cosmiclily

[cosmiclily]

yay!! tag games 😋

l - lovers rock (tv girl)

i - ICU (phoebe bridgers)

l - loml (taylor swift)

y - youth (daughter)

🏷️ : @saturnhas82moons @caspianalexander007 @saturnellie + anyone who wants to do it

MOOT / TAG GAME !

mission— spell your real name / name you use on tumblr with songs you like >< ready, set, go !

m — my love, mine all mine (mitski)

i — i love you, i’m sorry (gracie abrams)

c — coraline (lyn lapid)

k — killshot (magdalena bay)

i — i know you (faye webster)

e — either way (ive)

tagging— @puma-riki @flwrstqr @liwinly @woniefication @lilificationn @stvrriki @okwonyo + anyone else who wants to join !

[cosmiclily]

teehee hii again - i noticed that u had a caitlyn request and omg do i have requests 🤭

im thinking ofc x fem reader, could u do like university or college?? some sorta sport element amddd here's the best bit. caitlyn after training every morning and ungodly hours goes to this coffee house and every morning, there's this cute girl barista who takes her order and it gets to the point that she has her order ready for her already. and Caitlyn is smooth and flirty and barista is like flirty but more shy. ok one more thing - they would exchange socials and like and comment on stories and posts. THANK YOU SO MUCHHHH your fics acct make my day i love youuu

💐 - some flowers

morning shift (derogatory)

✰ caitlyn x f!reader

wc: 4.8k

notes: i’ve been trying to post this for AGES, the app kept crashing and my computer wasn’t turning on 😭😭😭 how have you guys been?

Getting the morning shift and having to wake up at five in the morning was far from ideal. In fact, it was the last thing you ever wanted to do. Dragging yourself out of bed, forcing yourself into the shower, and getting dressed while barely conscious was pure torture. You didn’t just feel like a zombie—you looked like one too.

But all of that became worth it the moment she walked into the coffee shop.

A goddess in tiny training shorts, a jacket so tight it perfectly accentuated her waist, and legs that seemed to go on forever. Every morning, like clockwork, she’d rush in, order her stupid green juice and iced americano, and somehow make suffering through the early shift feel like a blessing.

You would take this shift for the rest of your life if it meant getting to see her.

And today, just like every other morning, Caitlyn Kiramman strolled in, hair slightly messy from her run, cheeks flushed from the cold. But what really sent a jolt through your sleep-deprived body was the way her lips curled into a teasing smile as she approached the counter.

“Good morning,” she said, leaning against the counter ever so slightly. “The usual, please. And maybe… a smile from my favorite barista?”

You nearly choked on your own breath.

A smile? From her favorite barista?

You scrambled to plaster the biggest, most natural-looking smile on your face (which, given the ungodly hour, wasn't easy). “Of course,” you said smoothly, ignoring how your heart was now hammering in your chest. “That’ll cost you extra, though.”

Caitlyn chuckled, handing over her money, her fingers brushing against yours for a second too long to be an accident. “Worth it.”

She took a seat at her usual table, and as she walked away, you shamelessly let your eyes trail after her, taking in the way those tiny shorts hugged her ass perfectly.

“You should just give her your number, you know?” your coworker commented, picking up a cup beside you. “She comes in every day, flirts with you, and you just stand there grinning like an idiot. Write your number on her cup. Do something.It’s getting a little pathetic.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you started preparing her drink. “Caitlyn Kiramman is way out of my league. I’m nothing but a mere mortal in her goddess realm.”

Your coworker snorted. “Okay, poet, but have you considered that maybe—just maybe—she likes her coffee a little more than usual because of the person making it?”

That made you pause for a split second before you shook it off. No way. There was no chance in hell that Caitlyn Kiramman—beautiful, confident, rich Caitlyn Kiramman—would ever look twice at you.

So, as always, you just wrote one of your cheesy pickup lines on her cup, adding a little smiley face next to it, and went on with your day like it didn’t mean anything.

You went to class, dozed off between lectures, ate lunch half-aware of your surroundings, and then finally made your way home, exhausted. But even as you lay in bed, you couldn’t stop yourself from replaying your morning interaction with Caitlyn. The way her fingers had brushed against yours, the way she smiled when she read your note—was it just your sleep-deprived brain making things up, or was there something there?

The next morning, there you were again. Five a.m., standing under the shower, letting the warm water run over you as you took the slowest shower of your life. Your mind was occupied with one thing and one thing only—what line you were going to scribble on Caitlyn’s cup today. And, if you were being completely honest, a tiny part of you was also daydreaming about what outfit she’d be wearing.

Would it be the black shorts today? Or maybe the navy blue ones that hugged her just right? Would she zip up her jacket, or would you get a glimpse of the tight sports bra underneath?

You shook your head, forcing yourself back to reality and going to work. You need help.

For some unknown reason, you felt extra antsy today. Your stomach was fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with hunger, and the anticipation was getting to you. So when the clock hit 6:45, you automatically started making Caitlyn’s drinks, your hands moving on autopilot. You blended her green juice, strained it, and set up the coffee to brew, wondering if today she would actually stick to her usual order or throw you off by asking for something different.

“What are you doing?” your coworker asked, staring at you like you had lost your mind. The coffee shop was empty, the lights still dim, and not a single customer had walked in yet.

“Making Caitlyn’s drinks” you replied simply.

They frowned. “Uh… there’s no one in line.”

“She comes in at seven sharp every morning,” you explained casually, still focused on your task. “It takes me 10 minutes to blend and strain her juice and for the coffee to finish brewing. That leaves me with five minutes to think of something to write and cup her drinks so they’re still fresh.”

You said it like it was nothing. Like it was a perfectly logical, totally normal thing to be this dedicated to one customer’s order.

Your coworker just stared at you for a long moment before sighing, shaking their head. “You’re crazy, you know that, right?”

You shrugged, pouring the freshly brewed coffee into a cup. “If this is crazy, I don’t want to be sane.”

They snorted, rolling their eyes. “Alright, Romeo, at this point, you might as well just ask her out.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Yeah, right.”

But then, at exactly 7 a.m., there she was.

Earbuds in, navy blue jacket, black shorts, high ponytail—looking like she had just stepped out of a magazine. She had that effortless kind of beauty, the kind that made the world slow down for a second, the kind that made you forget how exhausted you were.

You barely had time to compose yourself before she was standing in front of the register, and you forced your brain to function.

“Good morning, the usual?” you asked, maybe a little too eagerly, but could anyone blame you?

Caitlyn pulled out her earbuds, flashing you that smile that had you questioning every life decision you had ever made. “Certainly a good morning now that I saw you.”

Your brain short-circuited.

Did she—did she just say—?

“And yes, please, the usual,” she added casually, as if she hadn’t just dropped that line like it was nothing.

You scrambled to punch in her order, hoping she didn’t notice the heat creeping up your neck. “Right—yeah, coming right up.”

As you handed her the cups, her fingers brushed against yours again, and this time, you swore she did it on purpose. She glanced at the side of the cup, reading the little note you had scribbled there:

Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.

A soft chuckle left her lips, and she shook her head, amused. “This one was bad.”

You grinned. “But did it work?”

She looked up at you, something playful in her gaze. “Maybe.”

And with that, she took her drinks and walked to her usual table, leaving you standing there, gripping the register like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Your coworker, who had been watching the entire interaction with barely concealed amusement, leaned in. “So, uh… still think she’s out of your league?”

You swallowed hard, eyes still on Caitlyn as she sipped her coffee, her lips curled into a smirk.

Yeah. You were so screwed.

──────────────────────

On a random Thursday night, just as you were winding down and nearly ready for bed, your phone pinged with a notification.

@CKiramman followed you.

You stared at your screen like it had just grown a second head.

For a moment, you thought you were seeing things. Maybe your sleep-deprived brain was playing tricks on you. But no—the notification was real. You picked up your phone, unlocked it, and there it was. Caitlyn Kiramman had actually followed you on Instagram.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you clicked on her profile. Her account wasn’t private, which meant you could see everything—pictures from her morning runs, candid shots of her with friends, a few elegant photos from what looked like fancy Galas (because, of course, she was that kind of rich), and even a couple of casual selfies. You scrolled down absently, then snapped yourself out of it.

Focus.

Had she searched for you? Did she somehow already know your name? Or—your stomach flipped—had she actually been interested enough to ask someone?

Before you could spiral too much, another notification popped up.

@CKiramman liked your photo.

And not just any photo.

One from three months ago.

Your eyes widened. Oh, she scrolled.

Your mind raced. Should you message her? Follow her back? Ignore it and pretend you weren’t currently gripping your phone like your life depended on it?

Before you could decide, another message appeared.

Caitlyn Kiramman: So, are you ever going to give me your number, or do I have to keep deciphering bad pickup lines on my coffee cups?

Your mouth fell open.

Holy. Shit.

You stared at the message, your brain short-circuiting.

Caitlyn Kiramman had followed you, stalked your profile, liked an old photo, and now she was flirting with you in your messages.

What alternate universe had you fallen into?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, but every possible response sounded either too eager or too indifferent. You needed something cool, something casual—something that didn’t scream I’ve been lowkey in love with you since the first time you walked into my coffee shop in tiny shorts.

After what felt like an eternity (but was actually 37 seconds, not that you were counting), you finally typed back:

You: You decipher them? I thought you just rolled your eyes and ignored my genius.

The little “typing” bubble appeared almost instantly.

Caitlyn Kiramman: Oh, don’t get me wrong. Some of them are truly awful. But they’re entertaining.

You grinned.

You: That bad, huh? Should I start charging extra for the comedy?

Caitlyn Kiramman: I think you’ve already overcharged me. Every morning I walk in expecting just coffee, and instead, I leave with a new terrible joke and a distraction for the rest of the day.

Your heart did an actual flip.

You stared at her message, rereading it at least five times before you processed what she was saying. A distraction for the rest of the day? Was she serious? Was she just teasing? Was Caitlyn Kiramman really implying that she thought about youafter she left?

Before you could think too hard about it, another message popped up.

Caitlyn Kiramman: So? Are you going to give me your number, or do I have to find another way to keep myself entertained?

You exhaled sharply, fingers shaking slightly as you typed back:

You: Wouldn’t want you to suffer without my daily wisdom. (xxx-xxx-xxxx) Use it wisely.

Within seconds, another notification popped up.

Unknown Number: Now I can finally place my coffee orders in advance.

Unknown Number: Also, I might use it for other things.

You swallowed hard, rereading her message.

Other things.

Yeah. You were so screwed. And maybe just a little bit in love.

──────────────────────

To say you spent the whole night texting Caitlyn would be an understatement. The conversation flowed effortlessly, jumping from topic to topic until you realized it was waaaay past your bed time. She told you about her upcoming track competition, and somewhere in the middle of it, she casually invited you to come cheer her on. (Which, obviously, you accepted before she even finished asking.)

By the time morning rolled around, you were running on fumes—more tired than usual, but weirdly, it didn’t matter. Because today, you weren’t just going to see Caitlyn from behind the coffee counter. You were actually going to talk to her and that alone had your energy levels shooting up to a hundred.

So, naturally, you got extra ready.

You actually took your time in the mirror, making sure you looked good. Not that Caitlyn had ever seen you at your best before (you were always half-dead on your morning shifts), but today was different. Today, you wanted to impress her.

And apparently, it showed.

“Okay, where’s the event?” your coworker asked the second you clocked in, giving you a once-over. “And why do you look nice today?”

“Oh, nothing…” you said, trying to sound casual as you adjusted your apron. “Just, you know… Caitlyn Kiramman not only followed me, stalked my profile, liked a picture from three months ago, but also slid into my DMs… and I gave her my number.”

Your coworker froze.

Then, in the most dramatic way possible, they grabbed your shoulders and shook you. “WHAT?”

You laughed, swatting them away. “I’m serious.”

They gawked at you. “You mean Caitlyn Kiramman—the woman you’ve been hopelessly crushing on for months—the actual goddess who walks in here every morning—is now texting you?”

“Yep.”

“And flirting with you?”

“Seems like it.”

They stared at you for another second before groaning. “Oh my God. I take back everything I said. You’re not pathetic. You’re a legend.”

You smirked, grabbing a cup as you started prepping Caitlyn’s usual drinks. “Glad you finally see it.”

Your coworker sighed dramatically. “You better not mess this up.”

“I have no plans to, thank you very much.”

But then… 7 a.m. hit. And Caitlyn didn’t show up.

7:10. Nothing.

7:30. Still nothing.

Your excitement started to deflate just a little. You glanced at the door between customers, waiting for that familiar navy blue high ponytail to appear, but the minutes kept ticking by, and your carefully prepared drinks were sitting there untouched.

By 7:40, the juice had turned an unsettling shade of green, and the ice in the Americano had completely melted. With a sigh, you had no choice but to dump them out.

Just as you were starting to wonder if maybe last night had been some weird dream, at exactly 7:46, she rushed in.

Cheeks flushed, hair slightly messy, breathing a little heavier—Caitlyn Kiramman looked… flustered.

And God, if that wasn’t the cutest thing you’d ever seen.

The line was long—the morning rush just starting—so she had to wait her turn, and when she finally reached the front, she immediately leaned in, looking at you with something close to guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out, shaking her head at herself. “I overslept for the first time in my life. Which, by the way, is very unusual for me.”

You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin. “You? Oversleeping? That is unusual.”

She groaned, covering her face for a second before peeking at you through her fingers. “I know. And I feel terrible. 7 a.m. is our unofficial meeting time, and I—” She stopped mid-sentence, realizing what she just said. Her eyes widened slightly, and she bit her lip.

Your smirk grew. “Oh? Our unofficial meeting time?”

Caitlyn blinked. Then, instead of backtracking, she straightened her posture, tilting her head slightly. “Yes,” she said, completely serious. “Our meeting time. And I broke it. Which means I need to make it up to you somehow.”

You leaned on the counter, amused. “Oh yeah? And how do you plan on doing that?”

She hummed, pretending to think about it before giving you a small smirk. “Well, for starters… I’ll let you pick my drink today.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t think I want the usual,” she said casually, resting her elbows on the counter. “What do you recommend? I want to try something new.”

You stared at her for a second. Caitlyn had been ordering the same thing every morning since the day you met her. Now she was just… trusting you to pick something for her?

“Oh wow,” you said, placing a hand on your chest mockingly. “This is a big responsibility. What if I mess it up?”

She grinned. “Then I guess I’ll just have to punish you.”

You choked on your own saliva.

Caitlyn laughed, absolutely delighted by your reaction. “Relax,” she teased, her voice dropping just a little lower. “I just meant I’d make you remake it if it’s terrible.”

You swallowed hard, regaining whatever composure you had left. “Right. Of course. That’s what you meant.”

She winked. “Obviously.”

──────────────────────

After that, your routine changed.

At exactly 7 a.m., Caitlyn would walk in, looking effortlessly gorgeous, and instead of ordering her usual, she’d lean on the counter and ask, “What’s on the menu today?”

And every morning, you’d surprise her with something new. A different coffee, a new kind of tea, a random experimental drink that sometimes turned out great and sometimes… not so much. (She still drank them, though—grinning at you over the rim of her cup like she secretly enjoyed watching you squirm.)

You spent as much time talking as the morning rush allowed, stealing moments between customers, exchanging teasing glances, and sharing stories that made the mundane mornings feel electric.

And then there were the texts.

At first, they were casual—updates on her day, comments on whatever drink you’d made for her, the occasional complaint about a professor or a late-night craving for coffee. But soon, they became… constant.

Messages during lunch. During her breaks. Late at night when you were both too stubborn to sleep.

You talked about everything.

Her childhood. Your family. Her ridiculous rich-person hobbies (which, yes, included knowing how to shoot, for some bizarre reason). The names of her childhood dogs. The fact that she still slept with a ridiculous amount of pillows.

There were no awkward pauses, no forced conversations. Just endless back-and-forth banter, teasing, and something elselingering between the words that neither of you addressed.

Until one night, when your phone buzzed with a notification:

Cait 💙: So, when are you going to ask me out on a proper date? Or do I have to do everything in this relationship?

You blinked.

Stared.

Read it again.

You: Relationship?

The little typing bubble appeared instantly.

Cait 💙: Oh, my bad. Did you think all this was just friendly customer service?

You gawked at your screen.

Was she serious? Was she just teasing? Was this a test?

You: I mean… technically, I do give excellent customer service.

Cait 💙: Uh-huh. And do you text all your customers at midnight?

You: Only the pretty ones.

You hesitated for half a second before hitting send.

And then, before you could panic about that message, she replied:

Cait 💙: So just me, then.

You: Yeah. Just you.

The typing bubble appeared again.

Then it stopped.

Then it started again.

Your heart was practically in your throat.

Cait 💙: Friday. 8 p.m. I’m picking you up. Wear something cute.

──────────────────────

You could not wait for Friday.

And, apparently, the universe had something against you, because the week felt twice as long as usual.

Every hour dragged. Every class felt like a never-ending lecture. Every shift at work felt excruciatingly slow, even with Caitlyn still dropping by at 7 a.m. sharp, flashing you that smug little smirk like she knew you were impatiently counting down the days.

By Friday afternoon, you had done everything you could possibly do to make time pass faster.

Assignments? Finished.

Room? Spotless.

Laundry? Folded.

At one point, you even considered reorganizing your entire closet just to keep yourself busy. But no matter what you did, 8 p.m. refused to get any closer.

You were convinced that if given a few more hours, you could probably find the cure for cancer before the time for your date actually arrived.

You sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Maybe you needed to redo your hair. Or change outfits. You thought you looked good, but what if the lighting in your room had deceived you?

You rushed to the mirror, checking yourself for the tenth time. You turned to the side, then to the other, scrutinizing every detail.

Your outfit was good. Really good. You had picked something that made you feel confident, something that you knew Caitlyn would like. (Not that you had memorized her favorite colors or anything. That would be insane. Definitely not something you had done.)

Your hair? Also fine. Your face? Fine.

So why the hell did you feel like a mess?

You groaned, flopping onto your back dramatically. “I’m gonna die before 8 p.m.,” you mumbled to no one in particular.

Your phone buzzed.

You launched yourself up, grabbing it instantly.

Cait 💙: Excited?

You bit your lip, debating how to answer. Be cool. Be casual. Don’t let her know you’ve been losing your mind all day.

You: Meh. It’s just a date. Not like I’ve been counting down the minutes or anything.

Cait 💙: You’re terrible at lying.

You scoffed, shaking your head.

You: Am not.

Cait 💙: Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself.

Cait 💙: I’ll be there in 30. Be ready, sweetheart.

Suddenly, your heart was pounding.

Oh. Oh, shit.

This was real.

You were going on a date with Caitlyn tonight.

──────────────────────

Caitlyn picked you up in a sleek, undeniably fancy car. You had no idea what kind it was—cars weren’t exactly your thing—but it looked expensive and smelled like it had never known a day of spilled coffee or fast food wrappers.

But the car was the last thing on your mind.

Because Caitlyn? Caitlyn looked gorgeous.

Her usual high ponytail was gone, replaced with loose waves that framed her face perfectly. She wore a crisp white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show off her forearms, paired with tailored black slacks and shiny loafers that somehow made her legs look even longer. She was all elegance and confidence—and yet, when she smiled at you, there was still that warmth, that sparkle that made your chest flutter.

“You look… wow,” you said as you slid into the passenger seat, your voice almost caught in your throat.

Caitlyn glanced at you, lips tugging into a knowing smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

You laughed softly, your nerves settling a little as the car pulled smoothly out of your driveway. “Is this where you tell me we’re going somewhere casual and I’m overdressed?”

She grinned. “Nope. I figured we could both use a night out somewhere a little extra.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” you said, glancing over at her again. “You’re dangerously close to making me forget how to form coherent sentences.”

She smirked, eyes still on the road. “That’s the goal.”

You turned to the window, smiling like an idiot, cheeks burning just a little. How was this your life right now?

“How was your day?” Caitlyn asked after a moment, her voice softer now, more intimate—like the initial flirty spark had melted into something quieter and warmer.

You told her about your shift, your overly nosy coworker, and the old lady who insisted that oat milk was a government conspiracy meant to destroy traditional dairy farming. Caitlyn laughed, the sound bubbling out of her so naturally, like she was genuinely enjoying every second with you. And maybe she was.

The conversation flowed effortlessly on the drive to the restaurant—Caitlyn had finally caved and told you where you were going after a little playful prodding—and when you arrived, your jaw nearly hit the floor.

The place was fancy. Not just candlelight-and-linen-napkins fancy, but the kind of fancy where the valet wore white gloves, and the front of the menu didn’t even have prices.

You stepped out of the car slowly, glancing up at the glowing sign and the perfectly manicured entryway. Suddenly, the outfit you had spent hours choosing didn’t feel like quite enough. You smoothed your hands over your clothes and swallowed hard, a flicker of anxiety settling in your chest.

You knew Caitlyn had money. That was never a mystery—everything about her practically whispered old money and prestige. But standing outside this restaurant, with her looking like she’d walked out of a fashion editorial and you feeling like you didn’t quite belong, you couldn’t help the quiet question that crept into your mind:

What does she even see in me?

Caitlyn stepped beside you, noticing the way you hesitated. She gently touched your hand, her fingers brushing yours. “Hey,” she said, catching your eye. “You okay?”

You nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah, just… wasn’t expecting a place like this.”

She tilted her head, her expression softening. “I wanted to take you somewhere special. Not to impress you—just… because I think you deserve something special.”

You blinked at her, your heart doing something traitorous in your chest.

“And for the record,” she added, leaning in just slightly, like she was reading your mind, “you belong exactly here. With me.”

──────────────────────

After that first moment of insecurity, everything fell into place. It didn’t matter that you weren’t used to places like this. It didn’t matter that you felt underdressed or that you had to quietly Google a few words on the menu under the table. None of it mattered, because Caitlyn made you feel welcome—seen. Like you belonged not just at her table, but with her.

She didn’t look at you like you were out of place. She looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to. Every smile, every glance, every gentle brush of her hand across yours grounded you. And with her, this fancy restaurant didn’t feel so intimidating anymore—it felt like a memory you’d want to replay a hundred times.

“So,” Caitlyn said, casually sipping her wine, “I have a track competition coming up—I think I told you about it?”

You nodded, already smiling. “Yeah, you mentioned it.”

“Well, I’d really like you to come,” she said, her voice a little more tentative, like the invitation mattered more than she wanted to admit.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be there,” you grinned. “Front row. With a giant glittery sign that says ‘#1 Caitlyn Fan.’ Maybe I’ll even wear a matching tracksuit.”

She laughed, leaning back in her seat. “Please do. I want pictures.”

“Careful what you wish for,” you teased. “I’m not above going full cheerleader mode.”

She raised an eyebrow, a playful spark in her eyes. “Now that’s something I need to see.”

You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the table and tilting your head. “Oh yeah? You fantasize about me in a crop top and pom-poms, Kiramman?”

Caitlyn didn’t miss a beat. “Only every night.”

You nearly choked on your drink, laughter spilling from your lips as she smirked. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’ve been told,” she replied, her voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip. “But you seem brave.”

You stared at her, all trace of joking fading for a beat. Warmth settled in your chest, creeping up your neck. She was looking at you in that way again—the kind that made everything else disappear.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you whispered before your brain could stop your mouth.

Caitlyn’s smile softened. “So are you,” she said, her voice low and honest.

The air between the two of you shifted instantly, thick with something unspoken. Your heart thudded in your chest as warmth crept up your neck, your cheeks flushed—you didn’t know if it was the wine or just the effect of being near Caitlyn.

Then you felt it—her foot slowly sliding up your leg under the table, smooth and deliberate, and your breath caught in your throat. You practically melted in your seat, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table for composure.

Caitlyn was still watching you, eyes darker now, pupils slightly dilated. There was something unreadable in her gaze, something electric.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper, but heavy with suggestion.

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding, every nerve ending alive. “Yes,” you breathed. “God, yes.”

She didn’t smile this time—not in the usual teasing way—but there was a curve to her lips that told you she’d been waiting for that answer.

The ride back to her place was quiet but charged, your fingers brushing on the gearshift, the tension between you stretching tighter with every passing second. The moment her door closed behind the two of you, it snapped.

She stepped forward, cupped your face with both hands, and kissed you like she’d been holding back all night. There was nothing hesitant now—just heat and hands and the thrum of something real blooming between you.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, her forehead rested against yours again.

“Still think you don’t belong in my world?” she whispered, her thumb brushing across your lips.

You shook your head, smiling against her touch. “I think I might be exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

──────────────────────

masterlist

[cosmiclily]

you guys 😔 i was editing the caitlyn fic and tumblr closed down 😭😭😭😭😭

[cosmiclily]

me after disappearing for half a month without any updates or explanations:

gonna post a caitlyn fic later and some vi thoughts 😮‍💨😮‍💨

[cosmiclily]

got tagged two times !! so thank you (@arahiraaai @strawb4kdior) 💕💕

thorn shaped my type of women 😖

🏷️ @iwillpokeyouwithmyknife @poobugs @sider3us @foresityyy @gayidiot3 (i tagged random people lol sorry) + anyone who wants to do it

you are going on a blind date that pinterest set up for you, find out who will be the lucky one and how the evening will end 💌

on pinterest search the following topics and post the first pin that will show up in each category

fictional character

date / night date

gift

outfit

dessert

love quote

tags: @catchmeonyourceiling @lovethornes @daystarpoet @beaucereza @chxrrybxmbi @dolcecuore @sororygilmore @auntiejohn @binibby @bvrnesher @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @certaimromance @effortlesslysweet @aezuria @mothswan @lydiasfalling @amrplastique @peanutalergy @xoxorory @xoxoivy13 @laufeysvalentine @minorlyatfault @jjsblueberry and whoever wants to join <3

[cosmiclily]

hey lily - hope your feeling ok!!! ilyy 💕💕💕

🎂 - a small cake for you

hiii baby!! i’m doing okayish, very busy lately 😭😭

(thank you for the cake 😋) 🍪 have a cookie in return

[cosmiclily]

this week has been crazy busy 😔 and i won’t have any free time on friday. ive been writing fanfic on the bus all the time now lol

[cosmiclily]

Omg i have a request for caitlyn x reader where reader tells cait she is ready to start a family (sorry baby fever has been going crazy lately)

baby fever

caitlyn x f!reader

wc: 1.2k

notes: im ovulating so i had babies on my mind the whole week too 😭

Maybe it started that Christmas when the two of you decided to spend the holiday with your family. Your sister had brought her two brats over, and while everyone else did their best to tolerate the chaos, Caitlyn was the only adult who gave them her full attention. She sat patiently, listening as your niece sang an improvised song about mashed potatoes and nodding along as your nephew excitedly explained the intricate lore of his favorite video game.

Or maybe it was that time you were hanging out with your friends, and the topic of babies came up. You hadn't thought much of it at first—until you caught the way Caitlyn's eyes sparkled at the conversation. She laughed, brushed it off, and insisted that the two of you weren’t ready yet. But for a fleeting moment, there was something in her expression, something wistful, something that made your heart skip a beat.

Or perhaps it was the day the two of you went shopping, and you found yourselves lingering a little too long in the baby section. You had only wandered in by accident—at least, that’s what you told yourselves. But then Caitlyn picked up a pair of tiny socks with baby animals printed on them, turning them over in her hands with an almost reverent curiosity. You watched as she smiled to herself, running her fingers over the soft fabric, and something in your chest tightened.

You weren’t sure when exactly it began, but once the thought of having children took root in your mind, it refused to leave. It followed you everywhere.

You went to work imagining what it would be like to wake up next to your wife and hear the soft patter of little feet running into your room. You made dinner picturing Caitlyn sitting at the table, patiently helping your child with their homework while you stirred a pot on the stove. You walked past a park and could see her there, kneeling beside a tiny bike, holding it steady as a small, wobbly figure pedaled forward with determination.

And it was driving you crazy.

Because now, every time you looked at Caitlyn, all you could think about was how incredible she would be as a mother. The thought consumed you, lingering in the quiet moments, in the way she absentmindedly twirled her hair while reading, in the soft hum she let out when focused, in the way she always seemed to have endless patience and warmth to give.

“Baby, can I ask you a question?”

She was resting her head on your thigh, her book open as she relaxed against you. The soft glow of the lavender candle flickered in the background, filling the room with its soothing scent. You ran your fingers through her navy hair, absently wondering if your children would inherit the same color, if tiny hands would one day tug at her locks the way you did now.

“Hmm?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly but not looking away from the page. “What is it?”

You hesitated for a moment before asking, carefully, casually, “Have you ever thought about having children?”

That caught her attention. Caitlyn lowered her book onto her chest and turned her gaze to you, studying your face as if trying to gauge where this was coming from.

“I mean… yeah, of course,” she admitted, her voice thoughtful. “I’ve thought about it before. But why do you ask?”

You shrugged, but the casual act didn’t quite land—not when your heart was hammering in your chest. “I was just wondering.”

Caitlyn let out a soft chuckle, reaching up to trace gentle patterns on your thigh. “You don’t just ask that out of nowhere,” she said knowingly. “What’s on your mind?”

You exhaled, glancing away for a second before looking back at her. “Lately, I’ve been thinking about it more. A lot more.”

Her fingers stilled against your skin. “Oh?”

You nodded, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. “I keep imagining it—us with a kid. Waking up to them climbing into bed with us, helping them with homework, teaching them how to ride a bike… I don’t know when it started, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

For a moment, Caitlyn didn’t say anything. She just looked at you, her blue eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, a small, knowing smile spread across her lips.

“Would it make you happy?” she asked softly.

Your heart swelled at the tenderness in her voice. “Yeah,” you admitted. “I think it would.”

She shifted, sitting up properly so she could face you, her hands resting gently on your knees. “Then maybe… we should talk about it.”

“Yes, I think we should,” you said, a smile spreading across your face. There was a nervous excitement bubbling inside you now, like the moment right before the first drop on a rollercoaster—terrifying but exhilarating all the same.

Caitlyn tilted her head slightly, studying you with quiet amusement. “You’ve really been thinking about this, huh?”

You hesitated for only a second before letting out a soft laugh. “Yeah… I know I said I was just wondering, but…” You glanced away briefly, suddenly shy. “I kind of have a list.”

“A list?” Her brows lifted in surprise, but there was no teasing in her voice—just curiosity and something softer, something almost affectionate.

You nodded. “Of things for our children.”

“Children?” She chuckled, catching the plural immediately. “As in more than one?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, sheepish but not backing down. “Yeah. I mean, I was thinking two… maybe three.”

Caitlyn laughed, shaking her head. “I love how you went from ‘just wondering’ to ‘I have an entire life plan in my head.’”

You grinned. “I can’t help it. Once I started thinking about it, I couldn’t stop.”

She hummed thoughtfully, tracing small circles on your knee with her thumb. “Alright then,” she said, leaning back slightly. “Tell me what’s on this list of yours.”

You bit your lip, suddenly nervous but excited. “Okay, well… first of all, I really want them to have meaningful names. Something strong, but also something that has a special meaning to us.”

She nodded in approval. “I like that.”

“And I want them to grow up knowing they can talk to us about anything. No matter what.”

Caitlyn’s expression softened. “That’s important.”

“Oh! And I was thinking—you have all these books, right? What if that became, like, a thing? A bedtime tradition? You could read them a story, and it could be our way of winding down as a family.”

Caitlyn smiled, the kind of smile that reached her eyes. “I really like that idea.”

Encouraged, you kept going. “I want them to learn to ride a bike early, to love books the way you do, and—oh! You know those little socks with baby animals? We have to get those.”

Caitlyn laughed again, shaking her head. “You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?”

You shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed but also incredibly full of love. “I just… I want to build something beautiful with you.”

For a moment, Caitlyn just looked at you, something unreadable in her expression. Then she reached forward, cradling your face in her hands before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours. “I want that too,” she whispered.

And in that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just a thought in your head anymore. This was the beginning of your family.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[cosmiclily]

‘cause i hate to wait so long

★vi x f!reader

part one

wc: 4.9k

cw: hurt/comfort

notes: tried my best to make the transition to the end smooth, and i liked how it turned out, kinda get vi on an astronomical level on this fic lol 🫢

It had been a great weekend. The two of you traveled to see your parents, and as always, your mom loved Vi. Sometimes, you swore she liked Vi even more than she liked you. Every time you called to say you were visiting, she asked what dessert Vi wanted and happily made it just for her.

Being back in your hometown meant running into old friends—and with old friends came old flings.

But even though you and Vi had to stand through a thirty-minute conversation with your high school ex in the middle of a bakery, you thought everything was fine. Vi hadn’t seemed particularly bothered at the time, so when you got back home and she started acting off, you assumed it was something else. Probably work.

She had been sharing a studio with some new guy who got on her nerves, and you had heard her complain about indecisive clients more times than you could count.

You weren’t worried.

Not at first.

But then, the little things started piling up.

She left your messages on read for days. She made excuses to avoid staying the night. She canceled plans at the last minute.

And now, standing in her studio, watching her avoid your gaze, you knew.

“Vi,” you started carefully, hands shoved into your pockets, “is there something you want to talk about?”

She shrugged, still not looking at you. “I don’t know. You’re the one who came over unannounced.”

Her tone was flat, detached, and it sent an uneasy feeling crawling up your spine.

“I came over because you’ve been acting weird,” you said, voice steady, but your heart was anything but. “You’ve been avoiding me, and I want to know why.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, but still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “It’s nothing. Just work stuff.”

But you knew her. And this wasn’t just work stuff.

So you took a step closer, crossing your arms. “Vi.”

Vi finally looked at you then, and something flickered in her expression—something tired, something unsure.

“What?” she asked, her tone sharp, irritated.

You ignored it. You weren’t sure what was happening, and the last thing you wanted was for this to turn into a fight if it didn’t have to.

“Just tell me the truth,” you said, voice careful but firm. “Please.”

She exhaled sharply, her jaw tightening, fingers curling into fists at her sides.

“I…” She looked away, shaking her head. Then, quieter, “Do you miss her?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Your ex,” she said, voice clipped. “You know, the one we ran into last weekend.”

You frowned, utterly confused. “Miss her? Vi, what the hell are you talking about?”

Vi let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through her hair. “She just seemed so... put together,” she muttered. “Talking about her medical degree, how she wanted to travel the world. And I don’t know, I just thought—” She cut herself off, shoulders tensing. “I just thought maybe you should be with someone like her.”

Your head jerked back like she had slapped you.

“Are you serious right now?” You scoffed, a disbelieving laugh escaping before you could stop it. “Vi, you hate when people put words in your mouth, and now you’re doing the same damn thing to me?”

Her eyes flashed. “I’m just saying it makes sense! She has her shit together, she knows exactly what she wants in life, she doesn’t—” She stopped, jaw clenching so tight you could see the muscles twitch.

“She doesn’t what?” you pressed, stepping closer. “Say it.”

Vi hesitated, then finally snapped, “She doesn’t come with all the baggage I do, okay?”

You stared at her, stunned.

“This again?” Your voice was rising now, frustration boiling over. “Vi, do you ever get tired of pushing me away before I can even think about leaving?”

“I’m not pushing you away!”

“The hell you aren’t!” You threw your hands in the air. “Every single time we get close, really close, you find some reason to run. And now? Now you’re making up some bullshit excuse about my ex to convince yourself that I’d be better off without you?”

Vi’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t deny it.

You let out a humorless laugh. “Unbelievable. You know what, fine. If that’s what you really want, if you actually think I’d be happier with someone else, just say it. Say you don’t want me.”

Silence.

You crossed your arms, your jaw tight with frustration. “Go on. Say it, Vi.”

Her eyes burned as she snapped back, her voice rising. “You know you would!” She let out a harsh breath. “It’s not an opinion, it’s a fact! I’m not good for you! You just said it yourself—I keep finding reasons to push you away. Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t hear the shit my own mind tells me every single day?” She let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe we should just end this now. Before either of us gets hurt.”

That did it.

Your anger flared, white-hot, because how dare she?

Like you weren’t already hurting.

Like you weren’t already attached.

Like your mom didn’t greet her with a smile and a homemade chocolate cake every time you visited.

“You always say that,” you spat, voice shaking. “Like it’s some kind of mercy. Like you’re doing me a favor. Before we get hurt? Vi, I’m already hurt!”

She flinched, but you didn’t stop.

“I have never once doubted my feelings for you. Not for a second. But you? You doubt everything. You push me away and then act like it’s inevitable. Like you’re just sparing me from some big, tragic heartbreak when the only person breaking my heart right now is you.”

Her breathing was ragged, hands clenched into fists at her sides, but she didn’t interrupt.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “You know what? Fine. If you think this is the right thing to do, if you really believe I’d be better off without you, then I won’t fight you on it anymore.”

You turned, yanking open the studio door. But before you stepped out, you hesitated—just long enough to deliver one last blow.

“Hope you’re finally free from me.”

And then you walked out, slamming the door behind you.

There were a lot of things in life you weren’t sure about.

Like whether the degree you earned was what you actually wanted to do for the rest of your life. Or what you were going to have for dinner. Or if you’d ever figure out how to fold a fitted sheet properly.

But you were sure about Violet.

You were sure she was the love of your life.

You were sure that one day, you would marry her. That you’d grow old together. That maybe—maybe—you’d even have kids, even though that was one of the things you weren’t sure about.

Even with everything life threw your way, you were sure about her.

But sometimes, love isn’t enough.

No matter how much you give, no matter how patient you are, no matter how many times you try to show them—I’m here. I’m not leaving. Please, just let me love you!—it doesn’t always work.

Because love is a two-way street, and if one person keeps building walls instead of bridges, eventually, you run out of ways to reach them.

You had tried. God, had you tried.

You stayed through every storm, through every fight, through every moment she tried to push you away. You picked up the pieces when she shattered, even when it meant cutting yourself on the shards.

But there’s only so much a person can take.

There are only so many times you can be pushed away before you finally stay away.

And as much as you hated proving her right, after the hundredth time she told you to leave—you did.

And it was the worst pain of your life. Worse than that time you tried to ride your pink bicycle down a hill and broke both of your arms. Worse than any heartbreak you’d ever imagined.

Because she was supposed to be your forever.

──────────────────────

Vi would be lying if she said that after your awful encounter at the coffee shop, she didn’t wait for you to call her—maybe to yell at her some more, to say all the things she knew she deserved to hear.

Because even if that was the only thing she could get from you, she would take it.

Anything was better than the silence.

But you didn’t call. You didn’t text.

And she understood why. She wasn’t stupid. If she didn’t try, you couldn’t keep trying for her.

She just didn’t know how.

Vi had spent her whole life in survival mode—fighting, running, enduring. She knew how to throw a punch, how to take a hit, how to push people away before they could hurt her first.

But feelings? Talking? Healing?

She didn’t know what any of that looked like.

So she did the only thing she knew how to do.

She screwed things up a little bit more.

Yes, resorting to drinking wasn’t healthy. No, it wouldn’t solve her problems. But it would make them go away for a while, and right now, that was all she needed.

That’s how she found herself in the nearest nightclub she could find, a whiskey glass in her hand, watching as colorful lights flashed around her. The bass pounded through her chest, drowning out the thoughts she didn’t want to deal with.

“Rough night?”

Vi barely turned her head as some random red head slid into the seat next to her at the bar. She was pretty, in that effortless kind of way, with a confident smirk that told Vi exactly what she was after.

“You could say that” Vi muttered before downing the rest of her drink.

The girl leaned in, her fingers ghosting over Vi’s bicep. “Well… maybe I can make it better.”

Once upon a time, Vi might have taken her up on that offer. A distraction, a warm body, something to make her forget for just a little while.

But the only touch she craved—the only lips she wanted—weren’t here.

Vi sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Not tonight.”

The girl pouted, but she didn’t push. “Suit yourself.”

As she walked away, Vi signaled the bartender for another drink. Because if she couldn’t have you, she could at least have the illusion of feeling something.

──────────────────────

You were woken up by the sound of your phone buzzing on your nightstand. Groaning, you reached for it without much thought, still half-asleep.

“Hello?”

At first, all you could hear on the other end was breathing—slow, uneven.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

A beat of silence. Then, a voice you hadn’t heard in weeks.

“Can you open your door, please?”

Vi.

You sat up instantly, now fully awake. “Vi? What are you talking about? It’s three in the morning.”

“I just—” A loud thud echoed through the phone, followed by a muffled, “Fuck.”

Your brows furrowed. “Vi, what the hell was that? Where are you?”

“I just need to talk to you” she mumbled, her words slightly slurred. “Please. You can yell at me all you want, I just… I just want to hear your voice.”

You ran a hand down your face, exhaling sharply. “Are you drunk right now? Seriously?”

Silence. Then, barely above a whisper—

“Yeah.”

You closed your eyes, gripping the bridge of your nose. The last thing you wanted was to let her back in after everything, after the pushing and pulling, after the damage she’d done. But a bigger part of you—the part that still ached for her, that never stopped worrying—was already swinging its legs out of bed and heading for the door.

You cracked it open, and there she was.

Vi stood in your doorway, hood up, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket like she was trying to make herself smaller. Even in the dim glow of the hallway light, you could see the exhaustion in her face—red-rimmed eyes, the way her shoulders sagged like she was holding the weight of the world.

“You look like shit” you muttered.

She let out a breathy chuckle. “Yeah. Feels like it too.”

You should’ve slammed the door in her face. You should’ve told her to go home, sleep it off, leave you alone.

Instead, you stepped aside.

“Come in.”

And she did, wobbling slightly as she walked in.

She looked so out of place in your living room. The red jacket she always wore stood out against the neutral tones of your space—like a warning sign, like a memory that never quite faded.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to ignore the way your heart clenched at the sight of her. “What do you want, Vi?” You didn’t even try to mask the exhaustion in your voice. “Why are you here?”

She exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face before finally meeting your eyes for the first time since she arrived.

“I don’t know” she admitted, voice rough, unsteady. “I was supposed to go home. I was going home, and then I just… got here.”

You let out a sigh. “That’s not an answer.”

Vi winced, shifting on her feet like she was struggling to find the right words. But words were never her strong suit, were they? She had always been better with actions—though most of them were reckless and self-destructive.

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You clenched your jaw, looking away. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair.

After everything she’d said, after everything she’d done—after making you leave—she still expected you to be here, to pick up the pieces when she was falling apart.

"You don't get to do this, Vi” you whispered, barely trusting your voice. "You don’t get to throw me away and then show up at my door like I’m supposed to fix you."

Her breath hitched. "I know. I know, and I’m—" She hesitated, the words getting stuck in her throat. "I fucked up, okay? I fucked up so bad, and I don’t know how to fix it."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking away the sting behind your eyes.

"But I want to…"

You could count on one hand how many times you'd seen Vi cry. And most of those times had been involuntary—after waking up from a nightmare, lost in the haze of half-conscious panic, when her body betrayed her before her mind could shut it down.

But now, she was standing in your living room, crying. Her shoulders shook, and she wiped furiously at her eyes, like she was trying to erase the evidence of her own weakness.

"I've said it before, but it's true this time. I promise." Her voice cracked—raw, desperate. "And you can yell at me all you want. You can throw every awful thing I said back in my face, because I would rather have you angry at me than this." She sucked in a shaky breath. "Being apart hurts. The silence is killing me.”

You closed your eyes for a brief second, trying to steady yourself. This isn’t fair.

"You think I wanted to leave?" you asked, voice quiet but firm. "You think I wanted to spend nights wondering if you were okay, if you were sleeping, if you were eating? Do you know how many times I almost called you?"

Vi's lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something, but no words came out.

"I loved you, Vi. And I spent so much time trying to prove to you that I wasn't going anywhere. But no matter how much I tried, you never let me in."

"I was scared" she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I know" you said. "I know. And I still tried. But you made me believe that I was never going to be enough for you."

Vi took a step closer. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?" you asked, shaking your head. "You were scared I would leave, but you were the one who kept pushing me away. Over and over again."

Vi exhaled shakily, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

"I want to be better," she said, her voice raw with emotion. "I don’t want to keep running. I don’t want to keep ruining things." She looked at you, her expression open—vulnerable in a way you weren’t sure you'd ever seen before. "And I don’t know if I deserve another chance, but if there’s even the smallest part of you that thinks I do…"

She hesitated.

"Then I’ll spend every day proving to you that I can be better."

Your heart felt like it was being crushed. You loved—love—Vi. You always have, and you probably always will. But feeling so insecure, so scared all the time that you would wake up one day and she would just decide this was over, made you think twice.

"I… I love you. I really do." Your voice wavered as you let out a humorless laugh. "You were the only thing I was ever certain about in my life. You were my forever."

Vi took a step closer, her breath hitching. "I still am…"

"How can I be sure?" Your voice cracked, anger and exhaustion mixing into one. "How can I know that you won’t wake up one day and decide that I’m too good for you? That you don’t deserve me? Or some other crazy shit your brain makes you believe—and just leave? Do you have any idea what that would do to me?"

Vi flinched, guilt flashing across her face.

As much as you tried not to be angry—because she was drunk, because she was vulnerable—you were only human.

"I know you're scared" you said, your voice tight. "I know you think you aren’t worthy of my love. But have you ever stopped to think about how I feel?"

She stayed silent.

"When you look me in the eyes and tell me that I’m just like everyone else? That I’ll leave? That I’ll hurt you?" You shook your head, your nails digging into your palms. "Do you think so little of me?"

Vi's lips parted, but no words came out. All she could do was stare at you, her blue eyes filled with regret, sorrow, and something deeper—something she wasn’t sure how to voice.

And for the first time, maybe ever, you saw it hit her. The weight of what she had done. The hurt she had caused. The damage she had left in her wake.

“I’m sorry” she whispered, her voice breaking under the weight of her own emotions. Quiet tears still flowed down her face, unchecked. “I’m sorry I hurt you so bad, but I promise I’ll be better. I promise I’ll do anything and everything in my power to never make you feel like that again.”

You let out a deep breath, the anger you felt still simmering in your gut.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Your voice was tired, drained. “When you’re sober and I’m not angry anymore?”

Vi nodded, quickly, almost desperately. And the look in her eyes made you doubt everything all over again. It was like she had this power over you—one puppy dog-eyed look and you were gone.

But you couldn’t let that sway you. Not again.

“You can sleep on the couch” you said, turning away before she could break you down any further. “I’ll get you some blankets.”

Vi stood there for a moment, watching you disappear down the hall. She wanted to convince you that she meant it this time. That she wasn’t going to run, wasn’t going to push you away again.

But after everything she had done, after all the times she had broken your heart—what right did she have to ask you to believe her?

So she didn’t. She just sat down on the couch, burying her face in her hands, listening to the sound of you rustling through the closet.

Hoping—praying—that when morning came, you’d still listen to her.

──────────────────────

You didn’t sleep. You spent the whole night tossing and turning in your bed, too aware of the woman in your living room, too aware of the decisions you had to make. The weight of it all pressed down on you, the endless cycle of pushing and pulling, of loving and hurting. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, counting the minutes, then the hours, as your mind ran in circles.

You tried to convince yourself that it was simple. That love should be enough. If you loved each other, you should just betogether—happy, whole, like life was a perfectly wrapped gift waiting to be opened.

But life wasn’t a fairytale, and love wasn’t always the answer.

That was never the question in your relationship. You knew Vi loved you. And she knew you loved her. But love alone couldn’t erase the damage, the doubts, the nights spent wondering if she would hurt you again. Love couldn’t fix the way she closed off the moment things got hard, or how you were always left picking up the pieces.

You turned onto your side, pressing your face into the pillow with a frustrated sigh. Sleep wasn’t coming—not when your mind was a storm of thoughts crashing into each other.

Lying there, restless, wasn’t helping. So you got up, dragging your feet to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of coffee would bring you the clarity you needed, even if it meant breaking your self-imposed caffeine ban.

You had just poured yourself a mug when a voice made you jump.

“I thought you were trying to quit coffee.”

Vi stood at the kitchen entrance, her hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep. In the dim morning light, she looked softer—almost like the Violet you used to know, before everything fell apart.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, wrapping your hands around your mug for warmth, “I couldn’t sleep, so I kind of need this right now.”

You took a sip without thinking, the heat grounding you for a moment—until your eyes landed on the words printed on the ceramic.

World’s Best Girlfriend.

Your stomach twisted. She had gotten it for you on your birthday, grinning as she handed it over, laughing about how “cheesy” it was. At the time, it had been a joke. Now, it felt like a cruel reminder of everything you had lost.

Vi’s gaze flickered to the mug in your hands, and for a second, you thought you saw something break behind her eyes.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to act normal, pretending it didn’t sting as much as it did. You gestured toward the cabinet. “You know where the mugs are if you want some.”

She hesitated, her fingers twitching at her sides. “Yeah… okay.”

She moved across the kitchen, opening the cabinet with an ease that shouldn’t have felt so natural anymore. As if she had never left. As if she still belonged here.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, but neither of you knew how to break it.

So you just stood there, eyes locked, memories playing like an old film reel in your mind.

You remembered the time Vi tried to bake you a cake for Valentine’s Day, how the middle was still raw, and you both ended up eating the edges with spoons, laughing the whole time. You remembered that one New Year’s Eve when you sat on the kitchen floor, eating instant noodles and drinking cheap champagne because the party you were supposed to go to had been a bust. You remembered the lazy mornings, the soft kisses, the way she used to sneak up behind you and wrap her arms around your waist as you made coffee.

But you also remembered the fights. The slammed doors. The cabinets shut with a little too much force. The nights spent crying, feeling like the love you had wasn’t enough to keep her.

Vi exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of her neck. “Do you remember that time you got a little too invested in sourdough and kept trying to make a starter? And you read somewhere that keeping it in a warm place helped, so you left it in the oven?” She gave you a small, lopsided smile. “But then you forgot about it and preheated the oven for something else, and the house smelled like burned bread for a week?”

A surprised laugh burst out of you, unbidden. “God, yes.” You groaned, shaking your head. “And then you made it worse by trying to air it out with a box fan, but all it did was spread the smell into every room?”

Vi chuckled, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “In my defense, I thought it was a solid plan.”

You snorted, taking another sip of coffee. “It was a terrible plan.”

The moment lingered, stretching between you like a fragile thread. For a second, it almost felt like things were normal, like the past few months hadn’t happened.

But they had.

“I miss you,” you whispered, barely audible, like you were afraid of the words themselves—afraid she would hear them, afraid she wouldn’t. “I missed you every single second.”

Vi sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers twitching at her sides, like she wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if she was allowed to.

You set your mug down with a quiet clink, steadying yourself. You were done crying. You had spent too many nights crying over this already.

“And I spent the whole night weighing the pros and cons of this relationship. I just…” You swallowed, gripping the edge of the counter. “I’m so scared, Violet.”

Your voice cracked on her name, and Vi flinched like you had physically struck her.

“I know,” she murmured, her gaze never leaving yours. “I am too.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? We’re both too scared. Scared to lose each other, scared to stay, scared that loving each other won’t be enough.”

Vi took a hesitant step forward. “But I don’t want to be scared anymore,” she admitted, her voice unsteady. “I don’t want to keep pushing you away just because I think it’s easier than letting you stay. I just—” she exhaled, shaking her head, “I just need to know if there’s even a chance. Even the smallest chance that you’ll give me one more shot.”

You stared at her, at the woman you had loved for so long, the one who had broken your heart and was now standing before you, asking for another piece of it.

And the worst part?

You wanted to give it to her.

So you nodded, hesitantly, barely daring to breathe. “I don’t want to regret this, Vi. I’m exhausted from this push and pull. But I love you too much to let you go.”

Vi’s lips parted slightly, like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Then, slowly, a smile broke across her face—small, hesitant, but real.

“Maybe it’s a little selfish. Maybe I’m insane” you admitted, exhaling shakily. “But yes, I’ll give you one more chance.”

Vi let out a breath she had been holding, something like relief flashing across her face. “I won’t waste it,” she swore, stepping closer, cautious but hopeful. “I swear on—” she let out a breathless chuckle, shaking her head, “on every bad decision I’ve ever made, I won’t waste it.”

You arched a brow. “That’s a lot of bad decisions, Vi.”

She laughed, and the sound was so familiar, so her, that your chest ached. It was the same laugh that used to fill your apartment, the same one that made you fall in love with her in the first place.

“Yeah, well… I guess I have a lot to make up for.”

You studied her for a long moment, searching her face for any sign of doubt, any crack in the resolve she was promising you. But all you found was sincerity—raw and unfiltered, painted across her expression in a way that made it impossible to doubt her.

So, once more, you let yourself believe her.

And when she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around you, you let yourself melt into her.

Like you always did, like you always would.

Her grip on you was firm but not desperate. Not like she was afraid you would slip away—more like she was certain she wouldn’t let go this time. Her fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, her face tucked against your shoulder, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she breathed.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself a single moment of peace.

“But I’m still mad at you,” you muttered, your voice muffled by her body against yours.

Vi let out a breathy chuckle, the sound vibrating against you. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I’d be mad at me too.”

She didn’t try to defend herself, didn’t try to justify the things she had done. She just held you, letting the weight of everything settle between you.

And somehow, despite all the pain, all the uncertainty—she knew, deep in her bones, that everything was going to be okay.

──────────────────────

[cosmiclily]

gonna post part two of issicsy later today 😼

[cosmiclily]

How do you write Vi so well 😭 I love our bby girl and she deserves the world!

Can I ask you for some real-life story with her? I’ve been thinking about reader who startsrking at a local grocery shop, a small one with regular customers and Vi is one of them. And the reader sees her in all states - dressed up for a date, hangover, dishelved after break up, etc.

And somehow her and the reader hit it off after Vi’s one particularly bad day. What do you think about it? And I can imagine an old lady working there as well who knows Vi since she was a little kid and can tell there is something going on, maybe she pushes Vi to make a move? Omg so cliche but that’d be sweet!

under fluorescent lights

wc: 3.1k

notes: thank you so much!!! and my secret to write Vi so well is to be gay ! 😼 also yes she deserves the whole universe 😭

Going to your dream college had its ups and downs. On one hand, it was your dream college—you were studying (mostly) what you loved, the professors were great, and best of all, you had finally moved out of your parents' house.

On the other hand… you had to move out.

Which meant a brand-new city, brand-new bills, and a job at a funny little convenience store owned by the weirdest and funniest old lady, Babette.

Your college was in a ridiculously expensive city, so you ended up renting a tiny one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours. To make ends meet, you picked up a job at the local convenience store, and thankfully, Babette was understanding about your erratic class schedule. She was patient, and let you take extra shifts when you needed—but that also meant sometimes getting stuck with night shifts, which, yeah, you weren’t exactly thrilled about.

The first few days were rough. Learning the register was hell, but you found solace in stocking the shelves, mindlessly organizing cans and boxes while the store’s soft background music played.

And the days had started blending together—uneventful, repetitive—until she walked in.

“Hey, Babette.”

The pink-haired girl strolled into the store like she’d been there a million times before. She greeted Babette like an old friend, her voice smooth but casual, like she belonged.

“Vander asked me to pick up his order” she continued, leaning against the counter. “Said he already paid for it.”

Babette barely looked up from the crossword puzzle she had spread out on the counter. She spent most of her days pretending to work, occasionally glancing at the security cameras like they were more interesting than the actual customers.

“Yes, yes.” She waved a hand. “Y/N, can you grab the green box from the back for me, please?”

You nodded, slipping into the stockroom. The box was heavier than you expected, but you carried it back to the front, struggling a little, and set it on the counter. “Here.”

The girl straightened, rolling up the sleeves of her hoodie as she reached for it. That’s when you noticed her tattoos—inked lines running up her forearms, disappearing beneath the fabric. Her hands looked rough, but somehow soft at the same time, and for a fleeting second, you wondered how they would feel.

She glanced up at you then, her lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. The scar on her lip caught your attention, making it impossible to look away.

“Thanks” she said, voice quieter this time.

Her fingers brushed against yours as she took the box, and your stomach did something stupid.

You swallowed, crossing your arms in an attempt to keep your hands from lingering.

And just like that, she turned, carrying the box out the door like it weighed nothing, and you just stood there, watching her go.

Babette didn’t even look up from her crossword. “You’re staring, sweetheart.”

Your face burned. “I am not.”

“Mhm.” She circled something on the paper. “She’s in here all the time, you know. If you want to make a move, at least try not to look like a deer in headlights.”

You groaned, turning away—but even as you went back to stocking the shelves, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart was still racing.

──────────────────────

And Babette was right.

Vi—you had since learned her name—was at the store all the time.

Every Thursday, without fail, she came by to pick up the green box. On Mondays, she bought two cans of Red Bull and a packet of hot chips. On Tuesdays, she sometimes stopped by on her way to the gym—if her athletic clothes were anything to go by. (And god, were they distracting.)

One time, she walked in while you were stacking cans of beans, and the second you caught sight of her—messy hair, hoodie slung over her shoulder, muscles on full display—they all came crashing down.

She had laughed. Loudly.

You had wanted to crawl into a hole.

And then, throughout the week, she would just… appear.

Some days, she actually shopped. Other days, she wandered the aisles like she had nowhere better to be, hands shoved into her pockets as she examined products you knew she wasn’t planning to buy.

Once, she came in, made direct eye contact with you, and immediately turned toward the snack aisle.

You had stared after her, dumbfounded, until Babette cleared her throat behind you.

“You’re staring again*,* sweetheart.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” She smirked knowingly. “You should say something before she gets tired of making excuses to come in here.”

That thought had never left your mind.

So, after that, you started paying closer attention. Not just to Vi, but to the clock, the calendar. You noted her patterns, tried to prepare—ensuring you looked at least somewhat presentable when she walked through the door.

And if you maybe, kind of, adjusted your shifts so you’d be there when she usually stopped by?

Well.

Babette didn’t have to know that part.

But then exam weeks came, and all your carefully laid plans to finally work up the courage to get Vi’s number came crashing down.

You had to pick up mostly night shifts so you’d have time to study and actually take your exams, which meant going weeks without seeing her. And honestly? That didn’t do wonders for your mood.

“You look like a zombie.” Your friend said, eyeing you with mild concern as the two of you sat in the library, cramming before one of your final exams. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

“No…” You whined, dropping your head onto the open textbook in front of you. “I’m working at night, studying all the time, and I haven’t seen my wife in almost a week. I’m suffering.”

They snorted. “You can only call her your wife when you actually gather the courage to ask for her number.”

You groaned, waving them off. “I was getting there! But then life happened.”

And then, even after your exams were over, Vi still didn’t show up.

At first, you assumed your schedules just weren’t lining up. But then she missed her usual Thursday pickup—the oneconstant you had been able to count on—and that’s when you started to worry.

You wanted to ask Babette if something had happened, but you weren’t sure how to bring it up without making it obvious you’d been paying way too much attention.

That’s when on Friday night she —finally— showed up.

Except she looked… different.

Her usual hoodie and sweatpants were gone, replaced by an outfit that made your brain short-circuit. Her hair was sleeked back, her cologne reached you from across the store, and when she stopped in front of the wine section, scanning the bottles, she looked like she had just stepped out of a magazine.

You swallowed hard, gripping the counter in front of you for dear life.

Where the hell was she going dressed like that?

She made her way to the register, and before you could think better of it, the words were already slipping out of your mouth.

“You look different. Got a date or something?”

You tried to sound casual, like you weren’t clawing at your own insides with curiosity. Like you didn’t care way more than you should.

Vi grinned, setting the bottle of wine on the counter. “Yeah, actually. Do you like the fit?”

She took a step back, giving you a playful little twirl to show off the outfit, and—god—you wished you had just kept your mouth shut.

Because, yes, you liked it. Too much.

“Yes” you said, forcing yourself to smile through the sudden pit in your stomach. “You look really pretty.”

And you meant it. But you kinda wished she was dressed like that for you.

After Vi’s date, she started showing up even less. She still came by every Thursday to pick up the mysterious green box, but she didn’t linger anymore—no more aimless wandering through the aisles, no more pretending not to notice you watching her.

It was pathetic how much you missed it.

“You could look a little less… dead, dear” Babette commented one afternoon, barely looking up from her crossword puzzle. “I told you to make a move on Vi. You took too long.”

And she was right. If you hadn’t been so slow, maybe that bottle of wine would’ve been for you—not some mystery girl she was seeing.

So once again, your days started to blend together.

College. Work. Home. Rinse. Repeat.

Thursdays became the only bright spot in your week, the only time you got to see Vi—hoodie pulled up, hands shoved in her pockets, mumbling something about Vander’s order before leaving just as quickly as she came.

You lost track of how long that routine lasted—until one particular Saturday night shift.

Because Vi walked in again.

But this time, she looked pissed.

Her brows were furrowed, jaw tight, knuckles raw. She stomped through the aisles like she was ready to punch the next person who looked at her funny. Without hesitation, she grabbed a bottle of vodka, a pint of ice cream, and an obsceneamount of hot chips.

You barely had time to process before she was at your register, slamming the items down with a little too much force.

“Rough night?”

You raised an eyebrow at her, and all she did was sigh—loudly.

“You could say that.”

The two of you fell into silence as you scanned her items, the beep of the register the only sound between you.

You hesitated before asking, “Want to talk about it?”

Because, honestly, you weren’t sure if her bruised knuckles were from a fight or not, but she looked like she was ready to kill someone. And if she got arrested, your weeks would go from boring to extra boring. Plus, that very nice face of hers? Yeah, it didn’t belong in prison.

Vi sighed again, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s just…” She trailed off, exhaling sharply through her nose before continuing. “I was seeing this girl, and everything was great. Until I found out she was cheating on me.”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your face neutral.

Vi let out a humorless laugh. “And then there’s the other shit—home, college, everything—and I don’t know. I kinda lost it?” She glanced down at her raw knuckles, flexing her fingers like she was only now realizing how bad they looked. “Guess I needed to blow off some steam.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, scanning the last item before handing her the bag.

“Well,” you said, offering a small smile. “If it helps, I think vodka and an unreasonable amount of hot chips are definitelythe right call.”

That got a snort out of her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You leaned on the counter slightly. “And, you know, if you ever need to not get into a fistfight and just complain about life to someone, I do work here almost every day.”

Vi’s lips twitched, almost like she was fighting a grin.

"Noted" she said, grabbing the bag. But before she turned to leave, she hesitated, glancing at you like she was debating something.

Then, with a sigh—like she had finally made up her mind—she asked, “Do you want to go eat an unreasonable amount of hot chips with me?”

You blinked, taken aback by the invitation.

Your eyes flicked to the clock. There were still a couple of hours left in your shift, but Babette wouldn’t mind if you closed a little earlier. It was for a good cause, after all.

“Yeah,” you said, already reaching for your jacket. “I do.”

──────────────────────

That’s how you found yourself in the back of Vi’s pickup truck, parked under the dim glow of a streetlamp, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you and sharing a pint of cookie dough ice cream with a single, slightly bent spoon she had found somewhere in her car.

The night air was crisp, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. The sound of distant traffic and the occasional chirp of crickets filled the silence between sips and spoonfuls.

“So” you started, leaning back against the side of the truck bed “tell me about this girl.”

After all, that’s what you were here for—to let Vi vent, to be a good friend. Even if you kind of hated that you were asking in the first place.

Vi exhaled through her nose, taking a swig of vodka before passing the bottle back to you.

“I don’t know” she admitted, stretching her legs out. “We started hanging out after you disappeared from work. It wasn’t even serious—we weren’t, like, dating dating—but she said we were exclusive.”

You hummed, swirling the bottle in your hands. “And clearly, she had a different definition of ‘exclusive.’”

Vi let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “Yeah. Caught her texting some other girl when she thought I wasn’t looking. Turns out she’d been seeing someone else the whole time.”

You frowned. “What an asshole.”

“She really is” Vi agreed, stealing another bite of ice cream. “And I feel stupid because I didn’t even like her that much.”

“So why are you this pissed?” you asked, tilting your head.

Vi hesitated, tapping her fingers against the truck bed. “…I don’t know.” Then she looked at you, really looked at you, and something in her gaze softened. “Maybe it’s because I was wasting my time on the wrong person.”

Your breath hitched, but before you could say anything, she smirked.

“Or maybe I just really wanted an excuse to drink vodka and eat an ungodly amount of hot chips with you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “Smooth, Vi. Real smooth.”

She grinned, bumping her knee against yours, the warmth of the small touch lingering longer than it should have.

“And I didn’t disappear from work,” you corrected, making dramatic air quotes. “I had exams. Very important ones. I was basically a zombie for three weeks—working the night shift, studying all day… Life was hell.”

Vi raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “Damn. No wonder you looked like death warmed over that one time I did see you.”

You gasped, shoving her shoulder playfully. “Rude.”

She just chuckled, taking another swig of vodka before passing the bottle back to you. “I was kinda worried, though,” she admitted, scratching at the label on the ice cream container. “But I figured if I asked Babette, she’d just tell me your life was none of my business.”

You snorted because, honestly? That sounded exactly like Babette. “Yeah, she totally would. She’s nice in, like, the meanest way possible.”

Vi laughed, nodding. “Right? I once asked her if she thought I looked good in my red hoodie, and she just went, ‘It’s not the worst thing I’ve seen on you, dear’ and then walked away.”

That made you laugh so hard you almost choked on your sip of vodka. “She’s brutal.”

Vi grinned, watching you with something unreadable in her expression. “Yeah, she’s been like that since i was a kid.” She chuckled “But i’m glad you’re back.”

The words were simple, but something about the way she said them—like she meant them—made your stomach flip. You looked at her, at the way the streetlight cast soft shadows across her face, at the way she was watching you like you were something worth paying attention to.

And maybe it was the vodka, or the way the night wrapped around the two of you like a secret, or maybe it was just her—the way she looked softer like this, cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol and the laughing, eyes a little hazy but still locked onto you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

If you were to die right now, you’d die happy.

Vi tilted her head, studying you. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, her voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. “Sometimes you stare at me, and it’s like you go somewhere else.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s nothing. It’s just… silly.”

Vi narrowed her eyes slightly, clearly unconvinced. “Silly, huh?”

You nodded, but before you could say anything else, she leaned in just a fraction—close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off her skin, close enough that you could count the freckles scattered across her nose.

“Try me,” she murmured, her voice low, teasing. “I like silly.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribs. She was too close, too Vi—all lazy grins and rough edges, but somehow still soft in moments like these.

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how the world had shrunk down to just the two of you, sitting in the back of her pickup truck, a half-finished bottle of vodka, packages of chips and a pint melted ice cream between you, the distant hum of the city as your only witness.

“It’s just…” You hesitated, glancing away for a split second before meeting her gaze again. “If I died right now, I think I’d die happy.”

Vi blinked, her smirk faltering. Something unreadable flickered in her expression—something almost tender.

“That’s a little morbid” she said, but her voice had lost its teasing edge.

You shrugged, letting out a soft laugh. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy, wasn’t suffocating. It just was. Comfortable. Unspoken words and lingering glances filling the space between you.

Then Vi shifted, her fingers reaching out, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen across your face. The touch was light—so gentle that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Can I try something?” she whispered.

You nodded, breath hitching in your throat.

And then she kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slow, careful—like she was memorizing the way your lips felt against hers, like she was afraid you might disappear if she moved too fast.

Her fingers ghosted over your jaw before settling at the nape of your neck, pulling you just a little closer, deepening the kiss in a way that made your chest tighten. You tasted cookie dough and vodka on her lips, something warm and dizzying curling in your stomach.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm against your lips.

“Yeah, I was definitely wasting my time on the wrong person.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes fluttering open to meet hers. “Oh? And who was the right person?”

Vi smirked, her fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt. “Dunno. You tell me.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “You’re an idiot.”

“But I could be your idiot.”

You sighed, pretending to be exasperated, but when she tilted her head, nudging her nose against yours, you knew you were gone.

“You’re impossible,” you murmured, before kissing her again.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[cosmiclily]

if anyone has caitlyn requests pls send them my way, i enjoyed writing her 🫢

[cosmiclily]

so here's my idea for the "sequel", maybe this time we can see readers perspective, asking Vi in multiple times and situations to put her at the top, but somehow Vi unconsciously ends up breaking readers heart, and then reader decides that she doesn't want to fight for it anymore, cause at first that Vi didn't say too much was okay, but now, it's a problem cause she doesn't say, do or listen anything

i want a happy ending, but man, after thinking all of this, i don't know how to put it together 🫠

hope this helps, but if you have something else in mind, it's totally okay! 💕

i could NOT take the request out of my head, and i 100% want a happy ending but i think it will be kind of ambiguous 🤔 idk yet but i love love love the suggestions 💕💕💕

and it did help!!! thank you 😚

[cosmiclily]

hey, here i go again, this came up to my mind, so if you want and have the time, here it is

what about an angst with Vi, where she dreams about reader wearing a wedding dress, and she's in a suit, it's their wedding, but then she wakes up crying, cause knows she can't have that

btw, hope you're having a good week! 🩷

i sleep so i can see you

vi x reader

wc: 1.6k

cw: hurt no comfort, there is a little description of a panic attack

notes: 😼😼 i love angst and i love to make my comfort characters suffer muahahahaha, jk. there is like 5 seconds of happiness in the beginning and then suffering. thank you for the request!! i’m having an okay week nothing special, hope yours is going well! 😽

Vi was never the marriage type. If you had asked her as a teenager whether she ever wanted to get married, she would have scoffed and said, “Marriage is stupid. Why would I want the state and the church involved in my business?" But she never really meant it.

She wasn’t against marriage out of rebellion or some grand stance against tradition. No, Vi never imagined herself getting married because, deep down, she never believed anyone would stay.

When you lose your parents, grow up in the system, get separated from your sister, and watch every sense of family you ever had slip through your fingers, it becomes hard to believe that anyone would stick around. That anyone would want to stay. That anyone would be willing to put in the work to understand the mess that lives inside you—the trauma, the scars, the weight you carry every single day.

But you did.

You stayed.

You saw through the walls she put up, understood her in a way no one else ever had. You made her feel safe, cared for, like she didn’t have to fight the world alone anymore. You peeled back her layers, tamed the wild animal. And for the first time in her life, Vi found herself thinking that maybe marriage wasn’t such a bad idea.

Maybe sharing her life with someone—sharing everything—wasn’t so terrifying. Maybe growing old with the same person, waking up to the same face every morning, wasn’t a curse.

So when she saw you walking down the aisle, draped in white, makeup done, the biggest, most breathtaking smile on your face, she couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over.

You held a bouquet of violets in your hands, and that small piece of her with you meant the entire world.

Everything was perfect.

Your parents were there, her sister was there, Vander, Ekko, Mylo, Claggor—everyone. Smiling. Happy. Whole.

It was almost too perfect.

Then, as you took another step forward, something shifted.

The aisle stretched, growing impossibly long, like you were further and further away from her. Your smile—so bright, so warm—began to twist at the edges, turning wrong.

Vi tried to move, but her feet were cemented to the ground.

She tried to call your name, but no sound came out.

She tried to run to you, reach for you—anything—but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—

Vi jolted awake, gasping.

Her body was shaking, drenched in cold sweat, her chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven. Her face was wet. It took her a second to realize she was crying.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

She wasn’t getting married. You weren’t in a wedding dress in front of her.

Vander wasn’t alive.

Her sister was gone. You were gone.

And she was alone.

Just like always.

The room was dark, suffocatingly quiet except for her ragged breathing.

Vi didn’t even have the energy to think, to process. All she could do was drag herself to the bathroom, sink to her knees, and empty her stomach into the toilet.

She spent what felt like hours on the bathroom floor, her back pressed against the cold tiles, hands trembling, hair sticking to her damp forehead. Vi’s chest rose and fell unevenly, breath hitching as she fought against the weight pressing down on her ribs. It felt like she was drowning.

She’d been through this before—with you.

The nights she’d wake up gasping, screaming, clawing at reality until she felt your hands on her, grounding her, pulling her back. You always knew what to do. You’d whisper soft reassurances, hold her until the shaking stopped, remind her that she wasn’t alone. That she was safe.

But you weren’t here.

And it was her fault.

Everything was her fault.

She was never good enough for anyone to stay. That was her curse—every time she let someone see the real her, every time she let someone in, they left.

And why wouldn’t they? Who would want to deal with this? With her?

Vi forced herself to move, to do something other than spiral. She turned the faucet on and splashed cold water onto her face, gripping the edges of the sink as she tried to anchor herself to reality. But everything still felt off—like she was stuck in some inescapable dream.

Her eyes flicked to the clock. 4:57 AM.

Too early. Too late. Meaningless.

Her hand reached for her phone before she could stop herself, fingers scrolling through her contacts until she found your name.

Her thumb hovered over the call button.

Maybe you’d pick up.

Maybe you’d tell her it wasn’t her fault, that she was fine, that you were fine. That everything was okay. That you were coming home.

But you wouldn’t.

So she didn’t call.

Vi locked her phone and let it drop onto the counter with a dull thud. Then, with a heavy breath, she dragged herself out of the bathroom and back to bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that wouldn’t come.

When her alarm went off, she was still wide awake.

But even if she was falling apart, life didn’t stop for her.

So, she forced herself up, took a shower, and went to work. It was an uneventful day at the shop—no tattoo appointments, no familiar faces walking in, just a single girl wanting a belly button piercing. By the time 3 p.m. hit, she had nothing left to do.

She thought about going home. Maybe she could force herself to be productive. Maybe she could drown herself in work, find something to focus on so she wouldn’t have to think.

But she knew exactly how that would go. She’d sit in silence, overthink, spiral.

So instead, she took a detour.

Vi knew your habits. She knew you liked to go to that small coffee shop by the river, the one with the rickety outdoor tables and the faded green awning. She knew your order by heart.

And there you were.

Sitting outside, a mug in your hands—probably tea, since you were trying to quit coffee—watching the ducks drift lazily across the water.

You looked exactly the same.

Like you.

And that somehow made it worse.

Her phone felt heavy in her back pocket, like it was calling her name, demanding that she did something. That she said something. That she stopped standing there like a coward, staring at you from a distance, pretending like she wasn’t the one who ruined everything.

But instead of pulling it out, instead of calling you or walking up to you, she just stood there.

Frozen.

She was the one who screwed everything up.

The one who said awful things. The one who pushed you away. The one who locked herself up so tight that even you—the person who had always been so patient, so understanding—couldn’t get through to her.

In her head, it had been inevitable. You were going to leave eventually. Everyone did. So if she accelerated the process, if she pushed you away first, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much. Maybe she could brace herself, prepare for the pain.

But like hell that worked.

Because here she was, standing across the street, looking at you like a ghost from another life, and it hurt just the same.

And then you looked up.

Your eyes met hers.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then, just as quickly as you saw her, your expression hardened, and you turned away. Not just looking past her, but through her. Like she was nothing.

Like she was no one.

That was what finally made her snap.

Before she could think, before she could stop herself, she was crossing the street, stepping onto the café’s patio.

“Hey.”

You froze, your grip tightening around your mug, but you didn’t look at her.

Vi clenched her jaw. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna pretend you didn’t see me?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, finally turning your head. “What do you want, Vi?”

And it wasn’t the words that got to her. It was how you said them. Tired. Like you had already run this conversation a million times in your head. Like you had already decided she wasn’t worth the energy.

Her hands curled into fists. “I—” She hesitated, suddenly realizing she didn’t have a plan. “I just… wanted to talk.”

You scoffed. “Now you wanna talk?”

The bitterness in your voice stung.

“What do you expect me to do?” Vi shot back, voice rising. “Act like we didn’t—” She stopped herself, taking a sharp breath. “I know I messed up. I know I said things I shouldn’t have, but damn, you really hate me that much now?”

You let out a humorless laugh, finally setting your mug down. “Hate you?” You stood up, and she realized just how much closer you were now. “Vi, I don’t have the energy to hate you. I wasted too much of it trying to love you.”

That hit like a punch to the gut.

She opened her mouth, ready to say something, anything, but you weren’t done.

“I gave you everything, and you threw it away” you continued, voice shaking. “And now you’re here? Just expecting me to what,forgive you? Pretend like it didn’t happen?”

“No,” Vi said quickly. “That’s not—”

But you weren’t listening anymore.

“Where the hell was this energy when I was begging you to let me in?” You took a step forward, eyes burning into hers. “Where was this Vi when I was trying to help you?”

Vi clenched her teeth, anger bubbling in her chest—but not at you. At herself.

She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make things right.

You just stared at her, something unreadable in your expression. Then, after a beat, you shook your head.

“I hope you figure your shit out, Violet.”

And with that, you picked up your things and walked away, leaving her standing there, heart pounding on her chest.

──────────────────────

masterlist - part two

[cosmiclily]

i will post a very angsty os today 😼 but i’m also working on a fluffy one to post on the weekend to compensate

[cosmiclily]

guess who?! it's me...again... u'll probs gonna get bored of these requests butttttt i was scrolling TT and i found a comment abt rockstar vi. and well yk - the fanart doesn't help either sooo i was wonderingggg could u write a rockstar vi?? could reader be part of the band (i sing) so like lead vocalist??? okokok i'll stop rambling - love you lilyyyy 🫶🫶🫶

hi babyyy!! i’ll never get tired of requests from you 😽😽 and i’m currently writing a rockstar!vi fic it’s on pause rn but as soon as i have enough time i’ll get back to it!!

[cosmiclily]

thank you for the tag 💕

it’s basically just the mashup of my two last users (cosmicdisgrace and shinerlily) cosmic is bc i like the sky and lily is a nick name 🤓

that’s it !

🏷️ tags: @arahiraaai @entraptasimp @antobooh @iwillpokeyouwithmyknife

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well