Pirouette

Caitlyn and Vi, but after Caitlyn and Ambessa fight and Caitlyn is really hurt

Title: Atonement

Ship: Caitlyn x Vi

Wordcount: 3772

Summary: Caitlyn is lying on the battlefield after her brutal fight with Ambessa. She's ready for everything to end, but the familiar footsteps of someone she cares immensely for pulls her out of it.

Warnings: Cannon typical violence, blood, not waking up after injury, shooting, eye injury, prison violence, pre-mature death, mentions of not waking up after injury, possible suicide (Not really though, it's complicated, just not wanting to wake up after getting hurt idk), horrible grammar, I don't beta read.

[A/n: This is dedicated to the lovely @ittynyte who saw this fanart by @qvert and wanted to see something like this written. Hopefully, I did it justice. I absolutely faded out in the end.]

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It was quite unbefitting of a battlefield to be empty. Caitlyn had never concerned herself with the cleanup of something so morbid. It wasn’t in her nature, something that didn’t cross her mind. The battle itself had always weighed so heavily on her armor-clad shoulders that what happened after, if there was an after, did not warrant energy.

Her blurred gaze stared up at the clear blue sky now. The audacity it had, to be so beautiful. It was nearly cloudless, the sun just out of her periphery. She considered this a mercy. There was a thick, warm smattering of blood that had crusted over her left eye, and she was sure the right one was as unfocused as her mind. Clear. Sky blue. Unmoving.  

There were injuries to tend to. Armies to direct. Where had the wolf stalked off to? So many questions that lingered at the back of Caitlyn’s mind that couldn’t push through the fog. She needed to move. Had to get off the dirt ground that she lay upon in the center of chaos.

Noxian soldiers scattered and still, she was frozen in time. They must have thought her dead. She was not opposed to the idea. It was easier this way. A body among the others. The great commander Kiramman fallen and turned the powdered dirt to that of metallic mud.

Her breath had tethered into something slow and tacky. One lift of her hand and whoever was in charge of cleaning up the mess they had made would rush to her side with a medic. But this was enough for now. For a long agonizing moment.

A punishment. Atonement.

She should apologize, she was sure. 

The crunch of dirt under steps that were much too frantic, much too heavy-footed, caught her attention. Caitlyn’s body thrummed in pain with each slow beat of her heart. The scrambling belonged to someone who cared too much for someone who deserved to die where she lay.

A bleeding heart, some would say, and boy, did she bleed. Her wounds spurted even as she sprinted from her own true demise. She skidded when her knees hit dirt, her shins taking the brunt of the slide. The overwhelming warmth of her made Caitlyn want to turn her head like a flower-seeking sun.

Her mouth was too dry, her heart beating too slow, breathing much too shallow. Now that she wanted to move, had that fire spark in just the right way, she couldn’t. Trapped within herself and the very blood that gushed from her eye like one of those chocolate fountains at her parents galas waved as if it were a personal white flag.

“Fuck,” Vi’s hurried whisper came out cracked. She’d been screaming. Wailing, really. Cait had never heard her broken like this. She sounded as if she had swallowed gravel, tongued it until it filled her lungs and her stomach and found a permanent home there. “Fuck, fuck, fuck”

A large hand was suddenly gripping at Caitlyn’s breastplate, another cradling the back of her head, threading through her sweat-soaked hair as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Not the scum that had put Violet here in the first place. She didn’t deserve to be coddled. She should be the one mending the heart on Vi’s sleeve.

“You’re not allowed to die on me, Kiramman. You piece of shit.”

That damned temper of hers. It was fierce and endearing all the same. Caitlyn pushed any oxygen she could from her lungs, a pathetic-sounding whimper punctuating the effort. It was enough for Vi to call out with enough force to set things into motion. Her calls echo off the cement structures that surround them.

The hand on her chest brushed gently against the curve of her Caitlyn’s features. She wanted so badly to lean into that touch. The kiss the inside of her palm, taste the ashen skin calloused from years of pain and exhaustion that had worked into her bones.

“Hold on for me, sweet girl.” Vi choked out in a whisper. “Hold on.”

Solid ground was no longer under her. There was the spiced scent of Vi’s body wash as Caitlyn’s head lulled into the small of the woman’s neck. She’d bought that soap at a local market when pushed by the seller. She hadn’t expected the herbs to cling so heavenly to her, but in the darkness, she was thankful for them now.

That was months ago. When her mother had died, and her father was locked away in the recesses of the Kiramman manor. Caitlyn was numb, but functional, not yet spurred on by her bitterness. She bought the soap because it was something to do. She’d let a shop keep lead her through dozens of scents, and yes, that does smell exactly like the love of my life, thank you, sir.  

Was that before or after she shoved the blunt end of the rifle into the soft spot of her abdomen? Things blended quite wickedly, now. The heat had gotten to her, and so had her dripping wounds. Ambessa kept her blades sharp like her tongue. They carved her like the star of a Christmas feast.

“Drop what you’re doing.” Vi’s voice was stern, a low grumble. She rarely got this way. Only when it came to Caitlyn. “This is your Commander.”

Was she? She’d failed at that too. Yet, here was Violet, parading her around as such. She supposed it wasn’t up to her. Her mouth was still filled with sand and what little strength she had still clung to Vi’s breastplate as she was pulled away. She whimpered in protest, had to have her fingers pried away with small admonishments by either a doctor, or Vi herself.

Caitlyn couldn’t see the sky from where she was now, nothing but a burlap tent. Her vison was fading, flickering at the edges and pounding along with the thrumming of her heart. If she were succumbing to her wounds, she wanted to be outside. She wanted to be on the battlefield, even if it was empty. It was a mercy, she knew, she didn’t rightly deserve.

Her father had worn the same brand of deep red saddle shoes for as long as she could remember. Caitlyn would buy him two custom pairs for Christmas each year because he wore them out like clockwork by the time spring rolled around, and once more when the air grew a stark type of cold. He’d need them once more when the annual Snowdown gala was in full swing.

He’d shake the meticulously wrapped box with a glint in his eye and a devilish smile that reflected the flicker of the fire in the hearth. They rattled around like wooden dice and he boomed ‘I wonder what these are’ from the time that Caitlyn was six all the way until she was an adult and well past her enforcer exams.

She humored him every time, and he loved the gift every time. This year, they hadn’t had a Christmas, and while she still purchased the shoes to give the cobblers some sense of routine, to give themselves something, she had just placed them at his door and waited for him to find them.

His breakfast tray that morning had been deposited with two bites taken out of plain toast, but the shoes were also pulled in, so she figured that was a good sign.

Right now, she could hear his familiar click and clack as he paced with fervor. Anyone at the Piltover Institute of Medicine and Teaching could tell where Doctor Kiramman was by the sound of his red leather saddle shoes, gifted by his very own daughter.

Caitlyn’s fingers twitched. Her toes too, and it was agonizingly painful. Everything was. She figured that she suffered a concussion from the way each step drove through her temples like an icepick. Most of her unconsciousness was marred with darkness but there had been gruesome flashes of her long brawl with Ambessa.

The knife in her gut. A blade through her eye. She’d been chewed up and spit out. Her tendons were shredded, and bullet was nearly lodged in her neck. She could have been paralyzed. She should have been left to bleed out at the hand of the traitors Maddie Nolan. A turncoat that hadn’t warmed her bed but had made it colder.

Another set of footsteps had entered the room, halting her father’s. Much too heavy-footed. Caitlyn swallowed around the knife in her throat, she couldn’t’ even cultivate a whimper. However pathetic the noise, she wanted to do something to call out to them, to let them know that she was here. Fuck her pride. She had nothing left to hold onto.

“Sir,” Vi’s voice was soft. “Please,”

This wasn’t begging, this was something akin to pleading. There was a pregnant pause before Caitlyn registered the sound of porcelain shaking and then steadying just a moment later. Tea. She was bringing him something to drink. Forcing him to take care of himself.

Vi and her father did not have a relationship. The Kiramman estate was large enough to harbor them as strangers. There was staff to separate them, and Caitlyn had long assured that they would never have more than tense eye contact. Especially after the blood relation of Cassandara’s slayer.

Not something that Violet could control.

Tobias forgave too cleanly and Vi loved too heavily. Here they both stood. Vi, leading her father to one of the chairs in front of the fire, her taking the other one and forcing the drink back into his hand, intent on him finishing it. Neither had slept. She could hear it in their voices.

“I was sure that she would wake.”

“Yeah, well… She’s stubborn. You take good care of her, doc. She’ll come around.”

“You speak with such assuredness.”

“If she wasn’t up for the fight, she would have given up by now.”

A stillness fell over the room, the sound of the fire eating away at the logs and Caitlyn’s own stilted breath took away some of the quiet. Vi was right. She was still here. She didn’t know why. Hell, she was so ready to give up on the battlefield. She had caused so much carnage by balling up her grief. Weaponizing it. Pushing she people she loved away.

Yet here she was. Sharing tea with her father, large, bandaged hands dwarfing what she imaged to be the only porcelain cups they owned. Little white things with purple flowers painted along the delicate features. A gold rim that her teeth would clink against because at the last minute, she would grow too eager.

“Did Caitlyn ever tell you about her hunting dogs?”

She could hear the grin in Vi’s voice. “No, sir, I don’t believe she has.”

There was oil paintings scattered around the house of the dogs. She was certain Vi had seen them. The brawler wouldn’t’ admit to it, but she had a curiosity that was unmatched. Caitlyn had caught her taking books from some of the hidden nooks in the home, flipping through them and mouthing the words.

She would stop and run her calloused fingers over the plagues that were bolted under cement busts, or slow when they passed an informational booth in the center of Piltover. The history of things caught her attention. She’d ask questions, and Caitlyn would answer them by a fault.

“Cassandra bought two of them as puppies, small things that she took an instant liking to. Her mother was convinced that they were outdoor dogs meant to work. That’s how she was raised out in the country, and that’s how these dogs were going to be taught. But not if Caitlyn had anything to say about it.”

Tobias chuckled, a low and rustic sound that blanketed Caitlyn in warmth. She fisted her hand, ignored the pain that came with the action. She wanted to reach out to them, to curl up between them with a blanket. To be apart of the moment.

“She started to sneak them into the house at night, and for awhile it worked. Cassandra and I worked late hours so she got away with the puppies sleeping in her bed. Trained them real nice too. Got them to sit, stay, heel. Better than any hunting dog that I’ve ever seen.”

Vi was laughing, a genuine one that came from the belly. “How’d she get caught?”

“During a hunting trip,” Tobias scoffed “We took all of our business partners, including Sheriff Grayson and the dogs out. Caitlyn insisted on going and I saw no issue with it. Even though she was young, she was as skilled as any shooter as I’m sure you know.”

“Of course,”

“It was just before dusk and we had one of the largest bucks I had ever seen in sight, but one of the dogs, Razi, caught wind of Caitlyn. Let out the most excited bark I’d ever heard and bounded over to her before knocking her off her feet, the other dog Rilo following soon after.” He’d dissolved into full giggles at the memory “I’d never seen those dogs in any mood other than stoic. For a few seconds I thought she was getting attacked, but she was laughing.”

Vi was laughing too, the only happy sounds to fill the Kiramman manor in months, perhaps a year at this point. Her chest ached and her jaw too. She wanted to smile, wanted to stir herself from this hellish purgatory from which she resided.

“I’m guessing you didn’t get that buck?” Vi asked, breathless.

“We didn’t,” Tobias huffed “but we got a hell of a story out of it. Grayson took an instant liking to Caitlyn after that, spent the whole weekend helping her perfect her shot. We never knew she had a soft spot for dogs.”

The laughter faded out into the same disquiet that had engulfed the room before. The clattering of porcelain rose to Tobias’s lips and then back to the coffee table. Caitlyn tried to expel the same breath that produced a miniscule sound on the battlefield. But nothing came out.

I’m here damn it. I’m here.  

She felt the silk under her fingertips and the scream that was lodged in her throat. It refused to bubble up. Naively, she wanted her father. The same dad who stared in disbelief as Razi and Rilo licked at her face in the cold of winter before breaking out into the most genuine smile she had ever seen.

She wanted Vi, who at first, she had despised. It had only taken a few hours to endear her. The moment she sloppily ate some type of seafood soaked in broth in the undercity was when she truly softened. Her nerves were running high and the stench was one like no other, but there was a look in Vi’s eyes, something of unbridled relief and happiness that was unmatched.

“What if she stops fighting, Violet?” Tobias asked.

“We’ll uh,” Her voice cracked, something sullen and shattered “We’ll have to be prepared for that too.”

The room was bathed in pale moonlight when she willed herself to stir. Fire had long since been snuffed out and the tile floor brought on a familiar chill to her childhood bedroom. She brought in a stifled and sore breath, staring up at the canopy above her, small holes poked in the fabric when she was a child to mimic the constellations.

Her bones felt like mush, functional eye blinking listlessly before she clenched and unclenched her fist. There was a splay of air against her cheek, a scent that was spiced. She dropped her head to the side carefully. Violet.

Her form was taut, curled up on her side on a mountain of pillows. She was as close to Caitlyn as she could be, lying on top of the duvet with her chest moving up and down in soft breaths. Her boots were on, as if she had just gotten to sleep, as if she were ready to spring into action at any moment. How long had it been since she had truly slept?

Her skin was nearly as pale as the moonlight that flitted through the window and her scarred lips parted, letting out little snores that were nothing short of endearing. Caitlyn wished she could fight the urge to press her fingers against them. But she couldn’t. She was used to taking what she wanted.

It took some shaky effort, but she gently pressed the pad of her thumb to the small scar that had been cemented into Vi’s expression. There was a downturn of her lips, and then a quick intake of air before a large hand was gripping tightly onto Caitlyn’s wrist.

She wanted this. The security. The urgency. There was no easy way to awaken Vi. She always startled unless it was by the hand of the sun. Tired gray eyes widened with a heavy inhale. The grip loosened as quickly as it had tightened and Vi shot up with such urgency that she must have seen as many stars as Caitlyn manufactured as a child.

“Fuck, what the fuck?” She whipped her head to the side, blinking rapidly to level Caitlyn with a stare as if she had arisen from the dead. “Cait? Are you… Jesus Christ”

Vi rubbed a large hand across her face and flicked on a light, making them both flinch before she hurriedly turned back to Caitlyn who blinked at her dumbly. She hadn’t tried talking, didn’t really know what to say, was waiting for Vi to ask her a real question and not just sputter at her.

She didn’t. Instead, she busied herself by pouring a glass of water and guiding a straw that was obnoxiously green to Caitlyn’s lips. She’d always had the ability to read what wasn’t overtly there. She had been a caretaker all of her life and Caitlyn greedily swallowed as many gulps as she could.

“How do you feel?” Vi eventually dared, setting the glass down and pulling her knees to her chest. She peered at Caitlyn like she was a puppy, a steel-toed boot shoved into her ribs, but patient all the same.

“Like I got hit by a Disc-Runner.”

Her voice came out scratchy, almost like air being let out a of tire. But it was her voice, and she was hearing it for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Vi let out a long sigh of relief and her shoulders dropped from right below her ears as if she had the same exact sentiment.

Vi’s fingers tightened around her pajama pants, decorated with little Runeterra Raptor logos stilted in a sea of cobalt “We didn’t think you were going to wake up. It’s been weeks, your dad has been pacing a hole in the floor.”

“Just my father?” Caitlyn scoffed weakly and a beautiful pink blush colored Vi’s cheeks.

“Well, me too. I should probably go get him, but I think it’s pretty late. Or early.”

“Violet it’s fine, really.” She reached out and took a hand that was too afraid to reach out first but held on with such ferocity. “That can wait.”

“He’s been keeping a log of all of your vitals, you know? You’ve been out long enough to heal. We’ve just been waiting for you to wake up.” Vi frowned and started to play with Cait’s fingers, suddenly filled with so much warmth and life. She never wanted to let them go.

Caitlyn felt her cheeks dampen, using her heels to push herself into a sitting position with some difficulty. Vi watched her with almost vigilant curiosity. Caitlyn grasped at her t-shirt, pulling her close. She needed to feel her close, it had been long. Too long.

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m broken,” Caitlyn purred, pulling Vi’s nose into the small of her neck, reveling in the way the woman clung to her, drooped her arm over her now-healed-mid-section. “I know I am.”

“Cait, you’re not broken, you’re healing.” Vi whispered, held her tighter. Her voice was marred with emotion and Caitlyn’s own shirt was sodden with tears. She felt Vi’s shoulders tremble and wondered how long it had been since Vi allowed herself to cry, allowed herself to be held instead of doing the holding.

Caitlyn started to card her fingers through the small hairs on the nave of Vi’s neck, scratching at the skin there, feeling every shiver and breath the woman took. She craved this, needed this. It was all she had wanted during the pain staking moments when she had been there, but hadn’t been. That hellish time when she couldn’t’ scream loud enough to be heard. She’d taken this for granted.

“I didn’t think you were going to come back.” Vi’s fingers curled into the silk of Caitlyn’s shirt.

“I almost didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Vi gazed up at Caitlyn with an almost childlike wonder, hand moving down to a pearl button each exhale brought goosebumps to her skin. She traced patterns on Vi’s upper back. “On the battlefield, before you were there, before you found me. I was ready to give up.”

She ran her thumb over the cross stitching on the button, around the edges, but didn’t say anything. Not for a few moments, just listening to the crackle of Caitlyn’s lungs. “Every single day that I was in Stillwater, I thought the same thing. I’d wake up and keep my eyes closed for as long as I could because sometimes that darkness was better than whatever would be waiting for me when I opened my eyes. Sometimes… sometimes your body knows that you need to stay where you are to keep you from where you think you need to be.”

“Did you ever feel guilty?”

“About not wanting to wake up? No, Cupcake. Not then.” She shifted so she was hovering over Caitlyn, careful not to jostle her too much, one hand resting above her shoulder. “Now though, I’d claw my way back from the depths of hell to get back to you.”

Caitlyn cupped her cheek, pulled herself forward and pressed her lips tenderly to Vi’s. She tasted sweet, of mint and of the slightest bit of bourbon. Violet sighed into the embrace, careful not to melt entirely. They broke apart, Vi’s fingers brushed across her jaw.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn whispered against her lips. “For waiting for me.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world, cupcake.”  

oh my god I know you only posted that mechanic vi thing 6 hours ago but PAPA ME WANT MORE MOVIE 🤬🤬🤬 you have GYAT to extend it by like vi introducing us to vander or like idk like im tweaking like

🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

dont worry anon im right there with you ive spent nearly my entire day just maladaptively daydreaming about mechanic!vi

sfw; car mechanic!vi cinimatic universe continuation of this hc post

it is not the most formal of introductions -- but by the time you make it downstairs to the kitchen, swimming in one of vi's thrifted band tees and jogging shorts, tamping down your hair, vander's already on his second cup of coffee.

"well, well, if it ain't the red corvette with the busted radiator," vander says, grinning wide as you fight the urge to duck behind vi like an antisocial child.

"h-hi -- morning..." you mumble, even as vi chuckles and pours you a glass of orange juice.

"heard you guys went to jericho's diner last night," vander says, looking between you and vi as you slip onto one of the mis-matched bar stools sat against the tiny kitchen island.

"yeah! the banana split almost did me in though," you say, reaching for the tall glass of juice.

vander laughs, "yeah, those are famously impossible to finish, though from what i heard, you made a very diligent effort." he shoots you a wink even as vi elbows him in the side.

"i -- we --" you stutter, your cheeks flooding with color. vi rolls her eyes and scoops two perfectly poached eggs out of a pot, placing them on two slices of toast.

you blink as vander nudges the salt and pepper shakers towards you.

"how... how'dyou know i like my eggs poached?" you ask, looking between vi and vander. they share a knowing look; vi shrugs, grinning.

"lucky guess."

you tuck into the eggs and toast, humming happily around the golden yolk as it bursts in your mouth. vi watches you with soft eyes and vander's smile stretches wide as he leans against the counter.

"so. seems like your daddy's got good taste," he says, a soft laugh rumbling through him, deep and thick as thunder. you glance up, cocking your head. vander puts his coffee mug in the sink.

"he might not remember me but couple years ago, he brought over the most beautiful gullwing -- mercedes, from the 50's --"

"oh yeah!" vi says, her eyes brightening as she rinses out the breakfast things "that was a sick car."

vander nods, humming, "one o'the first luxury cars post-war... and one of my personal favorites. some people say it's a bit tacky but --" he shrugs, laughing, "i've always had a soft spot for it"

vi scoffs, "better than all the db5's we see people bring in."

vander laughs then, a loud, uproarious sound. you swallow over another bite of toast and egg, content to watch him and vi banter.

"yeah, but you know why people like it --"

vi sighs, her eyes rolling so hard they might fall out of their sockets as she replies, "the james bond car, yeah yeah, whatever -- still tacky."

you slice into the second egg and watch as the yolk spills molten gold over the toast.

"that reminds me though, i've gotta order the parts for the crossflow radiator --" vi says, putting the pans in the sink as well, wiping off her hands before she rounds the island to lean up against your chair. she slips an arm around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder.

you load a bite of toast with egg and yolk, sprinkle the top with salt and pepper, holding it out for her to eat. she leans forward, mouth open as you feed the bite to her.

she groans around the bite, nodding appreciatively, even as you reach out to swipe a bite of yolk from the corner of her lip, popping your thumb into your mouth with an indulgent smile.

"'ow'dyou know i'd like more yolk than egg?" she asks, turning to pin you with a look.

you flash her a cheeky grin.

"lucky guess," you parrot her words back at her, setting down your fork.

across the island, vander watches the pair of you with soft eyes and a knowing smile.

"right, well -- i've gotta get to the bar. your uncle silco'll be mad if i --" he breaks off, running a hand through his hair.

vi waves him off, "go, we've got it here."

"text benzo if you need help with the parts --"

"yeah, yeah -- he already sent me the link for where to order the parts," vi answers.

vander chuckles, nodding. he reaches over the island with a large hand.

"it was lovely to meet you," he says, taking your hand and shaking it firmly; his palm is warm and callused, and you feel yourself sinking into the solidness of his touch even as he pulls away.

"keep an eye on 'er for me, wouldjya?" he says, winking, jerking his chin towards vi. you giggle, nodding your head.

"sure, i'll try."

"and you make sure to treat her and her car well, y'got that?" he turns his gaze towards vi, who blushes, a scowl knitting her brows as she sighs.

"what'dyou think i'm trying to do -- geez --" she huffs.

vander laughs, a big, booming, belly-full sound.

"that's my girl," he says, flashing you and vi one more wink before ducking out the garage door.

vi sighs, "sorry, i know he can be a lot..."

you smile, shaking your head, "he reminds me of you."

vi's cheeks darken as she looks you over, her eyes startlingly bright in the mid-morning light, her hair a blaze of pink as the sunrise paints her shades of orange and gold.

"he -- he's a good dad..." vi says, finally, her voice a bit rough.

you nod, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.

"he is. and you're a good daughter."

vi swallows, tugging you towards her till she's slotted between your legs. you, poised on the edge of the bar stool, your arms looped around her shoulders, her palms laid flat against your thighs, inching up beneath the hem of her jogging shorts.

"y'know sweets, you can't just say shit like that to me --" she murmurs, leaning in just close enough to ghost her words along your lips.

"and not expect me to do something about it..."

your breath hitches, a delicious, gasping sound even as vi digs her nose into the hollow of your throat with a thick groan, pressing her lips to your collarbones.

"v-vi -- the dishes --" you hiss, but vi's already pulling you forward, hoisting you over her hips and carrying you towards the stairs back up to her room, her fingers digging into the meat of your ass as she kicks open her door and lets it slam shut behind her.

"the dishes..." she says, her voice breathy as she sets you down on her bed and crawls over your body, the shape of her caging you beneath her.

she leans down to trail her mouth along the bend of your neck, humming against your skin --

"... will still be there later."

Eyes Closed

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Day 11: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely anon with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 11th of January, which is 'prom'.

Fluff and gentle smut contained below.

.

You were in bed. The darkness had crept into the room slowly, just like the silence. You turned on a light but it wasn’t enough for that kind of darkness. 

You thought about her. You tried not to worry.

.

‘I know, I know.’ Natasha called out as soon as she entered the room. Your mouth dropped as you stared in shock at her appearance. Blood stains coated her face and suit. You could barely see her skin beneath. Natasha stood at the foot of the bed with a nonplussed expression on her face. 

‘I feel like Carrie at the prom.’ She yawned as she unzipped her blood-soaked suit to her waist, revealing her toned stomach and sports bra. 

Natasha reached up to her hair then, ready to undo the end of her usual braid. She groaned as she remembered her more intricate hairstyle made up of several smaller braids.

‘Here, love.’ You slipped off the bed and walked to her. ‘Let me help.’

Natasha tilted forward, her head pressing tiredly against your shoulder as you worked to undo each braid. You tried not to hesitate as you worked around the hair matted with even more blood.

When you were done, you resisted the instinct to kiss her.

‘This might be your most disgusting post-mission look.’ You said wrinkling your nose at the pervasive smell of the dried blood. 

Natasha gave you a sarcastic thumbs up as she headed to the ensuite bathroom.

‘Guess you won’t be joining me.’ She commented dryly as the shower began to run. 

‘It’s so hard to say no.’ You grinned, grabbing your phone and keys and heading out of the room. ‘I’ll bring you back sustenance.’ You promised as you left. 

You returned soon enough, a peanut butter jelly sandwich in one hand. You’d cut the crusts off. Natasha didn’t actually care about the crusts. That wasn’t why you did it. 

You knocked the door as you entered. Natasha was lying on her stomach, sprawled out on the bed, wrapped in a fluffy white robe that she’d stolen a million years ago from a fancy hotel. It was tied loosely, already half off one shoulder. You could tell she was naked underneath. Her long red hair was damp, combed through and already curling at the ends. 

She turned at the sound of the door. Her attention immediately fell to the plate in your hands. 

She made a happy noise, muffled by her pillow as she rolled over onto her back. She shuffled to a seated position in the bed.

‘Give.’ She demanded teasingly as you held out the plate. 

Natasha noticed the missing crusts. Her delight was easy to see. She covered her face and gave a laugh. 

‘I’m special.’ She teased.

‘Yep.’ You agreed simply and sat down next to her, your arm automatically snaking around her waist. 

Natasha leaned against you like you were her support pole. She chewed slowly on the sandwich, her eyes closed with the first bite and she nodded happily to herself.

‘Good?’ You checked teasingly. 

Wordlessly, she gave you another thumbs up.

When the sandwich was done, Natasha fell backwards onto the bed. With great effort she moved back to her starfish position across the centre of it. 

You felt yourself finally approaching the moment. The time for acknowledge what she was obviously avoiding. 

The energy had been too light since she got back. It had been a bad mission. 

‘I’m so tired.’ Natasha mumbled finally against her pillow. 

You crawled over to lie beside her. You brushed her damp hair away from her face.

‘What kind of tired?’ You prompted gently. Natasha’s eyes screwed tight against your gaze.

‘A lot of people died.’ She murmured at last. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’

She opened her eyes again and met you with a heavy stare. You recognised the swirling regret and thought inexplicably about ocean waves crashing over rocks.

‘I should’ve-’ Her voice cracked. 

The rush of love was overwhelming and you leaned forward with the sudden, aching, urgent want to kiss her.

Natasha clung to your lips needily, her fingertips brushed your jaw. 

Her lips were cracked and the sensation brought you back to yourself. You cupped her cheek gently as you slowly encouraged Natasha back to a sitting position. 

‘You’re thirsty.’ You hummed out as Natasha’s lips continued to brush yours over and over again. 

Natasha’s eyes briefly squeezed shut again and then she nodded. 

You left the bed to retrieve her water bottle on the other side of the room. Natasha unscrewed the top and wordlessly drank it all.

Your stomach twisted as you watched her.

It could be a symptom, sometimes, of the bad missions. Not giving herself what she needed. Punishing herself for things that weren’t her fault. 

Natasha put the empty water bottle back on the nightstand. She turned back to you with the same hidden sadness in her eyes. Still, she gave you a small smile. 

You reached forward again with a surge of the same want. You left a trail of the softest kisses along on her neck. You could smell the familiar mix of her body wash and that scent that was only Natasha. 

Natasha hummed with pleasure. You felt her body rise and fall as her breathing evened out into slow, deep breaths. You tugged the white robe gently away from her shoulder, and then again, until you’d removed it all the way.

Natasha acquiesced readily to the direction of your touch. There was a relief almost in the way she was naked next to you. As if the pretence could leave her. 

She arched her back dramatically and you watched the muscles move and stretch. Then, she returned her body easily to its most comfortable bad posture. 

Natasha looked at you again and, this time, her gaze was easier and her smile was warm. 

A longing caught itself in your throat. 

Hesitantly, you touched the old scar that sat between her shoulders. Evidence of another mission survived, another risk taken.

You pressed a little harder and Natasha moaned in response to the pressure on the fatigued muscle just beneath the skin.

You adjusted yourself back on the bed, propping yourself up on your knees. You kissed the base of her neck as your thumbs began to rub concentric circles over her shoulder blades. 

Natasha murmured your name. Her back arched again in pleasure. 

‘You are brave.’ You told her, consumed with the constant need to take away her pain. 

You kissed her again, trailing a path down the curve of her spine.

‘You are strong.’ You murmured, your mouth grazing past another nameless scar. 

You felt the rise and fall of Natasha’s chest against your lips. The steady proof of her existence; all you could hope for.

‘You are trying your best.’

Your thumbs brushed lightly over the large, fresh bruise that sat under Natasha’s ribcage. Natasha stiffened.

You ran your hands soothingly back up to her shoulders and then around to cup her soft breasts.

‘And, you are always, always forgiven.’ 

You felt Natasha’s limbs loosen unthinkingly with your words and then, slowly, you felt her muscles tighten again with a different want. 

Natasha murmured your name again. And then again. You listened to the longing soaked into her voice. 

You squeezed her breasts slowly before moving around to stand in the space in front of her seated position on the bed.

You reached over and took a pillow from the bed. You held it to the back of Natasha’s head and gave her a teasing smile as you pressed her gently in encouragement to lie back. 

Natasha’s fingers caught the front of your shirt automatically as she let her torso go flat against the mattress. 

Her feet were still touching the ground. You watched her hip bones cant upwards towards the air in this new position.

You lost yourself briefly in the act of just looking down at her. At the softness and sharpness that made Natasha's body the only one that you craved. 

Natasha’s eyes were half-shuttered as she watched you too. Her smile was easy but you caught the swirling of a thousand emotions that sat beneath her stare.

It was enough for you to drop to your knees.

You spread her legs slowly and slid between them. The steady warmth of her was your favourite heat. 

Another anchor that promised you she was here. 

You stretched out your arms, letting your fingernails brush back and forth along her toned stomach. You didn’t waste any more time. 

Slowly you ran your flat tongue along her pussy. There was the familiar tang of her body wash  and the taste that could only be Natasha. 

Natasha groaned above you. You felt her stomach muscles tighten under your fingers and knew that she was already close. 

You moved on instinct, your eyes closed as you lost yourself in the sounds of her hums and sighs. The heat of her against your tongue spread through you. You let your tongue arc and flatten, finding the rhythms that caused her breathless moans. 

You felt her tensing. Felt the pleasure inside her become a desperate need. You used your hands to keep a steady pressure against the urgent movement of her hips. 

Natasha gave a strangled cry and in the midst of it you heard your name. You pressed again and again with your tongue. You felt her body wind itself tighter and tighter and then undo itself all at once. 

You tasted the dripping want and heard the soft pants of something achieved. 

You gave one last lick along her pussy. 

‘Good?’ You murmured, as you moved back to survey Natasha. 

Natasha didn’t move or speak. Slowly, as if with great effort, she gave you a silent thumbs up. 

You breathed a laugh, kissed her one more time and got to your feet.

You headed to the bathroom, grabbing a flannel and running it under the warm water. You returned and gently washed between her legs. 

Natasha’s eyes were fully shut now. 

You leaned forward and Natasha moaned in automatic pleasure at the sudden heat of your body against her bare one. 

‘Bed, love.’ You whispered, pulling the covers back and coaxing her gently. 

Natasha acquiesced and you watched her crawl beneath the warm covers. 

You left and got yourself ready for bed too. 

Just as you were about to slide under the covers, you heard the first snuffling noises of Natasha pressing herself comfortably into her pillow. 

A moment later, you clicked off the light on your nightstand.

.

You turned to face her. Natasha’s face was framed by her own messy curls. You thought about her. About the sadness that you could always see unless her eyes were closed. You tried not to worry.

Natasha snored suddenly and the sound was another steady proof that she was here. You closed your eyes and finally slept. 

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Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

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do u ever get a comment on a fic thats just so sweet that ur like Maybe slaving over 24k of fanfiction was worth it for user SprinkleTrashcan2012 to leave a three paragraph comment

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𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

sumary: Natasha didn’t expect anyone to notice she was barely holding it together—let alone you. But when a simple playdate turns into days of fevers, exhaustion, and quiet overwhelm, you’re the one who shows up. No questions. No expectations. Just soup in hand, arms open, and eyes that see right through her

word count: 4905

warnings: flu, stomach bug, natasha being vulnerable, age gap and a huge amount of cuteness.

Part 1

author notes: Thank you all sooo much for the love you’ve sent over this mini fanfic — seriously, my heart’s full! I’m beyond excited to say that yes, a little series about our chaotic (but adorable) family is officially happening <3

　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓈒 ◌ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꒰ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ 　　 　˳ 　 　 　 　 　　⁺　　༄　　　༝　 　 ₊

Time had a funny way of folding in on itself when you weren’t paying attention.

One moment, you were a reluctant presence on the fringes of her and Ana’s quiet world, and the next… you were everywhere. Slowly. Naturally. Not because you forced your way in, but because Ana wouldn’t let you be anywhere else. Because Natasha hadn’t known she was waiting for you until you started showing up.

With each passing week, you had become more a part of them—tangled in the fabric of small, ordinary things. Breakfast crumbs. Quiet laughter. The gentle thud of little feet running to find you the moment she entered a room. Natasha had told herself it was nothing. Just temporary. Just the way Ana gravitated to you.

But it was more than that. You weren’t just a presence. You were constant. Steady. You were becoming a part of them in ways Natasha hadn’t prepared for.

And that terrified her.

Because she’d started loving you.

More than she meant to.

And not just emotionally—her body had begun responding to you like it remembered something ancient, like it knew what it wanted before her mind had a chance to catch up. It wasn’t just attraction—it was primal. Deep. Dangerous. Her womb would ache in ways she hadn’t felt since before Ana. Ovulation, hormones, cravings… not just for you, but for the idea of you beside her, in her, with her. You, with Ana. You, in their future.

And you made it worse by being exactly who you were. By showing up when she least expected it. Like now.

Natasha was wrecked. Exhausted beyond measure. It had started with one stupid playdate. She should’ve known better—one of the other mothers had been coughing in that vaguely suspicious “I’m fine, really” way, and now Natasha was paying the price. First came the fever. Then the stomach bug. First for her, then for Ana. And now they were both half-alive, curled into a blanket cocoon on Natasha’s couch, in the dim light of her apartment.

Ana was burning up and clingy in the way toddlers get when they don’t understand why they feel so awful. She wouldn’t let go of Natasha, not for a second—not even to sleep. And Natasha herself was barely staying upright, her limbs heavy, her head pounding, her body still trying to fight off the virus she’d caught. Her shirt was damp with sweat, and Ana had been crying for the last thirty minutes with no real reason other than pure discomfort.

She was drowning. Alone, exhausted, and on the edge of breaking.

And then the door opened.

No warning. No knock. Just the sound of your voice, soft but firm.

“Hey.”

Natasha didn’t have the strength to lift her head fully. But you were there. Jacket already half-off, eyes scanning the mess in a heartbeat. You didn’t need an explanation. You didn’t ask questions. You just moved.

You took Ana from her arms with practiced ease—Ana went willingly, burying her flushed face into your shoulder like it was the only place she’d ever belonged. You murmured something soft, bouncing her lightly, hand rubbing circles on her back. Natasha watched you lower onto the couch beside her, Ana now pressed between you both, content in a way she hadn’t been all day.

And just like that… the panic faded. Natasha breathed again.

Your hand brushed against hers when you reached for the thermometer on the table. You glanced at her sideways. “You look like hell.”

Natasha gave a breathless laugh. “Thanks.”

“I brought soup.”

“You’re a menace.”

But you were her menace. She leaned her head against your shoulder without meaning to, eyelids fluttering closed for just a moment.

And you let her.

There weren’t any declarations. No promises. Just the warmth of your body beside hers, Ana dozing between you both, and the quiet understanding that, somehow, this wasn’t temporary anymore.

It had never been temporary.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep—not really. Just close her eyes for a moment. But something about your presence always disarmed her, made her forget how long she’d been holding everything together. And now, with Ana tucked warm and feverish against your chest, with the tension in her own body finally starting to loosen, she let herself lean into it.

Only for a few seconds.

When she stirred, it was to the smell of something warm and simple. Soup. Real food. She blinked blearily and found you in her kitchen, moving with lazy familiarity. You were pouring the soup into a bowl, spoon already in hand, as if this was your place to do that. As if you belonged here.

You did.

You handed her the plate without a word, just gave her that look—eyebrow lifted, smirk tugging at the edge of your lips, the one you always wore when you were pretending not to care. She took it with both hands like it was a gift from the gods and didn’t even bother pretending otherwise.

“Okay,” she rasped, already taking a spoonful. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You gave a faux bow, already shaking up a bottle for Ana with one hand while she watched you from the curve of your hip, dazed and blinking.

“It’s literally canned soup, Romanoff.”

She took another spoonful and closed her eyes, groaning. “You heated it like a pro.”

“Oh, I’m very skilled with microwaves. A real domestic goddess.”

“You’re lucky I’m too weak to throw this at you.”

“You’re welcome.” You smirked, adjusting Ana gently in your arms as you rocked side to side, absently bouncing her. It was natural now. So seamless it made something in Natasha’s chest ache.

She watched the two of you for a moment, spoon frozen halfway to her mouth. Ana had gone still, her eyes fluttering closed, hands curled loosely against your chest. She looked content. Safe. Natasha swallowed past the knot in her throat.

“How did you know?” she asked, voice quieter now, worn at the edges. “That I was sick?”

You didn’t look away from Ana, just smiled lightly and said, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. noticed your vitals were way out of range for a few hours. High cortisol, spiked temp. She told me you weren’t doing great. I figured something was up.”

Natasha blinked. “You figured?”

You finally looked at her, that teasing glint still there, but softened. “I’m not gonna let you fall apart on your own, Romanoff. You and Ana… you’re mine too. My family.”

She didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. The warmth in her chest wasn’t fever—it was you. The way you said it so simply, like it wasn’t something enormous. Like it didn’t undo her piece by piece.

She looked down at her bowl and took another bite of soup, mostly to keep from crying. “Well,” she murmured after a moment, “you might’ve just earned another microwave session.”

You raised an eyebrow, adjusting Ana as she finally slipped into deeper sleep. “I’ll take that as a declaration of love.”

She smirked, eyes still on her bowl. “Keep telling yourself that.”

And in the quiet that followed, with Ana asleep between the two of you and the warmth of soup lingering in her hands, Natasha let herself believe it was real. That maybe this wasn’t just a moment, but the beginning of something she never dared to imagine.

The soup was almost gone by the time Ana stilled completely in your arms, her little hand twitching once, then going limp against your collarbone. You stayed swaying, even as your legs must’ve grown tired, and Natasha didn’t miss the way your fingers moved gently across Ana’s back, steady and rhythmic, like it was instinct.

The kind of instinct that made her want things she had no right to want. The kind of instinct that made her heart ache.

“She loves you,” Natasha said, voice softer now, almost inaudible. She wasn’t even sure why she said it—maybe to test the sound of it in the air. Maybe to see if it shook you the way it shook her.

You didn’t look up. “I know.”

The answer was simple. Certain. It wasn’t arrogance—it was truth. You knew. And Natasha realized then that maybe you’d known for longer than she had. Maybe you’d been letting Ana pull you into their orbit from the start, quietly, without resistance. Maybe you’d been falling too.

“I thought you didn’t like kids,” she said after a beat, not teasing this time.

You finally looked over, the weight of Ana sleeping across your body anchoring you both to the moment. “I don’t,” you said lightly. Then added, “But she’s not a kid. She’s Ana.”

And Natasha smiled.

God help her, she smiled.

You glanced at her empty bowl. “Do you want me to warm up the rest?”

Natasha shook her head slowly. “No, if I eat more, I’ll owe you even more declarations of love, and I’m not sure your ego can handle that.”

“Oh, I can handle a lot,” you said, setting Ana down on the couch between you both with infinite care, your hands lingering on her curls as she whimpered, then settled again. “I’ve got range.”

She gave a tired laugh, her body sagging sideways, finally letting herself rest now that the worst of it had passed. Now that you were here.

She glanced at you through her lashes, quieter this time. “You didn’t have to come.”

You looked at her for a long second. “Yes, I did.”

There wasn’t anything more to say after that. Not really. The silence between you both wasn’t empty—it was full of unspoken things. Full of what was building day by day, moment by moment, croissant crumbs and emergency soup and the soft thump of Ana’s head against your chest.

Natasha watched Ana’s little face in sleep. Then she turned to you.

“You know,” she said lightly, “I think she’s just trying to get herself a stepmom.”

Your mouth twitched. “Well. She’s doing a damn good job.”

Natasha leaned her head back against the couch, eyes half-closing again, lips curved with something half-smile, half-surrender. “This is your fault, you know.”

You raised a brow. “Mine?”

She nodded once, slow and deliberate. “You were supposed to hate kids. I was supposed to keep my life quiet. Ana was supposed to be enough.”

“She is enough.”

“I know,” Natasha said. Then softer, “But now there’s you.”

You didn’t say anything. You just looked at her like you already belonged there. Like you’d stay. Like maybe you were already home.

And Natasha—tired, sick, warm, and full of something she hadn’t felt in years—didn’t say it either.

She just smiled.

And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.

“Go take a shower,” you said, rising from the couch, Ana tucked easily against your shoulder like she belonged there. “You look disgusting.”

Natasha scoffed, too tired to argue. “Charming as ever.”

You shot her a smirk. “I’m just saying, it might not be the flu. It could be self-inflicted. Maybe try soap.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her mouth curved betrayed her. That ridiculous, easy charm of yours—that’s what made it dangerous. Not just because you were funny or disarming or beautiful in that sharp, effortless way. But because you made it feel like loving you would be so… simple.

She watched as you disappeared into the hallway with Ana, cradling her like she was the most delicate thing in the world. And despite the biting jokes and your performative annoyance, you moved like you were born for it. Like Ana was safest in your arms.

Natasha sat still for a moment. Her muscles were aching, her skin hot from fever and sleep, but her thoughts didn’t drift toward rest. They drifted toward you.

You, humming something softly under your breath while you ran warm water for Ana. You, scooping bubbles with your hand and making her giggle, even feverish and worn out as she was. You, being gentle. Thoughtful. Patient.

You, who weren’t supposed to want any of this.

But you did. Maybe not in the way you’d admit out loud—not yet. Still, it was there in every wordless offering. In the croissant you split without blinking. In the soup you served before she could even ask. In the way you told her, so casually, that they were yours too. That this—her and Ana—was home.

What are we even becoming? she thought, rubbing a hand over her eyes. The question made her heart beat harder than it should have.

She leaned her head back against the couch and sighed. For so long, her future had been a blank space—no risks, no attachments, just the weightless quiet of a life lived in retreat. Ana had changed that. She’d started painting the outlines of something new: slow mornings, comfort food, the kind of chaos that wasn’t dangerous but deeply, beautifully human.

But you… You filled the rest in.

And it terrified her, how easily she could see it now.

The three of you. A home that wasn’t just a safehouse. A life that wasn’t just survival. She could almost feel it like a memory that hadn’t happened yet.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, she thought, dragging herself to her feet. It’s just soup. Just a bath. Just you.

But she smiled anyway.

When you returned, Ana was clean and dressed in fresh pajamas, her damp curls already drying against your shoulder. She was fast asleep again, breath soft and steady against your neck. You were barefoot, shirt wrinkled, and your hair damp from whatever splash damage Ana had managed in the bath—but you looked so at ease. Like this had been your life forever.

“Your turn,” you murmured, keeping your voice low not to wake the baby. “Go. Before your skin peels off.”

Natasha huffed, but moved toward the bathroom without protest. She stopped in the doorway, turning back once more to glance at you. You were pacing slightly, patting Ana’s back, rocking her with barely a thought.

You didn’t see her watching you.

You didn’t have to.

Because the truth had already rooted itself deep in Natasha’s chest, undeniable and warm and terrifying.

This was never part of the plan, she thought, fingers curled lightly on the doorframe. But maybe it should’ve been.

And with that, she disappeared into the steam of the shower, letting herself wash off everything but the thoughts of you that clung stubbornly to her skin.

“You should take a shower,” you said, rising from the couch with Ana limp and quiet in your arms. “You look… borderline contagious.”

Natasha blinked at you, deadpan. “Wow. That’s romantic.”

You smirked, shifting Ana carefully to your other side. “Just thinking of your well-being. And mine. Mostly mine.”

She was too tired to quip back. Too tired to do anything, really, except let herself sink deeper into the couch cushions and close her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

She heard the bathroom door creak open. The faucet run. Then the quiet echo of your voice—lower, softer, like you only ever used that tone for Ana. Words she couldn’t quite catch, but the cadence was gentle, soothing. A rhythm built for trust.

Natasha opened her eyes.

She didn’t get up, not yet. She sat there and listened. To the occasional splash. To the stillness in between. To the silence when Ana didn’t fuss or cry or fight. No complaints. Just the warm hush of water and care.

Eventually, curiosity pulled her from the couch.

She padded slowly to the bathroom doorway and leaned against it, too exhausted to announce herself, too captivated to interrupt.

You were on the tiled floor, legs crossed, sleeves rolled up. The tub was only half-full, steam curling into the air like a dream. And there she was—Ana—leaned back against your chest, damp and drowsy, eyes fluttering closed even as you gently ran water over her curls.

She was asleep. In the bath.

Completely, utterly at peace.

And so were you.

Not smiling. Not speaking. Just there, holding her with the kind of quiet reverence Natasha didn’t even know you were capable of. Your chin rested lightly on her head. One hand supporting her chest, the other tracing idle shapes on her arm, slow and repetitive. Calming.

It should’ve been startling—how natural it looked.

But all Natasha could think was: Of course it’s you.

Of course you’re the one who could lull her daughter to sleep in the middle of a fever, in the middle of a bath, in the middle of a chaotic day that had nearly brought her to her knees.

You didn’t notice her watching, not at first. You were too focused on the moment. Focused on Ana.

And then, quietly, you spoke. “You’re staring.”

Natasha blinked. “I am not.”

You didn’t turn around, but your smirk was audible. “You’re allowed to be impressed, you know. I’m amazing.”

She rolled her eyes. “She’s asleep. You didn’t solve world hunger.”

“Not yet. But I did make her smell like lavender and peace.”

You shifted slightly, moving with impossible care as you adjusted her position, resting Ana more securely against you. Her cheek smooshed softly against your shoulder, mouth parted in sleep. She didn’t stir. She trusted you. Completely.

“She’s out,” you said, glancing back. “Want to grab me a towel?”

Natasha hesitated for a second. Then turned around and came back with the softest one she had, warm from the dryer. You took it without fanfare, and in one practiced motion, you scooped Ana from the water and wrapped her up in it, holding her as if she were something precious.

She was.

And Natasha wasn’t sure who she was talking about anymore.

You passed her gently in the hallway on your way back to the living room, whispering something into Ana’s ear even though she was fast asleep. Natasha just stood there for a moment, hand still resting on the towel rack.

Then, finally, she stepped into the bathroom.

The tub was still steaming. The scent of soap and baby shampoo clung to the air. And she stared at it—the water, the stillness, the ghost of a moment that wasn’t hers alone anymore—and for the first time in days, she smiled without exhaustion in her bones.

You were supposed to be a complication.

Instead, you were comfort.

She turned the water back on and stepped out of her clothes slowly, heart still a little full in her chest. As the shower rained down around her, Natasha let her thoughts wander—just a little.

To quiet nights and lavender baths.

To soft smiles and someone else cooking soup.

To a world where she wasn’t carrying everything alone anymore.

Maybe not just someone.

Maybe you.

The water had helped.

Not in any dramatic, life-changing way, but enough. Enough to strip away the fog in her mind, the heat on her skin, the ache in her muscles that had been screaming for rest. She toweled off slowly, her movements heavy but less desperate now. Steam clung to the mirror as she stepped out into her room, wrapped in one of her fluffiest towels, hair damp and curling against her neck.

And paused.

You were there. Bent over her bed, sleeves pushed up, changing the sheets like it was the most natural thing in the world. You had already stripped the sick-sweat-drenched set and tossed them in the hamper. Now you were laying down clean ones—fresh, cool cotton with the faint scent of lavender detergent. Probably the same kind you used for Ana’s things.

“You organizing my closet next?” she said, arms crossing loosely over her chest, voice drier than the towel wrapped around her.

You glanced over your shoulder with a grin. “Already color-coded your knives, too.”

Natasha snorted, dragging her hand through her damp hair. “This part of the rescue mission, or are you just nesting?”

“Someone had to make your bed not smell like death,” you replied. “I drew the short straw.”

“Really? I think you’re just obsessed with me.”

You paused for half a second. Just enough for her to notice.

Then you looked at her with a smirk that was half-deflection, half-something warmer. “Keep telling yourself that, Romanoff.”

She hummed and moved slowly toward the bed as you smoothed out the comforter. You were almost done, and her limbs were already sagging with the pull of sleep again. Still, she didn’t want to rush this part. This version of you—quietly caring, effortlessly present, always pretending it meant less than it did—it made her want to look twice.

You finished tucking the corners in and stepped back, giving the space a satisfied nod.

“I know,” you said. “Perfect. You’re welcome.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but sat down, slowly sinking into the clean sheets like they were heaven itself. They felt crisp and cool against her overheated skin, and she let out a sigh she didn’t mean to.

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmured, watching her with something closer to pride than smugness. “Say it. I’m incredible.”

She didn’t say it. But she smiled.

And when her head hit the pillow, she felt the familiar haze of exhaustion crawling back. Her eyes fluttered shut—but only for a second, because then you spoke again, voice lower now, less teasing.

“I can stay.”

Natasha blinked up at you.

You were standing beside her, looking down, and for once you weren’t hiding behind a joke. “I mean. If you want,” you continued, scratching lightly at the back of your neck. “I can sit with Ana tonight. Keep an eye on her so you can actually sleep.”

It wasn’t the offer itself that made her heart stutter—it was the way you made it sound like breathing. Like of course you would. Like this was your home too.

She opened her mouth to say thank you. To tell you that was kind. That you didn’t have to.

But what came out instead was, “Lie down.”

Your brows lifted. “What, here?”

She patted the empty space beside her. “You already changed the sheets. Might as well test them.”

You hesitated for a breath. Maybe two. Then you moved without a word, toeing off your shoes and sliding in beside her. There was still space between you—barely—but it felt charged. Intentional.

Ana’s soft breathing came from the baby monitor on the nightstand, and for the first time in two long, fever-drenched days, the room felt calm.

You turned your head on the pillow to face her.

“You sure about this?”

Natasha looked at you. At the girl who didn’t like kids. The one who made her soup and changed her sheets and rocked her daughter to sleep in the bath.

“I think I’ve been sure for a while,” she said softly.

You didn’t answer.

You just smiled—small and a little dazed—and reached over, letting your pinky brush hers between the sheets. Not taking. Not pushing. Just offering.

And Natasha, ex-spy, assassin, mother—she curled her finger around yours and held on.

The room had gone quiet.

Not the kind of silence that weighed heavy or pressed against your chest—but a hush that wrapped around them gently. Like it belonged there. Like it had been waiting for them to notice it.

Ana’s breathing was soft through the monitor. The hum of the city outside filtered in faintly through the curtains. But here, in this bed, there was only warmth. And you.

You didn’t speak for a while. Neither of you did.

You stayed lying beside her, not touching, not rushing. The kind of nearness that said more than closeness ever could. And Natasha—who had known how to kill a man in a dozen ways before she ever learned how to ask for help—just let herself exist in the moment.

Eventually, your voice broke through the dark.

“Do you miss it?”

She turned her head slightly, eyes finding you in the half-light. “Miss what?”

“The life before this.” You hesitated, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Before Ana. Before… quiet mornings and lavender soap and someone needing you all the time.”

Natasha took a long breath. Then shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I was good at it. But I never wanted to go back to that.”

You nodded, slow. Processing.

“I didn’t think you’d say that,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Everyone talks about you like you were unstoppable. Like you were this myth in red.”

Natasha smiled faintly. “I was a myth. But it wasn’t peace. It was noise. Constant noise. I didn’t realize how tired I was until she was born.”

You looked over at her. “And now?”

She met your eyes. “Now it’s like… I finally exhaled. Like I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until I saw her.”

There was a pause. You shifted slightly, the sheets rustling just a little. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have her,” Natasha corrected gently. And then, after a beat, her voice softer: “And I think I’m starting to feel the same way about you.”

You blinked. Slowly. As if the words had knocked the air out of you without even touching you.

“You don’t have to say that,” you murmured, eyes flickering down. “Just because I’ve been showing up. I mean… anyone would, right?”

“No,” Natasha said simply.

She reached out then—not boldly, but with certainty—and let her hand rest on your arm, grounding, warm. “Not anyone. You.”

You swallowed hard, and for a second, she thought you might pull away. Instead, you turned toward her a little more, eyes clearer than she’d seen them all night.

“I didn’t think I had room for this,” you said, and the way your voice cracked a little almost broke her. “Not just the kid thing. Any of it. I have lived on my own since I was seventeen. I wasn’t built for this kind of… closeness. I thought it would break me.”

“It’s not breaking you,” Natasha whispered. “It’s softening you. That’s different.”

You let out a shaky breath. Then, tentatively, like you were still surprised it was allowed, you reached for her hand and held it fully this time.

“Sometimes I think she knew before I did,” you said.

“Who?” Natasha asked.

“Ana.” Your voice turned fond. “She just… decided. I walked into that briefing room and it was over. She picked me. I never stood a chance.”

Natasha smiled again—tired, wrecked, but so full of feeling it ached.

“She does have good taste.”

“Yeah,” you said, thumb brushing over hers. “She really does.”

Another pause. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full—of something new, something forming in the quiet between you.

“I can stay,” you said again, softer. “Not just tonight. If you’ll let me.”

Natasha didn’t answer right away.

She looked at you, fully and openly, and saw the way you looked back—unguarded, raw, still scared, but trying.

Trying for them.

So she gave you the simplest answer she could.

“You already are.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her, eyes barely open, red hair a damp halo on her pillow, face soft in a way the world rarely got to see. That expression—the quiet, raw one that didn’t come from war zones or missions or victory, but from something quieter. Something safe.

You shifted, slow and careful, until your body was turned fully toward her. And then, without asking, without needing to, you reached out and wrapped your arm around her waist. Gently, but without hesitation.

Natasha didn’t tense. Didn’t joke or protest or pretend to be made of stone.

She just let you do it.

And when you pulled her against you—when you guided her into your space like she belonged there—she went easily. Folded into you like she’d been waiting for it all along. Her back settled against your chest, her breath hitched just once, and then her whole body melted.

You held her close. Not like she might disappear, but like you were tired of pretending you didn’t want to. Like holding her was the most natural conclusion to every shared moment before this.

Your arm tucked snugly around her waist. Your nose brushed the back of her hair. She smelled like clean skin, steam, and something faintly herbal—maybe Ana’s baby shampoo, clinging to her like a memory. She was warm and exhausted and completely real.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The world could’ve fallen apart around you and it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Is this okay?” you murmured against her shoulder, voice almost lost in the dark.

She nodded, a slow movement against your pillow. “It’s more than okay.”

You felt her fingers brush yours where they rested on her stomach, weaving through them with deliberate care. Not asking. Not rushing. Just saying I’m here.

And she didn’t speak again. Didn’t need to. She let out a shaky sigh—half relief, half something deeper—and her muscles softened further in your arms. She nestled closer, fitting her body more tightly to yours until you could feel every small breath, every quiet shift, every wordless surrender.

You held her tighter. Pressed your forehead lightly to the back of her neck. Whispered her name once, like a promise.

And when she finally fell asleep like that—safe, held, loved—you stayed awake just a little longer. Listening to her breathing even out. Feeling the weight of her against you.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love like this.

But she made it feel like you were finally home.

Boundless Devotion - Part I

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Warnings: slight angst

Words: 1991

In the training yard of the castle, the sound of clashing steel fills the air as the Captain of the Royal Guard, Steve Rogers, faces off against the eldest princess and heir to the Romanov kingdom, Princess Natasha. 

The sun shines on the area as the two circle each other, carefully watching the other’s movement.

Surrounding them, some of the castle’s staff and the other knights pause in their activities to watch the match with anticipation. 

The captain lunges forward first, his polished sword gleaming in the sunlight. With a swift flourish, he aims a diagonal strike at her midsection.

In response, Natasha sidesteps the attack gracefully, her own blade moving smoothly to parry his sword.

The crowd watches with rapt attention as Steve continues to press forward with additional powerful swings, but the princess evades every strike, stepping as if she were dancing.

On a particularly powerful thrust, Natasha ducks under his attack, extending her arm to him. Then with a twist of her wrist, she expertly hooks her blade around his sword’s hilt and applies pressure. Using his momentum against him, she jerks the sword out of his grasp, sending it spinning through the air. 

The blade lands with a clatter several feet away.

Then in a swift and uninterrupted motion, she hooks her leg around the back of his knee, sweeping it out from under him. 

Her sword points at the captain’s chest in victory, ending the battle, as cheers and applause erupt around them.

With a quick twirl, Natasha holds her sword behind her before extending her hand to the captain. Steve gives her a grateful smile and takes her hand as she pulls him to his feet. 

He dusts himself off before giving her an exasperated look.

“Did you really need to show me up in front of my knights?”

Natasha gives him a smirk, replying.

“Well, I have to keep you humble.” 

Captain Steve Rogers was the one who trained her and her younger sister, Yelena, ever since they were little. Years later, they have both mastered their sword and martial arts skills, becoming one of the best in the kingdom.

Glancing around, Steve gives a stern look to the surrounding knights who rush to resume their training. When he turns back to Natasha, he nods in the distance.

“Looks like you have some guests, your Highness.”

Natasha brushes her hair out of her face, turning to look at the directed area.

At the edge of the training yard, she finds you standing alongside another noble, Lady Kate Bishop. 

Kate waves excitedly at her in greeting, and the golden retriever next to her also jumps in place, matching his owner’s energy.

Visits to the castle from the two of you were not surprising. With both of your noble families having prominent positions in the kingdom, it was natural that the four of you, including Yelena, would end up forming close bonds, having known each other since you were children.

Kate is Yelena’s closest friend while you are hers.

Well, you two used to be close.

However, ever since the incident last year on the night of her birthday, you’ve kept your distance from her, only seeing or talking to her when necessary. 

Even now, Natasha can see that the only thing holding you in place is Kate’s interlocked arm in yours.

Your body is turned towards the castle, and your eyes are looking everywhere else but her.

Natasha sheaths her sword at her side and walks over to the two of you. She is knocked back slightly when the golden retriever leaps at her in greeting, his tail wagging enthusiastically.

Natasha chuckles and pets his head, “Well, hello to you too, Lucky.”

Kate’s excited energy follows, moving closer, which in turn pulls you forward also. 

“That was amazing! You have to teach me that move!”

Natasha releases the dog with a final scratch before letting him return to his owner’s side. 

“I’m sure Yelena can show it to you the next time you two practice,” she tells her.

Kate nods to herself, reminding herself to ask the younger princess about it later.

Natasha turns to you, giving you a hopeful smile.

“How have you been, Y/n?”

You give her a slight bow in acknowledgment, your eyes still averted from hers.

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking, princess.”

Natasha's smile drops slightly at your neutral response. 

So far, her interactions with you have been like this, formal and distant, unlike the usual banter and casual teasing that typically characterizes your friendship.

Before she can ask anything further, Natasha notices a slight movement in your arm as you discreetly tug Kate, trying to get her attention. 

Kate turns to look at you in question and sees your pointed stare as you tilt your head subtly towards the castle.

Her mouth opens in realization, and she turns to Natasha apologetically.

“Oh, that’s right! I’m sorry, Natasha, but we have to get going. Y/n has a meeting with the queen.”

You are practically dragging her away as she finishes talking, offering Natasha a tight smile and a small farewell bow.

Natasha’s shoulders slump in despair as she watches you rush away.

It was disheartening to see her closest friend become almost like a stranger, but she can only blame that incident which caused this rift between the two of you. 

Sighing sadly, she pulls out her sword again and heads back toward the center of the area to resume her training.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha is practically sprinting to the dining hall with how fast she is walking through the hallways.

Guards and maids dodge out of her path as she rushes by, already understanding the need to hurry, judging by the time. 

As she approaches the entrance of the dining room, the guards open the doors for her to enter. Stepping into the room, she is immediately greeted by the queen’s reprimanding voice.

“You’re late, Natasha.”

Her mother, Queen Melina, sits at the head of the table while her father, King Alexei, occupies the opposite side. Yelena is positioned on the table's side facing her, subtly shaking her head in warning as her eyes gesture meaningfully toward their mother.

Natasha thinks back to how she spent the remainder of the day after her encounter with you, destroying the training dummies around the training yard in frustration.

By the time she realized how long she’d been training, the sun had already set. 

Deciding there was no point in making up an excuse, she settled with the truth.

“I lost track of the time,” she replies.

In response, Queen Melina nods at the chair closest to her, indicating for her to have a seat. 

When Natasha sits down, a member of the kitchen staff places a plate of dinner in front of her before stepping away.

In an attempt to break the tension, King Alexei claps his hands together and exclaims joyfully.

“Great, the family’s all here! Let’s eat!”

The members of the royal family start eating their meals, except for Queen Melina, who instead turns her attention to Natasha.

“I heard that you were at the courtyard today, training with the royal guards.”

“I was,” Natasha responds casually.

“What about your studies?”

“I already finished them all.”

“If you had told me earlier, I could have given you the next part of your lessons,” Melina admonishes before continuing her lecture. “You are about to be crowned soon as the next ruler of the kingdom. There’s always more that you can learn.”

A small snicker from Yelena catches Melina’s attention, causing her to direct her lecturing tone to the younger princess.

“And you should not laugh at your sister. At least she finished her studies. I heard that you didn't even show up for your lessons. Where exactly were you all day?”

Yelena shrugs nonchalantly before looking down next to her chair at the Akita dog eating from her bowl.

“Fanny wanted to go out for a run, so we spent the day out in the fields.”

At the sound of her name, the dog looks up attentively.

In response, Yelena gives her a gentle scratch on the head, before turning the dog's face toward her mother.

“You can’t say no to this face,” Yelena coos. 

Melina gives the two of them a deadpan look before shifting her gaze forward to her husband.

Alexei chokes on his food in slight panic when he realizes her attention has now turned to him.

“Our daughters have inherited your adventurous spirit,” Melina remarks accusingly.

“That’s my girls!” Alexei exclaims proudly before he catches the sharp glare from Melina. “I-I mean, girls, your studies and lessons come first. You know how important they are to your mother.”

Melina sighs defeatedly, shaking her head at his poor attempt at scolding. She returns her attention back to her eldest daughter.

“I have scheduled several meetings for you this week, Natasha. They’re with the daughters from some of the noble houses, so be sure not to miss any.”

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Natasha brings her cup up for a drink as she asks for more information.

“What are the meetings for?”

“To find you a partner, of course.”

Natasha spits out her drink in surprise, coughing as she reaches for a napkin.

“Mind your manners, Natasha,” Melina chastises.

Ignoring her mother's reprimand, Natasha exclaims in outrage.

“Why am I looking for a partner?!” 

Unfazed by her tone, Melina answers her question with a serious expression, “Taking on the responsibilities of the kingdom is a lot for one person. You should have someone at your side.” 

Natasha makes a sound of disagreement and gestures at her in accusation.

“A couple of months ago, you told me that I was fully prepared to take over the throne,” she reminds her mother. “You’ve never mentioned that I needed to have someone back then!” 

“Well, that was before I realized that you have obviously made no attempt at looking for a potential partner. So I took the liberty to invite these lovely candidates to help you get started, and you will meet with them.”

Natasha huffs and crosses her arms, shaking her head in disbelief.

Seeing her reluctance, Melina continues, declaring, “If you cannot find someone by the time of your coronation, your father and I will choose one for you.” 

Natasha’s eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open in shock at her words.

This was not fair.

Throughout her life, her parents have never shown interest in her romantic relationships before. Suddenly, they decide that she is not capable of taking over the kingdom unless she has someone by her side. 

As Natasha tries to come up with a way so that she can get herself out of this situation, an idea comes to her mind.

“What if I’m already in a relationship with someone?” Natasha asks.

Three sets of eyes stare at her with varying looks of disbelief on their faces.

Yelena speaks up first, giving her a skeptical look.

“Nat, you’re popular throughout the kingdom, but the truth is, you spend more time with your sword than you do holding a lady's hand.”

Natasha subtly kicks her sister under the table in response to her comment, causing her to curse in pain. 

“Watch your language, Yelena,” Melina reprimands her before resting her clasped hands on the table and focusing on Natasha. “But she’s not wrong. I have not seen you romantically close with anyone,” she points out accusingly.

Without hesitation, Natasha smoothly lies, “We’ve been meeting in secret.”

Melina examines her critically, and she matches her mother's intense stare.

When Natasha’s gaze doesn’t waver, Melina relaxes her posture and relents. 

“Alright then, if you could tell me who you are in a relationship with, I will cancel all of the meetings.” 

The name rolls off naturally on her tongue before Natasha can even stop herself.

“Lady Y/n Dreykov. I’m in a relationship with Y/n.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

— 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

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Fic commenters:

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