering on her face, as if her dreams were carrying her through the joy of the evening. 

Natasha looks down at her with a tenderness that never fails to move you. 

“Hot chocolate delivery,” you whisper, setting the tray on the coffee table. 

Natasha carefully takes a mug, her free hand brushing Lena’s hair gently.

“I guess catching Santa isn’t happening this year,” you remark quietly as you sit on the other side of Natasha, picking up your own mug. 

Natasha chuckles softly, her voice low and warm. 

“She got closer this time—almost made it to midnight.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips as you watch your little girl, her steady breaths a soothing rhythm in the cozy glow of the Christmas tree lights. 

After a moment, Natasha carefully sets her mug down, shifting her weight to lift Lena into her arms. 

“I’ll tuck her in.”

You nod, watching as Natasha cradles Lena with ease. 

There’s a protective air about her, a quiet instinct to ensure Lena’s safety and comfort, even in the simplest of acts. 

As Natasha heads to Lena’s room, you take the opportunity to retrieve the hidden presents you’d stashed away earlier. The pile is a mix of brightly wrapped boxes, their bows glinting under the tree’s twinkling lights as you carefully place each one in its spot. 

You’re positioning the last box under the tree when Natasha reappears in the doorway. Her expression shifts instantly, her eyes widening as she realizes where you are.

“Wait, Lena put–” Natasha begins, but it’s too late. 

A soft click echoes from behind the curtains when your hand releases the box. Before you can react, a net springs from its hidden position, entangling you in one swift motion. 

You yelp in surprise as the net tightens around you, sending you to the ground in an unceremonious heap. 

“–a trap there for Santa,” Natasha finishes with a wince, rushing forward to help as you let out an exasperated groan.

She kneels beside you, stifling a chuckle as she starts working to untangle the net. 

“She gets this from your side of the family,” you grumble playfully, earning a laugh from Natasha.

“Probably,” she admits with a smirk. “I bet Yelena gave her the idea.”

As the net loosens, you sit up, brushing stray strands of rope from your lap. 

“Speaking of Yelena, she and your parents are flying in tomorrow morning, right?” 

Natasha nods, leaning back against the base of the sofa. 

“Yeah. They should get here before Lena wakes up.”

You settle beside her, resting your head lightly against her shoulder. Her arm drapes around you automatically, pulling you closer as you both gaze at the tree, now adorned with gifts.

“That’s perfect,” you say softly. “We’ll open presents together.”

Natasha’s gaze lingers on the presents under the tree, her expression distant. A slow, almost disbelieving breath escapes her lips, drawing your attention. 

“What is it?” you ask gently, sensing the shift in her mood.

Natasha hesitates before speaking, her voice tinged with wistfulness. 

“There was a time, years ago, when I was undercover. We had to stage family photos for our cover. I remember being surrounded by Christmas presents—dozens of them. Even though I knew they weren’t real, I wanted to believe it was.”

Her eyes meet yours, soft and filled with gratitude. 

“I never thought I’d get to have this. A real home. A family. Moments like this. And it’s because of you. You gave me this life I never thought was possible.”

Your chest tightens with emotion at her words. Smiling, you cup her face, your thumb brushing gently along her cheekbone. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, pouring every ounce of love and reassurance you can into the gesture. 

When you pull back, you echo the words she’d spoken earlier to Lena. 

“Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

Natasha laughs softly, her eyes glistening as she tilts her forehead against yours. The sound is warm and filled with love. As she leans in to kiss you again, the clock chimes, its soft tones signaling the arrival of midnight.

Natasha pauses, her lips brushing yours as she whispers, “Merry Christmas, moya lyubov.”

You smile against her lips. “Merry Christmas, Nat.”

And as her lips find yours once more, the world outside seems to fade, leaving only the warmth of the moment, the glow of the tree, and the quiet joy of Christmas shared together.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: This came out later than I wanted 😅, but I still hope everyone has a merry christmas and a happy holidays! Thank you for all the support over the past year! Hopefully, we'll continue together and have fun in the upcoming year.

Side note: I just realized that the my recent update on the series Feline Connection is not showing in the tags (at least for me), so I just wanted to let those know who follow the series that the next part is out.

— come a little closer

hockey jock!vi x tutor!reader, fluff / humor / angst / kinda slowburn / smut (18+ mdni!), wc: 16k+ [buckle your seatbelts bc i could not shut the fuck up about vi if i wanted to !]

synopsis: you’re many things; an exemplary student, quiet and well-mannered, loved immensely by those who bother to get to know you, but most importantly, the newfound object of superstar athlete vi’s every affection. or, in other words, hockey jock!vi is lowkey a loser, atrociously down bad, and will stop at nothing to make you hers.

content warnings: language (duh), brief mentions of familial issues, latent insecurity, miscommunication & lack of communication, kissing, groping, SEX! mdni, seriously, i’ll THROW UP!, more specifically fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), spitting, makeup sex idk, just good old fashioned lesbian BANGING! also! jazz cabbage, lets pretend for the sake of this au that student athlete’s don’t get tested bc i NEED hockey jock!vi to hotbox reader PLS.

fic soundtrack: i could imagine —alina baraz /snooze — sza /tonight — summer walker / pressure — james vickery + sg lewis / wish that i could — umi

author’s note: of course it’d be arcane s2 that resurrects me from my almost yearlong hiatus...pls enjoy this fic even though i’m pretty rusty; she’s been cooking in the drafts for weeks T-T i’ll be answering some (very long overdue) asks and chatting with you guys <3 and finally, this shit is barely proofread bc my brain is fried lol

main masterlist | arcane masterlist

VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.

One that supersedes every issue she’d ever given weight to in all of her four (and a half) years of university. Is way larger than twice-a-day practices on and off the ice that go hand-in-hand with studying so hard to make sure that her grades don’t slip a fraction. Probably way bigger than the fact that her little sister’s graduating high school soon and she’s trying her absolute best to be as great a role model as she can despite wanting to crack under the pressure. And most definitely bigger than her favorite on-again-off-again fling, Cait Kiramann, who’s rare to come by these days.

Vi has a huge problem, and quite frankly, it’s you.

In hindsight, she’s been relatively good at overlooking you, not that it’d been intentional to begin with, but Vi knows a lot of people. Too many, she feels sometimes. So it's easy for you to slip through the cracks when everyone’s vying for even a shred of her attention.

Perhaps it’s what piques her interest when your orbits finally do collide. Because, admittedly, you know all about Vi. Know that she’s probably one of the most valuable players on the uni’s hockey team (she’s an absolute beast on the ice). Also know that she’s a biomedical physics major and actually incredibly smart. But most of all, you know that not only is Violet a flirt, she’s a player.

Not necessarily that you’ve ever really been on the receiving end, but mostly because her reputation precedes her and you’ve seen it all from a distance. Can't not when the decorated hockey star is such a charmer whether she intends to be or not. Vi has girls both certain and questioning stumbling for a single glance.

You often think it’s pitiful, but it’s not like it’s really your problem.

Until it is.

It all starts at The Afterparty.

Hours after a big victory in the first game of three that solidifies whether the university hockey team participates in the championships, Violet is the star of tonight’s celebration.

She’d sunk the winning shot, and for that she’s being poured shot after celebratory shot. By eleven she’s practically hammered and it’s when her teammate, Ellie, and the captain, Abby, finally show up.

The three of them together, drunk, is like a minefield of obnoxious laughter, dirty innuendos, and rowdy behavior.

And for a while it’s funny, has Vi feeling like she’s on cloud nine, but eventually, the drunken high begins to evaporate and she starts to feel a little overwhelmed.

The spotlight shifts and even though Vi typically preens under the attention, she’s grateful to finally breathe.

With a plastic cup full of water, she’s sliding the back door open and stepping out onto the back patio to take in the cool air for a breather.

She makes a move towards the stairs, but nearly jumps out of her skin when she registers the silhouette at the base of the steps.

“Jesus, fuck,” Vi hisses to herself. “You scared the shit outta me.”

You don’t even spare her a glance over your shoulder, just take a sip from your drink.

“Sorry,” you hum passively.

She catches her breath, doesn’t even bother to ask permission as she drops all of her weight next to you.

The step creaks under pure muscle.

Her strong legs stretch out, elbows settling back against the step up as she waits. And waits. And waits.

The amount of silence that lapses is unusual, uncharacteristic for Vi, especially so because people are typically babbling enough to fill the void when it comes to her.

But you just sit there, nursing your beer and staring up at the stars. The moon hangs half in the sky, softly illuminating the planes of your features.

It’s her first good look at your face and Vi’s definitely drunk, but the immediate thought that comes to her mind is pretty, pretty, pretty. Undeniably and painfully pretty. And not Caitlyn pretty, the only girl she’s ever really used as a benchmark, but intimidatingly so in your own right. Makes her swallow hard, throat bobbing as she watches you unapologetically.

“It’s rude to stare, Violet,” you say simply, eyes finally flitting to meet hers.

Her breath catches in her throat, earthy flecks dancing in your moonlit irises. God, your eyes. Framed by thick lashes and round as you look up at her.

“You know who I am?” she asks stupidly as if point fives of her face aren’t blown up into memes and plastered all over the house.

“Who doesn’t?” you ask, breathing a puff of humorless laughter as you crush the can in your ringed fingers.

And perhaps you got her there, but Vi’s feeling exceptionally small under your gaze despite usually filling out a room. Something about you makes her shrink.

“I— fuck,” Vi stumbles, cheeks red because you’re looking at her with an indecipherable gleam in your gaze that has her squirming. “What’s your name?”

She cringes at herself, rolls the piercing in her nose once, twice, for comfort.

You laugh again, a little more genuine this time because, from a distance, the athlete’s usually so suave, undeniably gorgeous and composed. Right now, the girl in front of you only ticks one of those boxes.

“________,” you offer.

She weighs the name on her tongue, decides she likes it a lot, and tries to shake off whatever this feeling you’re giving her is.

“And you go to school here?” she asks.

You nod once.

“Neuroscience, fourth year.”

“Huh, we’re in similar fields, but I’ve never seen you around,” Vi observes. Because she’s certain she’d bookmark a face like yours, absolutely no doubt about it.

“We had organic chemistry together sophomore year with Dr. Talis,” you say matter-of-factly, like you’re not blowing her mind right now. “And I’m auditing Medarda’s biometry class this semester.”

Vi’s floored.

“Wait, wait, but...” She’s trying to piece the puzzle together, but her brain’s still a little fuzzy, equal parts from the alcohol, but also because she’s caught a whiff of your perfume and you smell so sweet.

“I pop in every once in a while,” you tell her. “But I tutor in that time slot every Tuesday and Thursday, only really go when I don’t have any appointments.”

“Hold on, this is nuts,” Violet says, body easing to face you. You flinch because she doesn’t realize she’s practically yelling. “There’s no way, I definitely would’ve remembered you if that was the case.”

You hum, corners of your lips quirking as you shrug your shoulders.

“Doubt it,” you counter. “I’m nothing particularly spectacular.”

“Nothing particularly spectacular,” Vi repeats under her breath.

And under normal circumstances, she’d be flirting up a storm right now, trying to charm her way into getting you to bite, but this is one of the first semblances of normalcy she’s experienced in a while. No ulterior motives, no exaggerated kindness, no outright asking her to fuck.

Suddenly your phone lights up in your lap and you’re turning your attention to the device.

“DD duties call,” is all you say as you make a move to stand up.

No, this can’t be all she gets from you tonight. Not when she’s been narrowly missing someone like you for the past four years and you’re just now coming to light.

The dormant liquid courage bubbles and Vi’s gently grabbing your wrist to pull you to a stop.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” she asks, steely eyes liquid as she stares up at you.

You eye the scar on her lip, gaze lingering there before flitting to meet hers.

“Maybe.”

Vi decides that she needs to see you again.

You’d left her with crumbs this past Friday night and she’d spent the better part of the weekend trying (and failing) to cross paths with you again.

“Jesus, you’re down bad,” Ellie chuffs Monday morning on their walk to the campus coffee shop.

“You don’t understand,” Vi defends. “She’s so...so...”

“So?”

“Different, I dunno,” Vi sighs, fiddling with the strap of her backpack as they walk. “We didn’t even talk about much, but that was the most normal I’ve felt around someone in a while.”

Her teammate snorts.

“Probably the gayest thing I’ve heard you say,” Ellie deadpans. “She isn’t immediately trying to munch and you’re already in love. Pathetic.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Vi scoffs as they approach the coffee shop, inside packed full with half-functioning college students so early in the morning. “Trust me, if you met her, you’d—”

The words die in her throat because halle-fucking-lujah, the universe or god, or whatever has answered her every prayer this past weekend as she clocks you a few paces ahead in line.

Ellie follows her friend’s line of vision to find exactly what she’s staring at and she lets out a low whistle when her gaze finds your frame.

From a completely aesthetic standpoint, she can see why Vi’s immediately hooked.

“Hah,” she makes a noise in her throat. “Okay, so maybe it makes sense.”

Vi can’t help but stare because, if it were possible, you were far prettier under the warm lighting of the cafe’s ambiance. The curls of your hair frame your face beautifully and it’s so fucking cute how focused you are on your phone.

“Hate to break it to you, though. That girl’s way out of your league,” Ellie says like it’s common knowledge.

“Wow, way to boost my ego,” Vi mutters drily.

“Just being realistic,” Ellie argues. “If you bag her, she’s easily the hottest girl you’ve been with.”

And Vi can’t really contest that, not when the proof’s in the fucking pudding.

Her body’s moving of its own accord and before she can register her own actions, she’s mumbling quiet s’cuse me’s under her breath as she squeezes between patrons to close a bruised hand over your shoulder.

You nearly jump out of your skin, fumbling with your phone as an earbud falls out.

“Shit, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Vi says quickly.

Your gaze snaps to her, brows furrowing almost imperceptibly before your expression settles.

“Violet,” you acknowledge.

And she realizes that she didn’t really have a game plan coming up to you so abruptly. Had been so focused on actually just seeing you again, that she hadn’t thought through the rest of it.

The way you stare up at her is thoroughly disarming because she doesn’t have the shield of night or alcoholic courage to carry her through it.

“Can I help you?” you ask, but not unkindly.

“Oh, uh, I...” She chances a glance over her shoulder to find that Ellie is watching her from a few customers away, eyebrow cocked and smirk testing. She word vomits before she can think of a coherent thought. “You mentioned tutoring...the last time we talked.”

You don’t even bat an eye.

“I did.”

“You’re also auditing Medarda’s biometry class.”

“I am.”

“I’m...I’m not really doing too hot in Medarda’s right now,” Vi says, brain nearly short-circuiting and freezing up because, lie! She’s doing phenomenally in Medarda’s session and, truthfully, she’s just downright scared to ask you to hang out.

Especially when you look up at her like that.

You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.

“Hmm, can’t have that, can we?” you hum.

Vi could melt.

“No,” she breathes out a laugh. “Can’t.”

“You can sign up for a slot through the library’s website,” you say after you weigh the thought.

Vi’s pausing, staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

“So I can get paid?” you fill in.

“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”

You give her a soft smile before plugging your earbud back in, leaving Vi to rejoin her obviously amused friend.

“You’re fucking joking!”

The librarian gives you and your incredulous roommate a look from the circulation desk and you return it with a sheepish smile from where you’re tucked by a wall of looming floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Maddie,” you whisper.

“You’re telling me that The Violet asked you personally to tutor her?” Maddie asks you, leaned over the tabletop with wide eyes.

“Yeah, cornered me at Brew House this morning and asked me to tutor her in Medarda’s class.”

“Just that?” she asks. “Nothing else?”

You look around in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah?” you scoff. “What else would she want?”

“What else would she— are you serious?” Maddie leans back in her seat, arms crossing over her chest as she gives you a plain look. “You know all about Vi, you’re actually gonna play stupid?”

“Oh, come on.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve seen the girls Violet’s fucked, right? Kiramann? The blonde from the tennis team? She’s got a type and you know it.”

It’s Maddie’s turn to roll her eyes and you see the exasperated groan she’s staving off.

“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”

“It’s not self-deprecating!” you argue. “Not everyone wants to fuck Violet, Maddie. Put me in the number one spot.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t start.”

“All I’m saying is that anyone with eyes can see that Vi’s hot as fuck. That being said, you’re also hot as fuck. Not only that, but rumor has it, she gives the most toe-curling—”

You’re rolling your eyes again, gaze fluttering out the window momentarily only to find that, speak of the devil, Violet’s approaching the library with a skip in her step.

Maddie stops her spiel to trace your gaze and nearly falls out of her seat when she finds the object of your conversation is advancing, fast.

“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself, pulling up your tutoring log on your tablet to find that, yup, Violet has most-definitely taken your advice and signed up for a tutoring slot.

If the time reads correctly, you’ve got three minutes before she’s due to be taking Maddie’s seat.

Your friend is grinning at you mischievously, stuffing her backpack quickly to vacate the space across from you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you scoff, slumping back in your seat.

“Tell me how it goes,” she giggles, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands.

“Maddie,” you warn.

“Love you, see you at home!”

Violet’s strolling into the library just as Maddie leaves through the other doors and try as you might make yourself small in the open air near the research center, her gaze falls on you as soon as she enters.

“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.

“Hi.”

A moment lapses before you’re nodding towards the seat before you.

“We can get started whenever you’re ready.”

Right. Right! Vi’s mentally cringing, pulling the chair out with a squeak and dropping onto the worn cushion.

Her eyes are locked, watching as you pull the biometry textbook from your little messenger bag.

“Any particular areas you’re struggling in?” you ask, flipping to a clean sheet of paper in your notepad and clicking open your pen.

Vi combs her brain, tries to think of anything she’s not really grasping in Medarda’s class, but she’s been acing all the exams with flying colors, so she spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.

“In relation to...?” You tilt your head and Vi’s breath is hitching.

“The Confusion Matrix,” she answers, even though she knows all about it.

It’s only when you start breaking it down from the bare bones that she realizes that she could listen to you talk for-probably-ever.

You obviously have a great understanding of the subject if the way you deconstruct the relationship between sensitivity and specificity (or whatever the fuck) is anything to go by, and she doesn’t realize that she hasn’t even blinked until you’re glancing up at her.

“Am I making any sense?” you ask softly, taking in the almost confused look on Violet’s face.

“Huh?”

Vi snaps out of it, cheeks coloring pink when she notes the way you straighten in your seat.

“Am I going too fast?”

“No, no!’ Vi practically shouts before chancing an embarrassed gaze around the library to find a few wandering eyes. She clears her throat and tries to relax. “No, you’re doing great. I get it.”

You don’t seem convinced, but the faster you get through the material, the faster Violet can leave and you can finally catch your breath.

Because maybe Maddie’s a little right. That while you know, one hundred percent, without-a-doubt, that you and Violet are cut from two different cloths and that you ultimately won’t mesh, there’s still a sliver of want that settles somewhere confined in the pit of your gut.

You don’t know how long you continue before you notice that sun has begun to set in the horizon, but Vi’s effort is unwavering. She’s probably on her tenth practice problem by now and so far, she’s only flubbed once.

You decide to fold your cards first.

“O-kay,” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as you roll your shoulders and squeeze your hands shut so tight your knuckles crack. “This is a good stopping point, don’t you think?”

No, Vi could keep going forever if it meant hearing you talk all night, but the little G-shock wristwatch winks the time and she realizes that the two of you have been going at it for going on two hours and you’re probably exhausted.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long,” Vi says sheepishly. “Thanks a lot for your help, I...”

You look up from where you’re shuffling your papers together, pausing when she hesitates.

“I really appreciate you. I know you probably help dozens of people every week and—”

She stops talking when she sees you crack what seems to be the first genuine smile she could get out of you since Friday.

“It’s my job, Violet,” you tell her. “I’m happy to help.”

And she’d done well enough during the tutoring session, had a successful run with the practice problems. You were confident it was just a one and done. Perhaps served as a review for the upcoming exam Medarda had posted on the class page.

But then you see her name in the final time slot on Thursday, don’t really think much of it until you’re tabbing to next week’s schedule for shits and giggles. Tuesday and Thursday are booked through again, her name highlighted in yellow.

You minimize the calendar and pull up the aggregate schedule only to find that every 4 o’clock slot every Tuesday and Thursday’s been booked until the end of the semester.

You refresh for good measure.

“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”

You don’t know what kind of joke this is, if Violet thinks that this is funny, but you’re not amused.

Especially when you’re stalking all the way to the athletic hall, ignoring the wolfish stares from shameless student athletes to whip into the women’s hockey team’s reserved conditioning space.

You find her benching near the center of the room, Abigail Anderson spotting her while the rest of the team engages in various workouts and exercises.

A hush ripples over the weight room as you approach the hockey star, standing at the end of the bench where her knees are bent. One of Abigail Anderson’s eyebrows quirk up as you stand there with your hands on your hips and you hope the chill that runs down your spine as she checks you out doesn’t visibly vibrate your body.

When the barbell nearly crushes Vi’s chest on her last rep, Abby’s quick to help her re-rack and takes the biggest step back as Vi sits up.

Her expression falls and her face pales when she locks eyes with you, your features severe and gaze stony.

“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.

Truthfully, she hadn’t really pinned you as the type to be confrontational. Thought she’d have enough time to build a strong enough story as to why she booked out all of your tutoring sessions when in actuality she panicked when Ellie started grilling the fuck out of her about being a fucking pussy and begging her to just ask you out.

“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”

And she should definitely be embarrassed, not at all turned on, but she can’t help it as she gulps. Because when you stand before her like this, she can easily admit that she’d die for a private version of the view.

The silence in the weight room is palpable and you want to back down, but if this is some running joke and Vi’s going to make a show of humiliating you in front of her teammates, then you’d give her a show.

“Violet.”

Someone in the back snickers, another whistles, and Vi’s cheeks go red.

She’s standing, sweaty hands closing around your biceps as she spins you around and quickly guides you out of the conditioning room and out of her teammates’ line of ogling sight.

“V—”

“I’m sorry,” Violet splutters. “I’m just not really confident in Medarda’s class right now and I don’t trust myself to study alone, plus you’re a really good tutor and—”

“You do realize that those tutoring sessions are added to your tuition, right?” you ask incredulously. “It’s fifteen dollars an hour.”

Vi’s smile is crooked.

“That’s what my scholarship’s for,” she grins.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?” you try again. “I feel that before an exam for a little refresh is fair, but this would be like relearning the material after every class, all over again.”

“If it’s taught by you, I’ll take it,” Vi says quickly, and you pause because what does she mean by that?

You don’t really have much rebuttal left even though you’d marched up here with a fire under your ass. Vi’s looking down at you with a softened edge in her gaze and she’s wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants and sweat-soaked grey tank that reveals swathes of ink that curls up her arms and disappears under the fabric of her shirt.

She breathes out a small laugh when she notices the way your eyes dance.

“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”

Your gaze snaps to hers and her grin widens when she sees you fidget, little pet name obviously eliciting a semblance of a reaction from you.

“N-No,” you stammer.

“Great, see you tomorrow?“

You swallow.

“Okay,” you agree. “See you tomorrow.”

Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.

Her hair’s wet from an obvious shower and you smell her, warm like honey and cedar as she takes the seat across from you.

“Afternoon, cupcake,” she greets, slinging her backpack into the seat next to her.

You give her a warning look, but she just flashes you a toothy smile and nods towards the opened biometry textbook before you.

“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”

And this feels an awful lot like mocking, but you can’t be sure, not when Vi’s been somewhat respectful, sweet even.

“What do you know about the the sigmoid function?” you probe.

“Jack shit,” she laughs.

And maybe you’d find it endearing if the entirety of the situation wasn’t still absolutely mindfucking you at moment.

“Can I ask you something, Violet?” you ask, leaning back in your seat as you cross your arms to level her with as an intimidating look as you can.

“Sure, anything.”

“Are you messing with me?” you ask. “Is this some joke you and your friends are playing? Because I can’t really think of an outcome that would be funny.”

And you’d like to say that the look of horror on Violet’s face is consolation enough, but you know how being loved and being popular can make people act sometimes.

Vi contemplates telling you the truth, that she’s too chickenshit to ask you out, that getting close to you in any other way scares the fuck out of her. That maybe getting you to tutor her will segue into some form of friendship that’ll allow her to ease her way in. And maybe she’s going about it the hard way, but maybe Vi also likes a challenge.

“No jokes, just bad at statistics,” she says weakly.

You’re silent for way longer than comfort allows before you turn your attention to the textbook and Vi’s letting out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding.

“Fine,” you give in. “Let’s talk about sigmoid function and practice some applications...”

Vi’s happy to listen, goes through your preselected practice problems with ease (and maybe fucks up a value or two here and there to really sell her need for you). But the sun’s going down again, and it’s nearing six when Vi folds her hand this time around.

It comes in the form of her stomach grumbling in the emptying library and she looks up at you in embarrassment as you crack the first smile of the evening.

“Hungry?” you ask.

“Starving,” she replies dramatically, leaning so far back in her seat, her knees bump yours under the table.

Your toes curl at the contact, heart skipping when she doesn’t make a move to reposition herself.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks, eyes looking everywhere but yours.

“Not since breakfast,” you admit.

“You like pizza?”

“Only the good kind,” you challenge.

“Beautiful,” Vi hums, shuffling her papers into her textbook and chucking it back into her bookbag. “I know the best place.”

Valentino’s is a hole-in-the-wall right outside of campus, a short walk from the library that Violet leverages as a way to get to know you outside of being lectured about statistical curves and correlation.

“Did you grow up around here?” Vi asks once the waiter sets two glasses of water down between the two of you.

You shake your head.

“No, grew up on the east coast and decided I needed a break from my life there,” you admit easily.

It’s almost as if the facade of professionalism fades away, melting to reveal you.

Vi’s desperate for more.

“As in?”

You look at her for a moment, wonder if you should divulge because you’re not really sure if Vi would get it, but she watches you like she’s hanging onto every single word you say, so you’re spilling.

“My dad died when I was little, left me and three other siblings with my Mom,” you offer. “And I love my siblings. Love my mom. She’s been a great parent, better than great actually, but most of our family disowned me when I came out and it was easier to run away than to deal with it.”

Violet’s expression falls, a furrow settling deep between her brows.

“Wow, I’m, uh, I’m really sorry to hear that,” she says, and she sounds sincere. A long moment lapses before she’s adding, “for what it’s worth, I think that’s very brave of you.”

And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.

“Thanks.” You smile. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

Vi could turn to goo in this dimly lit booth, stained-glass wall sconce casting a warm glow over your pretty face.

“You—” She sniffs, changes the subject because she doesn’t know if she can do this on an empty stomach. “You like pineapple on your pizza?”

“Oh yeah,” you confirm proudly. “It’s a hill I’ll die on, I’m not sorry.”

“God, marry me now.”

She doesn’t realize she says it out loud until you’re bursting into a fit of laughter on your side of the booth.

“So this is something we can agree on?” you ask, head tilting in the way that makes Vi want to grab your face and taste you.

“Oh yeah,” she parrots instead. “One hundred percent.”

Valentino’s becomes routine just as much as Vi seeing you at four every Tuesday and Thursday becomes routine. It’s always after the Thursday session (because they have a three dollar slice from 6 to close) that you and Vi cram yourselves in the same booth near the kitchen and giggle over half a Hawaiian pizza.

“...And my little sister blew up her science project in the fourth grade—”

You choke on your bite, eyes wide as Violet recalls Powder’s little mishap that sent the entire gymnasium evacuating despite the tiniest fire.

“Now she’s about graduate and start school for chemical engineering,” she says, obviously proud.

“She seems like a smart girl,” you observe, if the countless stories Violet shares with you is anything to go by.

You figure being related to someone as great as the new friend you’ve made also speaks for itself.

“The smartest,” she agrees. “I’m proud of her.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you too,” you assure her. “You’re a good big sister.”

And it’s in these moments that Vi realizes that she’s in far, far deeper than she initially gave stock. Because these past few weeks, she realizes that there’s a lot more to your big brain and your pretty face. You’re an attentive listener, way funnier than she could have anticipated, and just a lot more laid back than you let on.

That much she finds out after the two of you graduate from emailing with silly sign-offs to exchanging phone numbers and texting. It starts off rather irregular, a coffee order here and there, maybe a TikTok that Vi swears is funny, you just have to watch it all the way through! But then she starts texting you when she’s bored, when she’s in class, before practice, after. Even pops the question that’s been niggling at her since she met you: on a scale from 1 - 10 how down are you to smoke?

Like cigarettes?

no, weed, dummy.

Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.

She could not wipe the smile from her face even if she tried.

And then she gets the invite.

Ellie swears it’s her in.

“Jesus Christ if you even consider me a friend, you’ll bang,” Ellie calls from the couch.

“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.

“Yeah, at her place,” she scoffs. “At least test the waters, maybe cop a feel.”

“You’re a pig,” Vi snorts, making sure her laptop and all of the worksheets Medarda’s assigned over the course of the week is in her backpack.

“You’ve been wet dreaming over this girl for months.”

“Fuck all the way off.” Vi’s face warms because her best friend isn’t necessarily wrong.

You’re too hot for your own good, but you don’t even know it and Vi thinks she could die sometimes. Especially when you wear your favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hug the swell of your ass just right. Or swipe on that shimmery lipgloss she swears makes your mouth look edible.

If you were willing, Vi would be all over you, but thinking about taking advantage of the fact that you trust her enough to invite her into your space feels a little grimy.

“Whatever, bang, don’t bang,” Ellie says nonchalantly. “Blueball yourself for all I care.”

Vi rolls her eyes, slings her bag over her shoulder before sliding on her shoes and leaving her friend on the couch with a resounding click.

You live off-campus, maybe a ten minute drive, in a cozy little complex near the suburbs. Your roommate, Maddie, a chipper blonde with a bob, is all too eager to leave when Vi arrives.

“Hi, sorry we couldn’t meet anywhere else,” you apologize as you let her into your space. “Even if the library wasn’t closed, the vet said I have to monitor Pip for the next 48 hours.”

Vi raises a brow.

“My cat,” you clarify.

“Oh.” Vi doesn’t know why she suddenly feels like she’s intruding as she hesitantly toes off her shoes and follows you down the hall.

But she does take the opportunity to take you in in all your glory; all cozy and cuddly in an oversized sweatshirt, plaid pajama shorts and mismatched egg socks.

Cute. So fucking cute.

You spare her a glance over your shoulder and she’s clearing her throat.

“We don’t have to have a session tonight," she says, stopping at the threshold of the living room. “I would’ve understood if you had to cancel.”

You shake your head, give her a soft smile that has her knees feel like jelly.

“S’okay,” you assure her. “A promise is a promise.”

And you do start off studying, shoulder to shoulder in front of your coffee table, but then Pip crawls from his little hiding spot under the TV console to curiously nose along Vi’s feet and she’s a goner.

“He’s so sweet,” she practically wails as he paws at her thigh and nudges against her arm so that he can climb into her lap.

You warm at the sight, can’t help but snap a picture, much to Violet’s dismay.

“Stop,” she laughs. “That picture can’t see the light of day.”

“Why?” you whine, making a show of climbing onto your wooden coffee table to get a funny top down photo of the hockey star with your cat. “You and Pip look so cute together.”

She feigns a scowl even though her shoulders shake with laughter.

“I have a bad boy image to uphold, sweetheart.”

You snort, reach into her lap to scratch behind Pip’s ear, and her heart melts, body warm from her ears to her toes.

“Is he sick?” she asks cautiously, petting him softly.

“Just a little,” you say. “Something some rest and medicine won’t fix.”

It’s how the two of you end up on the couch, study materials long forgotten as Animal Planet plays in the background. Pip’s moved to lounge atop the covers draped over your lap and you’re blowing your nose into a tissue as an especially sad segment about baby animals being rejected by their mothers finishes.

Vi knows she shouldn’t laugh, but you’re too fucking cute and she can’t help but coo at you.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” you hiccup.

“What, that you’re a big soft baby?” she teases.

“Vi,” you whimper.

And something in her brain tickles because she can’t recall a time you’d ever called her by her nickname, only ever referred to her as Violet and nothing else.

She resists a smile.

“Okay, okay,” she gives in. “Lets change the subject.”

You make a noise of agreement as you cuddle your sleepy Pip.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” she says, arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers a hairsbreadth from your figure.

Test the waters, cop a feel.

Vi’s not particularly into the idea, but the opportunity’s right there in the way wisps of your hair falls from its hold. Her fingers move of their own device, tucking the strands behind your ear.

She feels you still for the slightest, most imperceptible of moments, but then you’re relaxing, letting her fingers brush from your ear down to your shoulder, then back to where it rests on the back of the couch.

“You doing anything on Saturday?” she asks, really hopes you’ll say no.

“Not that I know of,” you say without second thought.

Not that you really need to. Your tight circle of friends are all alike, tethered to their hobbies and their homes.

“I have a game on Saturday,” Vi starts, fiddling with a little hole in the cushion. “If you wanted to come.”

You don’t agree or disagree immediately, and Vi’s scrambling to soothe over any potential discomfort.

“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, of course,” she says quickly. “I just— I thought you might be interested in going and I’d really like to see you there and—”

A small little laugh puffs from your lips.

“Of course I’ll go,” you agree easily.

Vi deflates in relief.

“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”

Vi doesn’t know why she invites you. More so, she doesn’t know why she tells her teammates that she’s invited you because now they’re whooping and hollering in the locker room, towel-whipping her and sing-songing that their star player’s gonna get laid.

Doesn’t know why she invites you because as soon as she glides on the ice, she’s searching the stands high and low for your familiar figure. When she clocks you nestled in the middle with your roommate and another friend she vaguely recognizes, her heart’s soaring and her stomach’s twisting in knots.

Vi’s never nervous, but somehow you bring out the worst of it.

It only takes a few moments, though. The blare of the horn snaps her back into her zone and she leaves all the noise off-rink. In this moment, all she knows is cutting ice, dodging the other team’s most aggressive players and sinking shot after shot.

It’s nearing the end of the second period when she finally glances at the score.

5—4.

The opposing team’s giving them a run for their money and this is probably one of the tightest matches they’ve played all season. She takes a moment to find you in the stands again, and you’re right where she left you, eyes already glued to her as you hover over the edge of your seat.

She hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve got her number painted on her face and another surge of warmth layers over the exertion.

You give her a thumbs up and she feels like lightning.

They reset and she’s off, like a streak of light in the night sky, she’s shuffling the puck towards the goal.

Then you see the navy uniform barreling towards her, voice caught in your throat as Vi gives the puck one last shot before that damned Jersey Number Six shoves her so hard, she’s flinging into the rink’s wall.

The horn chugs, signaling the end of the second period and the stands erupt in a ceremonious cheer as the playback reveals that Vi had sunk the puck before time.

“Fuck yeah!” you cry out, shooting to your feet to clap your hands.

Vi ignores the instigating chants to fight, only really pays attention to your little dance of excitement as she shakes off the other player and rejoins her team for intermission.

“Fuck, Vi, you got it bad, huh?” Abigail Anderson’s spearheading the teasing once they all return to the locker room at the end of the game.

Vi’s body heats at the thought, isn’t really in the business of denying it anymore, because, you know what? Yeah. Vi’s got it so fucking bad for you, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself. You’re her first thought, her final prayer, and everything in between.

So all she does he shrug, can’t help the grin that splits her lips as she rubs her towel through her sweat-damp hair.

She’s the first one out of the locker room, dressed in some sweats and a pullover, towel slung around her neck as she steps into the tunnel. Your contact’s pulled up, and she’s ready to fire off a text asking where you want her to meet you, but she stops short to see you already leaned outside of the change room’s doors.

“Hey, cupcake,” she murmurs, smiling hard when she finds the smudged number 5 still chalked on your face.

“Hi, Violet,” you return shyly, hands clasped behind your back.

She hears the telltale whoosh of the locker room doors, the chattering of her teammates as they poke their heads out into the hall to be nosy, but she’s guiding you along, throwing a wink over her shoulder as the two of you fall into step.

“Thank you for coming,” Vi says after a moment. “You being here really meant a lot to me.”

You don’t know if Vi’s always been this sentimental, but just never given the opportunity to showcase it, or if she’s just buttering you up, but you can’t help but beam at her with pearly teeth and dimpled cheeks.

“God, Violet, you were so good!” you say excitedly, a little skip in your step. “You were in the rink, skating circles around them, like this, and like this.”

She bursts into laughter as you start speeding down the tunnel, dodging garbage bins and jumping up into the air to click your heels.

Something falls out of your little fannypack when you land, and Vi’s crouching down to pick up the tulle baggie to find a little beaded bracelet with a gold clasp that reads puck off.

“What’s this?” Vi asks, and you stop your shenanigans to turn your attention to her.

When your expression falters and you’re running back to her at full speed, she’s holding the baggie up just a little too out of reach for you, grin smug.

“Is this for me, sweetheart?” she asks presumptuously, even though her heart’s thrumming hard in her ribcage.

You’re on your tiptoes, chest pressed against hers, and god, please! is all Vi can think when your head tilts up, a little defeated knit between your eyebrows.

She milks the fuck out of whatever this is, arm banding around your waist as she returns the baggie to you.

“Maybe,” you whisper finally.

“Maybe what?” Vi teases.

“Maybe it’s for you,” you respond, free hand coming to rest on her chest.

“And what do I have to do to get it?” she asks, voice low.

It makes your body jolt hard as a shiver slinks down your spine because there she is, the insufferable flirt who knows exactly what to say to have your brain turn to mush.

You seem like you’re contemplating for a moment and Vi’s breath is hitching in her throat, wondering if you’re willing to play this cat and mouse game with her.

You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.

“Puck off.”

Your giggle is maniacal as you slip away, leaving her temporarily stunned before she chases you down the tunnel. And she should expect your speed, especially because you’ve got legs, but it takes her a moment to catch up with you when her practice bag’s thumping on her back like that. Her calloused fingers are closing around the flesh of your hips in no time and she’s pulling you back into her arms.

“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.

You whine.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you counter.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

And you give in because Violet’s made you weak. She’s holding out her wrist as you free the multi-colored bracelet.

You barely clasp the closure in the ring before Violet’s stumbling into you, a big burly girl from the other team shoulder checking the fuck out of her.

“Nice job standing in the middle of the walk way,” she bites.

Violet only snorts a laugh.

“Whatever, good game,” she calls.

Whoever she is, stops, levels Vi with a deadly look before her gaze flits to the bracelet you’ve just fixed around her wrist to you who stands frozen into place as the tension crackles between them.

“Cute,” she observes and your skin prickles. “Let me take her for a spin?”

“Violet,” you warn when her shoulders square and she takes a step forward.

She looks torn between walking away and beating the shit out of whoever this instigator is, but one of her teammates is shoving her along.

“Leave it.”

Whatever that was shatters the moment between the two of you and Vi’s taking in a deep breath as Abby trails behind the two of you.

The girl whistles for good measure and you throw a dirty look over your shoulder.

She winks.

You’ve still yet to find out who hosts these parties, but this time around gives you a weird sense of deja vu as you climb the steps with Maddie in tow.

You and Vi had parted ways at the rink, not before extending you an invite to the celebration later in the evening.

You should come, I can pick you up.

But per usual, DD duties call, and you’d smiled up at her despite the lingering pressure from the prior confrontation and promised her that yes, you’d absolutely be there.

Maddie squeals from the step below as you climb the front porch, breaths coming out in puffs of steam.

“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.

You giggle nervously, sure hope you do because you’re freezing your ass off!

“Yeah?”

Maddie gives you an incredulous look, eyelids powdered with glitter and gaze lined charcoal. She’s looking extra cute tonight too and you know that the two of you could fall into an endless cycle of teasing because a certain someone’s probably inside tonight.

“If she doesn’t fuck you before the night ends, I will,” Maddie teases, and you’re warming unceremoniously at the thought.

Because maybe you’ve been thinking about it a lot more recently despite only going into this trying to get through these tutoring sessions and dipping. Especially as of late now that Vi’s made it a habit to FaceTime you after practice, on your walk to the library, dripping sweat and chest heaving.

You’d always seen the appeal, but now you feel it.

You smooth down your asymmetrical skirt and Maddie steps up to adjust your tits in your lowcut lace blouse just as the door swings open to reveal none other than Violet.

“Oh—” Her voice catches as she takes you in.

Maddie gives your ass a little swat and Vi’s gaze is following the movement as your roommate pushes past her to slip inside.

“I was— I was just about to step out. To, uh, to call you,” she stammers.

You breath out a little laugh.

“Here I am.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”

Jesus, fuck Vi could burst into flames right now. Your boots hug your thighs and Violet’s not gonna lie, she really wishes it were her head squeezed between—

“You look...” Hot, so fucking edible, downright fuck— “...really nice.”

You smile, but you can’t help the way your teeth chatters.

“Fuck, shit, you’re probably cold,” she curses, warm hands closing around your shoulders to pull you inside. “Why didn’t you wear a jacket? You’re gonna get sick.”

I wanted you to want me.

“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.

She looks like she wants to scold you, but instead, she’s pulling down her coat, a big black work jacket, hanging from the banister of the stairs around your shoulders and you’re relishing the residual warmth that lingers there and her familiar scent.

“Can I get you a cider?” she asks. “It’s still warm.”

It hits you as her fingers curl through yours, that Vi’s truly nothing like what you initially thought. She’s sweet, and she’s respectful, and she’s everything you could ever hope for.

You freeze at the thought, and Vi’s glancing at you when she’s tugged to a stop.

“You okay?” she hums.

Your eyes search her face, gliding over the scar on her lip and the one slit through her eyebrow. The gold hoop pierced through her nose glints under the lowlight and her thick lashes flutter as she looks down at you.

You give her a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes because wow, you’re in deep.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, give her fingers a squeeze for good measure.

When she finally secures you a mug of steaming cider, she’s guiding you to her group of friends that occupy the living room.

You only recognize Ellie, her best friend and her roommate, and Abby, the captain. Everyone else is a jumbled mix of names and faces and you stick close to Vi as she settles into the left corner of the couch.

You make a move to sit on the armrest, legs crossed and hands folded around your mug, but Vi’s spreading her legs and pulling you into her lap before you can effectively protest.

Her warmth immediately engulfs you and it takes every ounce of self control not to curl up into a ball in front of all her friends and classmates.

As they recap the game and catch up with each other, you remain hushed, eyes flitting from person to person as they speak. Toes curling whenever Violet’s voice vibrates in her chest as she talks big about sports and the hot teams this season.

You’re caught off caught when Ellie’s directing a question towards you and you barely register.

“What do you like to do?” she asks you.

All eyes audibly shift to where you’re cozied up in Vi’s lap, cider empty and abandoned on the side table.

“Uh.”

Your words are lodged in your throat because you’re so used to talking Vi’s ear off about your interests (namely, Animal Planet and your son Pip), showing her your little craft projects you like to do in front of the television on a weekend evening (you’d taken a break from the scarf / hat combo you were knitting to finish the bracelet you designed for Vi), and yapping about some obscure film you’d watched while finishing said projects.

But here, now, you don’t know what to say. Not when this isn’t your typical crowd and you don’t know what to expect from her friends.

Vi must feel your hesitation because her digits are slipping into her jacket, fingertips ghosting the small of your back as she presses a palm against your spine to smooth the tension there.

It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.

You give her a look from the corner of your eye before you turn your attention back to Ellie.

“I don’t do much,” you offer honestly. “Just starting my old cat lady duties early, I suppose.”

Ellie laughs benevolently.

“You have a cat?”

“Yes, his name’s Pip, and he’s basically my kid.”

“Cute,” Ellie coos. “You got any pictures?”

And you seem to light up, spare Vi one more glance as you dig in her coat pocket to produce your cellphone, charms jangling as you power it back on to show Ellie the lockscreen.

“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”

“—How To Train Your Dragon!” Abby fills in from across the couch. “That’s such a good ass movie.”

It warms Vi to the bone, seeing you and her friends nerd out. Seeing them put in the effort because they know she likes you and seeing you reciprocate because, well, you’re you, and you just need a little warming up.

She doesn’t know how long you and her friends chat for until you’re shifting a little and turning your attention back to her.

“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”

Her gaze flits to her circle, and they’re smirking, obviously under the impression that this must be some sort of code the two of you concocted.

She ignores them, and most importantly she ignores the way her pulse jumps when you stand from your seat and perch between her legs, offering both of your neatly manicured hands to her.

This is getting fucking ridiculous.

The bathroom is tucked under the stairs near the front of the house and she stands post outside the door as you finish up.

It’s only when you’re poking your head outside the door sheepishly that she stands up straight.

“Can you help me with my zipper?” you ask timidly.

She puffs a laugh, slips in through the space you crack for her to find you holding the two sides of your skirt together.

And she knows she shouldn’t look, but the space allows her to see the pink lace of your panties. She’s shoving her tongue in her cheek, focusing on lining up the seams and pulling up your zipper as you hold the fabric taut.

“Thanks,” you whisper, looking up to see that Vi’s impossibly close to you in this cramped little powder room.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” she croaks, leaning against the counter as you wash your hands.

She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.

“I like this,” she admits, gaze trailing up to meet yours. “You look pretty.”

Your ears burn, unable to meet the smolder of her steely eyes. You’d probably find that her pupils are blown wide if you did. Instead, you’re watching her mouth, lips stained cherry and tongue coming out to wet the dry patch.

You hold your breath as you reach across her for the hand towel, but her hands find your hips, teetering into dangerous territory as she moves almost close enough to slip her hands under your skirt.

“You’re not gonna say thank you?” she asks, watching you through hooded eyes.

A nervous giggle bubbles.

“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.

“‘Course,” she agrees easily. “You gonna wear it again?”

You bite.

“If you ask nicely.”

She licks her lips again, body flexed as you allow her to press you closer. One of your hands splays on the counter behind her, the other brushing over the blooming bruise on her jaw.

“Can I?” she husks.

You don’t need to ask for clarification, not when her nose is nudging yours and your breaths are mingling.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”

The door rattles with the ferocity of whoever’s knocking on the other side.

“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”

To your dismay, the two of you don’t talk about Saturday night. And things’s aren’t particularly bad, but something’s definitely shifted and it’s driving you nuts.

Vi’s on the ice practicing the following morning and after classes on Monday, so you wait for your session with bated breath on Tuesday. You try extra hard despite every voice of reason telling you that you’re reading into it too much.

Vi smiles at you easily as she drops into the seat across from you, pulling out her biometry textbook without so much as a peep about the fact that the two of you almost kissed in whoever the fuck’s bathroom that was over the weekend.

You’re staring, hard.

Because that familiar feeling’s coming back. The seedling of doubt that had rooted in the beginning about Vi’s intentions with you. She’d done a good job of weeding it out over the weeks, of dismantling whatever image you’d built of her in your head, but it plants itself again.

She’s squeezing your hand across the table and your gaze flits down to her rough fingers. That’s when you notice it, the bracelet, still fastened where you clasped it on game night.

You relax a fraction.

“Everything okay?”

You smile, something small.

“Yeah, good,” you assure her.

The rest of your tutoring session is uneventful, goes off without a hitch. And you’re shameless in admitting that you hate to see her go as she walks you to your car in the student lot near the library.

You’re grasping at straws, clearing your throat before she closes your door for you.

“Uh,” you squeak. “Do you want to come over?”

Vi’s pausing, hand still on the edge of your door as her lips twitch.

“Like right now?”

You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.

“Like right now,” you confirm.

She checks her wristwatch, sighs heavily because fuck yes, she’d love to come over right now, but Anderson and Williams are expecting her for a strategy meeting with the coach and—

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “You don’t have to, I know we only really—”

She pinches your cheek before tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“I can’t tonight, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she says. “But tell you what, if you’re willing to free up your Friday night, I’d really like to plan something.”

Your heartbeat skips.

“All yours,” you say without missing a beat.

Vi’s grinning wide.

“Perfect, drive safe,” she bids. “See you tomorrow.”

And you don’t know why you’re so fucking high strung, not when Vi hasn’t done anything to make you doubt that this isn’t all in your head, but it only gets worse as the days go by.

It doesn’t come to a head until Thursday, when your tutoring slots are miraculously empty until Vi’s and you receive an email from Medarda to meet in her office after her string of lectures.

“Afternoon,” the older woman greets, smiling warmly at you as she lets you into her office. “Just wanted to check in with your audit and request any feedback you have.”

You think for a moment before shaking your head.

“Nothing in particular that I can think of,” you say easily, then add with a laugh, “feel like I’ll be a professional by the end of the semester.”

“Why do you say that?” Medarda chuckles as she logs into her computer.

“I have a student sitting every Tuesday and Thursday for tutoring in your class,” you reveal.

She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You giggle at the distant memory of Vi’s expression in the weight room. “She seems to be picking it up well enough, though.”

“Huh, every Tuesday and Thursday?” she asks, fingers flying over her keyboard. “I must be doing something wrong.”

“I’d hardly say that,” you say. “When Violet booked all my sessions, I thought it was a joke, but I think she’s just really dedicated to doing well.”

“Violet?” Medarda repeats, hands stilling over her mouse.

“Yeah, Violet, on the women’s hockey team?”

Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.

“Why would you— huh. Weird,” she comments.

“I admit it was a little strange, but—”

“Violet’s a consistent top scorer on the exams,” Medarda shares. “She’s been top of the class since the beginning of the semester.”

And it’s like the world stills as she reveals that information, fragile pieces shattering as the gears start turning in your brain and you try to put the puzzle together.

You glance at the clock, find that you’re due to meet Violet in half an hour.

“Uh, if you’ll excuse me,” you say politely, try to ignore the concerned expression etched on your professor’s face at your sudden departure. “It was nice chatting with you. If I think of anything feedback-wise, I’ll be sure to email you.”

And you’re running.

Vi’s in the locker room after practice, toweling off after an extra long shower because she’s been looking a little extra forward to seeing you today, but perhaps that’s everyday as of late.

She’s hooking the bracelet you gave her back on when her phone vibrates and she’s practically diving into her locker when your text tone bleats.

sweetheart: I have to cancel your session this afternoon. I’m sorry.

Her expression screws up.

everything ok? can i do anything for you?

sweetheart: Personal things to take care of. I’ll see you next week.

I’ll see you next week.

But what about tomorrow? She’d been working so fucking hard on tomorrow, on finally pulling her head far enough out of her ass to ask you to give the two of you a shot.

She sets her phone down, slumps down on the bench as she turns her wrist and takes in the smooth glass beads of the bracelet.

She sighs. Hard.

You hole up all weekend long, put your phone on do not disturb, and try your best to get whatever this is out of your system. But you’re a slave to your emotions and you can’t help but check your messages every time you know Vi’s free.

It’s a single text on a Saturday night, one that surprises you because you know she has practice now that the big game’s fast approaching.

violet <3: hey sweetheart, just checking in. i know you said you had a few personal things going on, but i’m here if you feel like you need someone <3

You’re texting back before your better judgement can stop you.

Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?

.

.

.

Then you add, We can smoke.

Vi’s sending you three running emojis and you crack a smile at your screen before realizing that you need to shower.

You lay out some clothes beforehand, ultimately settling on last Saturday’s skirt.

Vi’s giggling as you fumble with the wrapper, rolling it with clumsy fingers because, truthfully, you don’t do this often, but she shuts right up when you don’t break eye contact as the tip of your tongue slides across the seam to seal the joint.

She’d picked you up with a Sprite and a slice to split from Valentino’s, throat drying as you bounded down the stairs in the same fucking skirt that had her touching herself after she’d gotten home from the party, guilty and wound tight. Now the two of you are tucked away behind some abandoned strip.

“Ready?” Her voice rasps as you pop the end between your lips and she brings the lighter to ignite the end for you.

It burns as you inhale and Vi’s thighs squeeze together involuntarily. She’d smoked with you twice before, both times on the roof of your apartment building and at a reasonable distance. But now, she knows what your body feels like, almost knows what your lips taste like.

You take a few more puffs before offering it to her and the smoke begins to plume to fill the space of her little coupe. It’s moments like these, tucked away from prying eyes, that it’s just you and Vi.

Not Vi, the supposed womanizing hockey star, or you, the nerdy homebody tutor. Just the two of you, two souls trying to get through university and carve your paths.

“I aced Medarda’s exam this week,” Vi says softly, jay pinched between her fingers as she watches you with lowering eyes.

“Oh, yeah? I wonder why,” you quip in return, face impossibly close to hers despite the console between you.

“I have a smartypants tutor that does an especially good job when she’s motivated,” she answers.

Your cheeks flame, but you don’t back down. Vi’s been extra good at pushing your buttons and flirting hard as of late, and maybe you’re a little more than willing to receive and reciprocate, but the two of you have been toeing the line, yet neither of you have taken the leap.

This moment, however, feels like it could be it. Like you’re going to find out what the fuck all of this even is.

“I have to meet this tutor of yours,” you play along. “She sounds like a miracle worker.”

“Among other things,” Vi teases, sucking in the smoke and blowing it through her nostrils.

“Like?”

“She’s also funny as fuck,” she hums. “A big baby when we watch Animal Planet.”

You narrow your eyes at her and Vi lets out a little laugh that makes your toes curl.

“Uh-huh?”

“She’s really fucking pretty too,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she affirms. “Kind of pretty that makes you wanna do bad, bad things.”

You smile falters as a shiver rips down your spine and before you know it, Vi’s putting out the joint before climbing in the cramped backseat of her car to spread her legs.

Doesn’t even give you a moment to process before she’s pulling you on top of her and allowing you to settle comfortably in her lap. Her hands run up your thighs and disappear under your skirt to grab the fat of your ass.

You breathe out a little giggle as your slender fingers come up to cup her jaw.

“Think my tutor’ll be mad at me?” Vi murmurs, nose brushing yours. “‘Cuz I really, really wanna kiss this pretty girl in my lap right now.”

You let out a broken little sigh when her hips buck.

“Maybe she’ll forgive you,” you whisper. “I know I would.”

And that’s all the affirmation Vi needs from you before she’s taking the plunge and slotting her lips with yours; kissing you with so much fervor, you’d think she needs you to breathe. She tastes like mint and weed and you can’t get enough.

Vi’s all-consuming, her kiss a delicious mix of teeth and tongue. And, god, her hands. Rough and calloused, but gentle in the way she explores your body. It isn’t until she’s snapping the band of your thong and her fingertips ghost the seam of your sticky heat that you’re hyper-focusing.

“Mmmph, Violet, Vi—” Your voice cracks as she breaks from your lips to map a series of kisses from your jaw, to the juncture behind your ear, down the column of your neck. “Wait.”

She stops, hands pulling from under your skirt like you’ve burned her. And perhaps you have, branded nearly every part of her because she can’t really think of a sound moment if you’re not there.

“Sorry, sorry,” she shudders as the arousal ebbs through her tightened body. “I—”

I’m caught up. I’m losing it, and it’s all your fault, and—

“Violet,” you swallow, fingers toying with the collar of her varsity sweatshirt. “I have something to say.”

Her throat bobs and her grey eyes gleam like ash in the lowlight of the backseat of her car. The windows are smoked out and it’s exceptionally warm, equal parts sexual tension and another thing Vi can’t quite pinpoint.

“Yeah, anything,” she assures you, hands resting on your waist instead. “You can tell me anything.”

One of your palms settles over her chest, right where her heart is and you suck in a sharp breath.

“I— uh, I really like you, Violet,” you admit quietly. “A lot more than I think I’ve ever liked someone in a long, long time.”

Oh.

Oh. Here it comes, the big fat rejection. The coming to your senses.

“But?”

The look on your face is devastating and Vi’s scared.

“I have to know that if I give you a chance, you won’t abuse it,” you hiccup, and wow, that’s definitely not what she expects you to say, but fuck does it leave a sour taste in her mouth.

“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.

“Violet,” you sigh.

“Abuse what?” she husks.

“I know you—”

“Do you?” she scoffs, a wave of irritation washing over her as she looks you with disappointment. “What gave you the idea that I would ever even dream of taking advantage of you giving me a chance?”

“You don’t necessarily have a spotless record, Violet,” you say, voice edged. “And I know that I’m not your usual—”

“Not my usual what?” The venom in Vi’s tone is uncharacteristic, but this is not at all how she expected tonight to go and she’s frustrated. “Not my usual type? You internalized all this shit that people say about me even though I’ve been trying to get you to see me for months.”

Emotion clogs your throat because a small part of you knows that Vi’s right. She’s never given you an outright reason to doubt her interest in you, but it all just seems too good to be true.

“Sue me for wanting to protect myself,” you choke, climbing out of her lap and back into the front seat. “Especially because I know that you don’t actually need help in Medarda’s class.”

And that catches Vi off guard. You see as much in the rearview mirror when she pales.

She clambers back into the driver’s seat.

“Who told you that?” she asks, not even bothering to deny the fact.

“I mentioned that I was tutoring you in passing when Medarda asked for feedback on her class,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “She asked why I’d be doing that when you’re top of all her sections.”

Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.

“And then your past hook ups parade around campus like a reminder that—,” you cut yourself off, obviously hurt after bottling this all up. “And it isn’t any of my business, nor are we anything enough for me to plausibly upset—”

“Yes, I lied,” Vi admits quietly. “But only about one thing.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re right, I don’t need help in Medarda’s class. I lied about being clueless and I signed up for tutoring even though I didn’t need it,” she says.

“Why?”

“You know why,” Vi huffs. “From the moment I met you, I knew.”

It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.

“No one ever says it out loud, but I know what everyone thinks,” you choke. “Violet’s fucking that loser?”

“You really believe that?”

“God, Violet, I don’t know what to fucking believe,” you cry out. “My life’s fucking fine and dandy and then you show up and make me fucking question everything I—”

Vi lets out a humorless laugh, can’t even look at you and it could make you sick.

“You’re so fucking loved by everyone, even those who won’t admit it,” you croak. “And you’re incredible at everything you do, turn everything you touch to gold, and I’m just...”

Vi’s brows furrow.

“You’re what?”

“I’m me,” you whisper meekly. “I’m just me and you’re you, and I just don’t see what makes me so different.”

And Vi realizes that she’d read it all wrong.

“Look at me,” she says softly, fingers tracing your jaw.

You knuckle your tears away, make a petulant noise in your throat.

“You wanna know why I booked all your stupid tutoring sessions?” she huffs. “Because I really fucking like you, ________. And it’s beyond wanting to fuck you even though god knows I’d fucking die if you let me. It’s so much more than having you physically. Because I’ll take being just friends with you if it means having you around. I don’t give a shit about anything else but you.”

It’s the most sound declaration you hear from the girl in the semester you’ve known her and it makes you cry.

“You make me feel so fucking normal and you remind me that I don’t need to be anything else but me,” she breathes. “And I get where you’re coming from, I hear you. I just really hope you hear me too.”

“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

Vi squeezes your thigh, takes your hand in hers and brings your knuckles to her lips.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” she offers gently.

Vi only has one more game before the championships and she won’t lie and say that this limbo with you has her feeling like she’s going to be ill.

You’d cancelled her tutoring sessions this week, told her that maybe the two of you needed to spend some time apart and that she was clearly doing a number on you. So she agrees, tries to give you space to work through what’s weighing on you.

sweetheart: Good luck at your game tonight, Violet. I’m rooting for you.

She really wishes you’d be there, but she knows you need the time alone.

thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.

“Alright Vi, we have fifteen til puck drop,” Ellie says carefully, has been front row to everything transpiring between you and her best friend.

Vi tucks her phone away in her backpack, unhooks your bracelet from around her wrist and fastens it to the handle of her bag, and grabs her stick from the rack before she lets her teammates jostle her into the tunnel.

And she wishes she could lock in, clear her head and get into the game, but all she can think about is you.

It’s a narrow victory once the game ends, but she can’t find it in herself to celebrate, especially not at the kickback afterwards because fucking Sev and her assholes are there.

“Where’s your little dime piece?” she taunts.

“Fuck off,” Vi warns, obviously not in the mood.

“Shame,” she whistles. “She looks like a fucking weirdo, but she sure does have a fat ass—”

Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.

“She told you to fuck off,” she hisses.

Sev spits the blood in her mouth on the toe of Ellie’s shoe, fists bunching the collar of her sweater.

“Keep that fucking energy on the ice because I’m gonna wipe the floor with your fucking pissbaby team.”

You wake up on Monday morning to a text from Vi and a handful of notifications from Instagram.

violet <3: can i see you this week?

You open Instagram.

sev.94 has requested to follow you! sev.94 has sent you a message request!

Your brows furrow, opening the message request hesitantly. There’s a few DMs and a video from this Sev person.

sev.94 hey pretty, sorry to text you like this. sev.94 just thought you should know the kind of person your little girlfriend is sev.94 sent a video. sev.94 i don’t really do relationships, but i’d take your mind off of it if you let me.

You’re playing the video, quality grainy and audio blasted. You don’t know what you’re looking at at first, it’s dark, and there’s so many voices. But you see skin, see the outline of a girl’s naked back, delicate and arched in pleasure.

You think this Sev person’s just fucking with you, playing some stupid joke with a shitty punchline as someone’s hands snake around to palm the flesh of the unnamed girl’s ass, but then you see it.

The bracelet.

Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.

(1) Because you haven’t responded to her message despite your read receipts being on, and (2) she can’t fucking find the bracelet you’d gifted to her.

She’s barging into Ellie’s room, shirtless and hair dripping.

“Jesus, fuck, do you knock?” Ellie hisses, buds she was in the midst of grinding scattering across the floor.

“I can’t find the bracelet she gave me,” Vi says quickly.

Ellie’s face scrunches.

“Huh?”

“The bracelet ________ gave to me,” Vi says. “I hooked it on my backpack before practice on Saturday but it’s not there anymore.”

Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.

“Maybe you misplaced it,” Ellie offers. “Regardless, we practice tonight, I’ll help you look for it.”

Vi’s chest is tight, doesn’t want to admit that the stupid little bracelet means way more to her than she lets on. She only ever takes it off when she’s on the ice, won’t risk losing it when she’s got a target on her back and everyone plays rough.

It turns out to be futile when they enter the rink and she retraces her steps only to come up empty-handed.

This, she realizes, is the start of a very long week.

You should’ve seen it coming, really. Don’t know why you tried to psyche yourself into thinking that Vi could ever really want something with you when the world’s her fucking oyster and she can have anything she wants.

And you want to feel bad when she texts you intermittently through the days, checking in, offering to meet you, anything. But part of you is angry, unforgiving, tired.

You could’ve gone the rest of the school year unscathed if she’d just left you the fuck alone, but she pried and she tugged and she settled, and she made a home inside of you and you hate that you let her.

xxxx: i really miss you.

You block her number, block her social media, and even though finals are imminent, you now know that Vi’s been playing you for a fool this whole time and you cancel every last one of the sessions she’s booked.

You hope she’d get the message, figure that you’d caught onto her little game and aren’t willing to play anymore, but she doesn’t, that much is clear when you’re finishing up your two thirty session and find her stalking into the library just as the student leaves your table.

“Are we going to talk like adults or are you going to keep acting like—”

You don’t entertain a response, just pack your bag and sling the strap over your shoulder because the tears are bubbling and you don’t trust yourself not to break.

“Seriously?” Vi bites, hot on your heels as you throw all of your weight against the library doors and suck in the icy air.

“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.

“No, fuck that,” Vi spits, hand closing around your bicep. “You don’t— You don’t get to make me fall for you and then try to leave with no explanation.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Fuck you, Violet,” you hiccup, yanking your arm from her grasp and putting as much distance as you can between the two of you. “I hope you and your friends got a good laugh out of it.”

Her face is screwing up and if she wasn’t confused before, she’s definitely confused now.

“Listen, I can’t fix something if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Vi argues. “I’m so fucking lost right now.”

You hate how believable she is. How the thought of hurting you seems so inconceivable to her. But that grainy video was clear enough.

“I hate you,” you murmur. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

Your name comes out broken, like you’ve wounded her. But you’ve officially folded your hand, won’t dare look her in her eyes because the both of you know it’s not true.

The championships roll in fast like a tide and neither your or Violet are ready for it.

You hear they’re live streaming the game, it’s the most anticipated one in the season. Piltover Stallions against the Zaun City Tigers. A part of you wishes you could support them, but then you’re starkly reminded that you’re a laughingstock amongst them.

The library on a Friday night is as quiet as can be, the hum of the fluorescents background to the voices in your head that are loud. You’re so engrossed in the study material that you don’t realize someone’s making a beeline for you until they’re knocking on the tabletop.

Ellie Williams stands before you in all her lean glory, hands sunk in her pockets as she stares down at you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?” Your tone is clipped, disinterested because you believed that you and Ellie could be friends once upon a time.

“Coach sat me out because I socked one of those dickhead Zaun City Tigers in the mouth last weekend.”

You humph.

“Listen, we don’t have much time left, so I’m going to make this short and sweet,” she says. “Whatever happened between you and Vi is obviously personal and that typically would have nothing to do with me, but she can’t get her shit together because all she can think of is you.”

“And that’s my problem because...?”

“I know that Vi comes off a certain way, but she’s my best friend, like my best friend in this entire shithole of a world, and she’s—”

“No offense, Ellie,” you cut her off. “But if Vi sent you here to plead her case, I think that’s pathetic and—”

“Okay, well maybe if you shut up for three seconds and let me get to my point—”

You close your textbook and shove it in your backpack before standing to signal the end of the conversation.

“Whatever, I don’t have time for this.”

Ellie watches you walk away, takes in a deep breath because wow, you’re a bitch when you’re mad, but she absolutely gets why Vi is whipped.

“Violet’s in love with you.”

And that statement makes you freeze. Tears cloud your vision as your fists tighten around the strap of your bag.

“If you fuck someone else while you’re in love, I want nothing to do with it,” you bite.

Ellie’s brows shoot up.

“Whoa, what?”

“Violet fucked someone else as soon as things got tough, and if that’s the kind of person she is in love, I’d rather be alone,” you say stiffly.

“Respectfully, there’s no way Vi’s interested in getting pussy from anywhere else with how down bad that bitch is for you, but even if she was, I spend over seventy percent of my day with her and know that all she’s been doing the past two weeks is moping over the fact that you handed her ass to her on a silver platter.”

“There’s a video.”

Ellie’s brows must be mingling with her hairline right about now.

She reaches a palm out.

Show me.

You open the DM from sev.94, watching as Ellie’s expression morphs from morbid curiosity to disbelief, to a quiet rage.

She’s handing your phone back to you and grabbing you by your forearm.

“She’s fucking dead.”

When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.

It’s the middle of the second period and the game is tied 3—3.

Your eyes comb the playing area, can’t find Vi’s jersey number in the mix, but finally settle on her on the bench, shoulders terse and obviously on edge.

She doesn’t clock you yet, had given up on the idea of patching things up with you after your last conversation.

“Vi’s been missing her bracelet since practice on Saturday,” Ellie’d told you on the way there, then pulled out her phone to show you the photo she’d taken of Vi passed out in nothing but her boxers on the couch the night of the last game, fucked up and sad. “We went out for like an hour after the game, but that was it. Vi was too fucking in her head.”

The girl from the tunnel, the one who’d been taunting the two of you, you piece together, has been the one behind it all, stirring the pot.

Throughout the end of the second period and all through intermission, Vi doesn’t notice you, too busy trying to get off the fucking bench to survey the crowd.

It’s only during final puck drop in the third period that their coach finally gives in, smacks the back of her helmet and tells her to make him proud that she lifts her head up.

And there, front and center of the student section is you.

Her eyes are wide, body frozen in place as she tries to figure if you’re just a figment of her imagination, but then the horn’s blaring and she’s having to zone back in.

At this point in time, she doesn’t give a fuck if they win or lose, she just needs to get to you.

“Your little bitch looks cute tonight,” Sevika comments wolfishly. “Bet she tastes as good as she looks.”

Vi easily intercepts her pass, cuts between two players as she shuffles it along with practiced precision. She sends the rubber flying and the goalie narrowly misses block.

“Maybe if you played as good as you ran your mouth, you’d wipe the floor with my pissbaby team you big bitch,” Vi calls, resetting in their corner.

And perhaps you’re her good luck charm, the only thing she needed to see to get back into it, because Vi reignites. The adrenaline pumping through her veins fuels every shot, and soon the timer’s buzzing.

7—5.

The roar is deafening, but you’re all she sees in the ocean of cowbells and pompoms.

She barely inches forward before something arcs through the sky and lands before her feet.

Her bracelet.

You watch from the sidelines, the final confirmation as Vi picks up the loop and launches herself at Sevika.

The crowd cheers.

Fight, fight fight!

You don’t know how many swings Vi gets in, just know that she’s flashing you a bloody smile before she skates off the ice.

Ellie emerges from the locker room and you’re perking up.

Most, if not all, of Vi’s teammates had come and gone and you’d been waiting patiently, anxiously, for her to emerge since the end of the game nearly an hour ago.

“She’s the last one in there,” is all Ellie says before strolling off.

“What if...what if she doesn’t want to see me?” you ask hesitantly.

Ellie chuffs a little laugh, doesn’t bother turning as she calls from halfway down the hall, “Find out for yourself, sweetheart.”

Vi’s pulling a tank top over her head as soon as you enter and your cheeks bloom when you catch a split-second of her tits.

She glances up at you, nose bruising and lip busted.

“Hey,” she spares you, stuffing her uniform and skates into her gym bag.

“Hi,” you squeak.

A pregnant pause as you take her in, hesitant to close the distance between the two of you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” she observes.

And you don’t really have a bullshit response, know that you had every intention of staying as far away as humanly possible, so you settle on humming your agreement.

“Ellie told me,” she starts. “Why you lashed out on me.”

You swallow.

“And part of me gets it, I really do,” she continues, “but I also thought you had more faith in me than that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Fuck, Violet, I’m so sorry.”

“I told you to free up Friday night a few weeks ago,” she says, shuts her locker door and slumps down on the bench behind her. “I was going to tell you everything, officially ask you out, but then all that shit happened and it caught up to me.”

You take a step forward, and then another, and another until you’re standing in front of her.

“You have to know that I would never do something like to anyone, but especially not to you,” she says softly, taking your hands in hers.

“I know.”

She brushes her lips against your knuckles, pulls you in closer so that you’re standing between her legs.

“You’re right,” she continues, voice hoarse. “I don’t have a spotless track record, but I meant it when I said that I don’t give a shit about anyone else but you. I would give you anything I can if you let me.”

Your hands rest on her shoulders, her chin resting against the plush of your belly as you look down at her, speechless.

“That night, in the car, you said that you didn’t see what made you so different.”

“I don’t,” you admit.

Vi stands, caging you between strong arms as she drops her face into the hollow of your neck. You shiver when you feel her lips press to the skin there.

“We could start off with the obvious.”

One of her hands rests on the small of your back, pulls you flush so that the only things that separate you are the flimsy fabrics of your clothes. The other grabs a handful of your ass.

“I meant it when I said that you’re the kind of pretty that makes me wanna do bad things.”

You gulp, thighs squeezing as her lips part and she bites.

“Vi.”

“You got a giant brain,” she laughs breathily, fingers coming around the fiddle with your belt.

She kisses you, mouth hot and breath warm. It’s better the second time around, no doubt obscuring you from truly indulging.

“Pl—ease.”

“You’re kind and you’re selfless, and you’re my sweet, sweet little crybaby.”

“Violet,” you sigh breathlessly. “Listen to me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”

Violet nearly runs two red lights and whips into your neighborhood on two wheels.

The two of you are stumbling up the stairs and she’s spanking your ass on the last step as you fiddle with your keys and try to find the right one under the dim light of the complex hall.

Violet’s already unbuckling her belt as you turn the key, nearly taking you down as she shoves you inside and up against the front door.

“Maddie home?” she breathes.

“Out of town,” you answer quickly, kicking off your sneakers and pulling your sweater over your head. “Visiting her family upstate.”

“Perfect,” Vi hums. “I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on your couch.”

“Oh–”

One of her rough hands comes to cup your tit over your bra, her tongue laving over the other while her free hand makes work of the clasp.

You walk her back to the couch, stand between her knees as she flops back into the seat. Her arms spread over the back as she settles in, legs widening to give you ample room to strip.

Her eyes never leave yours as you easily unclasp your bra and shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a tight pair of little lace panties and pink socks that has Vi wet.

“C’mere,” she rasps, pulling you to straddle her lap.

Her lips immediately latch onto one of your pebbled nipples, tongue hot as her hands wander.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me what you want,” she husks, biting down on the swell of your breast.

And having Violet this close, her touch excruciatingly featherlight and tempting, you wind tight.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper, fingers fixing around her throat. “Please.”

“Yeah?” she eggs you on, lips brushing yours as her palms settle on your ass. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nod eagerly, hips rolling in her lap as her breath pitches.

“Vi.”

Her nickname puffing from your lips makes her crack. You’re wound in her arms, face in her neck as she peels your thong taut, away from your waiting cunt, and runs her fingertips from your slit down to your clit.

“F...F—uck,” you sigh.

“Holy shit,” she marvels, licking her lips when she easily glides through your folds. “You’re really fucking wet.”

You grind down against her, clothed clit catching against her belt buckle. The cool metal sends a jolt through your pussy and you’re moaning loud in her ear.

And Violet really wants to take her time with you, wants to milk the first time she ever gets to fuck you for as long as she humanly can, but she’s still fully dressed and you’re practically naked, perfect tits pressed to her chest and fat ass in the palm of her hand.

She shifts you further into her, so that she can peek over the arch of your back as she sinks her middle and ring finger three knuckles deep into your needy heat.

“Ah, fuck, Violet.” Your voice breaks as she starts pumping into you, your arousal coating her fingers and the sound of her easily slipping through your pussy reverberating through the living room. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

She kisses your jaw, litters them until she’s catching your lips and licking crudely into your mouth.

You cry out when her fingers slip out.

She’s leaning the both of you forward, easing you from her lap and onto the couch as she takes a moment to shuck her shirt off and pull her belt through the loops in one tug.

You watch her through it all, the way the trim muscles of her biceps and shoulders flex as she leans over you, takes you by the ankles and yanks you until your ass is half-hanging from the edge of the couch.

She kneels before you, strips you out of your thong.

You don’t miss the way she shoves the soiled fabric in her jeans pocket.

“Jesus,” she breathes, gaze fluttering between your eyes and your pussy. “You’re so fucking pretty, sweetheart.”

Your toes curl at the praise, fingers closing around where Vi’s holding your legs apart.

“You know how bad I’ve been wanting to taste your pussy?” she rasps, gathering the lewdest amount of spit to dribble onto your clit. When you don’t answer, she’s freeing a hand to slap your slit.

“Nnngh, fuck!”

“Think I’ve always wanted to have you,” she admits. “But it was that stupid party fucking party and that stupid fucking skirt. God, I would’ve fucked you in that skirt if you let me.”

“Yeah?” you whine breathlessly. “Tell me.”

She’s stuffing you again without warning, curling her fingers in a way that has your back arching off the couch.

“Would’ve bent you over that sink and made you watch yourself while I ate you out,” she says easily.

And it’s so fucking delicious, the nasty shit Vi’s saying to you while she pounds your aching heat; the way she finally gives in and tastes you, sucking on your clit like she’s starved and you’re the only thing that can sate her hunger.

Your fingers curl through her hair as you teeter dangerously over the edge, nails grazing her scalp and tugging when she hits the spot deep inside of you that has you keening for more.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you choke. “Holy fuck.”

You feel Vi grin against your pussy, watch her with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes because the sight of her between your legs in your moonlit living room has your insides twisting hard.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” she encourages you. “Cum all over my fingers. Wanna see you gush.”

“Hah, h—” Your thighs tighten around her head, fingers curled so hard in her hair, she moans in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Don’t stop, Vi, please.”

She moans into your cunt, savoring the heady taste of you as you practically ride her face.

The sound that fills the room is downright filthy, the sight that Vi beholds when she peeks from where she’s devouring you equally so. It’s picturesque, the way she has you writhing. A sheen of perspiration glistens over your flesh as she eats you out and it’s a perfect mix of her tongue and her fingers that send you soaring over the edge.

It’s a pitched whine that echos, the staccato of your shaky breathing that sings like music in her ears as you cum. And hard.

Her lashes flutter against the skin of your inner thighs as she peppers kisses there, her lips slick with spit and arousal.

“Fuck, babe,” she whispers. “That was...”

She can’t really choose a specific word, is just mind blown at the fact that she’d just made you cum so hard and so fast. It makes her tense and tingle, a smug wave of pride washing over her as she starts mouthing a trail from your belly, between the valley of your tits, up your throat, to finally press a chaste one on your lips.

You taste yourself first and foremost, but then you taste everything she’s ever wanted to say to you, all the unspoken words and the things she’d been too scared to share. Feel it in the way her hands are roaming, squeezing, caressing.

You breathe a disbelieving laugh, peck her lips again when she pulls away to brush your hair from your face.

“Vi—” Your breath hitches and your eyes glaze.

“I know, I know.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, legs hooking around the narrow of her waist as she bears your weight and picks up your boneless figure.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

The sun is warm against your skin when you wake up the following morning, your bedroom bathed in an orange glow.

You feel bone tired, body sore and muscles tight as your arm sweeps the other side of the bed in search of balmy skin, but instead you’re met with cool sheets and swelling dread.

You sit up quickly, find that you’re still naked, and take a moment to asses your bedroom. The bathroom door’s cracked, light off, and everything else is exactly where you left it.

Everything except Vi.

Oh, you think to yourself.

Almost don’t want to leave your room because your empty apartment will be confirmation enough that Vi really did get the last laugh in the end.

But you force yourself out of bed, shrug on an oversized t-shirt before finding the living room just as still as it had been before the two of you had barreled in the night before and she’d left her mark on you.

The only sign that the entire thing wasn’t just a figment of your imagination was Vi’s belt strewn haphazardly on the coffee table.

You feel hollow, almost numb, and even if a persistent part of your brain was consistently telling you that you should’ve known better, the tears well in your eyes because you’d really hoped Violet was different.

You knuckle the tears away angrily, mind racing far too fast to register the door quietly unlocking and the soft footfalls coming down the hall.

“Babe?”

Your gaze snaps up.

Like a vision, Vi’s standing in the doorway, a handful of plastic bags in tow. She’s wearing her clothes from last night and the puffs under her eyes make her a little worse for wear.

She sets the bags down on the eat-in, rounds the couch to take you by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” she worries. “What’s going on?”

You hiccup, crumpling in her arms because you were so fucking scared.

“Thought you left,” you croak.

Vi breathes a sigh of relief, blowing out a hollow laugh because her girl’s such a baby.

“You have jack shit in your fridge,” she teases lightly. “How am I supposed to make you a five star breakfast with greek yogurt and carrot sticks?”

You whine.

“Don’t care about breakfast,” your muffled voice sounds from where your face is pressed in her chest. “Just wanted to wake up to you.”

Violet groans.

“You’re so cute,” she laughs, kissing the top of your head.

“I wanna go back to bed,” you mutter petulantly, emotional whiplash making your eyes droop.

“You’re not gonna let me make you breakfast?” Vi picks, smoothing the hair from your face.

Your eyes catch the bracelet refastened around her wrist and you grin softly, taking her fingers to press a kiss to her palm.

She could combust, gaze gooey as she watches you watch her.

Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.

One that’s particular, and overarching; one she doesn’t think she can go without.

And frankly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

neng © 2024

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER FIVE: DON'T HATE THE PLAYERS

violet; 5,460 words; fluff, suggestive content, drama, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, smau-intermissions, miscommunication, fake dating, lesbian situationships rly hit diff, toxic ex!cait, simp!vi, rival!sevika, inappropriate use of locker rooms, vi is down so horrifically bad its kind of sad tbh

summary: in which instagrams are posted, texts are sent, hockey games are played, and you try your best to make it back in time to gie vi her present.

a/n: a lot of things happen here. LOL but i promise they're not all bad! ALSO. the insta post picture IS NOT PERFECT but it was the best i could do. and i didn't have time to commission an artist to draw the exact image that i wanted :( but i hope it at least gives the vibe of the post. and... it starts getting frisky here so... yall have been warned!

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ "OH SHIT, she said that?”

Vi grunts, rolling her eyes as she drops the deadlift bar with a loud thunk, flicking her belt off with her thumb.

“Yeah. I told her to fuck off.”

“Atta girl!” Jayce says, thumping her on the shoulder. Vi casts him a disgusted look.

“If you value your future offspring, Talis, never call me that again.”

Jayce laughs, reaching down to help Vi put the weights back onto the rack.

“I honestly thought it was gonna take much longer for you to, y’know —”

Vi pauses before straightening to pin him with a look.

“What? You thought I’d super hung up on her or something?”

Jayce shrugs, “Well, yeah. You seemed pretty deep in it when you two were together so…”

Vi sighs, carding a hand through her sweat-slicked hair.

“I mean, I was, but… I dunno… seeing her with that new girlfriend of hers… and just… her reaching out to try and — what… sabotage my…” Vi bites back the word ‘relationship’ so she just makes a vague sort of gesture and continues, “really kinda put things into perspective for me.”

Jayce hums thoughtfully, “Yeah, but that Nolen girl’s no joke either. Her whole family’s been in the military — her dad’s some sort of war hero, and her mom’s the daughter of a politician, I think.”

Vi casts him a sidelong glance before scoffing, “Wow. Mel really did her research, huh?”

At this, Jayce jerks up, sputtering, “Well — she just — you know — her family’s also — I —”

Vi laughs, waving him off, “Whatever dude… but I already knew all that — why d’you think Caitlyn even ditched me in the first place?”

Jayce frowns, “Wasn’t it… because her mom didn’t approve of you or something like that?”

“Yep. We had one dinner together, and her mother made it very clear that she didn’t think someone of ‘my elk’ was worthy of being with her daughter. Apparently, having an adoptive father who owns a local watering hole and coaches college hockey isn’t the exact pedigree she’s looking for.”

Jayce lets out a low whistle.

Vi grabs a dumbbell for bicep curls.

“And… it seems like Caitlyn really look her mother’s words to heart. Cause a few weeks later… well, you know the rest.”

Jayce sighs, “That’s… unfortunate. But hey, look on the bright side. Without Cait’s mom, you would’ve never had the chance to date an Olympic athlete, right?”

Vi’s mouth twists into a half-grimace as she puffs out a breath and flexes her arm up, her eyes focused on her form in the mirror.

“Yeah well — not sure what exactly we are right now so… who knows.”

Jayce folds his arms, “Give her time. I haven’t known her as long as Mel has but she’s still a really good friend and…” Jayce allows himself a tiny, slanted grin as Vi pushes through her reps, “Mel wasn’t lying when she told you that we’ve never seen her like this with anyone else before.”

Vi finishes her first set with a loud exhale, glancing up at him.

“Don’t go getting my hopes up like that, pretty boy,” but she’s smiling when Jayce bends down to hand her a bottle of Gatorade, “hasn’t anyone told you it’s not good manners to toy with a girl’s feelings?” she pitches her voice up at the end, wiggling her fingers through the air even as Jayce rolls his eyes.

A few minutes later, Jayce frowns as he turns back to Vi.

“You’ve blocked her number, right?”

Vi huffs, still counting beneath her breath, “— twenty-two, twenty-three — who? What? — Twenty-four —”

“Caitlyn’s.”

Vi grunts, straining through a few more reps before stopping to glance up at Jayce.

“No. Why? Should I?”

Jayce licks his lips, frowning slightly.

“Yeah. Might be a good idea.”

Vi shrugs, “Yeah. I’ll do it later.”

Jayce nods, “Good. Alright — abs, lets go.”

You’re antsy all the way to the airport, checking your phone every four seconds, your knee bouncing even as the cab driver pulls up into the terminal and opens the trunk to grab your bag with a smile.

You bolt through the doors, thanking the heavens that the TSA Pre line is nearly empty.

Just as soon as you get through security, Mel calls.

“Have you got it?” you ask, without even saying hello.

Mel sigh, “Yes, yes, but it won’t do much good if you’re not here to give it to her —”

“I know! I know — I’m at the airport, and just got through security. Are you and Jayce —”

“I’ll come pick you up at the airport — thank god it’s only 16 minutes away from campus.”

“And you’re sure we’ll still make it on time for the game?”

“So long as your flight doesn’t get delayed —”

“It won’t.”

Mel laughs, the sound soft as you speed-walk your way through the terminal, slumping down next to your designated one with a long breath.

“Alright then, darling. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Mel says.

You make a loud kissing noise into the speaker and hang up, your fingers automatically flicking through the open windows till you come to yours and Vi’s text history.

You grin down at it stupidly for a few more seconds before jolting out of your seat as one of the gate agents comes to shake your hand and help you board first. As you sink into the wide, business-class seat, you close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Your fingers fiddle with a thin gold chain around your neck and you bite back another grin.

You tug out the small teardrop locket dangling from the chain and flick open the clasp. Inside is nestled a single violet flower, pressed and perfect, preserved behind a thin pane of shimmering glass.

Vi makes a round of the rink, scanning the crowd with furrowed brows.

Nope. Nope. Nope…

She swears silently to herself, rolling her shoulders as the crowd roars.

You promised you’d be here tonight.

“And tonight, we’ve got our season’s top two favorites for the NCAA’s Frozen Four Championship — the Piltover Enforcers, and the Zaunite Barons!”

Vi grins as the stadium positively shakes with applause. It’s always nice playing on home-ice. Across the rink, she can see the huge, lumbering shapes of the Barons, and her jaw clenches as she catches Sevika’s eye.

They’d been something like childhood friends once upon a time. But after a falling out of meteoric proportions, they’d settled somewhere between grudging acquaintances and mortal enemies. Where they land on the scale on any particular day typically depends on the weather, the orbital tide height, and whether or not Mercury is currently in retrograde.

Though judging by the smirk that’s visible from beneath Sevika’s helmet, Vi thinks it’s nearing the mortal enemies end of the spectrum today.

All the players line up for the face off.

Vi bites down on her mouth guard and smacks her stick against the ice. Sevika skates up to her, bending down so close their helmets clack.

And for a brief, interminable second, Vi thinks Sevika’s going to stay quiet. But the moment passes and Sevika chuckles, the sound low and hoarse and utterly derisive. It sets Vi’s teeth on edge even before the first word leaves her mouth.

“Heard America’s snowflake-sweetheart’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“Tch. What’s it to you?” Vi’s eyes flash up.

Sevika’s smirk has morphed into a full blown grin, sharp as freshly turned blades.

She shrugs, keeping her voice low as the official says something or other to both the teams.

“Well… just a lotta people buzzin’ online about her perfect skate at her competition this past weekend and I’m just thinkin’… man… you must not be fuckin’ her right —”

“You —” Vi nearly jerks up, but Sevika presses in just a bit tighter and Vi grounds her teeth down over the mouth guard.

“Cause if you lemme **take her for a spin, you can bet your scrawny ass that she won’t even be able to stand up straight, let alone skate clean.”

The puck hits the ice as if in slow motion; Vi feels a white-hot anger mixed with something very much like hurt surging up the length of her spine as she watches Sevika’s stick make contact with the puck first. But she doesn’t care — she slams her body forward and feels her shoulder check into Sevika’s chest as they both go sprawling across the ice and the puck goes wide.

They scramble up and take off after the puck, now in Zaunite possession, Sevika’s shoulder ramming reflectively into Vi’s as they jostle down the length of the rink.

Vi cracks her shoulder back into Sevika and the momentary gap is all she needs to break away, circling wide behind the goal. Someone shouts Reverse! and Vi feels more than sees the tiny black puck make contact with her stick. Her body moves on instinct, and she’s halfway down the rink before the others catch up to her.

She allows herself a single, tight-lipped grin before someone slams into her back with the force of a speeding firetruck. The world spins, but a second later, Vi hears the unmistakable sounds of Sevika’s heaving breaths.

“Ha. Aren’t you glad your little girlfriend isn’t here to see you eat shit?”

Vi flips around and before she knows it, she’s swinging her left arm into Sevika’s helmet, knocking it askew.

“Vi!”

Vi’s whole body seizes at the sound of your voice, and she looks up wildly, but she pays for it a moment later as Sevika’s fist connects with her jaw and her head snaps back. She brings her elbow down against Sevika’s extended arm, her free hand grappling to keep Sevika’s head shoved against the ice.

A whistle blows and they shove apart, shaking their heads and spitting blood. Vi tastes iron on her tongue and winces as she rotates her jaw. There’ll be a nasty bruise, but it’s not dislocated, and Vi’s suffered much worse at Sevika’s hands.

Half a foot from her, Sevika is shaking out her arm, looking murderous as the official comes up to point them towards the penalty box.

Vi looks around, and halfway across the rink, she sees you, your eyes wide, your hands pressed over your mouth, Mel and Jayce sitting next to you, both looking worried. But you’ve got dark streaks painted on your cheeks, and it takes her a second to recognize the large “VI” written there — her number, her name.

The world melts around her as she meets your eyes, and you look so worried that she almost laughs. This is nothing, she wants to say, you ain’t seen nothing yet, princess.

But the second is short lived as the official skates over and jerks his head towards the penalty box. She sighs, begrudgingly skating over and settling herself as far away from Sevika as humanly possible as the clock starts on their five minutes.

When all’s said and done, the game is a good one — with the final score of 3-2 in Piltover’ s favor. Sevika gets another penalty, but Vi manages to keep her cool. And by the end, everyone’s sweaty and tired, but riding high, and Vi can’t help the way she once more scans the cheering crowd for your face.

But, you’re not there. The seat next to Jayce and Mel is empty, and Vi can’t help the clawing, hollowing sensation that burrows up her chest from the base of her stomach.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Margot teases, bumping Vi as they all clamber off the ice.

Vi narrows her eyes, “What’dyou mean?”

Margot only grins, shooting Vi a wink before following the rest of the team towards the lockers.

Her phone buzzes and Vi glances down, only to see a single line of text from you:

come to the figure skating lockers. i’ve got a present for you.

Electricity zings up Vi’s limbs as she pivots hard left and makes her way down the heavily padded hallway towards the figure skating lockers, tugging off her gear as she goes. By the time she gets there, she’s managed to get most of her upper pads off, shucking them outside the door, leaving her in her loose jersey and pants.

She pushes through the thick metal door into the figure skating lockers. They’re smaller, brighter, and generally cleaner than the hockey team lockers. Vi’s never thought herself a stickler for things like nicer locker rooms but stepping in, she can’t help the way that her eyebrows shoot up.

“Whoa.”

“They’re not all this nice.”

Vi whips her head around so fast she almost gets a crick in her neck at the sound of your voice. And there — standing next to the far row of pure white lockers, with your hands behind your back and her number (her name still painted on your cheek), you.

“Yeah?” she asks, even as she drops her helmet on the thickly padded floor and shuffles forward in her skates. She takes her time looking you over — and objectively, she knows it’s only been a few days since she’d last seen you, but it feels like forever, the way time stretches endless when you’re a little kid on the playground and eternity is just another thing you can take for granted.

You purse your lips around a shy grin and Vi almost groans as she notices the bright pink ribbon tied around your neck like a choker. You’re wearing the little black dress that you’d worn to that sorority party, the one that’s been the subject of one too many of her dirty daydreams — her varsity jacket slung around your shoulders.

“Sweet god, princess… is this the present you have for me? Please tell me it is —”

You let out a soft puff of exasperated laughter.

“No! I mean —” your eyes cut away as you shift your weight from one foot to another, falling back half a step as Vi takes a few steps closer. “I-if you want it to be — this can be — uhm — an additional present —”

“Mm… I don’t think I want any other present if I’ve got this one —” Vi says, inwardly thanking the heavens that she’d kept her skates on as they give her a few more inches as she corners you against a row of snow-white lockers, so bright they’re almost blinding.

“I — well that’s —”

“Mm… cat got your tongue, princess?” Vi asks, reaching up to tug your chin back towards her as you try to glance away.

You suck in a short breath, your lashes fluttering as you meet her gaze with yours — dark to light, amber and ice.

There’s adrenaline coursing through her system, and Vi knows she’s still riding high off the win, off the knowledge that you’re here, and that you’re here for her. She looks you over with reverent eyes, her gaze lingering on the dark paint now slightly smeared across your cheeks in a large “VI”.

“I… I got this for you a while back…” you say, pressing something into her chest. Vi pauses, glancing down to see a small black box wrapped in a length of bright pink ribbon the exact same make and color as the one around your neck.

Vi falls back a step to take the box in her hands, turning it over.

“What is it?”

You shrug, a tiny, bird-like movement. Sweet and almost daring.

Vi grins as she traces a finger along a single ear of the perfectly tied bow.

“Can I?” she asks.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

Vi tugs on the ribbon and it comes loose with a whisper. She opens the box to reveal a simple, teardrop locket set on a golden chain. She picks it up, letting the locket dangle from her fingers.

“Go on, open it,” you prompt, looking both bashful and eager. Vi gives you one more glance before fumbling open the locket to reveal a single snowflake, carved into the thick glass set into the middle of the locket.

“Oh.” Vi breathes, her voice nothing but a whisper. She stare at the locket, at the simplicity and delicacy of it. And then, she looks back up at you.

“It’s — Mel and Jayce helped me pick it — I didn’t know if you even wore stuff like this but —”

“I’ll wear it,” Vi says, letting the pendant drop into the palm of her opened hand. She offers it to you with a lopsided grin. “Can you help me put it on?”

You nod, a bit breathless, even as you take the locket from her and undo the clasp with trembling fingers. Vi grins as she leans in to let you fasten the chain around her neck, reveling in the tiny kiss of cold metal against her sweaty skin as she pulls back.

“So? How’s it look?” she asks.

You stare at the locket, and then up at her, and she swears she can see your eyes go molten.

“It looks… good.”

“Good,” Vi whispers, reaching up to finger at the tiny pink bow still tied around your neck. You suck in a breath, going still against her as she ghosts her breath along the long column of your neck. And she thinks she can almost hear the sound of your heart pounding against your ribcage by the way your pulse flutters in your neck — she sure as hell can feel her own traitorous heart thundering away in her chest as she glances from the bow around your neck up to you and back down again.

“Can I?” she asks again, though this time, her voice is gentle, imploring, something like a plea as opposed to question.

She revels in the way your pulse flutters beneath the bright pink of the satin.

“Y-yeah —” you say, your own voice a harsh scrape of sound over a burgeoning need that Vi can almost taste on her tongue. But, she wants to take her time with you, she thinks, so she trails her fingers up to your neck and teases at the rabbit ears of the butterfly bow before tugging one end loose. And just like before, the ribbon gives way much too easily, and something gold shimmers as it drops from beneath the pink satin.

She stares.

It’s a gold chain identical to the one around her neck, with a teardrop pendant strung from it that mirrors her own.

This time, when she glances up, her eyes are wide, almost disbelieving.

Your throat bobs as you clench your fingers at your sides, resisting the urge to lift your hands and help her.

“What…” her voice trails off, disbelieving.

You lick your lips. “Go on — open it.”

Vi nearly fumbles the locket twice before she gets it open, and her short intake of breath is the only sign you get that she’s seen what’s inside. You hold your own breath, watching her face as it flickers through a film-frame series of emotions.

“Is that —” her voice is hoarse; she clears her throat, running a thumb over the glass.

“Yeah,” you say, reaching up to take the open pendant from her, glancing down at it yourself, heat pricking into your cheeks as your eyes settle on the pressed violet.

She’s kissing you before either of you can say another word, and the force of it nearly slams your head back into the lockers but Vi’s hand is somehow there to cushion you, her fingers digging into your hair as you gasp open for her wanting mouth. It’s not a sweet kiss and there’s nothing gentle in the sting of her nails raking against your scalp as she presses you close, and then closer.

It’s a clash of teeth and tongue, skin and sound — your tiny, surprised squeak eclipsed by the low moan that reverberates from her chest to yours as she licks into the hot cavern of your mouth and feels you soften against her — sweet as sun-warmed honey.

“F-fuck princess —” Vi hisses, pulling back with a panting breath as you let your head fall back, gasping for air even as she yanks you towards her till both of you are toppling onto one of the long benches, your legs falling open to straddle her thighs, her hands poised over the round of your hips.

You look down at her, running your thumbs along her cheeks eyes flickering over her face — and the admiration caught behind the fractured glass of your eyes is so obvious that Vi almost turns away, embarrassed. Instead, she leans up to nose into the triangle of your threading pulse, delighting in the shiver that chases down the shape of you, in the involuntary way your thighs squeeze on either side of hers.

She grins, inching her fingers beneath the hem of your little black dress, groaning as she finds the winged hollows of your hipbones and realizes, half a breath later, that you’re not wearing any panties.

“Holy shit — w-were you like this the whole game?” she asks, her eyes going wide with awe.

You bite your lips, cocking your head to one side as you reach up to brush away a strand of hair from her forehead.

“No…” you say, but your voice trails off and you glance towards the side. She follows your gaze to the left, only to find your bookbag sagging against one of the far lockers. A smirk twists her lips as her eyes slingshot back to you.

“Oh wow… so…” she drawls, trailing her fingers ever so slowly up the bare skin of your hips, hitching the hem of your tight black dress further and further up till it’s barely covering what she now knows is your bare cunt.

“You came in here and took them off… just for me?” she bats her lashes at you, her skylight eyes going dark and liquid as she watches you fidget above her. Your tongue swipes across your bottom lip and Vi has to physically bite back a moan.

“Maybe I did — what of it?”

Vi’s smirk stretches as she reaches up to tug your face down towards hers, so close you can taste her breath dissolving on your tongue like sugar into tea.

“Princess…” she says, and her voice is so thick with desire it might’ve been spread there with a butter knife, “I thought… you wanted to take things slow.” Her fingers have successfully rucked your dress up high enough for it to gather at your waist, though she keeps her eyes on yours and makes no move to take advantage of the fact that you’re now entirely naked from the waist down.

You shrug up a single shoulder.

“Right… but I also remember telling you that I’m not the best with impulsivity…”

Vi laughs, the sound bright and honest. You giggle, pursing your lips, your cheeks tinted such a darling shade of crimson that Vi doubts rosy-fingered dawn would’ve had the power to eclipse it.

“Good,” she says, reaching up to cup your face with both her hands, bringing you down to tease her lips over yours, her words soft and indulgent, “cause honestly, I’ve never been the best with that either.”

She’s about to kiss you again, content to lose herself in the intoxicating drag of your lips on hers, but a text message alarm blips from her pants pocket and it jars the both of you from your desire-induced trance.

You blink, a slight frown creasing your forehead as she reaches into her hockey pants and digs out her phone. You sit back slightly as Vi clicks on her screen to see a slew of notifications dating back till god knows when, but the latest is sent from a few seconds ago and only reads:

New iMessage from cupcake 🧁

“What the —” Vi frowns.

But a second later, you’re pushing off her lap, and Vi catches a glint of the hurt in your eyes before you’re tugging down your dress and wrapping your arms around yourself.

“That’s Caitlyn, right?” you ask, your voice tenuous.

And for a second, Vi seriously considers lying to you, telling you that it’s someone else — that it’s Powder or even one of the girls from the hockey team, but she sees the fractured look in your eyes and knows that she can’t.

“Y-yeah — it is but —”

You suck in a deep breath, your fingers twisting in front of you even as Vi pushes up from the bench to try and reach for you. You jerk away, your back hitting the lockers with a loud clang that set’s Vi’s teeth on edge, even as she clenches her fist and drops her arm.

“No, it’s — it’s fine,” you say, making your swift way to your bag and snatching it up, digging around for your phone before shouldering the straps and rounding the benches again. And maybe it’s the sheer desperation curling up her chest, or the fact that the name had just come up on her screen but when she opens her mouth again, Vi says the worst possible combination of words —

“Wait, cupcake —”

You physically flinch at the pet name and Vi squeezes her eyes shut with sigh. Fuck.

When she opens her eyes again, you’re by the locker room door, your hand poised on the handle. You shoot her a single, broken backwards glance before pulling it open and slipping away.

Vi stands there, held still by the oppressive silence and the bleached-white metal all around her. She’s frozen for a single second longer before she swings her fist into the row of lockers next to her and pain ricochets up her arm from her knuckles, and her fingers pull away, already bruised.

“Fuck!”

Your fingers are shaking so badly it takes you three tries before you manage to punch the call button on Mel’s speed dial. She picks up after a single ring.

“Hey there, darling — well that was quick — we’re all heading to the after party if you —”

“Mel — c-can you come and p-pick me up?”

Mel goes quiet, and then —

“Darling? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“N-Nothing I just — can you come pick me up?” you hiccup halfway through your sentence, wiping at the fat, traitorous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

Distantly, you can hear Mel saying something and Jayce’s voice answering back. A moment later, she’s back on the line.

“I’ll come get you, but you have to tell me what’s wrong. Why’re you crying? Did Vi do something?”

“No — it’s — it’s nothing — I just d-don’t feel very good —”

Mel sighs, “Alright then, stay where you are and I’ll come get you. I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Yeah — t-thanks Mel.”

You hang up the phone and dart into the nearly abandoned parking lot, the crowds have long since dispersed, leaving you thankfully alone. You slump against the outer wall of the rink and suck in a deep, shuddering breath, reaching up to rub at your eyes with an angry palm. You cast your eyes up at the ruefully clear autumn night, the moon hanging fat and low, the stars twinkling with their cold, far-off light.

Approximately five minutes later, Mel pulls into the parking lot, mercifully alone, rolling down the windows as you rush forward and let yourself into the passenger’s side of the car, sinking into the seat with a bitten-off sob.

“Oh my darling… what happened?” Mel reaches over to give your hand a squeeze.

You bite your lips, blinking hard at the dark tarp roof of her convertible, clutching at your bag.

“Sh-she got a text from ‘cupcake’.”

Mel stares at you for a solid three seconds before slumping back into her seat and reaching up to pinch her nose bridge.

“I’m going to murder Jayce.”

“I fucked up — I fucked up —”

“Whoa, whoa — slow down — what the hell happened?”

Vi nearly chucks her skates into the already dented lockers just as Jayce makes an abortive move forward as if to stop her. She drops her skates and buries her face in her hands instead.

“Caitlyn texted me, and — and I never changed her contact from ‘cupcake’ —”

Jayce groans, running a hand through his hair.

“I thought I told you to block her?”

“I forgot, okay?” Vi says, tugging so hard on her own hair that Jayce has to reach out and smack her hands away.

Jayce sighs, leaning back against the lockers, looking over the shape of her. He can’t help the tiny grin that hitches his lips or the small puff of helpless laughter.

“Wow.”

Vi looks up, “What?”

Jayce just shrugs, “No, it’s just — been a while since I’ve seen you down this bad.”

Vi flips him off, “Fuck you, Talis. Yeah, laugh it up — look! It’s Vi! Piltover’s favorite train-crash lesbian, fumbling yet another —”

“Y’know, one of the things about being in a nice, committed, completely non-toxic long-term relationship —” Jayce says loudly, cutting her off despite the murderous look in Vi’s eyes, “is that you learn real quick that you’re always gonna be the one that’s wrong, and that your dear, darling, perfect girlfriend will always be the one that’s right.”

He grins, bitten-lipped and open-palmed. Like this, he looks almost like the politician that Vi knows Mel’s parents so desperately want him to be.

Vi frowns, “What’re you getting at, pretty boy? Spit it the fuck out — I don’t have the patience for your bullshit right —”

“And you know what people do when they’re wrong?” Jayce continues in that chipper, Sunday-morning commercial voice of his. He leans forward even as Vi leans back, the frown digging ever deeper between her brows.

“Uh… cry and punch things and shoot for a new PR at the gym?”

Jayce snorts, but at least Vi’s smiling.

“No, you fuckin’ fratbro son of a — you apologize.”

Vi’s gaze goes flat. “Ah. Right. Of course — why didn’t I think of —”

“And then — ” Jayce continues, raising his voice even higher, a finger pointed up in the air as if he were delivering the valedictorian speech at graduation, before he twists his hand and pokes it into Vi’s jersey-clad chest.

“You do better.”

Vi’s breath catches; she blinks up at Jayce before swallowing around the peach pit in her throat.

“R-right…”

Jayce hikes both of his eyebrows comically high. Vi glances up towards them before puffing out a breath.

“Think you can do that?” Jayce asks, his voice now finally back to normal.

Vi chews on the inside of her cheek before shrugging up a shoulder.

“Dunno, but… I really wanna try.”

Jayce thumps a fist into her chest.

“Good answer, Lanes. Now. Phone.” He opens his hand palm up.

She blinks at it for a second before sighing and digging her phone from her pocket and dropping it into his hand.

Jayce punches in the password without breaking eye contact, pulling up her text history and turning the phone around to face Vi as he clicks — Contact > Info > Block Caller — on Caitlyn’s number.

He hands it back just as the screen goes dark.

Vi stares at the long crack running through the center of her screen before the phone lights up again, this time, with a text from an unknown number.

Jayce barely glances at it before smiling.

“That’ll be Mel.”

Vi’s eyebrows knit as she flicks open the screen. There are two texts in quick succession:

i’ve gotten her to agree to come to the afterparty.

Do not. Fuck this up.

taglist: @traiitorjoe@rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly@drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22@lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless@armins-slvt@lin-elizabeth @ryescapades @kingkamk @princesssmars @chobssss @mybelovedvi @bouqette @noietta @brooks-lin @ally-all-around @bunnyrose01 @stumpystump @lia-winther @folklore13lover @sawaagyapong @sevikas-whore @sunflowerwinds @taurtel @tourmalinetyrone @oidloid @marcylated @krisziepowlet @vikaswife @pa-co @devotedlyelectronicartisan @aliluvszs @elliecoochieeater

Hello!

Welcome to my blog! For now, this is mostly dedicated to my Natasha Romanoff series posted on Wattpad and AO3. I wanted to have a better way to connect with my readers on both platforms, so, here we are! I will primarily post updates and sneak peaks of my fics on here (you can also find playlists for all my works at the bottom of this post), as well as reblogs of things that I recommend/love from other creators, but I also want to interact with you guys! If you've read my works or you're just coming across it for the first time, feel free to reach out to me with any questions or comments! I'd love to chat <3

Playlists:

n.r. - act 1

n.r. - act 2

Lessons of love - Part 3

Nerd!Natasha x Rogers!F Reader

Wdym I'm writing fic instead of resting 😅 anyway, I just had to finish this to give my brain a break.

Whatever this is, blegh, enjoy it.

Part 1, Part 2

--

Melina’s study was an amplification of her daughter’s room. It was all neatly displayed, wall to wall covered in books, some in other languages that you were sure she was fluent in. 

There was a laptop on her desk, atop it a pair of reading glasses; a gentle reminder that geniuses are human too.

“It’s not what it looks like” Natasha spoke first. You and Melina scoffed at the same time.

“You two look like a couple. So, am I to understand that it’s incorrect, and you’re going around kissing every girl that crosses your path, Natalia?”

Natasha turned to you, her eyes pleading for help. You crossed your arms.

“No, go on. I’d like to hear what you have to say about this” 

“I… uh…” your girlfriend mumbled and you turned to her mother, finally giving Nat a break. 

“Mrs. Romanoff, I’m terribly sorry for the way you found out. Truth is, I’ve been crazy about Natasha for such a long time, but never really thought I had a chance with someone like her. And then, Fury paired us in Chemistry and things just went from there” you turned to look at Natasha for a moment, smiling. “To be fair, we only made it official on Wednesday”

“Natasha, she’s a keeper” Melina said, blown away by your sincerity. Natasha had to agree. You had a way with words that she admired. “Well, congratulations. I know you’re both responsible girls, but there’s not gonna be late night outings during school days. I can’t obviously speak for your parents, Y/N, but I hope Natasha keeps her excellent grades and you both focus on school”

“I agree, of course” you nodded.

“Now, as for safe sex” 

“What?” you jumped, while Natasha stared at the ceiling. She pleaded in Russian, but her mother dismissed her words. “Mrs. Romanoff, we’re not there yet. At all, so don’t worry”

“I’ve had the talk with Natasha, of course” Melina spoke, and it was as if she didn’t listen to you at all. “I know your father is a surgeon, but if he’s not up for helping you with birth control at some point and you need an adult to accompany you, please know I’ll be happy to come with you. You must be responsible when having intercourse”

“Which hasn’t happened yet, Mama!” Natasha intervened.

“Right” you said, though… to be fair, it had crossed your mind. Especially when your girlfriend was towering over you as she opened the car door… or did anything, really.

You might be the horn dog in this relationship.

“I’m just obligated as a parent to mention it. If you have questions, please come to me” she said, reading your flustered expression. Busted.

“Yes, Mrs. Romanoff” you said.

“Very well! Now, please, would you like to join us for dinner tonight? We should go out and celebrate!”

“Yes, of course” you smiled, sensing the hard part was over. Melina clapped excitedly, walking you out of her study. 

“I’m so sorry” Natasha rushed as soon as you were out. You stopped her with a short kiss, smiling against her lips. “Why…?”

“I’m just… happy. That’s all” you said. “It’s ok, baby. Your mom is looking out for you. I don’t mind the talk, or anything else”

“That thing you said… about liking me for a long time. That was just to get her to calm down, right?”

“Oh, Nat” you leaned to kiss her again. “You’re so clueless, my love” 

The girl blushed. She had a hard time deciding which term of endearment made her knees weaker. 

“I have to go, tell my parents and all. Remember we’re going to the movies with the twins, and then dinner with your family, yes?”

“I’ll come with you, we’ll tell your parents together” 

You shook your head no. Natasha was about to protest, when you placed your hand on her chest, letting out a shaky breath.

“I told you, Nat, they’ve been having a hard time with me lately. I’m worried they’ll scare you away”

“They won’t” you gave her a gentle look to remind her how her own mother had made her trip with her words. “Ok, I know. I’m not as good as you when speaking to people. But, whatever they say, it won’t scare me away. If I have to go through a background check or take a test or cure cancer to be with you…”

You cut her off with a kiss that turned frantic as she pulled you closer. 

“Nat?”

“Yeah?” she said against your lips, eyes closed.

“I’ve thought about it… about, you know. That”

“Oh” she looked at you, and you swore her pupils dilated.

“It’s too soon, I’m aware. But… I guess I wanted you to know”

“Ok”

“Ok” you repeated, pecking her lips. “I’ll see you at the movies. Ask Yelena if she wants to come”

“You sure you don’t want a ride home?”

“Yes, darling” you nodded, squeezing her hands. You could use the time to walk and think. “I think I’ll stop by my mom’s gallery. It will be better if she’s the one I talk to first”

Natasha nodded.

“Text me when you’re there? Or if you change your mind. I’ll go pick you up”

“Thank you” you nodded, smiling as she opened the door for you.

“I like it when you call me all those things… baby, love” she confessed on your way out. “Not sure which one I like the most, though”

“Well, then I’ll have to come up with new nicknames to see which one is better. Lucky for you, I’m good with words” 

—

You were hoping to prolong the walk, but in the end, it only took 20 minutes to get to your mother’s gallery. It was a Saturday, which meant Wanda was working until noon. 

“Hey” you greeted your friend at the reception. Wanda looked up from her notebook and smiled at you. You placed your hand on the desk and she gaped at the bruises.

“Holy crap. You weren’t kidding” 

“Trust me, he had it coming”

“Everyone’s asking me about it. Your popularity has gone up a bit” Wanda leaned forward and you frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Jessica Jones asked me if you’re single. Darcy was similarly interested. I didn’t know if you wanted the rest of the school to know about Natasha so… I just said I had no idea”

You sighed. Considering Natasha’s concerns about hiding your relationship, it was better if everyone knew. You just had to figure out how.

“Well, I’ll fix that later. Right now I have to tell Mom”

“She’s in her office, speaking with a Japanese artist”

You nodded, walking past your friend to the back of the gallery. Knocking with your good hand, you waited for your mother to answer.

“Come on in. Oh, hi sweetheart. I thought you’d be staying home, recovering from yesterday”

“It’s just a bruise, Mom. Nothing to recover from” you took a seat in front of her, looking at the board behind her desk and the Art History books that she kept all over the place. It was an interesting contrast to Melina’s study, the image of order and chaos mirroring their own disciplines. Creative and scientist.

“Well, what are your plans for the day?”

“Uh… going to the movies with the twins and Natasha”

“The Romanoff girl? She’s so nice. Very shy, but sweet” your mother noted, still writing on her notebook.

“Yes, actually… we’ve been lab partners this semester and we’re also kinda… dating” you said the last part while your heart was beating out of control.

You gulped, as your mother put her pen down and looked at you. 

“Please don’t be mad” you begged, but she smiled that comforting smile that let you know she had your back.

“Mad? You’re 16. At your age, I was leaving a trail of broken hearts”

“Mom!”

“Don’t tell your father, though. He was a late bloomer”

“Speaking of Dad… can you be the one to deliver the news to him? He’ll get grumpy and you’re the only one that can handle him” 

“Don’t you worry about him, darling girl. Leave him to me. Now, will you wait for us to finish here so we can go to lunch and you tell me all about Natasha?”

“Of course” you smiled, always happy to know your mother was on your side. “I’m having dinner with her family tonight”

“Well, then she’s having dinner with us tomorrow”

“Yes, Ma’am” you nodded, thinking you’d have to prepare Natasha for meeting Captain Joseph Rogers.

—

Pietro and Wanda picked you up for the movies, the music booming across the street.

“Are you insane?” you leaned over Wanda to lower the volume on the stereo. Pietro laughed, his fingers drumming against the wheel.

“He’s been playing that stupid song since I told him you punched Rumlow”

“Eye of the Tiger is not a stupid song” he protested, finally stopping as he drove you to the movies. “She’s our Rocky Balboa!”

“Dork” Wanda mocked her brother with an affectionate smile and then turned to you. “Why are you dressed so fancy?” 

You had a burgundy cashmere sweater, camel colored pants and boots.

“Well, I’m having dinner with Natasha’s family. Do you think it’s too much?”

“You look amazing” Pietro assured you and you went to hug him  from your place in the back of the car.

“My favorite Maximoff”

“Hey, I called you fancy!” Wanda protested and Pietro laughed. “So, are you nervous?”

“Not really. I’ve spoken to her family, and I always see them when Natasha and I work on Chemistry homework. I’m more concerned about what Captain Rogers will have to say about Natasha”

“I’m sure it will be fine” Wanda said with a soft smile. She knew how hard these past few months had been, with the accident and the fallout between your parents and Steve.

Seeing Natasha eased some of the tension. Yelena was looking around the cinema when you arrived and after making the proper introductions, you moved over to greet your girlfriend.

“Hi” you said, kissing her softly. “Missed you”

Pietro pretended to gag behind you and you elbowed him.

“Wow, that was harsh”

“I’m Rocky, remember?” you winked, taking Natasha by the hand. Pietro insisted on buying popcorn and Yelena followed suit. 

“Don’t spoil your appetite, we’re going out for dinner tonight” Natasha reminded her. Yelena pouted.

“I can eat popcorn and have dinner, Natasha”

The redhead roller her eyes, but was soon distracted by your hand on hers. Either way, Yelena got away with it. Once at the theater, Pietro squeezed his way between Nat and you, saying he’d sit in the middle holding the giant popcorn bucket.

You gave him an angry look that he ignored and you had to play dirty to sit next to Natasha.

“Hey, babe” you called for her, leaning over Pietro so he would listen to everything. “We should go shopping tomorrow. You ripped my last pair of underwear, remember?”

“Ew, no” Pietro moved, allowing you to change seats.

“Ha. Easy” you mocked, leaning against Natasha. 

The movie started and you could tell Yelena and Pietro were hitting it off, making similar comments about the movie. Wanda was no better, pointing out things that the other two had missed.

“Oh, no, if they team against us we’re done, baby” you whispered against her ear. Natasha tried to reply, but moved against the back of her seat, pulling at the fabric of her pants. “What’s wrong?”

“I have a very good imagination” is all she said, trying to cover her crotch.

“Shit, sorry. I was just trying to get Pietro to move. Try to think about… something else”

“I’m trying” she said through her teeth.

“What are you going to say to Selvig tomorrow when we meet him?” you asked, hoping that would do the trick.

“We’re meeting him?” she turned to look at you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah, why not? If they don’t let us, I’ll use my press badge from the school paper and demand a Q & A session or something. Shutting down a teenager looking to learn more about the universe might be bad press”

Natasha chuckled, relaxing against your side. You could tell she was feeling better and the tension had eased. Just to be safe, you let her approach you first, and she reached for your hand, placing a small kiss at the back of it.

“I can’t wait for Virus XX!” Pietro clapped as you left the theater. 

“There’s gonna be more? We’re gonna be married leaving the kids with the sitter just to watch the next one” you whistled.

“I’m sooo full” Yelena complained.

“I warned you” Natasha said. The sisters began arguing and you waited for Wanda and Pietro.

“Ok, now I’m feeling nervous” you admitted. Wanda placed her arm around your shoulder and Pietro patted your back.

“You’ll do great and they’ll love you. You care about Nat and make her happy, that’s all her family wants” 

“Right” you took a breath, trying to slow your heartbeat. As you reached the exit, you waved goodbye to the twins and walked to Natasha’s car.

Your girlfriend was quiet during the car ride, and Yelena filled the silence with questions about practice and the twins. You were happy that they hit it off. Once at the restaurant, Natasha opened the car door for you while Yelena walked to the entrance. You took her hand, and followed her sister.

“Wait” Natasha asked, pulling you back.

“What’s wrong, Nat?”

“My family is a lot sometimes. They’re just loud and crazy and ask the weirdest questions…. If it’s too much…”

“Natty, it’s fine” you promised, kissing her cheek. “Come on. I’m starving” 

“You look very beautiful, by the way”

“Thank you, I wanted to make a good impression” you blushed.

“They already like you. My mom couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful you are” Natasha commented, pulling the restaurant’s door for you to enter.

“Well, I’m very fond of your family too. But you’re my favorite, sweetheart”

The Italian restaurant had a nice atmosphere, with warm lights and soft music playing in the background. Melina waved at you and you walked towards their table.

“The girls are here, come, have a seat!” she said, excitedly. “I do hope you’re hungry”

“Yelena is starving” Natasha mocked and her sister glared.

“I am, actually” 

“Oh, Alexei, you know Natasha’s girlfriend, right?”

You waved at Alexei and he nodded. 

“Wait, how do you know? Mama just found out today” Yelena said.

“Well, they do homework together and go to the movies. Isn’t that what friends do?” Alexei looked at the two of you.

“No, Papa, they are girlfriends. As in holding hands, kissing and… bleh, other stuff. I don’t want to lose my appetite now that it’s back” 

“Oooh. Our little Natasha, quite the Casanova, eh?” he teased his daughter, laughing when she blushed. “Well, I’m very happy for you two. Tell me, what do young people do for dating now?”

“Well, movies, picnics, the mall. We’re going to the Planetarium tomorrow”

“Oh, we used to go there all the time” the man said, taking his wife’s hand. “And the minute it got dark, Melina would pinch my butt” 

“Ew, why?” Yelena dropped the menu, looking upset. 

“Because your mom is a butt girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

“No, that’s not what I meant, Papa”

“Oh, I see where Natasha gets it from” you joked, unable to help yourself. Your girlfriend looked around the table, turning red.

“I am officially not hungry” Yelena grumbled, making everyone laugh.

—

You focused on some homework during Sunday morning. Since you were meeting Natasha later, you also cleaned your room and got a chance to do your hair and make up, opting for a loose dress and a light jacket.

“Dinner isn’t until 7:30, young lady” your father said as soon as you walked down the stairs. He was wearing a polo shirt and slacks, carrying a book about World War II. His idea of a relaxing Sunday was very different from yours.

“Oh, I’m going out with Natasha”

He groaned, removing his glasses. 

“Yes, your mother mentioned this Romanoff girl”

“So, what do you think?” 

“You’re too young” 

“I’m not marrying her. Yet” 

Your father glared and you had to laugh at his stern expression. So dramatic.

“This isn’t funny”

“Dad, do you know what we’re doing today? Going to a talk about Astrophysics. You really have nothing to worry about.”

“There will be rules”

“I expect nothing less from Captain Rogers”

“And curfews”

“Those are like suggestions to me, but sure, go ahead”

“Young lady” 

Stepping forward, you hugged your father. Guess you can’t really take the military out of the man. But still, he had a soft spot for you and conceded, his arms around you.

“I love you, Pops. And I’m happy. So, just trust me on this one?”

“Ok, sweetheart” he nodded, sighing. “I guess I just refuse to believe you’re growing up”

You broke apart when the doorbell rang. Natasha was waiting at the door, wearing a white shirt with jeans, blue blazer and oxford shoes. 

My God, glasses too. 

“Hi” you greeted, staring. She looked… dashing. “Uh…”

Your dad rolled his eyes, stepping forward and introducing himself.

“Captain Joseph Rogers”

“Natasha Romanoff, sir. A pleasure to meet you” she shook his hand and you were surprised by her confident demeanor. Double fuck, she looked even hotter now.

“Dinner is at 1930” he informed your girlfriend. “No speeding, no texting while driving. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir” Natasha nodded. Your mother shouted from the kitchen, making you snap out of your trance.

“Joe, just let them go and come help me!”

“Thanks, Mom! Bye, Dad” you kissed his cheek, taking Natasha by the hand and pulling her towards the car. “You look… wow”

“Yeah? I thought it would be more formal, considering the event” 

“Handsome” you blurted out, making Natasha blush. Oh, yeah. She liked it a little too much. You played with the lapel of her blazer, feeling hot everywhere. “My father is probably staring out the window but know that if he wasn’t, I’d be all over you right now” 

Natasha groaned, opening the car door for you. Unable to help yourself, you gave her a quick kiss, smiling as she began the drive to the Planetarium. 

During the ride, you went over some basic information about your family that would probably help her with conversation. You mentioned your mother and her time living in Paris while she got her Masters in Art History, your Dad and how he went from Army medic to surgeon at a private practice. You mentioned that Bucky lived with you because his father was working in D.C., and how your father and Colonel Barnes went way back to their days as soldiers.

By the time you reached the Planetarium, Natasha felt she understood where you came from a little bit better. 

“Wow, this is amazing” you admired, looking at the scale models of probes sent to explore space. NASA had collaborated with the museum, sharing materials and information that came first hand from their work. Natasha explained things and concepts that sounded totally foreign to you, but you nodded, appreciating her enthusiasm and admiring the way her eyes lit up every time you came across some fascinating space rock. 

“Please join us at the conference room for Doctor Selvig’s talk” the hostess announced, and you let Natasha guide you to your seats. 

You were fully expecting the talk to be full of science terms and concepts that were above your comprehension, but Doctor Selvig was a great speaker, and the hour went by in the blink of an eye. There was a standing ovation as he delivered his last remark, and before it was over, you pushed Natasha to the side of the stage.

“Let’s say hi to him”

“Why?”

“Because he’s cool and you look like you want to cry from being in the same room as him” you whispered, intercepting him as he walked down the steps. “Doctor Selvig, Y/N Y/L/N with the Daily Shield. My girlfriend Natasha Romanoff is a great fan of your work”

“Hi” Natasha greeted him, starstruck.

“Romanoff? Any relation to Doctor Melina Romanoff?”

“She’s my mother. Do you know her?”

“We met at a conference in Berlin a few years ago. She has some interesting ideas about the composition of minerals we found near meteorite sites”

“Right. Molecular astrophysics. I’d love to study all of that” Natasha said excitedly.

“If you’re half as brilliant as your mother, I’m sure you’ll be very successful” he said, patting her shoulder. “It was a pleasure to meet you both”

“Likewise, Doctor Selvig” you said as he went to greet the people from NASA. “How cool was tha…?”

Natasha kissed you, pulling you by the waist. 

“Thank you” she whispered against your lips.

“No, thank you” you smiled, enjoying her closeness. “We should get going. I just need to use the restroom first”

“Ok” she nodded, kissing you again. God, she made you weak in the knees.

You felt light as a feather as you walked to the bathroom. Everything was coming together so nicely; Natasha’s family liked you and you were sure your girlfriend would manage to turn around your father’s bad mood.

Coming back to the auditorium, you searched for Natasha. To your surprise, she was speaking with a girl that looked ready to pounce on her any minute.

“Hey” you greeted, standing next to Nat. 

“Oh, hi. Ready to go?” Natasha turned to you.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me?” you eyed the other girl, who smiled and extended her hand.

“Jane Foster”

“Y/N Y/L/N. I’m Natasha’s girlfriend”

“Oh, I had no idea you were dating anyone” the girl commented and you had to resist the urge to punch her. “Natasha and I met last summer at Science Camp. No wonder you stopped texting back, Natty” 

Jane reached out, squeezing Natasha’s arm playfully. Your anger transferred to Natasha when she just stood there and did nothing.

“Yeah, well. We should go, we’re having dinner with my parents” you said, although the last thing you were was hungry. 

“Nice seeing you, let me know if you’re going to the Winter Retreat. We’ll have the best time” Jane said with a wink.

“Nice seeing you too” Natasha said goodbye, while you rolled your eyes, walking to the exit as fast as you could. “Y/N, wait for me. Y/N!” Natasha insisted, chasing after you. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“She was flirting with you” you accused, looking down. Since when were you the jealous type? “And you didn’t tell her you had a girlfriend. What was that about?”

“I just… don’t really think of her as anyone worth talking to?” Natasha admitted. “We spoke for a bit during summer, but that was it. I’m not interested in her”

“It’s just that…” you sighed, kicking the floor. “She’s smart, right? She probably understands everything about this exhibit and more, and could talk to you about all these science things while I’m… just me”

“Stop right there. You’re funny, and beautiful, and smart, kind, caring… I could spend all night listing things that drive me crazy about you”

“Crazy good?” you blushed, taking her hands.

“The best type of crazy” she promised.

“Ok” you nodded, allowing her to pull you closer. “I’m calling a truce because you look too damn good right now”

“Yeah?” Natasha smiled. Unfortunately for her, you spotted her good friend Jane Foster, still looking at you as if she wanted to continue the conversation.

Whatever Natasha was about to say next died on her mouth, because you crashed your lips against hers in a searing kiss, nibbling at her bottom lip until she groaned, allowing you to explore her mouth with your tongue. Her hands slid to your lower back and you scratched the base of her neck, fingers threading through fiery hair.

“Are you hungry now?” you whispered against her mouth, satisfied at the way she chased your lips, whining when you stepped back. 

“Huh?”

“Dinner. We can’t be late” placing a hand on her cheek, you smiled. Natasha nodded, following you to the car, her little friend long forgotten.

Yeah, that’s more like it.

—

During the drive back, you were still thinking about that Foster girl, and Natasha could read you like an open book, holding your hand as she went back to your home.

As usual, she opened the car door for you and allowed you to lead her to your house.

“Want a tour of the place?” you offered, taking her blazer so she’d be more comfortable. You appreciated the way the shirt clung to the muscles in her arms.

“Sure” she nodded, following you and looking at the framed pictures on the walls. Most of them were of Steve and you throughout the years. 

“Living room, that connects to the entertainment room” you pointed to a door where you’d usually have movie nights with the twins. “The pool table is close to the back shed, dining room, kitchen over there… Rooms are upstairs” 

“I guess I never noticed how big your house is”

“My mom has a studio and my dad has his reading room as well. Come on” you walked to the kitchen and got everything to set the table.

“Hi, girls. Did you have fun?” your mom greeted and you nodded.

“Can I help with anything?” Natasha offered and your mother nodded. 

“You can take the potatoes to the table, darling, thank you” 

She admired the way you set different silverware, including glasses and a bottle of wine that you knew your father liked. It all looked extremely fancy.

“We’re foodies here” you explained. “Hope you like greek lamb”

“I’ve never had any” 

“Oh, I do hope you love it” your mom said, carrying the tray with the food, fresh off the oven.

“Food’s ready, chop chop!” you shouted, assuming Steve and Bucky were playing pool. 

“Smells delicious” your father complimented, setting his book down.

“How are you liking Ryan’s book so far?” Natasha asked, sitting next to you. Your father seemed pleasantly surprised that she was interested.

“It’s good. About time I read The Longest Day. Though I still have to finish Churchill’s volumes. I’m stuck on the second half of the third”

“It took me two summers to read it all” Natasha agreed as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“All four volumes?” he said, clearly impressed.

You should have never doubted Natasha’s ability to win over a nerd.

“What did we miss?” Steve walked in, nodding towards Natasha. “Hey, what’s up, Nat”

“Romanoff” Bucky said and you glared. He sure as hell could be nicer, but alas. Boys will be boys.

“Just discussing some interesting books about World War II” your father replied and they both groaned. “Boys, it is an integral part of our history as a nation!”

“Pass the potatoes” Steve said, but your mother stopped him. 

“Guests first”

You poked your tongue out in a mocking gesture, passing the food to Natasha. 

After everyone had their plates ready, you started eating, talking a bit about your day and stuff you’d done during the week. Sundays were the only days you all had dinner together. Sometimes, your father was in the hospital for 24 hour shifts and your mom would stay late working at the gallery. 

“How was the conference?” your mother asked.

“It was fascinating. Did you know asteroids can have rings? And moons? There’s a whole world out there and we know so little” you said, inspired by Selvig’s speech. “Lucky for them, Natasha will put her brilliant mind to work on discovering new things pretty soon” 

“So, I’m guessing you’re going for MIT, Natasha?” your father asked.

“Yes, sir. That would be my first choice. Followed by Harvard and then CalTech”

“All very fine schools, right, Y/N?”

“NYU is also a very fine school” you defended, taking a sip of the wine you were allowed to have with Sunday dinner. Very European of your mother.

“Too many distractions in such a big city” your father complained; sensing the potential of a fight, your mother changed the subject.

“Bucky, still thinking about UCLA?”

“Yeah, some sun would be good for me”

“Next year you’ll both be gone, I can’t wrap my head around it” your mother pondered.

“Maybe we can finally get a dog” you proposed. “He’ll behave a lot better, that’s for sure”

“Very funny” Steve said.

“Not a joke, bro” 

“Natasha, what about your parents?” your father said.

“What about them?” you jumped, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I just want to know what they do”

“Well, my father is a retired football player. Alexei Romanoff. He was with the Patriots for six seasons. And now he’s a coach at school. It’s more of a hobby than anything. My mother is the lead researcher on a project to develop a treatment for Alzheimer’s” 

“Wait, Romanoff as in Doctor Melina?”

“How many Romanoffs do you gather live in Westview” your brother joked.

It was the second time someone mentioned Natasha’s mother and you were honestly impressed.

“I’ve heard about your mother’s work, it is very interesting. Perhaps your family can join us for dinner one day” he proposed and you locked eyes with your brother. That was as good as it was going to get with your father.

“That would be lovely, thank you” 

The conversation kept flowing  and by the time dessert was served, you were full, sleepy and happy to see Natasha relaxed and smiling next to you. You reached for her hand, squeezing it.

“Y/N and Natasha set the table so you’re on cleaning duties, boys” your mother instructed.

You took Natasha to the backyard, walking along the edge of the pool.

“What’s going in that mind of yours?” you asked, seeing her eyes getting lost in the water.

“We’re also going to college in a few years”

“Mhm” you nodded, taking her hands. “And?”

“What will happen to us? I mean, I know it’s too soon, but I hate the idea of not seeing you every day and being away… you’ll probably make so many new friends…”

“Nat…” you said softly, until she looked at you. “I’ve waited for so long to be with you, do you really think being in different cities is gonna stop me?”

“Really?”

You laughed, taking a deep breath.

“If I were a poet, I’d write a haiku; you should know I really like you” you recited.

“How did you… You wrote it” she gaped. 

“It wasn’t my best work, but to be fair, we were 12”

A note that had been left at her locker, on Valentine’s Day. 

Natasha thought it was a prank or a mistake.

“That’s how long I’ve liked you” you nodded, your arms around her waist. “So, we will cross that bridge when we get there, in approximately two years. Ok, love?”

“Sorry, I know I get crazy…”

“Yes, but that’s part of your charm” you smiled, leaning forward to kiss her. As you broke apart you yawned, laughing. “Shit, I’m sorry, baby. It’s the wine”

“It’s ok” she said, kissing your cheek. “I should go, it’s getting late”

“Come on, I’ll walk you out” you said, leading her to the kitchen to say goodbye to your mother. Natasha thanked her and was forced to take back a giant piece of cake. Yelena was going to be extremely happy, that was for sure. 

As you opened the door, your father called for Natasha, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“It was lovely to meet you, young lady. You are always welcomed in our home”

“Thank you, Captain. And thank you for a lovely evening” 

Holy shit, holy shit, you kept saying in your head. And there was Natasha, looking super chill.

“What?” she asked, as you covered your mouth to keep yourself from screaming in pure joy.

“Uhm, that thing he said? He might as well ask you to call him Dad. He likes you, Nat” 

“Really?”

“Really” you nodded. “Can’t blame him one bit. Ok, drive safely, text me when you’re home” 

“Will do” she kissed you. And God, you wanted it to last forever.

You were so in love with her. The realization hit you hard and fast, but you decided to leave it for another time, when you weren’t so dazed by her presence and the little bit of red wine you had with your dinner.

Staring out the window, you watched her drive away.

“That was nice” your mother said and you nodded. The sound of plates crashing against the floor made her sigh tiredly. “Oh, boys” 

By the time you went up to your room, it was almost 10 PM. While you took off your dress, your phone pinged with a text from Natasha, letting you know she was home, and that Yelena had stolen the cake from her hands as soon as she opened the front door.

You laughed, sending heart emojis, as well as a picture of Natasha during the exhibit. She was smiling, looking up, the soft glow of the lights giving her a mysterious aura. 

Y/N: Stunning view

Leaving the phone on your dressing room, you went to the bathroom to wash your teeth, and brush your hair. As you settled in bed, you got a new text.

Natasha: 

each kiss is perfect

your smile is like summer breeze

our world is magic

Counting the syllables, you laughed. Of course Natasha wrote a haiku for you.

Y/N: Show off.

Y/N: I love it.

Patience, darling (pt. 1)

vi x reader, 18+ themes!!

Semi-famous Vi who has you on a live with her for the first time and... isn't very good at waiting

Vi sort of assumed that once the rush of getting together had calmed down, her yearning for you would lessen a little. That you wouldn't always be all over each other. But the longer she's with you, she's starting to think maybe... that won't be the case.

You've been going out for some years now, and still even the briefest peck sends heat prickling down Vi's spine.

Normally she'll just pull you close without a second thought. She discovers it's worse—much worse—when she has to wait...

Mechanic Vi who has a super dedicated following for doing little "how to fix this in your car" videos for girls, and also for the photos she posts of her on her motorbike, which always go viral. She often does lives where she just chats to whoever's watching as she works, or cooks dinner or cleans up her workspace.

Her fans all know about your relationship, as she'll use any excuse to gush about you. Because you often work late, she's on live a lot as she's making dinner for when you get back, and her followers are always asking about you. It's gotten to the point where her followers collectivly refer to you as "Cupcake," a nickname she jokingly called you one time.

But... they've never seen you in any of her lives. Although she talks about you all the time, you're pretty private about your personal life, and so there's never anything identifying in her posts. Sometimes a photo that cuts off at the shoulders of a mystery girl leant up against her bike, Vi's hands wrapped snugly around your waist. You're also never in her "how to" videos, apart from an occasional quiet laugh or comment off camera, and you don't have any socials of your own.

Her fans are always begging to see you, and Vi always just smiles a little, saying coyly, 'Well, we'll see...'

One time she's reading through the comments, saying some out loud. It's a casual live today, she's just eating and chilling out, waiting for you to finish work.

'When's Cupcake coming home...' Vi reads aloud. She checks her watch. 'Any minute now,' she tells the chat, standing to take her plate to the sink then returning to the table where her phone's propped up against a jug of flowers—you love flowers, there are always some in the flat.

'Oh, you wanna meet her?' she asks, reading another question. Smiling a bit, she lifts a shoulder. 'Well, maybe I'll ask her when she gets back.' She gives the camera a wink. 'We'll see.'

A few minutes later there's the sound of the front door, then your heels clicking down the hall.

'Hey,' Vi turns to you with a smile as you enter the living room, a shopping bag over one arm and all your work bags over the other. You're still dressed for the office, a neat blouse and skirt.

'You on live?' you ask, toeing off your shoes and dropping your bags on a chair.

'Uh-huh.' Vi's looking at you in a way that tells you instantly she wants a kiss, but if she's on live you're not going to disturb her now. She holds out a hand to you. 'Wanna come say hi?'

'Say hi?'

Vi nods, hand still outstretched. She raises a questioning eyebrow, giving you the option of saying no if you're not comfortable with the idea. When you lift a shoulder in a little shrug, showing you're not fussed, a small smile tugs at Vi's lips. The chat is going crazy, comments coming in one after the other, as Vi turns back to the camera to say cheekily, 'She's a little shy.'

You roll your eyes, walking over to her. Standing beside her, the camera is angled so that your torso is cut off, and the chat can't properly see you yet. Vi looks up at you, her hand settling on your waist. For a moment you forget about the camera and everyone watching, reaching out to brush her hair back.

'Work okay?' Vi asks softly. It's been a long day and she's missed you, and it takes everything in her not to wrap her arms tight around your waist and tug you close.

'Mhmm.'

Vi smiles a little. 'Mhm?'

You hum again, unable to help smiling back. 'You?'

'Mhm,' Vi echoes. The way you're looking at her, teasing and playful, is enough to get her heart racing, and her eyes stray to your lips. She's about to tug you down before suddenly remembering the camera and turns back, clearing her throat, cheeks slightly red. The chat is rioting.

We're third wheeling so bad

HELP

kiSSKISSKISS

crying in single

IS THE TENSION IN THE ROOM WITH US

The comments make her snort with laughter, and she tugs gently on your waist, encouraging you to lean down.

'Budge up,' you say, nudging her knees for her to move a little and allow you to squeeze into the chair with her, but Vi only grins broadly, spreading her legs wider.

Rolling your eyes fondly, you lean down so the camera can see your face.

'I say move and she spreads her legs,' you tell everyone, before reaching out for another chair to drag it next to Vi. You've barely stretched out your hand when she makes a wounded noise.

'What are you doing?'

Turning, you find her staring up at you, looking ridiculously hurt.

'Uh, getting a chair?' you say, amused.

Vi makes a vague gesture at her lap. 'What, I'm not good enough?'

You can't help but laugh at her affronted pout, sliding into her lap and wrapping an arm around her neck. One strong hand instantly settles your waist, her other hand resting lightly on your thigh. Leaning towards the camera, you smile, giving a little wave.

'Hi everyone...' you pause to peer at the comments. 'She's so pretty,' you read aloud. 'Oh, I know!' you turn to face Vi, cupping her face and leaning down to press your nose briefly against hers. Vi's looking up at you, face tilted to meet yours, and there's only one word for her expression.

Adoring.

'She's the prettiest,' you smile, leaning back and giving Vi a very quick kiss on the tip of her nose that makes her laugh softly, the hand on your waist tightening a little. 'My pretty girl.'

'I think they were talking about you,' says Vi, tucking you more firmly against her and resting her chin on your shoulder. 'But thanks, love.'

Leaning forwards to read the comments again, you gasp in faked shock.

'Babe! They're all calling you a massive bottom.' You pretend to frown at the camera. 'How dare you!'

Turning to face Vi, there's a teasing smile playing at her lips as you cover her ears with your palms until she huffs a laugh.

'Don't listen to them,' you say, then, tucking a knuckle beneath her chin to keep her looking up at you, you lift a hand to your face so the camera can't see what you're saying as you mouth, 'you fuck me so good. '

You mean it to be playful, a little joke, but Vi's eyes instantly darken as the words leave your lips, her gaze dropping to your mouth as she visibly swallows, her jaw tightening. The hand she had resting loosly on your waist suddenly digs in, her nails scrunching the fabric of your office skirt.

You laugh softly, fond, knowing exactly what's on her mind.

'Patience,' you singsong. 'Not in front of the children, love.'

this love will find me when

😭 😭😭 😭 😭 😭😭

SHOULD WE LEAVE THEM TO IT

KISSKISSKISSKISS

Reading out the chat again, you can't help but laugh.

'Kiss?' you ask, turning to give Vi a kiss on the cheek. She rolls her eyes playfully, but her cheeks are flushed, the hand on your waist still gripping tightly.

You turn back to the camera, biting back a grin—you know just what you're doing and hell if you don't enjoy Vi's reaction to you. But then she leans up, her warm breath ghosting over your neck so you can't help but shiver, quickly lifting a hand almost on reflex to cover the camera because you know what Vi's like when she wants you, you know exactly how her control slips.

All she does, however, is brush her lips over the shell of your ear as she whispers, 'Fuck, princess, you just gonna tease me all night?'

There's a slight strain in her voice, and you know she's more worked up than she's letting on. Still, you're pretty sure you're both just teasing, just putting on a bit of a show for the live, so, confident that she won't do anything more... risky, you let your hand drop away from the camera, laughing as you reply softly, 'We'll see.'

guys they kissed i was the chair

omg?!?!!?

im giggling STOP

AJDBAJABWAKSJSJS

The comment makes you laugh. 'Yeah, I feel that,' you agree. Behind you, Vi drops her forehead onto your shoulder with a soft, bitten-off groan. 'Right!' you grin, 'we'll be pg from now on.'

You start chatting to everyone, asking people where they're from, answering their questions about your work. Vi is unusually quiet, chin resting on your shoulder and hand never leaving your waist. At some point she turns her face a little so you can feel her breath on your neck. Shallow and quicker than normal.

'You all good?' you ask her without turning your head, running a soothing hand along her arm as you look at her in the camera.

She gives you a small smile as she nods, but there's something tight about her expression.

'Sure?' you double check, before continuing with your conversation with the chat when she nods again.

Almost absently, the hand she had resting on your thigh twitches a little, and she starts lightly tracing a finger along your skin, teasingly brushing under the edge of your skirt. It sends a spark of heat dancing up your spine, and you grin again, sure you know what she's doing, what game she's playing.

Well, two can play at that game.

But, not breaking off your conversation with the chat, when you reach back to thread your fingers through her hair, tugging slightly, Vi makes a choked off sound near your ear, her fingers squeezing reflexively on your thigh as if she wasn't the one trailing a finger under your skirt a moment ago.

Glancing at her in the camera, she's got her teeth sunk into her lower lip, eyes trained on the back of your neck, exposed where your hair is twisted up for the office. You squint— it's hard to see properly in the camera, but her cheeks are definitely flushed.

Suddenly you're... not so sure this is a game at all.

cupcake i think you broke vi

vi blink three times if u need us to go

EYES NEVER LIE

she's down so bad whelp

WE SHOULD LEAVE BEFORE VI GOES INTO CARDIAC ARREST

'You all need to, like, go out in the sun or something,' you laugh, but a moment later you feel Vi shift a little beneath you where you're still sitting in her lap. The tiniest cant of her hips upwards and an accompanying quiet whine in your ear and oh—

This isn't a game. She needs you.

You genuinely thought all the teasing was for the live, but you know very certainly now that it's not just for show anymore. Right now, she's desparate for you. For a second you let your mind wander, wondering if she's wet enough that she's soaked through her boyshorts, your mouth going dry as Vi drops her head on your shoulder again, fingers tightening reflexively on your thigh.

Clearing your throat, you give the chat a bright smile.

'Right! So we have to make dinner now and ya know...' you give them a wink, 'things to see, lots to do—'

*people to do

queen you're gonna fuck don't lie to us

crying in single

lol you be fucking frrrr

😭 😭 so happy for you guys 😭 😭 100% happy and not jealous at all

sleeping on the highway xoxo

lmao same

'Hey, no sleeping on highways,' you smile. 'Okay, well bye everyone! I had a lovely time meeting you all.'

You say a few more quick goodbyes as the chat sends love and kisses, and the second you press the end button Vi lets out a funny, strangled noise.

'Fuck,' she hisses, pulling her head up from your shoulder, 'fuck fuck fuck—'

Laughing softly, you turn to face her and oh—

She's absolutely wrecked.

A flush is creeping down her neck, her bright blue irises almost entirely swallowed by pupil and eyes heavy-lidded in want, her lips bitten and swollen. The sight sends an aching wave of heat through you.

'Oh hey,' you say gently, turning so you're straddling her as both her hands come to grip your waist and she looks up at you, the expression on her face nothing short of pleading.

'Fuck, princess you can't do that,' she says, voice shaky. 'You can't—can't tease like that it's not fair, fuck—'

Closing her eyes, her head tips back a little as you press a thumb against her lower lip. Leaning forward, you brush your own lips over her neck, allowing your tongue to flick against her pulse point. At the movement Vi lets out a ragged sort of moan, a full body shiver going right through her as she bites off another curse.

'I'm sorry,' you whisper against her throat. You're trying to feel bad about it, you really are, but honestly? Knowing that you do this to her makes you feel nothing short of a goddess.

Kissing a line down to Vi's collarbones, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that her chest is heaving just from this brief moment of contact, you draw back, allowing your eyes to flick up. 'Let me make it up to you? I'll take care of you baby.'

pt 2 will be posted soon xo

Friday Snippet

So, I've been thinking about new years resolutions and whatnot and I kinda wanna be more active on here from now on and talk more with y'all about my writing and updates and maybe start doing fic recs as well? Lemme know if y'all would be interested in that 🙃

On another note, here's a little snippet of what I'm working on for this weekend's update to The Siren (my natasha romanoff fic)...

━

Natasha brushed her damp curls over her shoulder, preferring it to slowly soak the back of her shirt rather than ruin the substantial documents before her. 

You know, the usual things an agent such as herself would receive. Like her official employment offer letter, or the multitude of non-disclosure agreements, security questionnaires, and health/fitness assessments that she was beginning to consider a little excessive. 

Just the typical, run-of-the-mill stuff that basically cemented her official status into S.H.I.E.L.D.

Nothing too serious.

At least, that was what she tried to convince herself, the pen twirling expertly through her fingers as she stared at the page.

Her weapons qualifications form sat on the island, fully signed and waiting due process, along with her new badge and identification she’d picked up from Maria following her solo morning workout. 

Her body was pleasantly thrumming, ready for whatever the day had in store. She’d gone a bit harder than usual, marked by the slight soreness coating her thighs and biceps, but she didn’t have any responsibilities requiring her to be at peak physical strength and Clint hadn’t been there to nag at her to take it easy, either.

That had been part of the reason that, instead of sleeping, she’d gone down to the gym at the break of dawn, having the room all to herself for those couple hours before the usuals started trickling in. 

The other part had to do with the fact that, despite the few good days she’d managed to have recently, sleep was still the enemy and Natasha hardly felt good about herself unless she was pushing herself to the limits, the fatigue keeping her dark thoughts to a minimum.

Maybe it was the silence. She debated putting her TV to use, but she wanted to get this done before anything else. It didn’t help that she was only running on a cup of coffee and a single granola bar, just the bare minimum to keep her functioning for a time. 

Though, maybe it was wearing off now considering she’d just read the same sentence about three times and still hadn’t processed a single word.

Sloppy, her mind supplied. This was the kind of lack of focus that would get her killed. She’d done more on less for majority of her life, much of her accomplishments occurring even when she’d hardly consumed a meal in days. 

In the Red Room, almost all of her meals had been earned. The better and faster she completed her studies constituted rewards that were basic necessities to the rest of the world—inherent human rights stripped down to a luxury.

Her hand came down on the table with a thump, the pen trapped beneath her palm. The action had her mind snapping back into focus, and she took a deep breath, eyes finding the beginning of the sentence for the fourth time. 

If she really wanted breakfast, it would have to wait until the work was done.

Only, her attention was once again swept away in a matter of seconds. Though, this time, she lifted her gaze to stare at her front door, brows furrowed. Not only was she unsure if she had heard anything at all, she doubted it was anything more than someone passing by—

But, there it was again. A light tapping against the door. If her hearing wasn’t so sensitive, even in the quiet of her apartment, she was sure she would’ve missed it otherwise...

Hotel California | Track 16 : Blurred Lines

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 4k

Chapter 16/20

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: I hope y'all like it =)

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Keeping a secret from the rest of the band was surprisingly easy. With the pressure to continue touring and giving each show their all, it was something you enjoyed having between the two of you. The excitement and potential of marriage felt overwhelming—heavy in your chest but in the best way. You and Natasha had just hit the year mark and hadn’t even celebrated your anniversary yet. With the late-night shows and back-to-back rehearsals, there hadn't been much room to breathe, let alone plan something as big as announcing an engagement.

It had been a week since she proposed, and you were still on cloud nine. It felt like you floated through every conversation, every soundcheck, every hotel check-in. Something was glowing under your skin, but no one else could see it yet.

In the middle of the afternoon, the sun burned hot over Miami, the air thick with humidity. Natasha and the band had just wrapped up three nights in a row, and now you had a rare stretch of days off, an entire week to breathe. Tony had rented out some sleek little house away from the city, something with too many bedrooms and a private pool tucked behind high walls. Perfect for hiding.

You and Natasha hadn’t meant to be disgustingly in love, but here you were. Half-lounging, half-floating in the pool, a half-eaten plate of fruit on the edge, both of you laughing at something stupid she said. She’d pulled her hair up messily, sunglasses perched low on her nose, freckles peeking through after so much sun. No crew, no flashing lights. No schedule. Her legs tangled with yours underwater, her hand occasionally drifting to your knee like she couldn’t help herself.

This was the best version of you and Natasha, only you saw. The version no one else knew about.

You were happy. You were engaged. You were in love.

Natasha lazily ran her fingers along your arm, eyes hidden behind her sunglasses.

“You know,” she murmured, voice low and warm, “I kinda like having you all to myself like this. No cameras. No band. No one asking questions.”

You smiled, sinking deeper into the water beside her.

“Yeah, well,” you teased, “enjoy it while it lasts. Pretty sure once people figure out what’s on your finger when you wear your ring, we won’t get a moment’s peace.”

Natasha tilted her head toward you, smirking.“Let them talk. They’ve been talking about us since day one.”

You sighed, content, leaning closer until you rested your forehead against her shoulder. Her skin was warm from the sun, soft where your cheek brushed it.

She hummed softly, her fingers drifting along your back.

Your breath tickled her skin.

"I still can't believe it," You leaned back to study her face. "You're going to be my wife."

Natasha smiled.

"Yeah," she murmured, a quiet little sound. "I'm going to be your wife."

Your smile grew impossibly wide, the words sending a rush of warmth down your spine. Your heart fluttered in your chest.

Natasha reached up to trace the curve of your smile with her thumb, her smile growing. Her other hand snapped your bikini against your skin as she took advantage of your distraction. You squealed and tried to get away, but she was faster, her hands finding all the ticklish spots on your body. She pulled you into her, opening her legs to accommodate you, wrapping her arms around your body. You squirmed, laughter bubbling up from deep in your belly, and you could feel her smiling as she pressed a kiss against the side of your head.

You were still breathless when you calmed, and Natasha's fingers skimmed your bare sides, tracing over the wet skin.

"God, I love you," she murmured, and you felt your cheeks heat. She could be so intense sometimes.

You turned your head and kissed her. She tasted like sunshine and chlorine, the faintest trace of strawberry lingering on her lips. She kissed you back, her hands tightening against your hips. Your heart pounded.

"I love you," you whispered against her lips, and she hummed again.

"Nobody's here," She murmured.

"What?"

"The guys are still out. They won't be back for a while. Isabella is with Wanda."

You laughed. "We can't," You chided. "It's daylight."

"I don't care," She breathed, her nose nudging yours. "It's not like the neighbors are watching."

"You're incorrigible," You mumbled, but it was weak, her lips already distracting you. Your kiss turned slow and gentle, tongues tangling, her hand sliding to your neck.

You moaned softly, and you could feel her smile.

"Let me take care of you," She whispered, and you nodded.

Her hand trailed up your leg, slipping beneath the fabric of your bikini bottoms to caress your ass. You both were too distracted to hear the sliding doors open.

"Kid in tow," Wanda announced as she exited the house, "so no sex in the pool."

You squealed and ducked under the water, Natasha's grip loosening. When you surfaced, her arms had dropped away, and you were facing the pool's other side. You were a respectable distance apart, though the pink in her cheeks made her guilt obvious.

Wanda smirked, watching as you fixed your top, and sighed.

"Also, the guys are here."

"Damn," You muttered. "And I was looking forward to that."

Wanda snickered and settled onto one of the lounge chairs. Isabella came out a moment later with a pool floatie and a huge grin.

"Look what Steve found!"

"Wow," you cooed. "That looks awesome."

She nodded, dropping her towel before climbing into the inner tube. She pushed off, floating to the pool's center, and you couldn't help but laugh.

Natasha caught your eye and smiled, mouthing an apology, and you smiled back. You weren't angry, though you did want to know how long they were supposed to be gone.

You'd been so distracted by her touch, tongue, voice, body, and hands.

You wanted more.

"So," Wanda cut in, pulling you from your thoughts, "what time is your flight again?" She asked, directing her question to you.

"It's at 5 am," You informed her. "Gives us plenty of time to get home and rest."

Natasha groaned, dropping her head back dramatically against the edge of the pool.

“Way too early,” she mumbled. “You sure you can’t just skip it?”

You shot her a look, lips quirking.

“Tempting, but no. You know Sam—he’ll want every second he can get with Bella.”

Your eyes flickered toward Isabella, giggling in the pool, and your voice softened. “Besides, work’s piling up. It’s time.”

Wanda gave you a sympathetic glance over her sunglasses. "We're going to miss you gals around here. Isabella is my best bud."

"I have a lot of fun with you guys," Isabella smiled. "But I miss Daddy."

Natasha sighed, pretending to pout as she watched Isabella spin lazily in her floatie.

“I don’t know what I’ll do a whole week without you two,” she said, stretching her arms to pull you back. She rested her chin on your shoulder. “Might lose my mind.”

You raised a brow, smirking.

“You? Lose your mind? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“She’s already halfway there,” Wanda teased, earning a laugh from Isabella.

Natasha rolled her eyes but smiled softly, her gaze flickering between you and Bella. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up now. I’ll be counting the hours.”

You felt something warm settle low in your chest at how she said it—not overly dramatic, but honest enough to make your heart squeeze.

“Lucky for you,” you murmured. "I will be back before you know it."

"I know, I know," Natasha pouted, her lips brushing your cheek. "I still hate being away from you."

"Me, too," You admitted, turning to face her.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips against yours, and the sound of Wanda clearing her throat reminded you where you were.

Natasha grinned.

"Get a room, you two," Wanda called, her voice teasing.

"You see what I have to deal with?" Isabella rolls her eyes playfully.

Before you could come up with a snarky reply, the sound of the back gate clicking open pulled everyone's attention. Voices drifted through, easy and familiar.

"Hope you’ve got drinks left," Tony called out, sunglasses already perched on his nose as he strolled in like he owned the place—which, technically, he probably did. Steve followed right behind, carrying a cooler, while Bucky trailed last, towel slung over his shoulder and smirking at the scene in front of him.

“Wow, didn’t realize we were crashing a funeral,” Bucky teased, giving Isabella a little wave as she grinned at him from the pool.

Tony scanned the group, raising an eyebrow. “What’s with the long faces? Thought this was supposed to be a party.”

“It was,” Wanda shrugged, shifting her sunglasses up. “Until lovebirds over here started getting all mopey.”

Natasha shot her a look but didn’t deny it. Instead, her fingers brushed your hips. You could feel the gears turning in her head. You knew that look. She was thinking.

Bucky and Steve found chairs, cracking open beers while Tony immediately commandeered the Bluetooth speaker, flipping through playlists. It felt easy, loud, and comfortable in a way that only comes when everyone knows each other too well.

Natasha glanced at you, lips tugging in a small smile, and you already knew.

It wouldn’t stay a secret much longer.

She leaned in close, voice low so only you could hear.

“Maybe now’s the time,” she murmured, eyes flicking toward the guys. “Before someone else beats us to it.”

You gave her a look, half amused, half bracing yourself.

“You sure?”

Natasha’s smile widened something almost giddy underneath.

“Absolutely.”

"Hey, lovebirds, don't keep secrets from the rest of us," Tony said, pulling your attention.

You turned and saw his gaze on the two of you.

"It's not a secret, is it, babe?" You said, turning your gaze to Natasha.

"No, not anymore," Natasha replied. "Y/n and I wanted to know where you guys would be September 2nd?"

"Wherever the tour is," Steve offered.

"That's what we figured," You smiled. "We would like to invite you all to our wedding."

Bucky was the first to stand up with a grin.

"Well, hell yeah, I'm there." He cheered.

"You're serious?" Isabella squealed from her tube. She was inches from you in the pool now, sporting the biggest smile.

"Yes, princess, we're getting married," Natasha beamed, her arm wrapping around your waist.

Isabella squealed and jumped over the floaties and into your arms.

"I can't believe you're getting married!" She cried, and her excitement was contagious.

Natasha laughed and hugged her back.

"Can't believe it either, kid," she teased, and the others clapped.

"Well, I'm honored," Tony said, and he looked surprisingly genuine.

"Congratulations, you two," Steve smiled. "Can't think of anyone better suited for each other."

"Where's the ring?" Wanda demanded.

"Safely upstairs, of course," You informed her. "Can't kill it with chlorine already."

"Does this mean I get to be the flower girl? I could wear a cool dress," Isabella was already planning things, which warmed your heart when you saw her so excited.

"Of course," You grinned, pulling her close.

"I'm going to have two moms. This is awesome," Isabella grinned. "I can't wait to tell Lenny. She's going to flip."

"Actually," You exchanged a look with Natasha, who was smiling, too, and you took a breath. "We are hoping to keep our engagement a secret for as long as possible. Ideally, until after the wedding."

"Really?" Bucky asked. "Why? Seems like the kind of thing you'd want everyone to know about."

"Because," Natasha answered for you. "We've spent a lot of this past year under a microscope. We'd rather do this our way."

Tony shrugged. "Sure, I get that. Means I get to throw a helluva bachelorette party."

You laughed. "Of course, that's the first thing you'd focus on."

He shot you a wink. "I have my priorities."

You shook your head, still smiling.

"Thank you, Tony. All of you. For not making a big deal out of this."

"We've all known this was coming," Wanda replied. "Even if none of us had any idea it was happening."

Everyone began climbing out of the pool, toweling off, and grabbing whatever drinks were still cold. Steve was the first to lift his glass, catching everyone’s attention as they gathered around the lounge chairs.

He glanced between you and Natasha, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I think it’s only fitting we make a toast,” he started, voice carrying just enough weight to settle everyone down. “To two of the strongest people I know. To finding something real and holding onto it.”

There were murmurs of agreement as glasses clinked together. Even Isabella, standing between you and Natasha, raised her glass of fruit punch high, beaming.

“To my moms,” she grinned proudly. “And to hanging out with all of you. Even if you’re super loud.”

Everyone laughed at that.

Natasha leaned down, kissing the top of Isabella’s head, her free arm sliding around your waist.

“Here’s to family,” Steve added, lifting his glass again.

You felt something settle deep in your chest at that—something warm, steady, and sure.

“Family,” you echoed, clinking your glass gently against Natasha’s.

******

Early morning departures were usually easygoing. Most people were too tired or in a rush to care about anyone else, which worked in your favor. You kept your head low, sunglasses on, one hand gripping the handle of your carry-on while the other held tight to Isabella’s smaller one. She walked beside you without a care in the world, her backpack strapped securely, as she chattered softly about how much she missed her bed at home.

For the most part, no one had bothered you; it was much too early, even if a few eyes lingered a little longer, a couple of people whispering. It was manageable. It wasn’t like walking out of a venue or some red carpet.

“Mom,” Isabella tugged at your hand, slowing you down. “Can we stop real quick? I wanna get snacks.”

You glanced at the little convenience store she was eyeing, debating. Normally, you’d say no. You'd packed her a few things already, but she looked up at you with that hopeful expression, the same one Natasha always teased you about caving to.

You sighed, leaning down a little. “Fine, but just a few things."

Her grin was instant. “Promise.”

A few minutes later, you stood near the back of the store, letting Isabella browse the candy aisle while you kept an eye on the time.

"Mom!" Isabella said a bit too loudly. Her squeal wasn't one of fear, though. It was more exciting. She quickly found you, and you realized what all the commotion was about. She held up a magazine cover of herself. The picture was of her as she stood beside you and Natasha on stage after one of the performances, smiling ear to ear. "I'm on a magazine. I'm only ten, and I'm on a magazine."

You smiled faintly, eyes flickering to the glossy cover she held up. There it was—your face, Natasha’s, and right in the middle, Isabella grinning, hands thrown up like she didn’t care in the world. Your stomach twisted slightly.

She was excitedly glowing, practically bouncing as she flipped the magazine to show you again. “Look! I’m on it! Can we buy it? Please?”

“If you want it, baby, you can have it,” you told her gently.

She nodded eagerly, already rushing toward the checkout.

You stood a beat longer, staring at the image on another cover. You and Sam had always kept a tight grip on Isabella’s exposure. Carefully curated appearances, blurred-out photos, no paparazzi access. But the tour, the shows—it was impossible to shield her completely. You knew that.

Now, seeing the evidence, you felt a twinge of regret. Was she being too exposed? Would this come back to bite you? Of course, no one knew much about Isabella. She wasn't in the spotlight often and wasn't being interviewed or questioned. It still felt like a risk. Something that always made you think twice.

"Mama, I'm ready to check out."

"Alright, let's go," you told her.

She skipped back to your side, magazine tucked safely under her arm and a few candy bars in her other hand.

You kept thinking about the magazine cover as you paid for the snacks. You had to call Sam and give him a heads-up if he hadn't already seen it. He'd have some thoughts, of course, and the rest of the PR team. It was unavoidable, a part of the life you chose. You couldn't help but wonder if it was a life she could choose for herself.

You sighed, trying to push the thought away as the cashier returned your card.

"Thanks, ma'am," the cashier smiled, and you nodded, grabbing Isabella's hand again.

"Thank you," she replied.

"Have a good day, you two."

"We will. Have a nice day," You smiled.

You had a flight to catch, and Isabella had a dad to see.

Everything would be fine.

*******

You were just sliding your laptop shut when your phone buzzed on the table. The meeting had run over, and now you were scrambling to wrap up the last of your work before you would go home and crash.

A few notifications flashed—one from the group chat about Steve and Tony arguing over where the band should get food.

But it was the string of messages from Natasha that caught your eye:

Natasha: Miss you already.

Natasha: Counting down days till you’re back.

Natasha: I hope your meetings are going well.

You grinned and quickly typed out a reply.

You: They are. Can't wait to tell you all about it.

You: And yes, I miss you too.

Natasha: <3

You were still smiling when another message popped up:

Natasha: BTW, what are you wearing?

You laughed out loud at that one. You stood up to close your office door before pressing the call button. She picked up on the first ring with a smug, satisfied tone.

"So, what are you wearing?"

"You're such a nerd," You said, shaking your head, the grin spreading wider. "And my work clothes, obviously."

"That's hot."

"Oh, yeah, very sexy."

"Are you alone?" She asked.

"I am, locked the door and everything." You entertained the idea. "You're not. Aren't you at rehearsals?"

"I am," Natasha nodded. "They won't mind."

You scoffed.

"Don't be such a tease."

"Who said I was teasing?" She countered, and you could hear the amusement in her voice.

"You're insatiable, Romanoff."

"Maybe," She conceded, and her tone softened. "I really miss you."

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest.

"I miss you, too," You admitted quietly, leaning back against your chair. "It's been a long week."

"Any luck with the label?"

"Not yet," You sighed. "The investors are hesitant, but they're considering. Having new clients suck sometimes."

"You'll get it," She replied, and you could practically see her shrug. "If anyone can, it's you."

"That's the goal," You nodded, shifting in your seat.

"And, hey," She added, voice dropping to a lower, almost conspiratorial tone. "It'll be nice when we can travel together again. Maybe have some fun in between shows."

"Gone a few days, and you're already feening for some action," You teased, and she chuckled.

"It's been a few days already."

You couldn't argue with that, not when it felt like ages.

"I'll see you next week," You promised.

"I'll keep my fingers crossed."

"What are you going to do tonight?" You asked. "Any plans?"

"Nah," Natasha denied. "The guys are thinking about inviting a few people over, but I'm not interested."

"No? I thought you liked a party."

"I'm not feeling it. I'll order something and relax."

"Good idea," You agreed. "I'm going to head straight home. Maybe order something and watch a movie."

"What's Isabella up to tonight?"

"Hanging out with Sam," You said. "He's been chill about everything that's going on. He's happy to see her so happy."

"Good," Natasha murmured, her voice a little distracted. "She's got a great dad."

"Yeah," You said, and then there was a knock on the door.

"Sorry, babe, I've got to go," You apologized, grabbing your bag. "Someone's here."

"Okay," She answered, a hint of reluctance. "I love you."

"I love you too," You said before hanging up. Another meeting. You groaned inwardly, wondering if your next vacation would have enough time to compensate for the overtime.

*********

Tony’s parties never tended to be small.

It was always a full house—sometimes even spilling into the yard with music that could be heard half a block down. This one was no different. Natasha found herself in a familiar position, a drink in her hand and a smile on her face as she chatted with old friends.

It was a nice night. Cool enough that the windows were open, the sounds of the city drifting in, and she took a sip of her beer, eyes wandering. Her night had started out simple enough. She’d danced with a few familiar faces, talked shop with Tony and Steve, and at some point, found herself caught up in a conversation with a girl who seemed too young for the party, but not by much. She was Mia and had that carefree spirit that Natasha was attracted to. Mia talked to her about the many tattoos on her body, and Natasha enjoyed the conversation.

"I'm thinking about getting another one," Mia nodded. "I'm addicted to the ink now."

"I love a good tattoo," Natasha smiled, taking a swig of her drink.

"Which one is your favorite?" Mia asked, her eyes trailing over Natasha's skin as they stood near the kitchen island, the loud music echoing through the room.

"I only have one," Natasha gestured to the tattoo on her back. "I've been meaning to get a few others, but I don't have the time these days."

"Oh, I have a few time savers," Mia smirked, stepping a little closer, her voice teasing as she leaned against the counter, her eyes not leaving Natasha's.

Natasha glanced around her, where Tony and Steve were still conversing about some tech gadget. The band was scattered, with drinks in hand, clearly enjoying themselves. She took a sip of her beer. She tried to make this less awkward for the girl.

"I'll have to remember that," Natasha replied, raising an eyebrow. She could feel the shift in the air, Mia's gaze now clearly focused on her mouth.

"Or I could give you my number, and we can discuss them sometime." Mia's voice dropped to a lower register, a hint of something else in her tone.

Natasha chuckled. "You're bold," she said, shaking her head lightly, but her tone was still playful. "But I'm not interested. I have a girlfriend."

"Ah, damn, and here I thought I was in luck," Mia smiled, not looking too put out by Natasha's confession. "She doesn't have to know."

"I know, and I'm not that kind of person," Natasha told her, keeping her voice low.

"Damn," Mia said, pushing herself off the counter. She walked away with a smirk, her gaze not leaving Natasha's, her body swaying as she went to find a new distraction.

Natasha shook her head and finished her drink. She'd been tempted, she could admit. It was the nature of her job, the attention, the constant attention of a crowd, the buzz of alcohol. She was human, and she had her limits.

"Time for body shots!" Someone called, and Natasha looked up.

Bucky and Wanda were entering the living room, the crowd gathering around. Tony was grinning, pulling out a bottle of tequila and a tray of lime slices.

"Come on, Nat, let's do this!" Wanda called.

Natasha sighed, knowing there was no stopping this train, and made her way toward them.

"You guys are insane," She shook her head. "There's no way we're still doing this like in college."

"Aw, come on," Tony teased. "Where's your sense of fun? Live a little."

"This is stupid," She rolled her eyes, but a part of her was curious, especially when a few people began cheering and laughing.

"It's harmless," Tony argued, holding up the tray of lime slices. "And no one will judge you."

Natasha looked around, saw the expectant faces of her friends, and gave in.

"Fine, one round," She said, walking to the dining table.

"Great," Tony grinned, motioning for the crowd to gather around the table. "You're going first."

"Of course I am," Natasha muttered. "If I have to, I'm choosing Wanda."

"Sure thing, Red," Bucky laughed.

"Don't mind if I do," Wanda lay on the table, lifting her shirt far enough to see her belly button.

Natasha stepped up, her gaze focused on her friend. She grabbed a lime slice and held it gently between her teeth.

"Let's make this quick," Natasha said.

"Don't be a baby, Natasha," Tony laughed. "Ready?"

"Go ahead," Natasha said, bracing herself.

The salt was poured onto Wanda's abdomen, right next to her belly button, and the crowd cheered as the music continued.

"Don't forget the lime!"

"Drink it!"

"One, two, three, go!" Tony shouted.

Natasha did what she did best, leaning down and licking the salt off of Wanda's stomach before reaching for the shot. She swallowed, grimacing as she reached for the lime, biting into it and sucking the juice out before tossing it to the side. The crowd cheered, and she stood up with a smug smile.

"Nice try," Wanda laughed.

"Your turn," Natasha gestured toward her.

Wanda nodded, her eyes scanning the room, landing on Steve.

"Rogers, what do you say? Ready for a little taste?" She winked.

Steve grinned and shrugged.

"Why not," He walked toward her.

"Get it, Rogers!" Someone shouted.

"You're next, Buck," Wanda added.

"Oh, I'm ready," Bucky smirked, and the crowd cheered.

"Alright," Wanda nodded. Natasha watched for a few more minutes, enjoying herself and the music. The last shot she'd taken had clearly been too much for her, and the room was beginning to feel a bit more warm. After a few more rounds of shots and playful banter, the buzz had worn off, and the noise was starting to grate on her nerves. She made her way to the stairs, trying to sneak away unnoticed.

She had one hand on the railing when she heard a voice behind her. “Leaving already?”

Mia was there, a little too close for comfort, her gaze lingering on Natasha with an intensity that made Natasha’s stomach tighten.

“Yeah, I think I’m done for the night,” Natasha said, keeping her voice calm but firm.

Mia stepped forward, almost blocking the path. “Mind if I join you? I could use a break from the crowd, too.”

Natasha hesitated momentarily, her eyes flickering toward her room at the top of the stairs. She knew what this was. She knew what Mia wanted. She didn’t have the energy for this tonight, not for someone who wasn’t what she needed.

Mia smiled.

"No," Natasha told her. "I'm not interested. This is my second time telling you tonight. You should just give it up. You're a nice girl. A beautiful girl that I'm sure could find someone here that would love to take you home."

"I'm not blind," Mia interrupted, her eyes narrowing.

"And I'm not interested. Go find someone else."

Mia opened her mouth to say something, but Natasha was already walking past her, climbing the stairs two at a time and disappearing into her room.

She sighed, closing the door behind her, letting the noise of the party fade into the background. She locked the door and turned on the lamp by her bed, casting the room in a soft, yellow glow. She looked around the room for her phone but couldn't find it anywhere. She didn't dare go back down to the party. She turned on the TV and decided to spend the rest of her night alone.

It was for the best.

Her head was still spinning slightly from the alcohol, and she was sure she was going to feel worse in the morning. The soft noise of the TV filled the silence, but the flickering of the light on the walls began to pull her into a sleepy haze. Her eyes fluttered closed, and within minutes, she was out.

It wasn't like Natasha ending a party so early, but she was a taken woman now. She didn't realize what she would wake up to. 

-----> next part

reminders for today:

if you or someone you know might need it in the next few years, purchase plan b. the shelf life of plan b is 4 years, and we might not be able to access it as easily as we can now in the days ahead.

if you are larger/plus size: go online and purchase ella instead of plan b. plan b is less effective if you aren’t under 160 pounds.

if you can, purchase books that project 2025 is looking to ban.

mass deportations are starting. if you see ice vehicles or agents, yell ice raid and la migra as loud as you can.

if someone asks who you voted for, keep your mouth shut. they’re fishing for traitors.

if anyone, anyone at all asks about your neighbors or their legal status in the us, you know nothing. don’t be the reason that their family is separated.

if anyone asks about your religion or lack thereof, keep it vague. this administration will look for any excuse to persecute you.

your friends are trans or queer? for the next four years they’re not. don’t expose anyone’s status as a trans or queer person to anyone else, even if you think you can trust them.

did someone you know get an abortion? no, they didn’t. they were never pregnant.

in short, don’t be a snitch, and keep to yourself these next four years. we’ll make it through this even if it seems hopeless at times.

we can survive this. we’ve survived before, and we’ll survive again.