#It makes me want to clear my throat and cough
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hii angel! can you write more of the young lovers sevika x butch reader againnn? hihihi
fuck yes, this might be my fave little story we've got going right now
men and minors dni
it's a hot, humid day in the undercity. heat rises, sure, but sometimes the smog gets so bad the heat gets trapped. today is one of those miserable days.
it's horrible. you're sticky and stinky and sweaty no matter what you do. you've considered shaving your head clean bald, but sevika says you'd look like a thumb, so you've shelved that idea for the time being.
the only upside to this heat is having an excuse to strip down to your undies with sevika.
you're trying not to pass out but the combination of the heat, sevika's boobs in one of her old, very outgrown training bras, and the joint you've been passing back and forth are all making you dizzy.
and then, sevika tries to kill you.
"will you give me a hickey?" she asks.
you choke on the smoke you'd just inhaled, sputtering on your spit as you sit up from the couch. sevika snorts and smacks your back a few times as you cough. eventually, you gasp for air and glare at her. "a little heads up would be nice!"
"we're just sitting here!" sevika giggles.
you try to ignore the butterflies raging in your stomach and the heat building up in your cheeks. be cool. you think. please, for the love of janna, be cool. you clear your throat one more time. "but... yeah. i can give you a hickey."
sevika's eyes sparkle, and your heart skips a beat. "really?"
you shrug. "how hard can it be?"
"i'll give you one once you give me mine, if you want." she offers, snatching the joint from your hands. she takes a puff then snuffs it, smirking at you the entire time.
fuck, be cool. "o-okay." you squeak, your voice cracking. sevika snorts and you cringe.
"you nervous?" she teases. you huff and cross your arms in front of your chest.
"no." you lie.
she grins. "you liar."
"you can't just spring a request like this on someone and expect them to be normal!" you squawk. sevika can't stop giggling. the sweet sound of it makes the mortification of this moment a little more bearable.
"s-sorry, sorry." she laughs. "i forget you're such a baby, baby."
you can't even be upset about her calling you a baby, because she called you baby. "i hate you." you lie. sevika grins.
"no you don't, dumbass." she lays down on the couch and stretches out like a cat. "come here." she whispers.
you scramble to lay on top of her. you're both sweaty and sticky and laying on top of her only makes the heat worse. you couldn't care less.
"why do you suddenly want a hickey?" you ask, tucking sevika's hair behind her ears. she blinks up at you dreamily.
"'cause i like making out with you and i wan' other people to know i make out with you." she says simply.
oh. now you feel hot for a completely different reason. "o-okay." you whisper. "so... i'm just gonna..."
"suck and bite, babe."
"ew, sevika, don't say that." you whine. sevika giggles and cups your face, pulling you down to her throat.
she squirms a little as you peck a line down her throat, giggling as you lick up a line of her sweat. but then her hands trail down to your hips, and her legs intertwine with yours and--
you bite her, gently. sevika gasps, then giggles softly. "mmh?" you ask. she understands you, even with her flesh between your teeth.
"i'm good. keep going." she whispers.
you gulp, biting a little harder, letting your mouth close around her skin. she keeps squirming underneath you, giggling and gasping; and she smells like sweat and weed, and you think you might be in heaven. "hmm." you moan against her, and sevika squeaks.
she laughs and smacks your shoulder "okay! okay--"
you pull back, something and proud blooms in your chest at the tiny little bruise forming on her neck. "oh. hot." you whisper. sevika cackles.
"your turn." she says, pushing at your shoulder. you nod excitedly, letting her flip you... only--
"oh, fuck!" you grunt as you and sevika fall off the couch.
the hard floor of your hideout knocks the wind out of you, but you're laughing so hard you wouldn't have had any breath anyways.
taglist!
@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner
@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther
@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart
@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette
@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp
@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner
@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke
@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25
@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby
@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth
taglist!!
@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones
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I was just thinking about the Hanahaki disease trope but with House and Wilson.
Tw: slight blood mention. It also gets a little ooc.
If you don't know what Hanahaki disease is;
One person loves the other, but they believe it's unrequited, so they start coughing up flower petals until eventually they die. Optional: it's the person they loves favorite flower.
Cure: a surgery to remove the flowers that consequently makes you lose your romantic feelings. Or the person returns your feelings
And I was thinking about how that would work for them. It wouldn't. House is too smart and nosey not to figure out what's going on, and even if the roles were reversed, Wilson knows House too well to know when something is up. Sure House could lie, but no doubt he'd be coughing up bloody flowers in front of his team. So what is Wilson to do other than go to Cameron, who can't keep a secret to save her life
Now I wanna go down the "Wilson has the disease" route. It would start like this, House goes into Wilsons office to annoy him or ask for a consultation. Fun fact they're canonical office neighbors. So lets pretend that Wilson has his door locked because he's literally coughing up flower petals. So House has to jump over the halfway they share on balconies to enter through the balcony door. And he sees Wilson bent over in his chair, can probably hear him coughing and it intrigues him. Because why in the world would his best friend be hunched over coughing his lungs out. He opens the door.
Wilson would obviously sit straight up, wiping his mouth as he hides the trashcan under his desk.
“Whats up”
“I should ask you. What were you doing” House asks as he makes his way over to the desk.
“I'm just a little under the weather. Nothing to worry about. Now what do you need,”
And so House ends up getting what he wanted. Except for an answer on why Wilson was coughing his lungs out. So while Wilson is out on lunch, he breaks into his office and looks under the desk to find the trashcan with the bloody petals in them. He puts on a glove and takes one out, inspecting it closely with a look on his face. Maybe he would run tests but I doubt it, the man is smart enough to know what's going on.
So later when they're alone House looks at him and asks;
“So who is it?”
Wilson would give him a confused look, silently asking House to elaborate.
“You have Hanahaki, I found the petals in your trashcan”
House explains simply.
“You rummaged through my trash?”
Wilson asks, feeling betrayed and yet not surprised.
“Oh boo hoo If you didn't want me to you should have emptied your trash. Now who is it,”
House asks, crossing his arms.
“You wouldn't know them,”
Wilson says. House reaches in and pulls out one of the blood stained petals, twirling it in his hands.
“Aconitum noveboracense. Also known as Monkshood. Also Also known as Wolfsbane. In flower language it signals Caution and Death,”
House says, looking at the petal before looking at Wilson.
“You speak flower now,”
He asks sarcastically and in disbelief.
“Its also my favorite flower. I read up on Hanhaiki Disease. You cough up the person's favorite flower.”
House says.
“Its a pretty purple flower, lots of people like it,”
Wilson says with a roll of his eyes, coughing up more petals.
“Yes. But Hanhaiki is treatable. You haven't gotten the surgery. I know you, you love saving dying kids too much to die by flower unless you had to face the cause of your Hanhaiki. Ergo, you're close with this person. Ergo. It's me,”
House says, not even bothering to check if Wilson's OK.
“Fine. It's you. Happy? I have an undying love for my best friend,”
Wilson says sarcastically although they both know it's the truth.
“Hanhaiki has to be unrequited to present symptoms,”
House states. Wilson mentally goes over what House said. Looking at him cautiously.
“House what are you saying,”
He asks.
“I'm saying you're cured. You love a shitty person and they don't…. necessarily….don't *not* return those feelings,”
He says, clearing his throat as he looks away.
“House…are you trying to say….you love me back,”
Wilson asks slowly.
“I'm saying if we do this you're falling for the most shitty partner you can get and you know it,”
House states, averting his eyes downwards like he always does when he shows a shred of humility. When he stops being snarky and sarcastic and starts being serious for a moment.
“You're right. I do know that. And yet I'm still coughing up petals,”
Wilson says. House looks up at him, taking that fact into consideration as he slowly nods his head. Twirling his cane in his hand before setting it down.
“And you…actually want to do this,” he asks slowly.
“ That is usually what two people who love each other very much do when they confess their feelings to each other. Yes”
Wilson states with a roll of his eyes and a small smile.
#house md#House#james wilson#wilson house md#hanahaki#hanahaki disease#headcanon#a little ooc#hilson#house x wilson
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Waking up Gucci on my pjs……….
#This song makes me incredibly violent#It makes me want to clear my throat and cough#…#👁️👁️#beyond birthday
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You know, when I kept getting asked "so you didn't ever have severe pains before now?" in the hospital and I kept replying "I have a high pain tolerance" I meant it. However, there is only so much pain my tiny 4'9" body can hold... (aka I am sweating and in agony bc I'm getting told to use LESS severe pain meds so I don't rely on them too much and it is AWFUL)
#moe talks a lot#i was shaking earlier and despite the fact i sound like im gonna cry#and the fact that my mom can pick out im about to cry from pain bc im trying to take less pain meds#LIKE MY MOM IS INSTRUCTING ME TO DO#shes like well why arent you taking any pain meds#BECAUSE THERE ARE TWO AVAILABLE OPTIONS AND ON A SIX HOUR TIMER#i cant take both at once or else what happens to me if i hurt before the six hours is up#i have to manage them in a way that allows me to benefit from both and being told im doing it wrong#after being told well its your fault it got so bad because you never complained about pain before#YEAH NO JOKE? REALLY? I NEVER DID? because everyone acts like im too young to feel that kinda pain#oh youre hurting? just wait until youre older#and its currently agony to breathe again but that i guess is also my fault bc im trying to use pain meds#holy moly i just want to not get dizzy standing up cause wow dang#sure would be nice if the multiple incisions in my stomach didnt THROB every time i sneezed or coughed or cleared my throat#but since i didnt use much pain meds before because i would be mocked for being too much of a baby its like#welp damn now i could really use some and im being called out for being too reliant#anyway time to sleep more because that means im not noticing my pain#im literally smaller than most children and so i do understand my body size makes people worried about the medication intake#but can i please just go a day without being asked how much im taking or when i last took it or if im gonna cry#anyway sorry for the excessive rant today never really had surgery or anything so this is brand spankin new suffering
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i just think. yuuji shld get to be the senpai this time. as a treat
#thinking about my various unfinished wips again...#saw an art for 28x27 goyuu and wanted to gnaw thru my screen#why is yuuji never the senpai in the senpai/kohai aus? hello??? theres so much good potential there#smh#we as a fandom are MISSING OUT#GIVE ME YUUJI SENPAI!!!!!!#GIMMEEEEEEEEEEE#*coughs and clears my throat looking around slightly confused to see where i am* sorry just channeled the spirit of Gojo there for a second#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#itadori yuuji#gojo satoru#goyuu#or goyuuge depending on how you swing it#or even shogoyuuge#hahahahaha hey yuujis just that loveable get that man a harem#*shrugs* i dont make the rules#ofc i say that but what i really mean is i want everyone who comes into contact with him to have a bit of an unreq. crush on him#while he goes on freely to live his live and eventually settle down with gojo. and maybe getou can come over sometimes *wink wink*#believe it or not they are all perfectly happy with this#...i gotta stop getting Ideas in the tags#I WAS JOKING THAT WAS A JOKE DO YOU HEAR ME MUSES I WAS JOKING
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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LOOK, MOM! — nanami kento
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yuuji accidentally calls you mom
contents: nanami x fem!reader, husband nanami hehe, this is very silly and random and stupid, fluff, nanami & reader are yuuji's adoptive parents fr, words: 1059
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“nanamin!” yuuji waves at the figure approaching from behind you, a flashy grin appearing on his face as he glances at the blonde man over your shoulder. “i didn’t know you were coming by today!”
kento's hair sweeps over his forehead in the wind, a few strands coming free as he heads towards you. it's a brisk day, and he has two hot coffees in his hands that he'd picked up after his mission.
a bead of sweat drips down yuuji's temple, and he wipes it with his sleeve, still breathing heavily. you'd spent the last hour training together, pushing his physical capabilities. gojo had been busy recently, between all the missions and his conversations with the higher ups.
so, of course, you'd volunteered to teach the newest student when he couldn't. quickly, he became your favorite of the three first years.
“i’m in between assignments.” kento hands you the coffee, places a gentle hand on your lower back with a smile that is hardly there. “mind if i steal my wife away for a bit?”
yuuji shrugs, his face still bright as he glances between the two of you. ever since he’d found out two of his favorite sorcerers were together, he’d hardly shut up about it.
“no problem. i’m going to meet up with fushiguro anyway.” he brushes the dirt off his pants, waving to the two of you.
“good job today, yuuji!” grateful for something to warm you up in the chilly air, you take a sip of the coffee. it’s perfect, as always, just what you needed. “you’re improving a lot!”
he grins, proud of his accomplishments. “thanks, mom! see you later!”
there's an elongated moment of silence.
you choke on your coffee as kento stiffens beside you, watching while yuuji comes to a skittering halt.
all three of you freeze. you cough, clearing your throat, and kento's hand, steady on your back, has stilled. “yuuji—“
“oh,” the teenager says, his face turning bright red as he realizes what he’s called you. he glances between the two of you, embarrassment evident. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to—“
though, you don’t give yuuji enough time to protest. within seconds, you’ve gathered him up in your arms, squeezing the younger boy to your chest. “kento, we have a son!”
you feel yuuji tense, before he relaxes, and throws his arms around you in an even tighter hug. there’s some sort of thanks resting there. he laughs, carefree, a sound you never want to be taken away from the boy who manages to shine so brightly in such a dark world.
kento stares at you, folds his glasses up in his pocket, as if to show you both how unimpressed he is. “do we?” he asks, lips flat, though, you see through the facade to the amusement hidden in his irises. “i'm certain i would’ve remembered something like that.”
you make a face at him, covering yuuji’s ears dramatically. “oh, don’t listen to your dad, yuuji. he’s old, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
kento blinks, and then sighs, wrinkling his nose. though, when he sees yuuji’s wide grin, his eager expression, he decides to play along.
“well, then... there must be a lapse in my memory." kento crosses his arms over his chest as he regards the two of your extensively, searching for something. "that would certainly explain the striking resemblance between us.” he says drily.
yuuji laughs, a loud snort. he looks nothing like either of you, but you’re not sure he’s ever gotten to witness kento's sarcastic sense of humor, the one that not everyone really gets.
“exactly!” yuuji quips back to kento’s blank expression. "everyone tells me i have the same smile as my dad!
kento’s trying hard not to let yuuji win that one, but you can see the slight wrinkle around his eye, the tiny quirk of his lips. beside the pink haired boy, you choke out a few giggles, covering your mouth.
“yes," kento nods, solemn. "i’ve heard that as well.”
"so you do know how to make jokes, nanamin!" yuuji shouts, nearly jumping in the air as he cheers. "i can't wait to tell fushiguro this."
kento rolls his eyes, but yuuji’s so pleased, and he releases you, his eyes soft and bright as he pulls away.
though he doesn’t say it, doesn't thank you for anything, you can tell he’s grateful. itadori yuuji may be happy with his life as it is now, may have found a home within the friends he’s made at the high school, but you know he misses his grandfather. sometimes, perhaps, he even longs for the conventional family he never really got to have.
you ruffle his hair, the pink strands catching between the cracks of your fingers. “tell him i said hello too.”
yuuji nods, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he steps away. “i will!” his cheerful gaze is pinned on your husband, a secretive smile making a home on his lips. “bye, dad.”
kento shakes his head, and sighs again, though you can tell, a part of him is touched to have won so much of yuuji's admiration. “have a good evening, itadori.”
you watch the young boy scurry away, hands in his pockets as he braces himself against the cold.
"you should be nicer to your son, kento."
kento snorts, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he brings you closer to him. "i am nice to him," he says, kissing your temple softly. "a little hard on him, maybe, but i just don't want anything bad to happen to him."
you soften, look up at him with warm eyes, and you squeeze the hand that is resting on your shoulder. "i know," you say, your heart clenching. you've thought about it before, thought of kento with a tiny child that looks just like him, cradled against his chest. thought of him with a little girl whose hair he can braid, a little boy he can raise to be a gentleman.
but you hadn't talked about it; you'd always thought your life was too busy, too dangerous for children.
"you'd make a good dad, ken," you say, your cheeks flushed as you grin at him.
kento's eyes flash. "really?" an array of emotions scurries across his features before he leans down, kissing you softly. "is this your way of telling me you want a baby, sweetheart?" his voice deepens as he whispers against your lips, smiling. "because i'm more than happy to give you one."
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#kento nanami x reader#jjk x reader#nanami fluff#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#nanami kento x y/n#kento nanami x you#nanami x reader#jjk x fem!reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚。⋆#xoxo rylie 💌 ⋆ ˚。⋆
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you were right!
a/n: okay, i know you guys might be tired of me doing these but this is my last one! i hope you all like it 😜 gifs from @rafeyscurtainbangs
The blazing Moroccan sun beats down on Rafe, its intensity mirrored by the firestorm raging in his mind. Dust hangs in the air around him, adding to the harshness of the moment as he stands over the well. Below, Groff coughs and groans, his face contorted in pain, but Rafe barely spares him a second glance. His rage overpowers everything else, even the satisfaction he should feel. He narrows his eyes, voice laced with anger and finality.
“Checkmate, bitch!” he yells down, his words slicing through the hot, tense air. The motorcycle engine he’d used to get out here sits idle a few feet away, rumbling like his frustration.
He turns on his heel, muttering a curse, fists clenched. As he stalks away from the well, he pulls out his phone and dials Sofia’s number, his chest tight with the realization that everything he thought he knew was a lie.
Sofia answers after two rings, her voice as casual as if he hadn’t just found out about her betrayal. “Hey, babe, what’s up ?”
Rafe’s voice is steely, cold. “Is it true? Is it true, what Groff just told me? Is it?”
The silence on her end is all he needs. He can practically hear her scrambling for words, but she never manages to answer. His face twists in anger.
“Pack your shit. Get out of my house,” he snarls, a final, unforgiving edge in his voice. “God, after everything I did for you? We’re done. Done.” He hangs up before she can say another word, shoving his phone back into his pocket with a bitter scoff. Betrayed, twice over—and he’d ignored the only person who saw it coming.
He stands there, baking in the Moroccan heat, his mind racing back to a month ago in Kildare, when you and he had argued over Sofia. You’d warned him that she wasn’t who she seemed. He’d brushed you off, accusing you of jealousy—knowing damn well that there was more to it. You were his best friend, but it was complicated; that line had already been crossed too many times, with late-night kisses and tangled sheets. But you two hadn’t spoken since that fight, since the way he’d brushed you off had hurt deeper than either of you cared to admit.
Taking a breath, he pulls out his phone again, fingers hovering over your name. He hesitates, swallowing his pride, before finally pressing call.
The phone rings, and you pick up after a few moments, your voice tight with annoyance. “What, Rafe?”
Your tone makes him pause, but the way you sound almost comforts him, even with the irritation clear in your voice. You’re there—back in Kildare, probably sitting cozy in your little apartment. Meanwhile, he’s out here under the scorching sun, alone, trying to piece together his pride.
He clears his throat. “Hey… princess,” he says, voice softened, the pet name slipping out before he can stop it. He can almost feel you rolling your eyes on the other end, but he presses on, the words weighing heavy on him. “I—uh… Look, I’m sorry. You were right.”
There’s a surprised pause, and he hears you shift in your seat as if you’re debating whether to hang up or let him speak. When you do answer, your tone is a bit softer, cautious.
“What happened?”
Rafe lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Turns out Sofia was exactly who you said she was. A snake. And here I was, thinking you were just being… petty. But I guess I’m the idiot, huh?”
You breathe out, and he can picture you shaking your head, lips pressed together. “You wouldn’t listen,” you say quietly, as if the words hold more hurt than anger.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in his voice. “I know. I was so damn sure you were just jealous. I mean—” He pauses, grappling with how to say it. “Hell, I thought you were jealous because you… I don’t know. I thought you didn’t want me with her because we…” His voice trails off, but the implication lingers between you.
“Yeah,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I get it.”
Rafe bites his lip, letting the words sink in. “Can I see you? I’m done here in a few days, and I could be back in Kildare very soon. I could stop by, explain… properly.”
A beat passes, and when you finally speak, it’s careful, guarded. “After everything you said last time, why should I?”
He laughs softly, almost self-deprecating. “Because I think you might be the only person I can trust right now. And… I miss you.” His voice drops, laced with a warmth he can’t help. “Even if you’re just going to gloat and rub it in my face.”
You chuckle, and he smiles, savoring the sound. “I don’t know if I miss you or if I just feel sorry for you,” you tease, but the playfulness is back in your tone, if only faintly.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, amusement lacing his words. “Act like you don’t care. But come on, you miss me. Admit it.”
A small silence follows, and he imagines the way your lips twitch into a smile. Finally, you relent. “Maybe a little. But you’re bringing wine. Good wine.”
“Oh, don’t worry, baby,” he says, the flirtation back in his voice. “Only the best for you.”
You scoff, but he hears the hint of a laugh. It’s the closest thing he’s had to a good moment in a long time. He takes a breath, savoring the thought of leaving this mess behind and getting back to Kildare—back to the only person who knew him well enough to call him out, and care anyway. As the call ends, he puts his phone in his pocket, a grin spreading across his face, motivating him to get that crown and go to his princess.
taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif
#rafe x you#rafe outer banks#rafe fic#rafe#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x reader#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron#rafe imagine#rafe obx#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe fanfiction#rafe cameron blurb#obx fic#obx season 4#obx#obx4#outer banks season 4#obx cast#outer banks#obx fanfiction#obx spoilers
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ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY
pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 10.5k summary: after years away, vi returns home for the holidays and reunites with you, her ex-girlfriend. the universe (*cough cough* and your meddling families) push you together again, and neither of you can ignore the feelings that linger. (or: you, vi, and the ghosts of christmas past, present and future.) warnings: reader is ekko's older sister but not necessarily biological so appearance isn't specified; childhood friends to lovers + second chance romance; reader gets hit on by a creepy guy + gets into a fight (injury + blood mention), smut [strap mention (reader receiving), oral (both receiving), fingering (both receiving), biting, spitting, tribbing, sub!vi makes an appearance...kinda rough + possessive sex but there's aftercare too <33] (18+) ! a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR GIRLS AND GAYS <33 tbh i debated whether to post this now bc xmas was like....3 weeks ago but figured i might as well. so pls enjoy what is essentially an x-rated sapphic hallmark holiday movie.
♪: ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift (sun); winterbreak by MUNA (moon); last christmas by wham! (rising)
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track 1: thank god it’s christmas by queen
(winter — age 17)
“okay, just relax your fingers — no, but keep some tension, apply a bit of pressure on the string….yep, that’s better. now, straighten your back….”
it’s dark and snowing outside, and the cold’s seeping in through the window of her attic bedroom, but vi still almost melts into the floor when you follow her advice and press against her chest. she worries that you can feel how fast her heart is beating — faster than it maybe should for someone she’d been calling friend ever since she could remember.
you shift in her lap, her arms still wrapped around yours from when she offered to guide you through an instrumental version of wham’s “last christmas.” you tilt your head towards her, nose almost brushing against hers.
“vi?”
“....yes?”
“maybe we should finish our lesson another time. we better hurry up, anyways. i bet ekko and powder are already arguing over whether we should watch home alone or home alone two.”
vi snorts. it’s practically a tradition at this point, along with the annual post-christmas-dinner pyjama movie night.
you try to hand her the bright pink guitar pick, but vi shakes her head.
“it’s yours. you’re gonna need it if you want more lessons.”
“hm, or maybe i could sell it for a billion dollars once you’re a big rockstar,” you tease. “i can picture thousands of fangirls painting your portrait and writing mrs. violet lanes in their notebooks.”
you get up, shoot her a wink, and leave vi on the bed, clutching her guitar and trying to get her pulse under control.
neither of you say anything as you both get changed. the stereo plays the mixtape you’d made for her — you got her for secret santa this year.
“my mom loved this song,” vi hums, a warm ache growing in her chest when the next song plays. this is the second christmas without her, but vi is still not used to using past tense. “she thought freddie mercury was the best rockstar of all time.”
“i remember. you…you must miss her.”
of course she does, and she could run through a million reasons why.
“vander says you’ll be spending new year’s at your dad’s,” is what she says instead.
you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “yeah.”
“your mom going, too?”
“just me and ekko. i swear, it’s like he’s trying to be this perfect dad to his new stepkids, meanwhile he’s the one who left us here to deal with his mess, the one who just ran away, and….whatever.” this time, you do scoff. “hey – do you have a shirt i could borrow?”
vi looks over to find that you’ve switched from the velvet dress you wore during dinner into a pair of flannel plaid pants; her cheeks flush when she sees that you’re only wearing a black lacy bralette on top.
she clears her throat and pulls a clean jersey from her dresser, tosses it over to you.
“that’s a shame. i was looking forward to spending new year’s eve together.”
you hum and slip the shirt over your shoulders. the only sources of light are the moon and the stars and the multicoloured christmas lights strung along vi’s walls, but she swore that your eyes flick down to her lips.
“why’s that?” you ask.
there’s something absolutely dizzying about being this close to you, the way your sparkly eyes wait patiently for her to respond. joni mitchell sings about skating away on a river, and vi wishes she could skate away from this conversation, but there’s nowhere to go.
vi blinks away from your gaze and fixates on one of the many things she’s pinned up on her bedroom walls throughout the years. it’s a page torn from an old notebook of yours, something from seventh grade math class, but vi always loved your little drawings in the margins.
vi?” you prompt, never one to let go easily.
“i want to kiss you at midnight,” she confesses.
“yeah?”
vi nods. she’s tempted to walk out of her room, down the stairs and out into the winter night, until you weave your fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. she looks up — and you’re beaming, a smile that brightens vi’s entire being.
“i want that too.”
vi finally, finally crashes her mouth onto yours, lips sticky with marshmallow fluff.
you taste like vanilla and gingerbread and hot chocolate that is definitely not spiked with irish cream that vi slipped into your mugs while you distracted the adults.
you taste like home.
….
so, slight change of plans….i’m gonna stay here in london with the rest of the band. apparently the kirammans throw a super fancy holiday party with super fancy people every year, and cait convinced her parents to let us perform. fingers crossed someone important discovers us.
merry christmas, baby. and, if i don’t get the chance to say it: happy new year.
….
track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love
(winter — age 12)
you’re supposed to be looking after ekko while your parents are at work, but all that really means is making a big bowl of kraft dinner and stove-top s’mores for lunch and watching old christmas specials on the worn-out living room couch while you draw in your sketchbook and your brother, only 7 years old, programs the doorbell to play ‘jingle bells.’
when someone rings the doorbell, the tune floats through the house and wakes up your dog who starts barking like it’s the end of the world.
“easy, ziggy.” you click a marker closed and run a hand through the husky’s fur, attempting to calm him down. “let’s go see who it is.”
you open the door, and there’s vi: snowflakes sparkling on her eyelashes, pink hair hidden under a knitted hat, and a toothy grin that brings out the dimple in her flushed cheeks. she’s also got a split lip and crooked nose from her last hockey game.
“we’re building a fort,” she tells you. she shuffles to the side so that you can see powder, who’s making a snow angel. “well, we’re going to. wanna join?”
you nod, smiling. “ekko!”
your brother’s already behind you, slipping on his chunky boots and oversized coat that used to be yours before running outside and collapsing onto the fluffy snow next to powder. ziggy bolts outside, too, running circles around them.
you stumble to get your winter gear on as fast as possible, the cold air rushing inside your front hallway as vi waits for you, kicking her snowy boot against the concrete entryway step. not even a heartbeat after shutting the door behind you, vi takes your gloved hand in hers and pulls you forward, the two of you a flurry of laughter.
…..
hey, pretty girl. i was at this party and one of your songs came on! every time i hear it, i’m in awe of how amazing it is….how amazing you are. i’m basically walking home in a snowstorm, so i’m gonna go before my fingers freeze off, but i just wanted to say that i’m so proud of my rockstar girlfriend.
i was also wondering: are you coming home any time soon? the holidays are coming up, and i really miss you. we all do.
…..
track 3: last christmas by wham!
(winter — now)
vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac:
no sex or romance between bandmates. it never ends well.
it was bad enough giving into the rumors and fooling around with cait, but it’s another layer of messiness now that cait and maddie dating. meanwhile, cait is very much still bitter towards vi, vi is very much pining after someone whom she’s pretty sure never wants to see her again, and steb and lorris are very much caught in the middle. it’s no wonder the band’s manager suggested everyone take some time apart to ease the tension. frankly, while others protested, vi was almost relieved at the suggestion.
so cait’s off to london, maddie’s off to glasgow, the boys are going god knows where, and vi —
vi’s heading back home, back to you.
she wakes up in the bed of her childhood for the first time in a long time. her dad put on fresh sheets, but they’re still the same ones from back then — worn flannel with cartoon penguins. it takes a lot of willpower to untangle herself from the warmth and cloud-like softness, but eventually she heads downstairs to the kitchen.
powder still has exams so she’s not home from college until tomorrow, and vander’s gone to work. it’s just vi in her too-small christmas pyjamas (she has yet to unpack), eating a box of stale cinnamon pop-tarts for breakfast even though it’s well past noon. curiosity gets the best of her, so she peers through the window to see if anyone is next door.
your mom’s car is in the driveway, completely snowed in. there had only been a dusting of snow while vi was devouring the first pastry, but four pop-tarts in and it’s about doubled. she waits until the snow stops falling; with nothing better to do and a sugar rush to burn off, vi pulls on her old winter coat and snow boots she hasn’t worn since she was 18, grabs a shovel from the garage, and gets to work.
it doesn’t take her long to clear the driveway, and she has some adrenaline to spare, so she decides to be a good neighbor.
vi’s heaving one last shovelful of snow over her shoulder when she hears:
“violet? is that you?”
she turns around. and, okay the first thing she registers is ziggy running towards her, the husky toppling her over into the snow.
“i missed you too, zig,” vi laughs.
she gets up as ziggy’s still bounding around in the snow, and sees your mom standing in the doorway, looking a little more tired and a little more gray. but the smile on her face when she sees that it is, in fact, vi — it’s so bright that the snow might not exactly melt away, but the years sure do.
vi remembers making snow angels with you while your moms gossiped over tea, how the two of you would stomp inside with a mess of slush and snow while laughter echoed from the living room. vi remembers your mom keeping a comforting arm around her shoulder through her mom’s funeral while you held her hand. she remembers your mom helping her pick out the perfect corsage to match your suit at prom, making a joke about how next time it might be an engagement ring, and telling vi how proud her mother would have been of her at your high school graduation party.
with the golden glow of nostalgia comes a crashing wave of guilt at what vi said to you last time you spoke.
“come inside, sweetheart. i’ll make you some hot cocoa as a thank you.”
vi is tempted to reject the offer, but your mom looks so hopeful and vi’s fingers are about to freeze off, anyways.
so your mom makes hot cocoa as vi defrosts, the two of them chatting in the familiar yellow kitchen that you and vi once almost burnt down while trying to bake a cake for powder’s birthday. even the magnets and paper memories decorating the fridge are the same, with the addition of an article about vi’s band that was featured in the rolling stone, pinned up by a ceramic cow.
“she’s an art teacher now,” your mom tells vi after giving an update on ekko. she glances at the oven clock. “speaking of which — i know you just finished shoveling our driveway, but do you mind helping me with another favor?”
“after the world’s best hot chocolate? anything.”
“i told my daughter that i’d pick her up from work, and i’m wondering if you would be able to take care of that.” your mom smiles. “i’m sensing a bad migraine coming on.”
the last sip of hot chocolate trickles down vi’s throat like cement. she knew she’d be seeing you, but didn’t quite plan for how that….reunion might go.
“of course,” vi says.
vi puts both of their mugs in the dishwasher, about to grab the car keys from the hook by the door when your mom calls out:
“oh, and violet?” vi turns around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”
you’re talking to a student when vi enters the art room of your old high school. nothing else in the building had changed — same boring concrete, same scratched up lockers, same graffiti immortalizing whom hooked up with whom. this room is the exception, vibrant with how students’ art is displayed all around, paintings and drawings and collages, and you’ve strung up multicolored christmas lights that give the whole space a cozy ambiance. you look the part of a cool, young art teacher: wearing a simple dark purple turtleneck tucked into black jeans and the same combat boots you’ve had since tenth grade, paint stains on your skin that is exposed by rolled up sleeves, and a marker behind your ear. you’re standing in front of an easel, talking to the student who happens to notice vi before you do.
“holy shit. is that violet lanes?”
vi watches as your face scrunches up in confusion, and then falls into shock when you see her standing there.
“it seems that it is violet lanes,” you state coolly while the student squeals. “what are you doing here?”
“oh, i, uh,” vi clears her throat, her palms sweaty. why is her body reacting like she’s a teenager about to ask out her crush for the first time? “your mom wasn’t feeling great, asked if i could pick you up from work.”
“you guys are friends?” the student asks, eyes wide as they flick between you and vi.
“we used to date, actually,” vi clarifies. wrong move, she realizes, because you can’t help but glare at her.
“oh my god.” the student squeals again and reaches in their pocket to whip out their phone. “i need to tell alyssa that ms. l/n was in a relationship with the violet lanes. are you guys gonna get back together? oh my god, have you come to win her back —”
“layla,” you clip, and by the furrow of layla’s brow, it seems like you’re not usually so stern. you smile at layla, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you’ve done some great work today, but you’ll have to finish this when we’re back from winter break. do you mind giving ms. lanes and i a minute?”
layla nods once, gathers her things. when she walks past vi, she can’t help but ask for an autograph. vi complies, of course, even lets her take a selfie. a fan is a fan, after all.
and, quite frankly this is the only part of being in the band that she still enjoys: hearing how excited young girls are at the music she writes, the music that vi wished she had growing up, about girls liking girls, about girls falling in and out of love with each other. everything else is just an occupational hazard that vi’s getting more and more fed up with.
when vi turns her attention back to you, you’re finished putting all the material away, wiping your hands with an already paint-stained towel.
“i meant what you’re doing back in town,” you explain, not quite meeting vi’s eyes. you pack away some books and your laptop into a supple leather briefcase, and slip on your coat. vi’s cheeks flush when you catch her watching you.
“it…it doesn’t matter. i’m here for a while, though.”
you sigh. “okay.” and you don’t say anything more. vi keeps up with you as you switch off the lights, lock the door, and stride to the parking lot in silence. when you get to the car, you extend your hand.
“i’m driving,” you say, gesturing at her to give you the keys. “we both know that you’re a terrible driver.”
“i’m not a terrible driver,” vi guffaws.
“says the lesbian who gives the rest of us a bad name,” you quip, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips, like the first bout of sun after a winter storm. “c’mon, pretty girl. i’m not giving up, so unless you wanna freeze to death….”
the nickname slips effortlessly from your tongue, so much so that you don’t even seem to realize it, but vi’s breath hitches and she’s more than happy to fold to your every whim if it means hearing you call her pretty one more time.
“so….” vi glances over at you from the passenger seat. a snowy landscape passes outside the window, and you tap on the steering wheel to a generic christmas song that plays through the stereo. “you’re teaching high school now?”
she wonders if you remember the last fight you had, almost two years ago to the day.
you keep your eyes on the road. “yeah. guess i graduated from finger-painting with kindergarteners.”
vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again.
so, you do remember.
she wonders if you’ve replayed it over and over again and hoped for a different ending like she did. she should have thought more about what to actually say to you —
“you know, i never understood why you liked this song so much,” you suddenly say when the radio starts playing dolly parton’s cover of ‘i’ll be home for christmas.’
vi can read between the lines, but she’s waiting for you to point out the irony in her preference for a song that’s about someone wanting to go home for christmas, something vi has deliberately avoided at all costs these past few years.
“it just seems kinda sad,” you continue.
“you love ‘last christmas,’ and that one’s pretty sad,” vi points out.
“sure, but it ends hopefully.”
“oh?” vi tilts her head towards you. “how’d you figure?
“sure, it’s someone singing about heartbreak and how much it sucks during christmastime, but then there’s this hope that they still find true love down the line. it’s a maybe that isn’t hopeless.” you shrug. “meanwhile, your song ends with the lyric ‘if only in my dreams,’ which just seems too accepting of the fact that going home for christmas, being with the person they love — it might just be a dream.”
“i don’t know. some dreams do come true,” vi muses.
by now, you’ve made it home. you put the car in park but keep the engine going, presumably to avoid becoming icicles. neither of you make a move to leave.
you glance over at vi. “your dreams sure came true, ms. violet lanes,” you joke, but there’s an air of sadness to it.
“not all of them.”
“yeah? which ones haven’t?”
vi swallows the lump in her throat and hopes that you understand the look in her eyes. “let’s just say i’m working on them.”
you blink away and cut the engine.
….
you’re still dealing with the shock of seeing vi back in town when your brother, freshly home from college, suggests going skating.
he can be fairly convincing, especially when he mentions that it’s a christmas season tradition, so, you prepare for what is essentially a double date with your brother, his girlfriend/your ex-girlfriend’s sister, and your ex-girlfriend, with isha as a fifth wheel.
should be fun.
it turns out, despite all her past hockey experience, vi really cannot skate. in fact, skating seems to be the complete opposite of riding a bike: she’s terrible at it after years off the ice, essentially reenacting that scene from bambi. it’s easier to ignore vi’s presence when she’s sitting next to the snack bar, by herself, but then powder skates up next to you and asks if you’d be kind enough to please help her sister have a good time. you roll your eyes at her shit-eating grin, but it is a bit sad, watching vi on the sidelines. she’s wearing a beanie and a pair of sunglasses to hide her identity, and now she kinda looks like a divorced dad watching his grown kids pass him by while he’s stuck in a midlife crisis.
you convince vi to give skating another shot — it’s tradition after all — and pull her out onto the rink. you start by holding her from behind, keeping her hips steady until she gets the hang of it. you try to let go, but vi stumbles and reaches out for your gloved hand, and you melt into the familiarity of her fingers curled around yours. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, first with you pulling vi along, then with her taking the lead, until vi almost knocks into a small child.
“see what i mean by you being a bad driver?” you jest, successfully maneuvering to avoid collision.
then, you follow where vi’s eyes have settled — on powder and isha laughing and chasing each other around the rink. vi had asked earlier when isha had dyed her hair blue; you still have some residue under your nails from last weekend, when powder came for a study break and the three of you ended up helping isha achieve a new look she’d apparently been itching to try.
“you know powder’s graduating this year?”
“she overloaded her credits so she could get out of there as soon as possible,” you explain, having had many conversations with powder leading up to the decision.
vi nods, her jaw clenched. you already know what she’s thinking, and frankly, you agree: that vi hasn’t been here, literally and figuratively. you also feel the warmth of vi’s skin radiating through her glove to yours, notice the slight flush to her freckled cheeks, how chapped her lips are from the cold, so much so that you’re tempted to share the vanilla chapstick you’ve got on your own lips, to kiss her deeply like you did last time you were here, together.
it’s only been three days since vi’s been back home. this is only the second time you’ve seen her, and you’re already falling back into old patterns, tempted to ask her to stay, to try again, even though you already know the answer.
except….not staying isn’t the deal breaker it used to be, so maybe trying again isn’t as hopeless as you think it is.
vi squeezes your hand, and you realize that you’ve stopped skating entirely.
“hey. you still with me?”
you nod, decide to enjoy this moment for as long as you can, and the two of you glide across the ice.
…..
when you suggest making stove-top s’mores, it’s another item on the list of things she’d missed.
a list that’s been growing a lot these past few days.
vi offers to make more once you’ve all run out, and ekko follows her into their kitchen while you, powder, and isha keep watching christmas specials in the living room. she turns on the gas stove, stabs a marshmallow through a wooden skewer and waits for it to roast — and, for ekko to say something.
“i don’t know what happened between you and my sister, but i need you to promise me that the tabloids aren’t true. that you and that kiramman chick didn’t hook up…at least until after y’all broke up.”
“or, what, you’re gonna challenge me to an arm wrestle? think you can finally beat me?”
“oh, i know it.”
a pause. the marshmallow catches on fire and vi blows on it to quell the damage.
“i didn’t cheat on her.” she throws out the burnt marshmallow and gives it another shot. “i would never. does….does she think i did?”
ekko shrugs. “not sure. some of those articles are pretty convincing. but, since you’re promising me that you didn’t…”
“i didn’t.”
“then that saves me from kicking your ass.” ekko nods once and uncrosses his arms, handing vi some graham crackers and chocolate. “actually, i could use your help with something.”
“sure.”
“she applied to this great art residency in new york, like, on whim. the only people she’s told are me, powder, and vander….i think she’s nervous to tell mom, at least until she knows for sure she’s gotten in, but this is the most excited i’ve seen her be about something in a while, and she worked really hard on her application…”
“i’m sure she did,” vi states. “what do you need my help with?”
“convincing her to go.”
“i’d love to help, but i’m not sure i’m someone she’d wanna hear from, especially about this. she was never a fan of me leaving to pursue my dreams.”
“she was never a fan of you leaving,” ekko corrects. “she’s still a fan of you pursuing your dreams.” he juts his chin out at the article stuck to the fridge.
vi had just assumed that your mom had pinned that up.
“okay.” vi says. “i’ll talk to her.”
a plateful of semi-burnt s’mores later, and vi and ekko return to the living room with the rest of you.
vi forgot how nice this felt, all of you cuddled on the couch, ziggy included, watching how the grinch stole christmas. she half expects her mom to walk in through the door without even knocking, shake the snow off her hair, and hold up a batch of pre-baked gingerbread people she’d gotten for the kids to decorate.
but that’s not happening. other than isha, none of you are kids anymore and things can never be the same.
and yet — you glance over at vi and give her a sticky marshmallow smile, and she feels her heart grow three sizes.
….
baby, i swear it’s not what it looks like. the record label thought it would be good promo to get a picture of me kissing under the mistletoe…’tis the season and all that…..cait and i were both really drunk and things got a bit out of hand….but it looks worse than it is. i swear on my mother’s grave that nothing happened.
please call me back, baby…..i’m so fucking sorry….please.
it’s not christmas without at least hearing your voice.
….
track 4: river by joni mitchell
(winter — age 23)
it’s hard to believe that hours ago, you were kissing vi backstage and showering her with praise after the concert. she was happy to indulge in your excitement, even though she was all sweaty and her ears were still ringing from the crowd.
more than happy, in fact. phone sex can only go so far, and it’d been too long since vi had seen you writhe and heard you whimper for her firsthand.
“i missed you so fucking much,” you groan, tightening your grip on vi’s hair. it’s now an inky black instead of fuschia — the band’s starting to lean more punk rock.
a particularly hard thrust is her way of telling you that she missed you too. so fucking much. she throws your legs over her shoulders, pushing the strap deeper inside you and digging her knees into the mattress as she coaxes you through another orgasm. you pull her down for one last searing kiss, your tongue searching each crevice of her mouth.
“i can’t believe you’re here,” vi continues a few moments later, after you’re both cleaned up and getting dressed. she wants to add something along the lines of i love you, but she bites back the sentiment. she’ll save that sappy shit for later tonight, when she finally gets down on one knee for you.
you glance back at her from where you’re pulling out a sparkly silver dress from your side of the closet (and isn’t that such a slip of the mind? your side, as if it’s a shared closet and a shared bedroom and a shared home; if she thought about it more, though, she would realize that, though she has no problem asking you to marry her, she’s still terrified at the thought of staying in one place for more than a few months).
“me neither,” you smile.
vi walks over to you, presses her half-dressed body against your lingerie-clad form (vi’s sure you wore this fuschia set just to drive her insane; it’s working). she lodges her hand behind your ear and pulls you in closer, kisses you deeply because you’re here and she missed you so fucking much and she’s so ready to make you her wife.
she could write a whole record just about the taste of your lips: the sweetness of vanilla chapstick, the saltiness of sweat and the headiness lingering from the wetness you lapped up from between her legs.
you pull away first. vi tries not to stare at how your chest heaves, your breasts straining against intricate lace.
“we, um.” you clear your throat. you slip your hand underneath vi’s blazer, and she groans when you make contact with the exposed, burning skin of her abdomen. vi thinks you’re about to suggest another round, or two, or ten, but instead you untangle yourself from her and say: “we should probably get ready.”
the after party is going well. the club’s busy, the music’s good, and the drinks are flowing.
you seem to be having a great time until someone (probably cait or maddie, on cait’s behalf) lets it slip that the band’s heading to london later in the month to start recording their new album before the end of the year….something vi decidedly did not want to tell you until later tonight, after the high of the proposal, after she’s promised you that she’s dedicated to this relationship, that she’s always been dedicated to you.
instead, vi’s trailing behind you as you angrily stomp towards the bathroom, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out of this argument.
there’s a line, but you cut in front and slip inside as soon as someone walks out.
“wait, what the fu —”
you slam the door and lock it behind you once you’re both inside, ignoring the subsequent banging and jiggling of the handle.
“please, baby, let me explain —”
“i can’t fucking believe you,” your voice is steady, measured, and for some reason that makes vi even more nervous. “you give empty promise after empty promise that you’ll be more present, but something always gets in the way, is always more important than —”
“don’t you dare say that you’re not important to me. i offer to fly you out anywhere to be with me, but you’ve only taken me up on the offer once. twice, now.”
“it’s been five years, vi. five years of us staying together because….god, at this point i don’t even know why — ”
“do you not understand how much i love you?” vi raises her voice over the sound of the club music outside. “i was gonna propose tonight.”
you stare at her, then start to laugh.
“please tell me you’re joking.”
“i’m not.”
“if you think marriage will save us, then you’re delusional. what was your plan — call me your wife while we’re thousands of miles apart, but not even have the time to answer my calls? we’re barely in a relationship now, vi. all that’s left between us are missed calls and voicemails —”
“oh that’s really all that’s left between us?”
“i love you, violet. i have since we were kids. but, now, there’s also all this — the parties, the crowds, the fame….you’ve gone all over the world, and you can’t even be bothered to visit your family during the holidays.”
“well i’m sorry that my ambitions are bigger than that nothing town we grew up in,” vi snaps. “i can’t believe you’re throwing a tantrum because i’m not making it home for christmas. for what? so we can all reminisce by the fireplace, pretend that we can be kids again, even though things can —” vi chokes back a sob, soothes it with a healthy dose of anger. “things can never be the same. you need to grow the fuck up.”
“maybe you should be the one to grow up!” you finally yell. “convincing yourself that this relationship is working, meanwhile you’re running away from everything and everyone you grew up with because it reminds you of your —”
“at least i’m not afraid to actually go after my dreams,” vi cuts you off before you can finish that sentence, uses the broken shards of your words against you. “don’t you want more for your life than finger-painting with a bunch of kindergarteners? you’re gonna end up just like your deadbeat mom, going nowhere, drinking yourself to sleep, all alone, with nothing to show for the life you’ve lived.”
as soon as the words leave her mouth, vi wishes she could take them back. you don’t bother swallowing your tears, letting them rush down your cheeks. vi digs her nails into her palms to prevent herself from reaching out and wiping them. it wouldn’t make sense, anyways. she’s the reason you’re crying.
you take a deep, shaky breath.
“yeah, well, i’m glad that your mom isn’t alive to see what a selfish asshole you’ve become.” there’s a pause, and vi feels her stomach turn at your casual cruelty, your quiet anger. “i’m gonna pack up my stuff and catch the first flight out of here. merry fucking christmas and happy fucking new year. have a nice life.”
vi screams and throws the velvet box against the door you’ve slammed shut behind you. the hot tears that were building in her throat finally boil over. the engagement ring clatters onto the floor.
…..
vi? it’s me. not sure if you’ve blocked my number. i wouldn’t blame you. i know it’s been, like, a year, but it feels weird not hearing your voice for this long, especially around the holidays. well, i guess i could just turn on the radio….it’s not the same, though. anyways, merry christmas. happy new year, too. and….and i’m sorry.
please come home.
…..
track 5: i’ll be home for christmas by dolly parton
(winter — now)
karaoke at the last drop used to be one of vi’s favorite christmas traditions, so you decidedly avoided it at all cost since the breakup. vander always tried to convince you to join, but he understood and even made sure to not give you a shift during that time after you started working there at 21.
you kept the job because, evidently, high school art teachers don’t make a ton of money, and you would one day like to move out of your mother’s house.
which, as it turns out, might happen sooner rather than later. you applied for this artist residency in new york, and, yeah, you put time and effort and heart into your application, but you were sure that you’d be rejected. while you got your acceptance email this morning, and you were so fucking overjoyed at first, the thought of leaving still terrifies you, so you’ll postpone worrying about that until after the holidays. that’s what they’re for, anyways: a break from reality, a peek into a cozy snow-covered world where everyone is festive and joyous and worry-free.
right now though, you’re feeling neither festive nor joyous. gert called in sick, and no one else is able to cover for them, so you’re stuck at the last drop on christmas eve, listening to one of your old high school classmates drunkenly fumble the lyrics of darlene love’s ‘christmas (baby, please come home).’
about three verses in, vi walks into the bar with mylo and claggor, flakes of fluffy snow melting into her grayish pink hair. you’re already pouring their drinks before they reach the counter. mylo and claggor offer their sincere appreciation, chattering away as they leave to snag a booth in the corner. vi stares at her drink before grabbing the beer glass.
“you remember.”
“are you surprised?”
vi smiles. “no. it’s just nice. cait keeps insisting i order gin martinis instead. says it’s classier.”
something sour curdles in your stomach. “yeah, well. i’ve always liked you the way you are.”
that probably ended up sounding like you’re still pining after vi (which you’re….not) rather than the bitter comment you intended it to be.
vi’s soft blue eyes search yours.
“i better get back to the boys,” she finally says. “maybe sign up for a song or two.”
you’re busy clearing a table when you hear her voice again. actually — a silence fills the bar, and it’s replaced by the lush rumble of vi singing ‘last christmas.’
you watch her as she performs, eyes locked on yours, and it’s over before you know it. you feel like you should go say something to her, but then there are a bunch of excited fans that she has to attend to, signing autographs, taking photos.
as you swallow your disappointment, the normal chatter of the bar resumes. you’re walking back to the kitchen when you feel someone pinch the back of your thigh, right under your ass. you whip around to find that old classmate who butchered a christmas classic an hour or so before (james, you think his name is, from ninth grade science), with the most arrogant smirk.
“hey, gorgeous. my friends and i were just arguing over who should take you home tonight.” he gestures towards a table of guys who look like equally preppy assholes. “i won the chugging contest.”
“good for you,” you say, balancing a tray of empty glasses. “grope someone in here again, and you’ll be sorry you did.” you turn around to get back to work, but james grabs your wrist and stands up abruptly so you’re chest-to-chest.
“i don’t think you understand what i’m offering, baby.” you gag at the nickname and the stench of beer on his breath. you’re a bartender, you’re used to getting hit on, but creeps like this are the worst.
you rip away from his grasp.
“i’m not interested,” you snap. “and i’m not your baby.”
“listen.” james puts his hands on your shoulders, and if both of your hands were free, you would promptly push him away. everyone’s having a good time and you don’t wanna cause a scene, so you try to think of ways to get this asshole out of the bar and into the snow without much of a fight. “you know, santa might come down your chimney on christmas eve, but if you’ve been a good girl this year i’ll come down your —”
“there you are!” powder’s voice is loud over the sound of someone singing another generic christmas carol. she knocks into your side, breathless. “sorry we’re late. had some car trouble.”
“well, hello.” he removes his hands from your shoulders, shifts his predatory gaze from you to powder.
oh, fuck no.
“powder,” you keep your voice steady even if your heart is racing. “go back to the table. i’ll be there in a sec.”
james reaches out for powder, but you punch him square in the jaw before he can so much as touch her, the tray of glasses crashing on the floor.
james’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only egotistical, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a blow to their ego.
in fact, he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.
you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but powder manages to catch you before you tumble into the broken glass. she holds you as people start yelling. you think that vander rushes over, too, shouting at james to get the fuck out of his bar and never step foot in it again.
you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is all a bit fuzzy. powder tries her best, but you slump your body weight into hers and she almost topples over.
“i’ve got her.” vi’s surprisingly calm voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you.
somehow, you find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter as vi stands between your legs. she carefully examines your injury, but you notice how she avoids making eye contact.
you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while.
“remember teaching me how to throw a punch?” the question slips past your lips before you can stop it.
vi looks slightly amused, and she finally meets your gaze. “‘course i do,” she hums. “you tried to convince me to help you start an all-female fight club at school.”
a smile creeps onto your face, despite the pain from your nose.
she remembers.
somewhere within her, vi holds on to fragments of you.
“thank god the principal vetoed it. would’ve been a disaster,” she continues.
vi wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of her silk red button-down now stained a darker crimson. “how’s your hand?” she asks.
you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”
vi smiles sadly. “i guess you’ve been the one protecting my sister while i’ve been away.”
while i’ve been away.
the reminder feels like a stab to the heart.
vi’s back home, sure, but only for a limited time.
her fingers graze your cheek, and the breath hitches in your throat.
“you know, i only wanted to start that fight club as an elaborate plan to spend more time together,” you confess, opting to preserve the delicate bubble of nostalgia you’d stumbled into together. “we were each so busy….i had studio, and you were always away at hockey games. it wasn’t realistic in the end, though.”
“i would’ve stayed if you asked,” she tells you, and you wonder exactly what she might be referring to.
you swallow the lump in your throat. “it’s what you loved, though.”
“but i - i loved you, more. you had to have known that.”
“yeah, well. i loved you, too,” you explain, and it’s clear that neither of you are talking about a lesbian fight club. “whether it was hockey, or music….as long your heart was in it, it was more worth it to let you go, to not stand in the way of your dreams.”
“you were my dream.”
you scoff, cheeks heating up, and look away. “you probably say that to all the girls.”
“no.” vi guides your chin towards her. “just the one.”
it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on vi’s— messy, urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. she cradles your face in her hands, and you wrap your legs around her waist to bring her closer. you taste beer on her tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the adrenaline, but dizzy from her. vi’s gaze is heavy on yours as she traces your top lip with her thumb.
“vi,” you whimper, itching to kiss her again.
“you’re still bleeding.”
vi wipes away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. vander, wondering if you’re okay and if maybe you could hurry up and get back to work.
you can’t sleep that night. before, staying up on christmas eve was an elaborate operation to catch santa. now, it’s overthinking a very hot kiss and all the unresolved tension between you and your ex-girlfriend next door.
logically, you knew that you missed vi, everything about her and who she is, the way you would laugh and argue and make love. but the rush of feeling her tongue licking into your mouth, her body melding into yours after being apart for so long….
you’re scared that she won’t feel the same, but you’re even more terrified of letting the moment slip through both your fingers without at least trying.
so, you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to her, when by some christmas miracle you get a text from her.
she climbs through your window not long after, wearing plaid boxer shorts and a zaun university sweatshirt you’ve been looking for, for about five years. you didn’t bother to change, either, only wearing an oversized shirt. you sit cross-legged on your bed as she waits by the window. vi stares at your chest for a good few seconds, and you remember that you’re wearing one of her band’s concert tees, faded from years of wear.
“so, um,” vi starts, her voice as soft as the well-worn cotton of your shirt. “we have so much shit to talk about and figure out, but, i, uh, can’t stop thinking about early tonight —”
“vi.” the swarm of butterflies in your stomach is replaced by something more delicate, more urgent. “do you wanna come sit?”
vi swallows thickly, looking between you and the still open window. a winter breeze rushes through. you shiver, thinking she might just turn around and disappear into the cold night. instead, she shuts the window, removes her snow-covered boots, and settles onto the bed next to you.
you place a tentative hand on her cheek, still cold and slightly flushed. she shudders when you run your thumb over the tattoo under her eye.
“i know there’s a lot we have to work through.” you take a deep breath as she shifts closer, suddenly dizzy from the familiar scent of her winter pine old-spice body wash. “right now….right now, i just want you.”
“yeah?” vi smirks, her shyness melting away. she settles a warm hand on your bare thigh. “how do you want me?”
you exhale sharply when her hand travels higher, dull nails scraping at the fabric of your underwear.
“it’s cute that you’re flustered,” she quips, leaning in even closer. her breath is warm and heavy against your lips. “because i’ve spent so many night replaying all the dirty, nasty things we used to —”
you tug her sweatshirt and pull her back onto the bed, feeling her body solid against yours. the vibration of her groan shudders through your body when you crash your lips onto hers with such hunger, you’d think you had been starving without her.
“how’s about an encore, superstar?” you drawl.
you bite your lip hard at how vi nods at you desperately, eyes all dark and lustful.
“you read my mind,” she breathes. by now, her hand has reached the hem of your shirt, and she pushes up the cotton to reveal the supple skin of your stomach. you give her permission to remove it, leaving your top half exposed.
her lips nip and suck down your body until she reaches the waistband of your panties. she pulls it up with her teeth, the elastic snapping back when she lets go. you whine her name, and she looks up at you with dark eyes.
“can i?” her breath fans over your navel, her nails digging into your hips as she waits for your answer.
“yes. please.”
you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel vi smirk against your inner thigh before sinking her teeth into it. you whimper, and vi salves her tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. she positions your legs over her shoulders for better access to where you need her most.
vi moves her tongue and fingers in all the ways she remembers makes you shake, curl your toes, and grind down on her face. in return, you grip her pink hair, tightly, and utter praise in all the ways you remember makes her shake.
“just like that, pretty girl,” you encourage, practically melting into the mattress. it feels so good — dangerously good, intoxicating, even — to be devoured by vi. “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”
vi’s moan vibrates throughout your body and she becomes faster, reaches her tongue deeper, bringing you over the edge. she leaves a few more bites on your body on her way up to meet you and when she does, vi’s lips and chin are shining with your release.
you lean forward slightly to lick it up. you ghost your mouth over hers.
“your turn,” you taunt and run your thumb over her tattooed cheek.
you twist your calf around vi’s leg and flip your positions. she lets out a yelp when her back hits the mattress. once you’re hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you do what you’re sure you’d never get tired of doing: you kiss her, passionately, deeply. you bite her lip as you pull away.
there was always a bit of jealousy that gnawed at you, became your very-own shoulder devil that you just couldn’t shake when you were together, no matter how hard you tried. it was no secret that vi was admired by many, that girls around the world were crushing on her, hoping they’d catch her eye, get their chance with her. you never felt like she was yours, and yours alone.
but you do get a deep satisfaction knowing that right here, right now, you’re the only person who gets to see her like this — pink hair splayed across the pillows like her very own halo, but the rest of her telling a much less-angelic, much more sinister story: her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her cheeks a devilish shade of red, her eyes dark and lustful and waiting for you to make the next move.
"you want me to have my way with you?" you whisper, voice honeyed with desire.
vi whimpers, a sound that fuels the fire in your abdomen. "yes."
you practically rip off her sweatshirt, kiss down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and sternum down to her stomach. vi lifts her hips from the bed so that you can remove her boxers, and you’re delighted to find nothing else underneath.
you’re greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you run your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already feel her slick coating your lips. vi spread her legs even wider, and you take the opportunity to sink two fingers into her cunt. you know her body, as well as you know your own, as well as she knows yours. you flick your gaze up, view slightly blocked by the pink curls of her bush, but you can still picture it — how her eyes roll back, how her mouth opens to release a perfectly delicious gasp.
"god, i've barely touched you and you're already about to cum. did you miss me that much?" you tease, feeling her clench around your fingers. as if you aren’t subtly rutting your hips against the mattress, eager to ease the throbbing between your legs.
all you get in response is whine. it’s muffled, and you crane your neck upward to see her biting down on her knuckles, so hard you’re worried she might break skin.
unacceptable.
the rest of the world gets to hear her every day, any time they please. you want to be serenaded by the lyrics of her want, the notes of her desire. all for you and you alone.
with your other hand, you reach up to pinch one of her pierced nipples, always so sensitive. "answer me, violet."
vi props herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you remove your mouth from her.
"yes!" she sings, practically sobbing. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the throbbing between your thighs intensify, hearing the frantic lilt of her voice — like she needs you and only you. "i missed you so fucking much. please, just do something."
at her request, you move up the bed so that the two of you are face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other is two fingers deep in her cunt. you add another, just to reveal in the timber of her sultry moan. she tries to bring her hand back, to quiet herself, but you shake your head.
with your thumb, you trace over her lips, uneven and scarred and imperfectly beautiful. "open."
vi obeys you instantly. you spit in her mouth, heart racing as you watch her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.
you continue fucking her with your fingers until she moans, louder and louder as she reaches her peak.
removing your fingers from her pussy, you lock eyes with her as you bring your syrupy fingers to your mouth and suck off her juices. then, you kiss underneath her ear, lips sticking slightly to her skin, and you whisper: "now i know why they say you have the voice of an angel.”
“fuck,” she exhales, the breath turning into a chuckle as you kiss underneath her chin, where you know she’s ticklish.
"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whisper. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."
vi nods, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts are touching. you start fucking her down into the mattress and she sits up slightly so that your nipples brush against each other, the cold metal of her piercings encouraging the roll of your hips, her nails digging into the curve of your ass to bring you impossibly closer.
“i missed you too. so fucking much,” you finally admit. you flick one of the silver rings before leaning down and wrapping your lips around her nipple.
“i missed these, too,” you add as you release her nipple with a pop, and vi moans. you’re grinning from ear to ear because, holy shit, vi is here and you’re together and you’re both happy, if only at the ecstasy of your silken cunts gliding against each other, at the taste of the other slicking your tongues, as thick as nectar and twice as sweet.
she laughs — love and magic and everlasting bliss — and you have to capture her lips now if you want to swallow the sound. you feel it bounce through your ribcage, awaken something deep within you that you feared was lost to time.
vi thrusts her hips upwards, presses harder against the seam of your cunt until you’re gushing against each other, not quite sure who’s making what mess.
strings of cum connect you as you remove your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath. vi drapes an arm over her eyes, chest heaving.
you throw on some clothes and leave the room, hoping that vi’s still there when you get back.
….
vi worries that if she opens her eyes, she’ll wake up from this dream.
she’ll be in some uncomfortable bed in london or tokyo or los angeles. the dull ache between her legs would be thanks to some girl who’d be eager to text all her friends and spill all the details about what vi likes in bed, or caitlyn who would tell vi to shave next time, darling, or i won’t let you fuck me again anytime soon.
instead, vi hears the creak of a door opening, feet tiptoeing along the floorboards. the mattress shifts with the weight of someone between her legs, though their body is not touching hers.
“vi, baby,” a gentle coaxing, a familiar voice, pulling towards something she forgot she needed. her heart soars when she finds you kneeling on the bed, holding a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in another.
“yeah?” her voice is hoarse, but her throat doesn’t sting in the same way it does after a concert. it feels tender, well-used, well-loved.
you hold out the cup of water, watch vi eagerly gulp down half of it before she realizes what she’s done.
“shit, i — did you want some?”
you smile and shake your head. “i had some downstairs after my shower.” it’s then that vi registers the water dripping from the ends of your hair, soaking the fabric of her (fine, your) sweatshirt. “i’m gonna clean you up. is that okay?”
vi nods.
okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash.
it’s been a while since someone has fucked her so well she’d be satisfied for years and then touched her so tenderly afterwards. you run the damp cloth over vi’s sticky, sweaty skin, occasionally leaning down to press soft lips where you’d left teeth marks and bruises before.
“there.” you throw the cloth on the floor. “so, um. do you wanna stay….?”
you bite your lip as you wait for vi to answer. you start picking at your nail polish, too. vi sits up and grabs your hand.
“i do,” she soothes. “do you want me to?”
your smile brightens the entire room and you kiss vi before muttering:
“i do.”
vi slips on her boxers as you settle into the bed next to her, leaving her top half bare. she notices the sketchbook on your bedside table, and she lifts it up at you, a silent question if she can flip through. you take it from her as you shift to sit between her legs, her chest warm against your back. the room’s only illuminated by the string of multicolored christmas lights you’d left on, but vi can see the talent, the passion behind your work as you walk her through your sketchbook. you tell her about the techniques you’ve been working on and new mediums you want to explore, about how you want to make the kind of art that makes people appreciate the beauty in the everyday.
“i always loved your art,” she muses. vi cranes her neck slightly, places a kiss on your shoulder then one on your cheek. “the world would be more beautiful if you shared it.”
you hum and place the sketchbook on your bedside table. you each shift to your sides, facing each other; vi notches a leg around your hips, and you throw an arm around her waist, fingers trailing down her tattooed back.
“ekko talked to you, huh?”
“i would have said that even if he hadn’t,” vi promises. “so….have you heard anything yet?”
“well….yeah,” you sigh, smiling shyly. “i got in, actually.”
“really? that’s amazing, baby.” she beams at you, excitedly cupping your face in her hands, leaving small kisses across your cheeks until you’re giggling.
“okay, okay,” you laugh. “i don’t know if i’m gonna go yet.”
vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours.
“i know you’re scared, baby,” she says softly. “but sometimes it’s just a leap of faith.”
“i know.” you pause, gnawing at your bottom lip while your eyes fixate on the scar on her upper lip. “can i ask you something?
“anything.”
“when you proposed to me….” her body tenses up, but you brush your hand over her bicep and the tension in her muscles dissipates. “was that a leap of faith? like, were you scared?”
“well, not at first.” she takes a shuddery breath, her voice suddenly small. “i always thought that we’d be together….i just didn’t think through how we’d make it work, i guess. i didn’t mean to mess things up, though.”
“hey.” vi leans into the hand you cup around her cheek. “we both messed up. we never actually talked, you know? but….i’m glad we are, now.” you swallow. “i still love you, vi.”
vi exhales. “you know, girls tell me that they love me pretty much every day.”
you can’t help it — you roll your eyes, and vi laughs. because, truthfully, her heart has felt more full at your admission of love just now than it ever has for an area of screaming fans.
“there’s a point to this, i promise,” she says, nudging her nose against yours. “i used to get such a thrill from it….but then i think about what you said earlier. my heart — it’s just not in it anymore. all the band is now is drama and gossip and compromises of fame over art, and…. i don’t know. it’s not really what i want anymore. i want to be with you. for real, this time.”
you blink at her; she can feel your chest pulsing against hers like a hummingbird.
“would you, um, if i were to take that leap of faith and do that artist residency, would you —”
“anywhere you wanna go,” vi promises. she thinks about it a bit more….how nice it’s been to be home for the holidays, how nice it would be to come home year round. “preferably close enough so we can have dinner at home on the weekends.”
“sounds like a plan,” you smile.
the two of you twist closer underneath the flannel sheets, sink into the mattress, and gaze up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling until you fall asleep in each other’s arms.
you jolt awake a few hours later, several firm knocks on the door and ekko shouting:
“it’s christmas! get the fuck up before ziggy eats all the bacon!”
beside you, vi protects you from the frosty winter morning. her body radiates warmth, and her eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, as you gently shake her shoulder.
she groans, turning on her back, rubbing sleep from her eye.
“i better go.”
“....yeah.”
you flush when you glance over as vi’s slipping on her sweatshirt, rose-petal bruises delicate across her skin. she opens the window, hair still mussed up, and a gust of frigid air rushes into the room.
the image is so familiar: vi, one leg in your room and another out the window. you feel like a teenager again, scrambling to get dressed and avoid anyone hearing that you’d snuck your girlfriend into your room late at night. but there’s something else now, too — you imagine this becoming routine: waking up next to each other every day, swapping clothes, kissing over coffee and pancakes at breakfast. a place where the two of you might create some new memories, build a shared life together. and much more, so much more that feels like it could be your reality, sooner rather than later.
you’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice vi rushing back towards you. she kisses you and kisses you, until your lungs are burning.
"merry christmas, baby,” she mumbles against your lips.
you grin back at her. “merry christmas, vi.”
....
hi baby, i know you’re at studio right now, but i forgot to ask you this morning: how do you feel about sending out holiday cards this year? i know they’re kind of cheesy, but it seems like the type of thing married couples might do…..
anyways, we’ll talk about it when you get home. i’m test-driving this new recipe for brussel sprouts to bring to dinner at my dad’s.
i’ll see you later. love you!
#hope y'all had great holidays + + happy new year!!!#again i wasn't sure if i should post this bc it is VERY late#but i guess better late than never!!#my plan is to either work on that werewolf!vi au or spiderverse!vi au now#except rockstar vi still has a chokehold on me#so i think i might just write something along those lines but we'll see#saf writes#arcane#vi arcane smut#vi arcane#vi arcane x reader#arcane x reader#arcane smut#vi smut#vi x reader#vi fanfic#vi#vi league of legends#lesbian#wlw smut#wlw fanfic#vi fluff
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a/n: inspired by this tweet because all i could think about is gojo since he’s a Real Lover it’s so silly maybe ooc idk idc i hope u guys enjoy :3
masterlist
the sound of jingling keys jolts you awake, eyesight blurry as you check your phone. the bright lock screen of satoru holding a bouquet of flowers blinds you slightly.
2:38 am
your senses slowly come to you as you wake up more and more, the sound of what could be an intruder shuffling around in your living room has your heart pounding against your ribs. satoru wasn’t supposed to be home for a couple more days, and no one else has keys to your home. your palms are getting sweatier by the second, satoru voice instructing you on what to do rang in your ears (he was very aware that you were his weakness).
as quietly as you could you scrambled out from under your blanket, grabbing the knife satoru had hidden for you in the closet. you could see the hallway light flicker on as the warm light seeped through the cracks of the door. your grip tightens on the knife, positioning yourself behind the door as you hear them start twisting the handle.
there’s not a second of hesitation as the door opens slowly and you plunge the knife into the intruder’s abdomen, letting out a small squeak when you’re met with familiar blue eyes.
“toru?” you yell, hand still on the handle of the knife, plunged into his side.
“hello sweetheart” he coughs out, a charmed smile on his face as his eyes meet your petrified ones, “could’ve just said you didn’t want me home” he pouts softly, unphased by the knife still in his body.
your mouth opens and closes, frozen in position and satoru can’t help but feel a little bad for scaring you. he doesn’t mind the stinging in his side, thrusting the blade a bit deeper just to place a kiss to your forehead.
“satoru the knife!” you gasp, pulling it out and causing satoru to wheeze a little, stumbling as he puts his hand over his wound, healing it over in a matter of moments.
“that’s one way to be welcomed home early by your lover” he smiles, finally setting his bag down and engulfing you in his much larger frame.
“I’m so sorry i can’t believe i fucking stabbed you” you cry out, face hot as you hold your lover closer, “you couldn’t have sent a text or something?” you mumble against his chest, squeezing him tightly and placing a gentle kiss against his jaw. satoru pouts down at you, huffing softly.
“wouldn’t have been a surprise then,” you can’t help but roll your eyes at him, holding him closer, “i missed you so much, dunno who i thought i was saying id be gone for so long” he shakes his head, finally unwrapping his arms from you.
there’s a beat of silence as he’s staring down at you, a cheeky smile on his face before he turns to turn the restroom light on.
“what?” you ask, already under your blanket as you watch him shake his head, his lips fighting back a smile.
“nothing, nothing” he grins, a soft chuckle escaping his lips before clearing his throat.
“you can’t give me that look and then say nothing! you have to tell me now” you demand, satoru just about melts at the small huff you let out, enamored by the way you practically teleported to his side to pry information from him.
“it’s just you had a really weak stab” he giggles, “like, pathetically weak” satoru can’t help but burst into laughter at your look of offense when the words land on your ears.
“well excuse me i don’t go around practicing my stabbing skills!” you scoff, shoving him softly and crossing your arms across your chest, “in my defense i had just woken up” you grumble, turning your back to him and heading back to bed.
satoru takes a moment, admiring you before pushing off the counter and pulling you into him by your waist, “maybe it wasn’t weak, I’m just too strong hm?” there’s a cocky smirk on his face that you hate to love, making your breath hitch in your throat as you agree with his statement.
“now go shower you stink” satoru grins, placing a messy kiss to your lips before speaking up.
“you gonna stab me again if i don’t?”
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I’ve seen your kiss scene and fight scene vocab posts and was wondering if you could do one about some things characters may do when they are nervous, or there is awkward tension — not necessarily romantic but just awkward.
Nervous Tension Vocab
Physical Reactions
have sweat beading/breaking out on one's forehead
have one's heart in one's mouth (or throat)
have one's heart pounding (or pulse racing)
butterflies in one's stomach
hand feeling clammy
knees bouncing
pacing back and forth
tearing up due to embarassment (wanting to cry)
Shift their weight from one foot to the other
Sway slightly where they are standing
Fidget with their hair, clothes, nails, or something they’re holding
Glance around the room or refuse to make eye contact with someone
Chew on their lips or nails
Hum quietly to themself
Tap their fingers on their arm, the wall, or a table
Wrap their arms around themself
Cross their arms or legs while seated
Pick at their lips or cover their mouth
Rub their own neck or shoulder
Sigh often
Sit with their knees up near their chest, or lay in the fetal position
Look stiff and uncomfortable
Check over their shoulder often, or glance around the room
Cough or clear their throat often
A pounding heartbeat, or the feeling that their heartbeat is in their head
Accelerated or heavy breathing
A tingling sensation in their fingers, hands, or legs
A rush of energy (which would suddenly leave them afterward, making them even more tired than usual)
Dizziness
Tightened muscles
Descriptors
fumbled
blushed
winced
fidgeted
cringed
stuttered
giggled
afluttered
agitated
robotic
hesitant
bothered
distracted
edgy
clumsily
awkwardly
distractedly
flustered
frantically
frayed
hypertense
nervy
jittery
jumpy
intimidated
paranoid
perturbed
rattled
queasiness
restive
restless
skittery
shudder
skittish
strung up
tenterhooks
tight
stressy
uneasy
unquiet
twitchy
unsettled
uptight
unrelaxed
Idioms
be at your wit's ends
be bricking it
be ill at ease
be on pins and needles
be under the gun
get in a sweat
have all the cares of the world on your shoulders
have kittens
like a cat on a hot tin roof
sweat bullets
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pt 1 | Not Even at All
jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬⠀𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/56fa5b99bfa84bfa822f826f06f2ace7/3bd82dd9bc8b17a7-bc/s250x250_c1/8cd82e32a22dc4572833193c81228a5b382a6d4b.jpg)
summary: vi is off limits until her sister gets a date that doesn't end within the first ten minutes. eager to date vi, a certain girl approaches you with a proposal. date jinx. win her over. and for your efforts, she's willing to be generous. (10 Things I Hate About You AU) warnings/themes: fluff, kinda enemies to what, one sided fake dating, highschool, modern au, smoking (reader), kat!jinx, patrick!reader words: 5.8k notes: because of the age difference, caitlyn is in college that's why she's always on calls.. — ✩ part one, part two, part three, part four, part five
“BAD REPUTATION”
You pick up at the third ring, hearing a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, good, you picked up.”
It's Caitlyn.
You put the phone down for a few seconds to eat your sandwich, before picking the phone back up. “What now?” you ask through a mouthful of sandwich. “I just woke up, y'know.”
The line is silent for a minute.
Then, you hear Caitlyn clear her throat. “Are you busy right now?”
It's 9am on Sunday, of course you're not busy. “Kinda busy eating my breakfast,” you reply, taking another bite. “Why?”
You hear some shuffling on the other end, some muttering, and another pause before Caitlyn speaks again. “I have… a proposition.”
A proposition already, and so early in the morning? you put your sandwich down, sitting up and making sure you heard that right. “I'm listening.”
Caitlyn clears her throat again, and there's sounds of footsteps and whispers in the background, as if she's moving somewhere more secluded. “…Do you know Jinx?”
It's a strange question. Pretty much everyone knows Jinx. “Yeah,” you reply. “Why?”
The shuffling resumes, a few footsteps, and the murmur of voices. “I'll cut to the chase. I'm asking for your help. I need you to do me a favor.”
You pause, raising an eyebrow. What does she want? “Depends on what it is.” You shrug. “And what I'd get in return.” You take a sip from your glass.
The murmuring on Caitlyn's end of the line stops, and you hear the sound of a door clicking shut. “I want you to take Jinx on a date.”
You nearly choke on your drink. “You want me to what?” you manage to ask between coughs.
“It'll be a fake date!” she says quickly. “If you can make this date go smoothly and… make her like you, even a little bit, I'll pay you a hundred dollars.”
Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. “100 dollars?!” You cough again. “You can't just throw me under the bus like that. You've lost your damn mind.”
“Please just hear me out,” Caitlyn pleads. “It's not like you have to ask her to marry you. Just think of it as a challenge. You get 100 dollars if you can get her to enjoy a date with you. Come on, you're good with girls, aren't you?”
What does she think you are, some suave James Bond-esque ladykilling playgirl? while you've kissed a couple girls, you can't call yourself super suave.
“Caitlyn, Jinx hates me.” It's common knowledge. Jinx hates nearly everyone, especially people she was in class with. “She's gonna kill me if I ask her out on a date.” You shudder.
“That's why I chose you for this,” she says. “I figured you were the type to face any challenge head-on.”
“This isn't just a 'challenge', it's a mission for the suicidal,” you retort. “You're setting me up to embarrass myself and get ridiculed in the process.”
You hear her scoff. “So you can flirt and tease the whole damn school, but a date with Jinx is the line you draw, is that it?”
You scowl at her comment. You've been known to flirt and joke around with a few people at school, but that’s all it is—meaningless flirting with no strings attached. This is completely different—this is Jinx we're talking about. “You're comparing apples and oranges here,” you protest. “They're not the same, Cait.”
“Maybe,” she replies. “But I've seen how you've charmed your way out of trouble. You're good at talking your way out of things. And that's exactly what I need right now.”
That's true, but that's with a teacher, or a TA, or a store manager who's trying to bust you for shoplifting. Not with Jinx, of all people.
“Caitlyn, c'mon. She's either gonna punch me in the face, or call me a dumbass, or both.”
“Just listen,” she cuts in. “All you have to do is go on a fake date with her. You don't have to actually like her.”
“No, no, no.” You shake your head, gripping the phone in your hand. “No way, no how.”
“150 dollars.”
“You really, really want me to go on a fake date with Jinx?” you murmur. “Are you that desperate?”
“I'm very desperate.”
You groan, rubbing your temples. “Why are you so fixated on me doing this?”
You hear movement on the other line, like Caitlyn's pacing back and forth. “Okay, look,” she begins. “I… really like her sister. Like really like her. Like…”
This wasn't just a fake date. It was a way to get closer to who she liked. “Oh. Ohh.”
“Yeah...”
Wow. This was a lot more desperate than you initially thought.
“But why don't you just ask her sister out?” you ask.
“I did.” She sighs again. “I asked Vi out last week, and she said she can't go on a date with me until her sister finds someone. Jinx has to be happy before Vi can go on dates, according to her.”
What the hell kind of ridiculous rule is that? “So let me get this straight,” you start. “You want me to go on a fake date with Jinx.”
“Yes.”
“Until she becomes my... girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“And then you can date Vi.”
“Yes.”
It sounds crazy, ridiculous, batshit insane. “Holy shit, Caitlyn.” You run your fingers over your eyes, shaking your head to yourself. “All of this just so you can get laid?”
A huff comes from the other end of the line. “Are we making a deal or not?”
“Hey, wait a minute—I'm gonna need the money first,” you say, drumming your fingers against the table.
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah,” you explain. “You know, the whole dating thing. Dates, food, gas, that kinda stuff. You can't expect me to pay for all of that with my own money.”
Caitlyn doesn't respond immediately. You can hear some shuffling, and you can imagine her biting her lower lip anxiously, maybe staring out the wall.
“There's a high probability I won't even get a Harley after all this,” you add.
Silence.
“So I'm gonna need the money...”
There's a pause, then an annoyed hiss. “Don't you trust me?”
“Oh hell no. Give me the money first and then I'll consider the deal.”
She sighs. “Fine. Whatever, I'll give you the money.”
“All of it?”
“…Yes. All of it. All 150. For your shitty, awful fake date.” She huffs. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
—
You step into the office, finding Caitlyn's mother already hunched over her laptop, staring over the rim of her glasses. You hated coming into this office. It always felt like you were in the principal's office.
“I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual,” Mrs. Kiramman says, staring at you over her laptop.
“Only so we can have these moments together,” you reply, your mouth already curving into a grin. “Should I, uh, get the lights?”
Mrs. Kiramman sighs, her eyes scanning over the paper in front of her. “Exposed yourself... in the cafeteria,” she mutters. “I seriously don't understand why my daughter associates herself with you.”
“It was for a good reason, I swear.”
“Oh, really?” She raises her eyebrow. “And what reason is that?”
“I was joking with the lunch lady,” you explain, spreading your hands out. “She was being snippy with me, so I started unbuttoning my shirt, it's not like I was actually going to flash anyone.”
Mrs. Kiramman takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, her other hand coming to rest on her forehead.
“But I suppose if we've already looked through all my wrongdoings, you can release me back into the wild, eh?” you continue.
“Just... make it more than a week before coming back here, alright? I don't want to see you in my office every week—you're a walking headache.”
“Sure thing, Mrs. K.”
“And stop calling me Mrs. K.”
—
Jinx kicks the ball here and there, back and forth, side to side. She's taking all of her frustrations out on this ball, dribbling it down the field, passing it to her teammates, dodging opponents.
Her moment of peace is interrupted when a player tries to intercept her pass. She grins, dribbling out of the way and kicking the ball hard into the player's face.
The coach blows the whistle. “Great practice, everybody!”
Practice over. Jinx tosses the ball aside. She rubs her eyes with the heel of her hands, a headache thudding against her skull. She bends forward to grab her water bottle from the edge of the field, taking generous swigs from the bottle.
Jinx is the captain of her high school's soccer team. She's good—really good. She has quick feet and a mean kick, and she's scored a lot of points for the team. In games, however… Jinx is aggressive. She kicks hard. She kicks fast. She kicks a lot. She does not pull her punches when it comes to her opponents.
She's halfway done guzzling water when a voice interrupts her.
“Hey there, girlie.”
Jinx pauses, swallowing the last of the water in her bottle. She glances up at you, watching you approach her as you shove your hands into your pockets.
“How ya doin'?”
“Sweating like a pig actually,” she replies, pulling out a small towel and wiping her face. “And yourself?”
You hum, rocking back and forth on your feet. “I'm good. Just thought I'd come and chat with our wonderful captain.”
Jinx grumbles as she slings the towel over her shoulder.
“That was quite a performance out there,” you continue, raising a hand to give her a slow clap. “You were brutal today. Worse than usual, not-gonna-lie.”
Gathering her stuff, Jinx zips up her bag, slings it across one shoulder, then strides past you.
“Hey,” you say, quickly catching up to her. “Where are you going?”
“Where do you think, genius? I'm leaving.”
You huff, following her as she marches out of the soccer field. “Pick you up on Friday, then.”
Jinx makes a face at that. “Oh, right, Friday,” she mimics. “Uh-huh.”
You cock a smirk. “Well, the night I take you places you've never been before.”
“Like where? The 7-Eleven on Broadway?”
“Ha, very funny.” You shake your head. “And actually, no, smartass.”
“Do you even know me?” she asks, not slowing her pace.
You hurry to keep up and shrug. “Yeah, we have the same class on science and english.”
She stops in her tracks and turns to look at you, eyes flitting up and down, up and down. Once, twice, three times. “You're the one that never shows up in Mr. Viktor's class?”
“Hey, to be fair,” you say, putting your hands up. “That's an 8 a.m. class. No one shows up for an 8 a.m. class at ass o'clock in the morning.”
Her expression remains unamused as she shifts her bag's backpack strap further off her shoulder. “Except you're the only one who never shows up. You have the same attendance rate as Mr. Blitzcrank,” she tells you, turning back around to start walking. “Which is absolutely none.”
“What can I say?” You chuckle, jogging to catch up to her again. “I'm very talented. Gifted, even.”
She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “Talented at being an idiot, more like.”
“Hey, I heard that.”
“Good,” she says over her shoulder. “Maybe don't try to impress me with your shitty grades and your non-existent attendance record next time, then.” Without a second glance, she continues walking, leaving you behind.
“Ouch!” you exclaim. “Rude, by the way!” you shout at her, and you see a flash of a smile over her features.
—
Jinx stands at her locker, gathering her books—a variety of books with names like Introduction to Rocketry, Engineering and Architecture, Chemistry Vol. 3: Chemical Reactions, Organic and Inorganic Compounds and Mixtures, and a few other engineering books, all with worn spines and yellow pages.
“Hey,” you greet.
She doesn't even glance at you as she continues sorting through her books, shoving what she doesn't need aside with a flick of her wrist.
“You hate me, don't you?” you ask, leaning against the locker beside her.
She gives you a side glance but doesn't fully look away from her locker. “What are you, five?” she asks. “I don't really care enough about you to hate you.”
“Rude.”
“It's the truth. As far as I'm concerned, you're better than a mosquito,” she says, continuing with sorting through her locker. “Annoying, but not something worth paying attention to.”
“Mosquito, really?”
She slams her locker shut and locks it. She turns to look at you, adjusting her backpack straps on her shoulders—a backpack that is covered in various patches and colorful pins. “What exactly do you want?”
“Spend Dollar Night at the track with me.”
She arches one eyebrow. “And why the hell would I do that?”
“Come on, the ponies, the flat beer... you with money in your eyes, me with my hand on your ass…”
“You covered in my vomit,” she cuts you off. “That's what's going to happen. If I go within ten feet of whatever greasy-ass food joint and cheap liquor you're going to take me to.”
“Damn, you're feisty. I kinda like that.”
She scowls at your words. “And you're annoying. I kinda despise that.”
“Ouch,” you mock. “And you're a bit more than feisty. You're like... feisty on steroids. Are you always like this?”
Her scowl deepens, and in one second, she suddenly has one of your arms twisted behind your back and pinned to your torso.
She leans forward, her face so close to yours. “Maybe, if you stopped annoying me,” she whispers. “I'd stop acting like this.”
You flinch, letting out a low hiss. “Ow, ow-” You try to pull away from her grip, but she only tightens it. “Ow, okay, I get it—let go, let go!”
She holds you still for a moment longer before roughly releasing her grip. You stagger forward, rubbing the spot where her hand had been. “What-” you gasp “-the hell was that for?”
“Consider it a learning experience, dipshit,” she snaps, before stalking off, her long blue braid swinging behind her.
“You can't just-” you start to call after her, but she's already halfway down the hall. You huff rubbing your sore arm.
Yep. Jinx is as prickly as a cactus. This is gonna be harder than you thought.
—
“She's a freaking Ronda Rousey,” you mutter into the phone, massaging your throbbing arm. “She damn near twisted my arm off!”
“Jinx? Did she hurt you?”
“Just my dignity.”
You hear Cait chuckle faintly. “I'll take that to mean it didn't go very well?”
“You could say that,” you grumble. “She's difficult.” You watch your clothes spin around in the washing machine. “I think this may take longer than you think, Cait. Waaay longer.”
“I can't just flirt my way through this,” you go on, moving to grab one of the nearby magazines to distract yourself. “She's smart, witty, and sassy—the whole package. Very pretty, too. But she's rude.” You shift your phone to fit between your shoulder and ear.
“Rude,” you stress again, flipping to a magazine page with random trivia questions on it. “Who the hell is rude these days? It's all sugarcoating, bullshit, and fake smiles.” You glance idly at the question titled 'How Compatible Are You with Your Ideal Partner?'. You scoff, turning the page. “She's downright ruthless.”
“Have you even tried asking her out?”
“Hell yes I have. I even tried asking her to go to Dollar Night at the track.”
“You tried asking her to go to the race track?”
“You don't think she's a fan of ponies and alcohol?” you reply, grinning.
“I think she's a fan of punching you in the face.”
“Yeah, she did not like that idea.”
There's a pause on the line.
“Okay, I'll admit that wasn't the smoothest plan.”
“Or smartest,” Cait interjects. “Anyway, are you reading a magazine right now?”
“I'm at the laundromat.”
“And you're reading a magazine.”
“To pass the time,” you justify.
“Mhm.”
“I'm boooored.” You set the magazine down on a nearby chair, turning back to watch your clothes spin around. “And I'm tired of watching my clothes spin around. It's boring. I haven't had a good date in ages.” You move to rest your head against the glass. “I need something interesting. Someone interesting.”
Your eyes move across the storefronts and streets outside of the laundromat.
Wait… It can't be...
But, yes.
Yes it is. It's Jinx's car.
Your gaze focuses on the shiny blue vehicle before shifting to Jinx, who gets out of the car and walks over to a nearby music store just down the road.
You hear Caitlyn's muffled voice. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Yeah, Cait, I heard you,” you lie, taking your eyes off her car to turn your attention back to the washing machine and your phone. “Uh, I'll call you back. I think I just saw Jinx.”
—
Jinx pushes the entrance door open, juggling a small bag of CDs in one hand and rifling through her purse in the other. Her lips form a small 'o' when she finally pulls her keys out...
...and looks up to see you sitting on the hood of her car. She groans to herself.
“Nice ride. Vintage fenders.” You turn around to face her, leaning back against the hood.
Jinx stops a few feet away from you, shifting the bag of CDs to the other hand. “Are you following me?”
“Nah,” you shrug. “I was at the laundromat,” you pause, gesturing to the building in front of the store she just walked out of. “Saw your car. Thought I'd say hi.”
“Hi,” she grumbles.
Jinx walks over to her car, but you quickly stand ahead of her, placing yourself between her and her vehicle. “You're not afraid of me, are you?”
“Why would I be afraid of you?” she retorts, her nose wrinkling.
“Some people are,” you reply.
“I'm not.” “Maybe you're not afraid of me… but I bet you've thought about me naked.” You smirk, taking the time to wink at her.
“Am I that transparent?” she mutters. “I want you... I need you... Oh, baby, oh baby.” Jinx rolls her eyes dramatically as she tries to step around you, but you shift your body to block her path again.
“Now, don't ignore me,” you tease.
“Let me pass, I have places to be,” Jinx says irritably, trying to step around you for the third time, only for you to once again move and block her.
“Come on now,” you urge. “Just a few minutes of your time.”
“You're being a pest,” she complains. “What do you want?”
“Just a little bit of your time, that's all,” you answer, holding your hands up in surrender before resting them back on the car. “C'mon. You don't have anything better to do anyway, right?”
“Piss off,” Jinx snaps, reaching out and grabbing the handle. The door swings open, throwing you off balance and causing you to topple forward.
Jinx throws the bag into the passenger seat, slams the door shut, and starts the car. She doesn't hesitate to throw the car in reverse, and you have to lunge out of the way to avoid being hit.
RUDE! You scowl in Jinx's direction, watching her drive away. With a sigh, you reach into your pocket and grab your phone, heading back into the laundromat. You begin to dial Caitlyn's number.
The phone only rings once before it's picked up immediately. “Well? what happened?” she starts without any sort of introduction.
“I just upped my price,” you declare.
“What?”
“200 dollars a date.” You stand your ground. “In advance.”
“And why are you increasing the price?”
You sigh heavily, rubbing your forehead. “I told you she's difficult,” you remind her. “She's prickly, short-tempered, and violent,” you explain. “I'm increasing my price because I'm taking a hell of a lot more risk dealing with her.”
“Forget it.”
“Forget her sister, then.”
Silence falls for a heartbeat. Then, reluctantly, she grunts. “Fine. 200 dollars a date. But I want results.”
“No promises,” you warn her. “And first things first, we need to find some way to make Jinx actually want to go on a date with me. How well do you know her?”
Caitlyn hums. “She's Vi's sister, so we have some, ah…” She searches for the correct word. “History,” she finishes awkwardly. “But I'm not an expert on Jinx's inner workings, if that's what you're asking.”
“Great.” That really wasn't the answer you were hoping for. How was it that Caitlyn was apparently able to make this plan without knowing anything about Jinx? “Do you think Vi would have anything?”
“...Maybe,” she responds slowly. “I could probably ask Vi.” She pauses. “Actually,” Caitlyn continues. “I might know someone who... might know Jinx pretty well.”
“Who?”
“Ever heard of a kid named Ekko?”
—
He glances over his shoulder at you, a paintbrush in hand. “What do you want?”
After a bit of searching, you're able to find Ekko at his usual spot—painting the empty space on the school wall. Some of your friends mentioned that he usually hung out here during free periods.
“I want to know about your friend... Jinx.”
Ekko rolls his eyes, resuming his painting. “Yeah, sure, stranger I don’t even know.”
You huff in annoyance. “Alright, listen,” you begin. “I'm not here to cause trouble, or gossip, or any of that. I…” you pause, shifting uncomfortably. “I'm trying to ask Jinx out on a date,” you explain. “So I thought you might be able to help me.”
That makes Ekko pause. He blinks slowly, slowly glancing back over his shoulder at you. “…You're shitting me, right?”
“I'm not,” you insist. “I'm being serious, alright? and I'm not getting into some of the details, but I…” you pause awkwardly. “I kind of need this date to happen.”
“You need this date?” Ekko echoes, staring at you. “The hell does that mean?”
“I mean,” you reply, avoiding direct eye contact. “I just need it to happen, and for reasons I'm not going to disclose,” you add. “I need it to go really well. You get me?”
Ekko scoffs but nods his head. “Sounds like you're desperate or something.” He sets his brush down, turning around to face you. “Why Jinx, anyway?”
“I…” you start, not really sure how to explain this to Ekko without spilling every detail. “Let's just say my reasons are my own.”
“Hm.” He studies you up and down. “First off, who the hell even are you? how do I know you're not some creep trying to take advantage of Jinx?”
You open your mouth to defend yourself, but then close it and sigh. “Okay, you have a point,” you admit. “But listen,” you soothe. “I'm not a creep. I'm a senior student, like you and Jinx. I want to ask Jinx on a date, and no one really knows her all that well, so I thought you could help me because she's your friend-”
Ekko shakes his head, picking up the brush once again. “Nah we're not that close anymore.” He gives you a sidelong glance. “Jinx and I used to be close friends a few years ago,” he explains, returning his attention to the painting. “But things between us… got complicated.”
Juicy. But that’s none of your business, and definitely not Ekko's place to share. So you move on, clearing your throat. “Right. Um… Okay, so back to Jinx,” you begin. “You still know her better than most, right? you must have some good insight on her.”
“I don't know,” he replies slowly. “Yeah, I know a bunch of things about Jinx. But… honestly, there's just as much that I don't know.” He starts painting again. “She changes her mind like… every five seconds. She's unpredictable. Reckless. Wild. Dangerous.”
“I'm not here to psychoanalyze Jinx,” you clarify. “I just need to know… how the hell to even talk to her one-on-one, without her throwing a pencil at me or something.”
Ekko snorts. “Oh, that's easy.” He glances at you through his eyelashes. “Good luck.”
—
“Of all the places you want to meet up, you chose here?”
You straighten up and glance over at Caitlyn, who's standing off to the side, looking around the place. She looks rather out of place here, especially compared to the other customers in the pub—greasy-looking old men, rough-looking teenagers dressed in leather and denim, and drunken bums hanging around the slots.
Caitlyn grimaces as another patron spits tobacco juice to the floor. “Gross…” she mutters, wrinkling her nose.
You shrug, taking a puff from your cigarette. “You're never late,” you reply. “And this place is never busy. Figured it would give us privacy.”
“Right.” Caitlyn takes a seat on a nearby stool, folding her legs neatly. “So… how's Ekko?”
You line up the cue ball to the 8, taking one last look down the table before glancing at Caitlyn. “Um… he's good,” you reply. “A bit unhelpful, but that's alright.”
You aim the cue ball at the 8 again and give it a good hard smack, watching it glide across the table. It hits the 8 ball, which rolls a few inches before stopping. Damn. You’re just off.
“What about you, how's Vi?” you ask, taking a drag from your cigarette and exhaling a billowing cloud of smoke. You set the pool stick down.
Caitlyn coughs, fanning her hand in front of her face to try and clear the smoke away from her lungs. It doesn't work very well. “First thing you should know...” She snatches the cigarette from your hand and drops it to the floor. “She hates smokers.” She stomps on the butt to snuff it out.
“So, you’re telling me that I'm a-” You make air quotations with your fingers. “-non-smoker.”
“For now, yes.”
“Alright, alright. No smoking, got it.” You lean your pool cue on the wall. “Happy?”
“Another thing…” She purses her lips, eyes flicking over your features. “Vi mentioned that Jinx… likes pretty girls.”
Silence.
“Are you telling me I'm not pretty?”
Caitlyn jumps as soon as the words leave your mouth. “N-no!” She gestures at you. “You're pretty. Definitely pretty.”
“Well, that’s reassuring.”
Caitlyn reaches into her pocket, pulling out a thick sheet of paper with a few bullet points written on it. “Anyways… there's more.” She glances over the list, then looks back up at you. “Jinx likes: …art, drawing, bombs, explosions, tinkering, sweets, plushies, dogs, punk music...” She continues reading down the list. “Dislikes: teachers, school, rules, authority figures, boredom, being told what to do, being ignored…”
She shoves the list into your hands, and you stare down at the words written in neat, orderly rows. “That's everything that I could get out of Vi.”
A few likes and a bunch of dislikes—what an absolute nutcase.
You look back up at Caitlyn. “So what does that give me? am I supposed to… bribe her with art supplies, draw her a picture, give her some sweets, then blow up a building?”
“Have you ever been to The Last Drop?”
You respond with a nod. You've been there a few times... it's usually filled with shady people, but the alcohol is reasonably priced.
“Letters to Cleo will be playing there tomorrow night.”
“No.”
“Come on, it's just one night-” Caitlyn coaxes.
“No.”
She gives you a nudge. “Just assail your ears for one night. It's her favorite band, after all.”
It's a stupid idea. Spending your free time in a bar, listening to some god-awful music? It's the perfect recipe for a terrible night.
But if it's what Jinx likes... “Fine.”
“Atta girl,” Caitlyn grins, clearly satisfied. She pulls out her phone, glancing down at the time as her fingers dance over the screen. “Oh… and I'm throwing a party on Friday night,” she says, looking back up at you. “It's the perfect opportunity.”
You blink. “Opportunity for what?”
“For you to ask out Jinx, of course.”
“…I'll think about it.”
—
Your car pulls up to a stop out front, the engine making a low noise. You step out of the car and start walking towards the entrance when you notice Sevika standing outside.
Sevika looks up, and her lips stretch into a smirk as she sees you. “Ah, my friend,” she greets. “It's been a while.”
You shake her hand. “It's good to see you again, Sev.”
Sevika eyes you up, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Didn't have you pegged for a fan,” she says. “Aren't they a bit too pre-teen belly-button ring for you?”
“Just a fan of a fan,” you reply.
The door is slightly ajar, and you can faintly make out the music coming from inside.
“Did a blue-haired girl come in by chance?”
Sevika nods towards the door. “Just sent her through. She's with some other gal.”
You nod and head towards the entrance when Sevika calls out to you. “What happened to that girl you brought in last time?”
Ah, right. It has been a few months. “I dunno,” you reply with a shrug. “I just never called her again.”
Sevika chuckles and shakes her head. “That figures.”
You squeeze through the crowded floor and eventually find an open spot at the bar. The music from the stage is so loud you can feel the floor vibrating under your feet.
You flag down the bartender and place an order, then start idly scanning the crowd. You can make out a flash of blue hair, and your gaze lands on Jinx singing along to the chorus of the song.
You rest against the counter and watch Jinx dancing along to the music. She’s happy, and surprisingly, no “attitude” is present—not the usual scowls, or frowns, or cold looks.
Seeing her like this… giddy, with a wide smile and flushed face, makes you find yourself… smiling.
Huh. That’s... something.
—
Jinx, who is thisclose to having her eardrums explode, yells at the top of her lungs, “I NEED AGUA!”
“Sorry, what?” Lux yells over the music.
“I need agua!” Jinx yells again.
“Agua?”
Jinx nods and points to the bar.
“Alright!” Lux yells, but Jinx is already pushing past her through the crowd.
Jinx manages to reach the bar and signals for the bartender. She glances around as she waits, her eyes landing on you a few feet away.
Shiiit.
Before she can catch your eyes, you look at a random patron nearby, pretending to be looking at something else.
The bartender walks up to Jinx, shouting over the music. “What can I get for you?”
“Two waters,” she responds, casting a glance back in your direction only to find you completely focused on the stage.
The bartender brings out a pair of water bottles from the cooler and sets them on the counter. Jinx fishes out some change and pays, then grabs the water bottles.
She approaches from behind and raps a knuckle on your shoulder. “If you're planning on asking me out again, you might as well do it already.”
Playing dumb, you gesture back at the stage. “Do you mind? you're kind of ruining it for me.”
Jinx seethes, but stays where she is. “You're not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke.”
The music dies down for a while to give the band a rest, so you no longer have to yell over the music. You turn to face her. “I know. I quit.”
“You... did?” Jinx gives you a weird look, trying to figure out your angle here. “Are you feeling alright?”
That's a pretty fair question, to be honest, because for once in your life, you're actively not trying to flirt with someone.
What's even more weird is that Jinx is actually engaging with the conversation. Jinx moves closer to the stool, standing beside you. “Since when?”
You clear your throat, avoiding her gaze. “Since… yesterday.”
“Yesterday? you quit smoking just yesterday?”
“Just yesterday.”
Jinx looks you up and down. “Why?”
You look over at the band, who are currently changing out their gear. “Because... apparently they're bad for you,” you mumble. With a shrug, you gesture back towards the stage. “They're no Bikini Kill or the Raincoats,” you reply. “But they're alright.”
You step into the crowd, and Jinx is surprised enough to be momentarily stupefied. “Wait-” she sputters before following you. “You know who the Raincoats are?”
You stop in the middle of the crowd, spinning to face her. “Why? don't you?” you ask. “I saw how you were dancing out there. I’ve never seen you look like that...”
“I.. well, I-” she stutters, before clearing her throat and collecting herself. “Yeah, I do,” she replies. “I'm into grunge and punk and stuff. Ever heard of Nirvana?”
You scoff. “Of course. Who hasn't?”
Jinx laughs, and you resist the urge to smile when you hear it. “Yeah, fair point. What about... Siouxsie and the Banshees?”
“Love them. But you can't tell me you don't know The Damned?”
Jinx's eyes light up at the mention of The Damned. “Hell yeah, they're awesome,” she exclaims, before frowning. “Wait, how do you know The Damned?”
You give yourself a pat on the back. Nailed it. “Excuse you, I have excellent taste in music,” you reply. “How do you know The Damned?”
“I'll have you know, I'm very into music,” she retorts. “I've got a collection of 1300 CDs. Mostly punk and grunge, but some 70s rock and other stuff.”
Her response is a pleasant surprise to you… and maybe attractive. But you squash that thought down because she's Jinx, and no way are you going to feel your heart flutter at anything this woman does.
You whistle. “Only 1,300? That's cute. I have almost 2,000.”
“No way.” She shakes her head. “No WAY you have 2,000 CDs. You're bluffing.”
“I'm not,” you insist. “I've got 2,000 pieces of music in my home.”
“Damn. You got me beat, then.” She looks around the club, then looks back at you. “Anyway, I gotta-”
“Come to Caitlyn's party with me. Friday night,” you cut her off.
“-Why should I?”
“-Because I guarantee you'll have a fantastic time.”
She laughs at your persistence. “You never give up, do you?” she mutters before walking away through the large crowd.
“Was that a yes?” you yell after her.
Her only response is a middle finger held high in the air.
You cup your hands around your mouth. “I'll see you at 9:30 then!”
This is good. Not great, maybe, but not awful either. You didn't get kicked in the face for asking, so you're taking that as a win.
—
“How did it go?”
You tap your fingers on the steering wheel. “Hey, Cait…” you hesitate, glancing around at the empty street. “How much money does it take to buy 2,000 CDs?”
The line goes dead.
…
After a few minutes of silence, it rings again.
“You've got to be kidding me.”
#arcane#jinx#arcane x reader#arcane jinx#jinx arcane#arcane x female reader#arcane x you#jinx x reader#jinx x female reader#jinx x you#jinx x y/n#jinx imagine#10 things i hate about you#fluff#not even at all
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Yandere! Eden
tw: nsfw, female reader, non - con, degradation, hinted captivity, obsessive behavior, size difference
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You fight him, goddamit, that's the worst part - you always try to fight him with all you've got, with sharp nails and smooth teeth, with your hands, your knees, with the closest pillow (since he rarely lets you touch anything with a proper egde). You give it your best - your hardest, you scratch and bite like a wild animal, getting your tears and saliva everywhere and yet... all your efforts only seem to amuse him.
"This is all you've got, princess?" He taunts as he holds you down with one hand (albeit, probably bigger than your head) while the other strips you bare with ease. "C'mon, you should make it more difficult for me. It's no fun when you just lay there and take it." He chuckles as you squirm in his hold - and the sound fills you with suffocating cold dread. Like a particularly nasty, sticky cough it sinks to your chest, making it hard to breathe through the fury and shame.
You get even more feral, thrashing and kicking without order or direction - desperate to show him that you're not a meek victim, that you are not going down without a fight. But it's all pointless - you barely move an inch as he roughly spreads your naked legs, pushing you to your back with eyes full of malice - induced lust and drunken need for violence.
"It's like you're not even trying." His hot breath tickles your ear, forcing your baby hairs to stand prickly. The overwhelming smell of strong cologne, unmistakenly masculine, makes you even more lightheaded and scared with unevitable anticipation. "It's like you actually want me." He whispers darkly, gripping your waist painfully with both hands. "Is that so, baby? You want the big bad wolf to mount you down and take you?" He bites your neck playfully, but the ache is deep and throbbing within you. "Violate you?"
You shake your head rapidly, holding back scorching hot tears. No, no, you try to scream, but the lump in your throat is so heavy it prevents any sound from coming out.
"I know, baby, I know." Eden caresses your wet cheeks almost tenderly - if not for the scratches his claws leave behind on your soft skin. "I'm just messin' with you." The hunter rasps, fingers entangled deep into your locks. "I know you don't want any of this. Not my touch-" He lets go of your hair. "or my lips-" He kisses along your jawline, hungrily lapping at the salty tear stains. "And certainly not my big, throbbing cock up your tight little pussy." He gloats, lining up his shaft with your entrance. "But you are still going to take it, won't you?"
He stares at you intently, as if waiting for you to say something.
"Won't you, princess?" The man slaps you, voice a tad more irritated now. You quickly nod, terrified to your shaking bones - and only then does he smile again, sweetly. "Of course you will." He goes back to stroking your hair as he starts to slowly force his length into your unwilling, quivering quim.
"Because that's just how the world works, no? Pathetic little sluts get fucked by big, strong men like me. They get fucked over and over again until their poor little brains turn to mush. Don't they?" He chuckles with clear condescension as he finally begins to thrust int you - making sure his cock is all the way in before he pulls out and brutally shoves it again. Sick glee fills his scarred face as he watches your womb strain to accommodate the pulsing force brushing against your lower belly from the inside. This time you nod weakly before he has a reason to strike you.
"Such a good girl, accepting her place underneath me." Eden groans, growing flushed as he feels your walls squeeze against his intrusive thrusts. "You know this is all you're good for anyways. Just a warm hole and a pretty face for me to ruin." He gropes your breasts crudely, pinching your nipples with his fingertips. "Just look at you... what a wet little mess you are. It's like your body is begging for it - even if those treacherous lips deny the truth. You should be thanking me. If I wasn't claiming this sweet-" He makes a point to slam right into your most sensitive spot, making your toes curl despite your protests. "tight heat of yours, you'd be dead meat already. Just a chew toy for the wolves."
You make an uncomprehensible sound as the pain dulls and gives way to damp, humiliating pleasure. You bite your tongue to muffle the moans, but this only stirs him further - taking it as a challenge to make you sing for him. He keeps fucking into you, dragging you up and down like a feather.
"You're lucky I love you so much." The hunter sighs, voice softening to a whisper. "You're lucky I like it when you cry for me." He reaches to wipe away a falling tear. "So you better thank me, princess." He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. Burning hot flames greet you, but all you feel is ice.
"Thank you, Eden."
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#yandere#male yandere#male yandere x reader#degrees of lewdity#degrees of lewdity eden#dol#dol eden#yancore#yandere oneshot#yandere x you#yandere male x reader#yandere oc#yandere oc x reader#yandere smut#eden the hunter
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![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ad4756f61daf796bca4f41af6d3a7135/d3cf8b4d7520e7d6-ba/s540x810/c7e978e16a5ae71eb9b6901b00c504d967da6c8f.jpg)
“shit, jesse kill ‘em. he’s right there oh, MY FUCKI-“
the sound of ellie’s loud keyboard smashing was tuned out by music from your headphones. bobbing your head along to the beat of the song, clueless to your raging girlfriend across from you.
while you’re scrolling on your phone a photo of ellie shows up. she has her shirt in between her teeth, abs on displaying and glistening with sweat. your thighs close together, starting to rub in search of relief, but nothing helps. a whine of frustration leaves your lips. you’re clearly desperate to ease the ache between your legs, and since you can’t take care of it yourself, you look over at ellie.
in a swift motion, your feet touch to ground guiding you to the energetic auburnette. you come to her side, leaning down to press a peck to her cheek. “hi els, how much longer you gonna be?” you say sweetly, swaying your hips side to side.
you hear a couple of laughs and whistles bleed through her headphones before she quickly shushes them up. “probably another hour or so, need something baby?” she replies, pulling one ear cup to the side so she can hear you properly.
a whine escapes your lips, disappointed from her answer, but nothing a mute button won’t fix. you lean closer to her, sucking a small bruise right below her jawline. the gesture elicits a whimper, one she has to quickly cover up with a cough so her teammates won’t suspect anything.
her eyes go to find the mute button, tapping it swiftly. you see her lips parting to speak, but you silence her, pressing a finger to them. “wanna try somethin’. can you stay quiet for me, love?” your voice is sweet but there’s an underlying tone of connivance.
she nods weakly, her eyes are big and focused on you almost like she’s in a trance. you give her a small smile, moving her chair from her desk so you have enough room to sit between her legs. you rest your head on her thighs, covered by space pajama pants, rubbing small loving circles over them. ellie stares down at you, mouth slightly open, struggling to process if you’re really doing what she thinks you are.
and you are, taking the waistband of her pants and boxers, pulling them down. she’s completely exposed to you, legs spread, her cunt glistening in the dim lighting. you can see her clench around nothing; slick coating the chair. you press a long, loving kiss to her clit, swirling your tongue around the swollen muscle.
she lets out a whimper, pushing her hips farther into your face. she gets so lost in the pleasure, not even hearing her friends repeatedly calling her name.
“ellie? ellie, are you there? we’re about to start the next match.” a voice calls out.
“dude she’s probably getting spilt open,” someone replies, presumably ‘jesse’ from earlier, earning a bunch of laughter from the party.
she groans and clears her throat, trying to sound somewhat normal. “shut the fuck up jesse, i was getting water. w-we can play now.” her stutter makes mentally face palm herself but you love it.
you’re eager to pull more of those pretty sounds from her; see her fall apart in front of you. your arms are locked firmly under ellie’s thighs, holding her waist. your tongue glides down to her hole, relishing in the taste of her. she takes her hand off the mouse, using it to push your head farther into her, causing her character to die. her teammates scold her for it, but she couldn’t care, not when you’re making her feel like this.
she grinds her hips up into you, her other hand gripping the chair’s arm rest. “shit, feel so good. don’t, don’t stop,” her head falls back against the chair, not even realizing she said her thoughts out loud. luckily, her words were overpowered by the loud chatter of her friends.
as much as you love seeing her like this, you don’t want to share it with anybody else, so you let up from her. “be quiet for me, els. don’t want them to hear, do you?” you whisper, before diving back into her. your tongue working on her swollen clit, sucking and licking all over her.
she nods and lifts up her head to look at you. the sight of you in between her legs makes her extremely close to finishing. her hand grabs a fistful of your hair, the other slapping over her mouth to suppress another loud moan.
you flatten your tongue out, letting her grind on it. bringing two fingers to her slit, coating them in her juices before plunging in. the feeling of your fingers filling her up makes her shutter. her hand scrambles to find the mute button again, needing to let you know how good you’re making her feel.
“mmmh - gonna cum baby, gonna cum all over you,” her words are mushed together, a small whimper in between each of them.
you hum against her, increasing the pace of your fingers and giving her bud a hard suck once more. with that, a guttural moan leaves her throat and her juices coat your face. her hips stuttering against you as you continue your ministrations, letting her ride out her orgasm.
she taps at your shoulder, a signal that she’s done. you lift up from between her, her beautiful, half - lidded green eyes meet your lustful ones. admiring how pretty she is like this, all fucked out and panting. you maneuver your way out from underneath the desk to straddle her lap, giving her soft, deep kisses. the two of you stay like that for a moment, ellie getting ready to tell them she’s going to head to bed for the night until the two of your hear jesse’s voice again.
“didn’t know water could do all that, williams.”
#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams smut#ellie williams#ellie williams x you#gamer ellie williams#gamer ellie#tlou smut#tlou
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Astarion probably isn’t used to aftercare with all his trauma regarding sex / intimacy.
So imagine after the first time with you, almost immediately after you both finish, he gets up to re-dress. He expects you to do the same and leave, just like everyone has before you. But instead, you tug him back down into your warm embrace. He’s frozen, unsure what you’re doing but he likes the way you play with his hair. It slows down his erratic post coital heart, as his head relocates to your chest. Astarion comes to the realisation that he’s never actually taken a moment after sex to calm his body down before. It’s nice. You stay like this together for a while, relaxing after all the physical movement from earlier.
‘You okay?’ You mumble to him in a tired haze, ‘Did it feel good? You want some water?’ You begin to sit up, disrupting his position on your chest. For once he doesn’t reply, no flirty quips ready on his tongue. Astarion finds himself half shocked, half in awe that you care how he feels and what he felt like during the act. No one’s ever asked him that before.
You leave the bed briefly to the bathroom and return with a washcloth. You wipe yourself off then gesture towards Astarion, ‘Is it okay for me to clean you?’ You say softly, asking his consent.
He coughs, clearing his throat, ‘Of course,darling,’ he says, clearly covering up his confusion and rising nerves. ‘Are you okay?’ You ask again, repeating the question from earlier.
‘Yes, my love, I’m fine... it’s just no one’s ever done this to me before,’ he states gesturing down to where you carefully wipe his inner thighs. ‘Oh!’ You stutter ‘I can stop if your not comfortable with it—’. ‘I love it.’ he states, cutting you off. Eyes staring warmly into your own.
After this scenario happens I feel like Astarion will make the extra effort to learn proper aftercare for you, he begins to realise how important it is to check in after sex, he never wants you to feel used like he did in the past.
(Notes: sorry this is pure Astarion brainrot. Not proofread/edited. This man has crawled his way into my heart)
#fanfic#astarion#astarion x reader#bg3#bg3 tav#bg3 astarion#baldur's gate 3#brainrot#smut#angst#astarion smut#astarion ancunin#astarion angst#astarion and tav#fanfiction#x reader
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for some reason whenever you want to rest, you find yourself in satoru gojo lap. or might i add, your husbands lap. it's a soft spot where he lets you sit in his lap as long as you control yourself, you are warm and supple in his arms—your cute nose scrunched up and you further retreat into his lap, mumbling slightly.
his gentle hand is petting your head, and his warm breath is fanning your neck. this is the very few times he looks calm, blindfold on, chuckling softly as you yawn. this was a photo of a perfect moment, and just as he feels your chest slack, breathing softer than before—someone jumps into the room.
"gojo! hey, do you want to—"
you hear a loud hiss, your husband lurching up as your eyes flutter open. you're disoriented as you try to figure out who it was. you can tell satoru is conflicted by how he looks at you—a sad pout on your face, plump lips pulled downwards—and he looks enraged.
"wha-what's happening? i think i dozed off there," you cough, gently pulling away from satoru's lap. you can feel your face heat up as you try to get away from his warm lap. you don't have to look up to see the disappointed look.
but every time you try to get up satoru unrelenting hands pull you back. you can't help but laugh, trying to swat away his arms, still feeling sleppy. you look at your husband who's frowning, a grumpy expression on his face before glaring at the invader.
"shit, man, um...uh, you know what. i'm gonna leave."
then you hear a soft click of the door in your shared apartment, as you rub your eyes, trying to stifle your yawn. but satoru is watching you, a strange stern lok on his face. he scoops you up again, ignoring your surprised expression.
"you're going to go to sleep," he demands, pulling down his blindfold to look at you in that way of his. you sigh, pulling at his t-shirt. you want him there with you, but you're too tired to even get up.
you stifle a laugh, smiling at him. now he looks away. this is your way to convincing him to come to bed. you have a way with him too, and you know how tired he has been, scurrying with missions and barely having enough time to properly sleep.
"ah! don't do that. you're too precious to look at," satoru huffs, cheekily swatting at your face. but you can't help but notice the concern in his eyes, it's clear as day that you've overworked yourself.
you sigh," hey grump. how about you calm down, and come rest with me?"
and it's here where gojo satoru groans, gently getting on the bed. his voice is sugary sweet as he pulls you in closer. the bed dips slightly with the weight of both of you, and you breathe in his scent. now he's exhausted as you move closer to him. his hands are on your waist, and you smile. plan accomplished~!
"this was your plan, huh? to get us both in bed?"
you bite your lip, and then put your face between the empty gap in his collarbones, "i wouldn't dare, my strong husband." satoru peeks up at you, making a low approving noise at the back of his throat.
"i am strong-"
"my strong husband who is so kind to let me rest, who cooks, and yet he has one flaw...." you continue, trying to muffle the laughter that follows the statement. you watch him pop an eye open, a soft scowl on his face.
"what? no-"
you shut him up with a hand on his mouth, "but he seems to forget to take care of himself."
and suddenly you watch him exhale, a small ripple effect takes place in his body. he gives you a gentle kiss, and everything in him goes slack, as he puts on the blanket on both of you. satoru is watching you carefully as you nuzzle his chest. you hear his heart slow.
"it appears my wife is correct,"
you huff, "i am usually correct."
"there you go again."
but of course in true fashion, he's smiling.
#if you saw this earlier no you didn't#gojo x reader#gojo x you#jjk x reader#jjk x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru#gojo jjk#jujutsu gojo#gojo saturo fanfiction#satoru gojo
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for the night.
the flight back from a case gets delayed and the team’s forced to book rooms for the night. what a coincidence that you’re paired with spencer.
pairing :: s5!spencer x fem bau!reader
warnings :: fluff, flustered spencer, this is literally just an excuse to write about spencer with crutches
word count :: 1.7k
author’s note :: one of my favorite tropes asfdfafssfsd we all know where this is going right ;)
accompanying song :: let’s fall in love for the night by finneas
“i have to admit, i am quite surprised. engine failures are extremely rare — statistically, they only occur once every 1.4 million flight hours.”
“uh-huh, very interesting.” you roll your eyes, but the smile that tempts to play on your lips is too overpowering to withhold.
“it is!” spencer excitedly flashes you a smile. “we’re actually incredibly lucky to avoid an in-flight shutdown, which typically happens once per million flight hours-”
“reid, i think our luck might be running dry here. it’s 1 a.m., the jet’s engines are acting up, and we can’t leave portland.”
you take both of his crutches in your hands with an exasperated sigh. it’s not his fault, and you know better than to project your annoyance at him, but the disappointment of not being able to enjoy a nice, hot shower in the walls of your home has you uptight.
with an apologetic smile, you extend your shoulder to spencer; slowly, he places his hand on you, and you help him carefully descend the jet’s stairs.
the two of you are the last to join the rest of the group on the ground, and hotch sends an acknowledging nod in your direction once he sees that you’ve been assisting spencer.
“l/n, reid, you guys okay with rooming together for the night?”
the words don’t initially register, and it’s only until spencer speaks up that you realize hotch isn’t asking – he’s confirming.
“we’re rooming in pairs?”
hotch nods, and his sidelong stare roams over spencer’s face like he’s challenging him to continue, to contest his proposal.
“emily? jj?” you pipe up this time, sending a pleading glance at both of them. they look back at you with sheepish smiles.
“it looked like you guys were having a really good conversation back there. didn’t want to disturb you,” emily returns, slowly raising her shoulders and mouthing sorry.
spencer clears his throat and leans into your ear. “i can probably book a room at another place-”
you widen your eyes and immediately shake your head. “no, that’s not necessary, i’m completely fine with it! unless you’re… not?”
this time, spencer’s the one shaking his head fervently. “oh no, i’m entirely comfortable, perfectly content, uh- sharing a room with you.”
you display an awkward grin. “alright then, perfect.”
—
“i’ll set your bag on the table, is that okay?”
“yeah, thanks a lot.”
you heave a sigh of relief as you close the door behind you and rest spencer’s bookbag on the wooden table. spencer slowly lowers himself into a chair, and you gently lean his crutches against the walls near the door.
you’re pleasantly surprised by the room’s decor; its soft carpet floor and mahogany picture frames hanging from the walls easily exceed your expectations for a traditional hotel room.
you’re about to make a comment commending the room’s quality when your eyes zero in on a terrifying sight.
there’s only one bed.
you do a double take, circling around the bedroom once more to check if there’s an extra mattress lying around somewhere – at this point, you really wouldn’t mind if the bed has a trundle.
“fuck me.”
“what?”
spencer’s eyes immediately divert to you, and he stifles his reaction to your comment with a hasty cough.
you point to the bed, which prompts spencer to crane his neck to get a better view.
“there’s only one bed.”
spencer’s eyes widen, and his gaze snaps up to your face so fast you wonder if you’ve just made a grave mistake of telling him.
he was bound to find out anyway.
“it’s okay, i’ll take-” you start, but he cuts you off short.
“the floor? not a chance.”
you press your lips together tightly and gesture to his leg. “please, take the bed. your leg… you’re injured.”
spencer looks down at the floor briefly, a light shade of pink spreading across his face. “no, we can… we can share the bed.”
you feel your cheeks grow hot at his suggestion, but a refusal fails to surface on your lips.
moving your hands to your hips, you nod slowly. “only because you’re insisting,” you murmur.
a brief silence veils the air, and the two of you have utterly no idea what to do next — neither of you wants to be the one to crawl into bed first.
but the clock’s hour hand had just moved past the two, and you know your eyelids aren’t going to stay open for much longer.
with a weary sigh, you gesture towards the lightswitch. “do you mind if we dimmed the lights a little?”
spencer turns, almost hobbling on his leg, and flips the switch for you. the room turns dark almost instantly, but a faint light emanates from a lamp on the nightstand.
“are you, um, going to sleep soon?”
you hate to be the first one to bring it up, but you have to — you can practically feel the tiredness tempting you like a fuzzy blanket.
“uh yeah, we should sleep.”
you watch as spencer grabs a pillow from his side of the bed and positions it near the edge of the mattress. you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he props himself onto the bed and rests his leg on top of the pillow, elevating his casted knee.
oh. as the realization hits you, you reach for your own pillow and gently place it next to his head. “here, use this.”
“that’s your pillow.”
“i know.”
a soft chuckle sounds from his throat as spencer raises his head ever so slightly, allowing you to tuck the pillow beneath him.
“thanks,” he murmurs, and pats at the space next to him, urging you to join him on the bed.
once you’ve slipped your feet into the blanket, spencer stretches his arm to turn off the lamp and moves back to whisper a hushed good night into your ear.
you turn to say it back. “good n-”
his hand gently starts to wedge under your neck, and as he moves, strands of your hair coil around his fingers.
he’s offering his arm as a pillow.
you lie frozen, your breath hitched in your throat, as his arm extends fully beneath you.
“spence,” you exhale, caught off-guard by the sudden move.
“it’s okay. don’t worry about me,” he softly whispers, inclining his head towards your face.
you smile, though you doubt he can see your face in the pitch-black darkness.
“sweet dreams,” you hum, and close your eyes to let sleep overtake you.
—
you wake up not to the sound of your alarm, not to the birds usually perched on the tree outside your window, but to the sound of spencer clearing his throat.
you think it’s a dream at first, but you can feel everything — the vibrations coming from his throat like he’s talking to you, his hands stroking a pattern on your back, his breaths tickling your hair.
you open your eyes to see spencer staring back at you with flustered cheeks, his eyes flickering back and forth between your face and…
you follow his gaze and look down, only to see that your leg’s wrapped casually around his hips, anchoring him to the bed. with a panicked yelp, you immediately retract your leg and leap out of the bed, frantically apologizing to him over and over again.
“i’m so sorry about that, d-did i hurt you?”
your voice sounds scratchy from your parched throat, but how you sound right now is the least of your concerns.
spencer chuckles softly before slowly sitting up. “no, you didn’t do anything.”
you let out a relieved sigh at his response.
spencer grunts as he lifts himself up, tenderly listening to your continued apologies with a warm smile.
“by the way,” he starts, fixing his tie and reaching for his suit jacket, “we're a little late.”
“what?” you gasp, hurriedly tucking your dress shirt into your trousers, “fuck. how late?”
a pause, and then: “five minutes and twenty seconds.”
“oh my god,” you squeal as you fling your and spencer’s bag over your shoulders, “they’re probably all waiting for us.”
quickly turning the doorknob and making way for spencer’s crutches to move past the door, you rush to the elevator and hit the juddering call button.
“next time, you’re-“ you cough out as you try to catch your breath, “-you’re welcome to just push me off the bed. it’s guaranteed to wake me up instantly.”
spencer looks at you questioningly, a small grin spreading across his lips. “next time?”
you clasp a hand over your mouth. “wait no, i meant – hopefully we’ll never have to sleep in a room together ever again, but i’m saying in case-“
spencer tilts his head and lets out an amused laugh. thankfully, the elevator doors open just in time, and you’re spared the trouble of having to explain yourself further.
you bite your lips as the image of his lopsided grin lingers in the back of your mind, and the fresh regret of your words burns your face like a hot fever.
the embarrassment doesn’t end, however, as the doors open once again to reveal your team standing right outside. when the elevator’s chime echoes throughout the lobby, everyone’s heads turn to you and spencer.
you walk out with nervous steps, grimacing when hotch merely nods and announces that the plane is ready for takeoff. spencer makes his way over to derek, who tousles his hair teasingly.
“so, how’d you sleep last night?”
you freeze when rossi’s husky voice drifts into your ears.
you force out a smile. “i definitely could’ve slept better.”
“really?” he hums with a smirk, “i slept like a baby.”
“yeah, you upgraded your room, we get it, you’re rich,” you sigh, eliciting a hearty chuckle from the older agent.
once seated in your usual seat on the jet, you’re accompanied by spencer and morgan, who slump into their seats across from you.
you watch suspiciously as morgan wiggles his eyebrows at you and nudges his elbow into spencer’s sides. “so, late night, huh?”
spencer looks at you briefly, flushed cheeks failing to suppress the smile splaying across his face.
“shut up.”
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