#her brain almost fried

[barrenstars]

❛ do you trust me? ❜ // hanma to emma

@sociieties / angsty question prompts.

the large plank of wood slips from her grip and hits the ground with a gentle 'thud', and her chin drops even further. what the fuck? emma stands there, stanced up, ready to bite, claw, dangle from his neck like a chihuahua if he attacked because now she knows to expect it. and she can see him. no drive-by attacks, no sneak attack, nothing. only, the words that slip by his lips leave her completely dumbfounded. kisaki could have come up behind her, slit her throat, pull a plastic bag over her head and she'd just stand there and let him, that was how surprised she was. too bad kisaki was dead, huh. mustard hues blink several times in attempts to get the cogs turning once again, but nothing coherent comes to mind. ❝ oh my fuckin' god, ❞ the sano eventually mutters, moving to stand up straight after determining he was being completely serious.

emma didn't know this guy very well, she's only seen him a few times around the city, a few times in the gang, and his name floated around for a while. hanma shuji, or something like that. she knows draken doesn't like him, he's fought him a few times. but standing here, before him, after what he did? what he helped kisaki do? for some reason she just wants to burst into laughter, but also scream. and also tackle the big idiot and rip the flesh off his body.

❝ you're, like, totally batshit insane, ❞ part of her can't believe the question he's asked, but another part of her can. she's been surrounded by insanity for a good while now. ❝ i thought kazutora was bad, you know, because he killed my older brother then tried to fucking kill the other one - but you - you take the cake. ❞ there's just no way this guy can be serious... surely not? was he trying to intimidate her? maybe he wanted her to make a statement to the police and help him out, given the fact he was a wanted fugitive.

backing up a few steps, emma grips her bag and furrows her brows. ❝ if i were you i'd look into getting a therapist, you're clearly a fruit loop. ❞ a therapist or even just giving up and going to jail - just going somewhere no sane person would need to come across him. ❝ never talk to me again! or i'll call the cops and tell them where you are. ❞

[spacedlexi]

crying thinking about the ericson kids being like.. overly protective of clem post-amputation not because they think any less of her but because they just want to protect her the same way she protected them 😭

[soultiio]

day 3: monster, but affectionate

[chronomally]

Also read a paper on a smart house (not the DCOM) from the '90s that was like 1/3 horror story, 1/3 "that sounds really useful," and 1/3 "oh, like (thing we already have)"

[good-beanswrites]

Heyo!! :D uhh I was just thinking about prompts!! I have two that I've just been thinking of! You can do one or the other, I don't mind ^^ Yuno with Blanket (if you havent done that yet :o) and Muu and Yuno with Honesty :D

Thank you so much :D!! Your writing is so funky I love reading it, it's like my daily newspaper abejfncjcn

Hi Mug :D thank you so much aah!! I really loved these combos, that's so sweet for both of them ;-; Here's Yuno and Blanket -- something lighthearted from the beginning of t1, with a bit of her unfortunate people-pleasing habits.

“Requests are in!” Mikoto’s voice sang from down the corridor. The prisoners perked up from where they’d been lazing about. One would have thought he'd announced a jailbreak with the amount of energy that rippled through the room. Yuno leapt to her feet.

"You seem excited," Kazui chuckled as he stood. "What are you getting?"

She suddenly felt a twinge of shame for her reaction. Things weren’t bad in Milgram by any means, but the atmosphere was beginning to creep under her skin now and then. There was an old comfort she’d been dreaming of the past few weeks. It felt embarrassing to say to someone as concerned with his maturity as Kazui. 

"Oh, nothing much,” she said. “Just something that reminds me of home, like the cigarettes you ordered." She didn’t know him well enough to say so, but she was secretly grateful for his request. The smell of smoke was familiar to her as well. "But mostly it's something new around here -- isn't the whole thing exciting?" 

It was the first time they’d received a delivery, and everyone was eager to see if they got what they ordered. Though Yuno found the system surprising, it made sense. Milgram allowed more unique freedoms than a normal prison, given it also inflicted more unique restraints. 

She joined the group heading down the hall, all chattering in anticipation. 

"Yuno!" Mahiru waved her over. The woman had talked about the products and creams she'd requested, in the hope of keeping up her skincare routine. Yuno would be following suit soon, though she wanted those things to keep herself feeling refreshed rather than looking a certain way. There was no one here to impress. With her looks, that was.

Mahiru’s eyes gleamed. "What did you order?"

Yuno knew she wouldn't satisfy her appetite for gossip as much as Shidou testing his luck with medical supplies or Amane’s taste in high-level study materials had. 

"Something real cute~" was all she needed to say to get her giggling. 

Es instructed them to line up in front of their room to distribute everything. Yuno found her place behind Haruka. 

"Hey, hey! What are you getting?" She wasn't immune from that same gossipy curiosity…

His cheeks immediately reddened. "Uh, well, I h-hope I can get some c-candy. It -- I mean, it's kiddish, I know."

"Don't worry, some might think my request is childish, haha! Plus, I think Muu ordered sweets, too."

This seemed to calm him a bit as he walked ahead. Fuuta nudged her from behind.

"Oi, what did you ask for?"

She'd overheard him and Kotoko discussing what would likely be caught as a tool to escape, and knew her answer would disappoint him.

The bright smile she’d given Haruka angled into a more jaded smirk. "Eh, just something to get me through the night, you know? A practical comfort."

Fuuta grunted, respecting the choice. 

Her attention returned to the front of the line, where Haruka was returning with loose treats spilling from his hands. She took his place in Es' doorway.

"Prisoner 002," Es scanned a piece of paper. "For you… ah,” They read it again. “Just a blanket? Was that all?" 

She beamed. "Yup! Just a blanket." 

“You strike me as the kind to ask for a lot…”

“Mmm, you’ve read me well, Warden! Not this time, though. Gotta start small, then see what I can weasel out of you!” She winked. As usual, Es pretended to be unimpressed. Yuno knew she was wearing them down, bit by bit.

She offered a bouncy bow as Es handed it over. She hadn’t given many specifications, but it certainly looked as big and fluffy as she had hoped. Milgram had gone with pink -- the same shade as some of her uniform accents. 

"Thanks!" 

The prisoners' excitement died down fairly quickly afterwards. Amane began reading in silence. Kazui retreated to the smoking room alone, though Shidou and Mikoto promised to join him after the next round of requests. Haruka had nearly finished eating all of his candy by nightfall. Kotoko sat by herself to jot things down in her new notebook. Yuno’s good mood lasted much later. 

Once the bell had rung and silence fell onto the prison, she could feel the usual chill start to creep into her cell. It had gripped her with fear the first few nights -- that unshakable coldness that reminded her why she was here in the first place. Sometimes, when her body jolted her awake with the feeling of falling, she'd blame it on the temperature rather than a universal human experience. It brought up too many painful memories to be something so ordinary, after all.

But not tonight. 

Tonight there would be no falling, and no chill. No stepping into bed with enough skin showing to make her shiver. No more crafted conversations or flashing certain expressions.

A goofy grin spread across her cheeks. Yuno unfolded the blanket with a flourish. She swept it around her body, then flopped down on her bedding. With nothing more to worry about, she sank into the cushy blob.

‘Just a blanket’ her ass. This was the warmest she’d felt in a very long time.

[loaksky]

— come a little closer

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

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

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

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

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

main masterlist | arcane masterlist

VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it is.

It all starts at The Afterparty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you hum passively.

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

The step creaks under pure muscle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“________,” you offer.

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

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

You nod once.

“Neuroscience, fourth year.”

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

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

Vi’s floored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

Vi decides that she needs to see you again.

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

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

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

“So?”

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

Her teammate snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Violet,” you acknowledge.

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

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

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

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

You don’t even bat an eye.

“I did.”

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

“I am.”

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

Especially when you look up at her like that.

You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.

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

Vi could melt.

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

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

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

“So I can get paid?” you fill in.

“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”

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

“You’re fucking joking!”

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

“Maddie,” you whisper.

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

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

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

You look around in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”

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

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t start.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maddie,” you warn.

“Love you, see you at home!”

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

“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

“Am I going too fast?”

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

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

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

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

You decide to fold your cards first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You refresh for good measure.

“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.

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

“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”

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

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

“Violet.”

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

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

“V—”

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

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

Vi’s smile is crooked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”

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

“N-No,” you stammer.

“Great, see you tomorrow?“

You swallow.

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

Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.

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

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

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

“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”

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

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

“Jack shit,” she laughs.

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

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

“Sure, anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hungry?” you ask.

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

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

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

“Not since breakfast,” you admit.

“You like pizza?”

“Only the good kind,” you challenge.

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

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

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

You shake your head.

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

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

Vi’s desperate for more.

“As in?”

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

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

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

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

And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.

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

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

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

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

“God, marry me now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like cigarettes?

no, weed, dummy.

Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.

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

And then she gets the invite.

Ellie swears it’s her in.

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

“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi raises a brow.

“My cat,” you clarify.

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

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

Cute. So fucking cute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vi,” you whimper.

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

She resists a smile.

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

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

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

Test the waters, cop a feel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A small little laugh puffs from your lips.

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

Vi deflates in relief.

“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”

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

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

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

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

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

5—4.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe,” you whisper finally.

“Maybe what?” Vi teases.

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

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

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

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

You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.

“Puck off.”

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

“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.

You whine.

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

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

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

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

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

Violet only snorts a laugh.

“Whatever, good game,” she calls.

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

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

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

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

“Leave it.”

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

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

She winks.

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

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

You should come, I can pick you up.

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

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

“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breath out a little laugh.

“Here I am.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”

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

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

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

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

I wanted you to want me.

“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” she hums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh.”

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

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

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

It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.

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

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

Ellie laughs benevolently.

“You have a cat?”

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

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

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

“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”

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

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

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

“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”

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

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

This is getting fucking ridiculous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.

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

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

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

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

A nervous giggle bubbles.

“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.

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

You bite.

“If you ask nicely.”

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

“Can I?” she husks.

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

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”

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

“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”

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

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

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

You’re staring, hard.

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

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

You relax a fraction.

“Everything okay?”

You smile, something small.

“Yeah, good,” you assure her.

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

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

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

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

“Like right now?”

You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.

“Like right now,” you confirm.

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

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

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

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

Your heartbeat skips.

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

Vi’s grinning wide.

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

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

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

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

You think for a moment before shaking your head.

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

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

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

She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re running.

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

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

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

Her expression screws up.

everything ok? can i do anything for you?

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

I’ll see you next week.

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

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

She sighs. Hard.

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

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

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

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

Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?

.

.

.

Then you add, We can smoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like?”

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

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

“Uh-huh?”

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“But?”

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

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

“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.

“Violet,” you sigh.

“Abuse what?” she husks.

“I know you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She clambers back into the driver’s seat.

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

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

Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.

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

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

Your breath catches.

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

“Why?”

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

It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.

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

“You really believe that?”

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

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

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

Vi’s brows furrow.

“You’re what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.

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

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

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

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

violet <3: can i see you this week?

You open Instagram.

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

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

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

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

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

The bracelet.

Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.

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

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

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

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

Ellie’s face scrunches.

“Huh?”

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

Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxxx: i really miss you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.

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

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You humph.

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

“And that’s my problem because...?”

“I know that Vi comes off a certain way, but she’s my best friend, like my best friend in this entire shithole of a world, and she’s—”

“No offense, Ellie,” you cut her off. “But if Vi sent you here to plead her case, I think that’s pathetic and—”

“Okay, well maybe if you shut up for three seconds and let me get to my point—”

You close your textbook and shove it in your backpack before standing to signal the end of the conversation.

“Whatever, I don’t have time for this.”

Ellie watches you walk away, takes in a deep breath because wow, you’re a bitch when you’re mad, but she absolutely gets why Vi is whipped.

“Violet’s in love with you.”

And that statement makes you freeze. Tears cloud your vision as your fists tighten around the strap of your bag.

“If you fuck someone else while you’re in love, I want nothing to do with it,” you bite.

Ellie’s brows shoot up.

“Whoa, what?”

“Violet fucked someone else as soon as things got tough, and if that’s the kind of person she is in love, I’d rather be alone,” you say stiffly.

“Respectfully, there’s no way Vi’s interested in getting pussy from anywhere else with how down bad that bitch is for you, but even if she was, I spend over seventy percent of my day with her and know that all she’s been doing the past two weeks is moping over the fact that you handed her ass to her on a silver platter.”

“There’s a video.”

Ellie’s brows must be mingling with her hairline right about now.

She reaches a palm out.

Show me.

You open the DM from sev.94, watching as Ellie’s expression morphs from morbid curiosity to disbelief, to a quiet rage.

She’s handing your phone back to you and grabbing you by your forearm.

“She’s fucking dead.”

When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.

It’s the middle of the second period and the game is tied 3—3.

Your eyes comb the playing area, can’t find Vi’s jersey number in the mix, but finally settle on her on the bench, shoulders terse and obviously on edge.

She doesn’t clock you yet, had given up on the idea of patching things up with you after your last conversation.

“Vi’s been missing her bracelet since practice on Saturday,” Ellie’d told you on the way there, then pulled out her phone to show you the photo she’d taken of Vi passed out in nothing but her boxers on the couch the night of the last game, fucked up and sad. “We went out for like an hour after the game, but that was it. Vi was too fucking in her head.”

The girl from the tunnel, the one who’d been taunting the two of you, you piece together, has been the one behind it all, stirring the pot.

Throughout the end of the second period and all through intermission, Vi doesn’t notice you, too busy trying to get off the fucking bench to survey the crowd.

It’s only during final puck drop in the third period that their coach finally gives in, smacks the back of her helmet and tells her to make him proud that she lifts her head up.

And there, front and center of the student section is you.

Her eyes are wide, body frozen in place as she tries to figure if you’re just a figment of her imagination, but then the horn’s blaring and she’s having to zone back in.

At this point in time, she doesn’t give a fuck if they win or lose, she just needs to get to you.

“Your little bitch looks cute tonight,” Sevika comments wolfishly. “Bet she tastes as good as she looks.”

Vi easily intercepts her pass, cuts between two players as she shuffles it along with practiced precision. She sends the rubber flying and the goalie narrowly misses block.

“Maybe if you played as good as you ran your mouth, you’d wipe the floor with my pissbaby team you big bitch,” Vi calls, resetting in their corner.

And perhaps you’re her good luck charm, the only thing she needed to see to get back into it, because Vi reignites. The adrenaline pumping through her veins fuels every shot, and soon the timer’s buzzing.

7—5.

The roar is deafening, but you’re all she sees in the ocean of cowbells and pompoms.

She barely inches forward before something arcs through the sky and lands before her feet.

Her bracelet.

You watch from the sidelines, the final confirmation as Vi picks up the loop and launches herself at Sevika.

The crowd cheers.

Fight, fight fight!

You don’t know how many swings Vi gets in, just know that she’s flashing you a bloody smile before she skates off the ice.

Ellie emerges from the locker room and you’re perking up.

Most, if not all, of Vi’s teammates had come and gone and you’d been waiting patiently, anxiously, for her to emerge since the end of the game nearly an hour ago.

“She’s the last one in there,” is all Ellie says before strolling off.

“What if...what if she doesn’t want to see me?” you ask hesitantly.

Ellie chuffs a little laugh, doesn’t bother turning as she calls from halfway down the hall, “Find out for yourself, sweetheart.”

Vi’s pulling a tank top over her head as soon as you enter and your cheeks bloom when you catch a split-second of her tits.

She glances up at you, nose bruising and lip busted.

“Hey,” she spares you, stuffing her uniform and skates into her gym bag.

“Hi,” you squeak.

A pregnant pause as you take her in, hesitant to close the distance between the two of you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” she observes.

And you don’t really have a bullshit response, know that you had every intention of staying as far away as humanly possible, so you settle on humming your agreement.

“Ellie told me,” she starts. “Why you lashed out on me.”

You swallow.

“And part of me gets it, I really do,” she continues, “but I also thought you had more faith in me than that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Fuck, Violet, I’m so sorry.”

“I told you to free up Friday night a few weeks ago,” she says, shuts her locker door and slumps down on the bench behind her. “I was going to tell you everything, officially ask you out, but then all that shit happened and it caught up to me.”

You take a step forward, and then another, and another until you’re standing in front of her.

“You have to know that I would never do something like to anyone, but especially not to you,” she says softly, taking your hands in hers.

“I know.”

She brushes her lips against your knuckles, pulls you in closer so that you’re standing between her legs.

“You’re right,” she continues, voice hoarse. “I don’t have a spotless track record, but I meant it when I said that I don’t give a shit about anyone else but you. I would give you anything I can if you let me.”

Your hands rest on her shoulders, her chin resting against the plush of your belly as you look down at her, speechless.

“That night, in the car, you said that you didn’t see what made you so different.”

“I don’t,” you admit.

Vi stands, caging you between strong arms as she drops her face into the hollow of your neck. You shiver when you feel her lips press to the skin there.

“We could start off with the obvious.”

One of her hands rests on the small of your back, pulls you flush so that the only things that separate you are the flimsy fabrics of your clothes. The other grabs a handful of your ass.

“I meant it when I said that you’re the kind of pretty that makes me wanna do bad things.”

You gulp, thighs squeezing as her lips part and she bites.

“Vi.”

“You got a giant brain,” she laughs breathily, fingers coming around the fiddle with your belt.

She kisses you, mouth hot and breath warm. It’s better the second time around, no doubt obscuring you from truly indulging.

“Pl—ease.”

“You’re kind and you’re selfless, and you’re my sweet, sweet little crybaby.”

“Violet,” you sigh breathlessly. “Listen to me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”

Violet nearly runs two red lights and whips into your neighborhood on two wheels.

The two of you are stumbling up the stairs and she’s spanking your ass on the last step as you fiddle with your keys and try to find the right one under the dim light of the complex hall.

Violet’s already unbuckling her belt as you turn the key, nearly taking you down as she shoves you inside and up against the front door.

“Maddie home?” she breathes.

“Out of town,” you answer quickly, kicking off your sneakers and pulling your sweater over your head. “Visiting her family upstate.”

“Perfect,” Vi hums. “I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on your couch.”

“Oh–”

One of her rough hands comes to cup your tit over your bra, her tongue laving over the other while her free hand makes work of the clasp.

You walk her back to the couch, stand between her knees as she flops back into the seat. Her arms spread over the back as she settles in, legs widening to give you ample room to strip.

Her eyes never leave yours as you easily unclasp your bra and shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a tight pair of little lace panties and pink socks that has Vi wet.

“C’mere,” she rasps, pulling you to straddle her lap.

Her lips immediately latch onto one of your pebbled nipples, tongue hot as her hands wander.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me what you want,” she husks, biting down on the swell of your breast.

And having Violet this close, her touch excruciatingly featherlight and tempting, you wind tight.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper, fingers fixing around her throat. “Please.”

“Yeah?” she eggs you on, lips brushing yours as her palms settle on your ass. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nod eagerly, hips rolling in her lap as her breath pitches.

“Vi.”

Her nickname puffing from your lips makes her crack. You’re wound in her arms, face in her neck as she peels your thong taut, away from your waiting cunt, and runs her fingertips from your slit down to your clit.

“F...F—uck,” you sigh.

“Holy shit,” she marvels, licking her lips when she easily glides through your folds. “You’re really fucking wet.”

You grind down against her, clothed clit catching against her belt buckle. The cool metal sends a jolt through your pussy and you’re moaning loud in her ear.

And Violet really wants to take her time with you, wants to milk the first time she ever gets to fuck you for as long as she humanly can, but she’s still fully dressed and you’re practically naked, perfect tits pressed to her chest and fat ass in the palm of her hand.

She shifts you further into her, so that she can peek over the arch of your back as she sinks her middle and ring finger three knuckles deep into your needy heat.

“Ah, fuck, Violet.” Your voice breaks as she starts pumping into you, your arousal coating her fingers and the sound of her easily slipping through your pussy reverberating through the living room. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

She kisses your jaw, litters them until she’s catching your lips and licking crudely into your mouth.

You cry out when her fingers slip out.

She’s leaning the both of you forward, easing you from her lap and onto the couch as she takes a moment to shuck her shirt off and pull her belt through the loops in one tug.

You watch her through it all, the way the trim muscles of her biceps and shoulders flex as she leans over you, takes you by the ankles and yanks you until your ass is half-hanging from the edge of the couch.

She kneels before you, strips you out of your thong.

You don’t miss the way she shoves the soiled fabric in her jeans pocket.

“Jesus,” she breathes, gaze fluttering between your eyes and your pussy. “You’re so fucking pretty, sweetheart.”

Your toes curl at the praise, fingers closing around where Vi’s holding your legs apart.

“You know how bad I’ve been wanting to taste your pussy?” she rasps, gathering the lewdest amount of spit to dribble onto your clit. When you don’t answer, she’s freeing a hand to slap your slit.

“Nnngh, fuck!”

“Think I’ve always wanted to have you,” she admits. “But it was that stupid party fucking party and that stupid fucking skirt. God, I would’ve fucked you in that skirt if you let me.”

“Yeah?” you whine breathlessly. “Tell me.”

She’s stuffing you again without warning, curling her fingers in a way that has your back arching off the couch.

“Would’ve bent you over that sink and made you watch yourself while I ate you out,” she says easily.

And it’s so fucking delicious, the nasty shit Vi’s saying to you while she pounds your aching heat; the way she finally gives in and tastes you, sucking on your clit like she’s starved and you’re the only thing that can sate her hunger.

Your fingers curl through her hair as you teeter dangerously over the edge, nails grazing her scalp and tugging when she hits the spot deep inside of you that has you keening for more.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you choke. “Holy fuck.”

You feel Vi grin against your pussy, watch her with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes because the sight of her between your legs in your moonlit living room has your insides twisting hard.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” she encourages you. “Cum all over my fingers. Wanna see you gush.”

“Hah, h—” Your thighs tighten around her head, fingers curled so hard in her hair, she moans in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Don’t stop, Vi, please.”

She moans into your cunt, savoring the heady taste of you as you practically ride her face.

The sound that fills the room is downright filthy, the sight that Vi beholds when she peeks from where she’s devouring you equally so. It’s picturesque, the way she has you writhing. A sheen of perspiration glistens over your flesh as she eats you out and it’s a perfect mix of her tongue and her fingers that send you soaring over the edge.

It’s a pitched whine that echos, the staccato of your shaky breathing that sings like music in her ears as you cum. And hard.

Her lashes flutter against the skin of your inner thighs as she peppers kisses there, her lips slick with spit and arousal.

“Fuck, babe,” she whispers. “That was...”

She can’t really choose a specific word, is just mind blown at the fact that she’d just made you cum so hard and so fast. It makes her tense and tingle, a smug wave of pride washing over her as she starts mouthing a trail from your belly, between the valley of your tits, up your throat, to finally press a chaste one on your lips.

You taste yourself first and foremost, but then you taste everything she’s ever wanted to say to you, all the unspoken words and the things she’d been too scared to share. Feel it in the way her hands are roaming, squeezing, caressing.

You breathe a disbelieving laugh, peck her lips again when she pulls away to brush your hair from your face.

“Vi—” Your breath hitches and your eyes glaze.

“I know, I know.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, legs hooking around the narrow of her waist as she bears your weight and picks up your boneless figure.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

The sun is warm against your skin when you wake up the following morning, your bedroom bathed in an orange glow.

You feel bone tired, body sore and muscles tight as your arm sweeps the other side of the bed in search of balmy skin, but instead you’re met with cool sheets and swelling dread.

You sit up quickly, find that you’re still naked, and take a moment to asses your bedroom. The bathroom door’s cracked, light off, and everything else is exactly where you left it.

Everything except Vi.

Oh, you think to yourself.

Almost don’t want to leave your room because your empty apartment will be confirmation enough that Vi really did get the last laugh in the end.

But you force yourself out of bed, shrug on an oversized t-shirt before finding the living room just as still as it had been before the two of you had barreled in the night before and she’d left her mark on you.

The only sign that the entire thing wasn’t just a figment of your imagination was Vi’s belt strewn haphazardly on the coffee table.

You feel hollow, almost numb, and even if a persistent part of your brain was consistently telling you that you should’ve known better, the tears well in your eyes because you’d really hoped Violet was different.

You knuckle the tears away angrily, mind racing far too fast to register the door quietly unlocking and the soft footfalls coming down the hall.

“Babe?”

Your gaze snaps up.

Like a vision, Vi’s standing in the doorway, a handful of plastic bags in tow. She’s wearing her clothes from last night and the puffs under her eyes make her a little worse for wear.

She sets the bags down on the eat-in, rounds the couch to take you by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” she worries. “What’s going on?”

You hiccup, crumpling in her arms because you were so fucking scared.

“Thought you left,” you croak.

Vi breathes a sigh of relief, blowing out a hollow laugh because her girl’s such a baby.

“You have jack shit in your fridge,” she teases lightly. “How am I supposed to make you a five star breakfast with greek yogurt and carrot sticks?”

You whine.

“Don’t care about breakfast,” your muffled voice sounds from where your face is pressed in her chest. “Just wanted to wake up to you.”

Violet groans.

“You’re so cute,” she laughs, kissing the top of your head.

“I wanna go back to bed,” you mutter petulantly, emotional whiplash making your eyes droop.

“You’re not gonna let me make you breakfast?” Vi picks, smoothing the hair from your face.

Your eyes catch the bracelet refastened around her wrist and you grin softly, taking her fingers to press a kiss to her palm.

She could combust, gaze gooey as she watches you watch her.

Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.

One that’s particular, and overarching; one she doesn’t think she can go without.

And frankly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

neng © 2024

[bl00dysavior]

The fun thing abt Stiletto is that, while she generally has her shit together in the field (rules of engagement aside of course) and can be trusted to be the Responsible One when in a group

That doesn’t extend to when she’s left unattended. Because hint hint- she’s got zero qualms over settling shit the old fashioned way or saying the wrong thing to a cop.

[madamechrissy]

Preview for Pour it Up - Part Two here

Stripclub Sukuna x Stripper reader- MDNI- teasing/mentions of sex, Sukuna being down BAD

“You look upset. Who do I need to kill?” You almost laugh, but he raises a brow, god how are this man’s eyebrows attractive!? You sigh then, stepping closer, naked aside from your panties, and you feel his eyes dart to your bare breasts.

“I’m much happier now.” You murmur, he sighs then, a big hand on your waist, taking you over, thumb slipping against the swell of your lower breast.

“Yeah, why?” He mutters, so gruffly, already throbbing hard under his slacks, as he thinks of everything he wants to do.

“Because you’re touching me.” Your vulnerability almost breaks him then, his lips parted in shock, he squeezes tighter, leaning down and cupping your face.

“Did you get the money for your sitter?” He murmurs, and you nod shyly.

“It was too much, but I’m sure she appreciates it.” Your hand comes to grip his strong wrist, heart beating erratically in your chest now.

“And did you eat?”

“Not yet.” You giggle, softly, he sighs then, lips a breath away.

“I’m not fucking kidding, you’ll need the energy.” His words and his tone make your mind wander, just how would it be, to have Sukuna inside you?

“Oh yeah?”

He smirks before chuckling, throwing his head back. “You’re cute, brat, oh yeah.”

“Hey!” You sigh now, stepping back as he eyes your breasts, and you pop your little tassels out of your bag, eyeing him then, watching him drink the sight in. “Wanna help?”

“Shit.” You kill him. Sukuna takes them and presses them, as the little sticky adhesive suctions on, but he’s cupping your breasts in huge hands, as one of the girls, Candy walks in, pausing. “What do you want?” His voice is so terse, it’s just nothing like the man that just asked if you got the hundreds he sent for a sitter and your lunch.

“Um… Mr. Sukuna… could you help me with mine?” She asks then, yanking her tassels off, bare breasted. She makes you tense a bit.

Naoya had cheated over and over, but you and Sukuna were nothing yet, shit you’d just sucked him in his office so far, that’s it. And maybe a hook up tonight? So you can’t be upset if he wishes to, you just look away nervously, leaning forward in the mirror to adjust your makeup and pulling away as he eyes her, so clearly irritated by her presence.

“Ask Toji or something.” He grumbles, before turning you back to him, your eyes glimmer then, with some moisture, making him stutter. “What’s wrong now, shit?”

“No, it’s… your…” You hug him then, making him freeze, as your pretty little body is against him, your breasts so soft on him, he wants to tear you apart, put you back together, make you his. His hands stall though, unsure as you look up at him with tears down your pretty cheeks.

Candy leaves as Sukuna’s mouth opens and shuts. “Brat, what is it?”

“You m-make me feel really… um… it’s stupid…”

“Out with it.”

“Sexy? Pretty? Wanted?” He blinks in confusion then, how could you ever not be, especially with the amount of attention you get here? “I’m not used to this.”

“You know you’re pretty, just… shut up, stop that shit.” He’s swiping at your eyes though, as you elicit emotions that make him insane. “Why’d you feel like you’re not, that brain fried from your kid or something!?”

“No… I just… shitty past.” He sees it then, you’re so hurt from something, and anyone who ever made you feel that way!?

Sukuna would take him the fuck out.

“Whoever says you’re not is trying to fuck with you, fuck your head up, so ignore that shit.” He says softly almost, still a little gruff, cupping your face then. “I have excellent taste, trust mine hmm?”

“Yeah.” Your lip trembles, and Sukuna can’t stop the word from spilling from his lips then.

“Beautiful.”

“I… huh?”

“Shut it.” He kisses you then, and you’re falling against him, pressed on the counter where he can see your back and ass in the mirror, tempting him just as much as your pretty breasts, he moans as he steps between your thighs.

“Did you say beautiful?”

“Shush it, fuck you’re annoying hmm?” You just giggle a bit, and the action does something odd to his heart, god you do something to him.

“Thank you, Mr. Sukuna.”

“Just Sukuna, shit.” He kisses you again before taking a breath, eyeing your body up and down slowly. “Wanna sit on my lap during this meeting? You may… have to have some coke on your body.”

“On me!?”

Permatags: @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @n1vi @aldebrana @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw @moonlitwitchdaisy @beachaddict48 @miizuzu @honeybunnnnie @1brii @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy

[capquinn]

I really want fries as a finishing the week treat but it’s so cold out and I’m too lazy to get them. But I was thinking about Quinn and pregnant reader in that situation. Quinn would give her that 🫤 look and sigh after she’s been going on and on about her pregnancy craving and no matter the weather or time of night he always goes out to get it or find the closest thing to it. He’s such a softie and drops everything to do anything for her

It starts off innocently enough — just a passing comment as you're cooking dinner.

You’re standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup, when you spot the empty pickle jar on the counter. The sight of it stops you mid-stir, an ache blooming in your chest that you hadn’t even realised was there. The sharp tang of vinegar was just a memory now, thanks to Quinn, who had polished off the last one earlier. You stared at the jar for a long moment, then inhaled deeply as if to steel yourself, catching the faint scent of peanut butter still lingering in the air from his afternoon snack.

“We’re out of pickles,” you announce, the words coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Quinn doesn’t even look up from where he’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone.

“We’re going grocery shopping tomorrow,” he replies casually, like it’s no big deal. “We’ll grab some more then.”

You nod, swallowing down the disappointment. Of course, it’s fine. Quinn already does so much for you — too much, honestly. He doesn’t complain when you wake him up in the middle of the night to rub your back, doesn’t bat an eye when you cry over commercials. The least you can do is manage a craving for one night.

But by the time the soup bowls are empty and the dishes are drying in the rack, the craving is no longer something you can brush aside. It’s no longer just pickles. It’s pickles and peanut butter. Crunchy peanut butter, specifically, the kind you already have in the pantry. And the thought of it — salty and tangy and just a little sweet — is like a loop stuck in your brain. You can feel it growing, blooming into an obsession you can’t shake no matter how hard you try.

So you finally bring it up as you’re both clearing the table.

“You know, pickles and peanut butter would taste so good right now,” you say, hoping maybe speaking it out loud will get it out of your system.

Quinn pauses, plate in hand, and gives you a skeptical glance. “Pickles and peanut butter? Together?”

You nod, setting down the glasses you’ve just picked up from the table. “Yeah. Like, on the same spoon. Or maybe a pickle dipped in peanut butter,” you add, tilting your head thoughtfully.

He squints at you like you’ve just suggested something completely alien. “You don’t even like pickles.”

“I know,” you say, exasperated, “but it’s a pregnancy craving. I can’t explain it.”

Quinn smirks, a playful glint in his eye. “So, the baby’s got you craving… that?”

“Apparently,” you say with a shrug, trying to sound casual, though you can feel the craving getting worse now that you’ve spoken it into existence.

It comes up again later as you sit cross-legged on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while Quinn flips through TV channels.

“Pickles and peanut butter,” you murmur under your breath, almost to yourself and from the corner of your eye, you catch Quinn’s side-eye, his brow quirking as he lowers the remote slightly.

“You’re still thinking about that?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement, though there’s a hint of skepticism, like maybe he’s hoping this craving had run its course.

You glance up, shrugging as you bite your lip.

“Yeah,” you admit, and then, add quickly, “but it’s fine. I can wait until tomorrow.”

Quinn’s gaze lingers on you for a beat, and you can feel the weight of it. He’s studying you, half waiting for you to crack and half trying to decide if he needs to intervene now or risk hearing about pickles and peanut butter in his sleep.

“You sure?” he says finally, his tone light, but there’s something else beneath it — like he knows you’re holding back.

“Positive,” you say, nodding firmly.

And for a while, you convince yourself that it's true. That you're completely, utterly and positively sure that you can wait until tomorrow.

So you curl up under the blanket with Quinn, his arm draped loosely over your shoulders, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm — a quiet, familiar rhythm that usually soothes you without fail. The TV hums softly in the background, and his chest rises and falls against your side, steady and warm. It should be enough.

But it’s not.

The thought of that perfect salty-sweet combination gnaws at you, persistent and unrelenting. You try to distract yourself, to focus on the show Quinn seems semi-invested in, but every passing second feels like the craving is growing claws, digging deeper into your resolve.

You take a deep breath, glancing up at him. His profile is soft in the glow of the TV, his expression relaxed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he absently strokes your shoulder. He’s content, comfortable. You almost feel bad for what you’re about to do.

Almost.

“Before I say something,” you start, your voice tentative, measured, the prelude to what you know is a plea, “just remember that I’m carrying your baby.”

Quinn doesn’t even blink. His lips quirk into a small smile, his thumb pausing mid-circle on your arm.

“Our baby,” he corrects gently, his tone warm, teasing, like he knows exactly where this is going. Of course he knows. He always knows.

You hesitate for a beat, building up your courage before blurting, “I’m really, really craving pickles and peanut butter.”

His head falls back against the couch, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he drags a hand down his face.

“Baby,” he says, his voice full of mock exasperation, “it’s pouring outside. You said it could wait until tomorrow.”

“I thought it could,” you insist, sitting up straighter, as if that’ll help your case. “But I’ve been thinking about it since dinner, Quinn. I don’t think I can sleep until I have it.”

He looks at you, his brows furrowing just enough to show he’s debating his options, though you both know there’s only one.

“I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate,” you tack on, your tone earnest as if that might tip the scales further in your favor.

Quinn exhales a long, dramatic sigh, one that would almost sound convincing if not for the way his lips twitch at the edges, betraying the affection underneath. There’s no real frustration in him — just the soft resignation of someone entirely smitten, hopelessly incapable of saying no.

“You haven’t even asked me anything yet,” he points out, tilting his head as he meets your gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a flicker of amusement he’s trying not to show.

It’s infuriatingly endearing.

“Will you please go get pickles?” you ask, your tone so sweet, so endearingly earnest, that he doesn’t stand a chance.

That gets him.

His lips twitch, fighting off a grin, as he pushes himself to his feet, stretching with a dramatic groan.

“The things I do for you,” he mutters under his breath, the corners of his mouth betraying the tease.

He disappears down the hall, and you hear the faint shuffle of a jacket being pulled off a hook, the jangle of keys being found. When he returns, he’s already slipping his arms into the sleeves, his shoulders settling with the kind of resigned acceptance that says he knows this is his life now — and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He moves toward the door, stooping to pull on his sneakers, the drizzle outside faintly tapping against the windows. Just as he’s tying the laces, he glances back over his shoulder, one brow quirking in that playful, knowing way that makes your heart squeeze.

“Anything else while I’m out?” he asks, his tone warm and teasing, like he’s already resorted to a grocery list. “Ice cream? Chocolate syrup? A gallon of peanut butter to get us through the next week?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you peek over the back of the couch.

“Just the pickles. And maybe… the good kind?” You ask innocently, like maybe you’re asking for too much at this late hour.

Quinn groans, a sound full of exaggerated exasperation, but the grin tugging at his lips gives him away.

“The good kind,” he repeats, his tone dripping with mock seriousness, like the words themselves are some great inconvenience. “I’ll see what I can do.”

But there’s no hiding the fondness in his eyes as he steps closer, moving behind the sofa. He plants his hands on the cushions, leaning over until his face is just above yours. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin with a quiet kind of devotion. Then, he presses a kiss to your temple, lingering just long enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the steady comfort of his presence.

“You owe me for this,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to that warm, teasing tone that makes your heart flip.

You tilt your head toward him, grinning as you meet his gaze, your affection spilling over. “I’m giving you a baby, Quinn.”

He exhales a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes like he’s indulging some monumental injustice. But the way his lips twitch, the faint curve of a smile tugging at the corners, gives him away.

“Yeah, you are,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself, his thumb brushing along your cheek in a gesture so instinctive, so achingly gentle, it makes your chest tighten.

There’s a flicker in his eyes of pure adoration that doesn’t even try to hide. It’s the kind of look that says a thousand things he never could — about how much he loves you, how much this life you’re building together means to him, how he’d cross any distance, brave any storm, just to see you smile.

And then he huffs, a soft sound somewhere between affection and surrender, before leaning down further, his breath warm against your skin. His lips brush against yours, soft and deliberate, the kind of kiss that’s all tenderness and quiet longing. It lingers, unhurried, his hand cupping your cheek as if to keep you right there, as though this moment is his anchor before he steps out into the cold.

“Be right back.”

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆ 

Chapter 4, Raw, next question

Masterlist

Word count: 1.8 k

Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: Here we go babes! I hope ya'll like it. I am going to be very busy this weekend and part of next week, so I'll leave ya'll with this for the upcoming few days. Lots of love <3

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut.

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

It's not like you to forget about watching a Red Crow video, but it totally slipped your mind after Tara started suggesting different single guys to you. Seems like she's known Sylus for a while and isn't stoked about the idea of you liking him. For some reason, that gets you going even more. 

Sure, could be that he is a disturbed individual, but you figure it has more to do with his cold demeanor. It almost sounded like she was talking you out of talking to him again after her offer to give him your number. Almost like she suddenly remembered something. Could it be that she also knows about what he does? If that's the case, she's less innocent that you thought she was. 

Either way, she kept you busy until there was a knock at the door and you realized it was already 2 am. No wonder you had been getting sleepy. 'I'll get it,' you offer, you brain fried once more but this time the sleepiness is to blame. Tara giggles in response. 

You expected Kieran to come knocking so that Tara could drive him home. Instead, Sylus leans over you once more when you open the door, one hand on the top of the doorframe the other in his pocket. He's incredibly close, closer than one normally is when knocking on someone's door. Is he doing this on purpose?  

The smell of whiskey and cigarettes hang around him like a cloud, mixing in with his cologne to create the most intoxicating smell you've ever smelled. His shirt is a little more unbuttoned than it was before and there's a slight pink tint to his cheeks. You figure he's drunk or close to drunk. 

But then he speaks, and he sounds stone cold sober: 'Hey, can you tell Tara Kieran is sleeping over. He is in no state to move.' 

'What happened to “taking it easy”,' Tara shouts from the couch. Sylus stands up a little straighter, removing his hand from the doorframe, and looking over top of me to Tara on the couch. He grins slyly. 

'Nothing we haven't done before.' She hops off the couch and rushes over, looking slightly agitated. 

'Sylus, that can refer anywhere from a gross shot to LSD,' she snaps at him. He leans down over her like he just had with me. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and it almost looks like her hair is puffing up like an angry cat. Suddenly, you understand why she might've wanted to curb your interest in Sylus but the teasing tone that slips from his lips so easily gets you fucking going. Without really noticing it, you bite your lip for no more than a second while your thighs rub together. 

He notices though. His eyes flicker over to you for just a second and his grin widens ever so slightly. 'No drugs. I quit that stuff. He's just very drunk.' Tara groans. 'You can check if you want.' 

'I will,' she snaps as she pushes past the two of you and quickly disappears into Sylus’ apartment. 

And suddenly, you are harshly reminded what happened the last time you and Sylus were alone. Reminded of that video that you still haven't fully watched. The first few seconds are engraved in your memory. Sylus, completely dressed with his hand slowly rubbing over the tent in his pants, low groans leaving his lips. 

When you look up at him again, you swear he knows exactly what's going on in your mind. There's that sly grin on his lips again. 'Having a fun night?' 

'Oh, fuck you,' you groan, and feel yourself puff up like Tara had as you cross your arms with an annoyed expression on your face. If he knows, you might as well cuss him out for it. He deserves as much, and he seems to like it as a rich laugh slips from his lips. 

He leans even closer, still towering over you with his eyes focused on yours. You feel your cheeks and ears heat up like you've just shoved your head against a space heather. 'You know who I am,' he states. You can almost feel your attitude melt like snow thrown on a fire as you nod.  

'You know what I do,' his voice is gravely, low, seductive. He's enjoying this. You nod again. No more snow, only fire. Fire in your loins and in your fucking ovaries. You are going to burst. He moves in even closer. 

'Use your words, sweetie.' One of his two signature pet names for his audience. Your panties are soaked, your blood is boiling, and your attitude is back. Because, if he keeps this going, you two will be down and dirty right here in your doorway. Ain't no way you're letting Tara see you in that state. 

'Back the fuck up before I jump your bones.' Maybe you should've just said the first part. His confidence wafers for a second before he realizes what you mean. He’s even closer now, his lips next to your ear, voice barely above a whisper. 

'Did you like what you did to me?' 

'Kieran is passed out,' Tara loudly announces before peaking her head around the corner. Before she can, Sylus moves back and crosses his arms, looking like he's bored out of his mind while you are bright red in the face. 'Sylus, help me get him in the car. We have plans tomorrow.' 

'Yes ma’am.' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

3 am. The world outside is quiet, just like Sylus likes it. Kieran was a real pain to get in the car but at least he gets to listen to some records on his own now. Luke had left long before but Kieran always sticks. Sylus can only hope he'll be awake enough to walk into Tara's apartment when they get there. 

Today had been interesting to say the least. He hasn't been this risky in a long time, teasing someone who clearly knows who he is. Could be a very awkward situation in the future if she ever grows over her lust for him, but for now he's fine. This could be a fun little game between the two of them. No one else needs to know, but what if he just films his content after he's seen her. Like how he did today. 

Short conversation, make a video wearing what she saw him in, turn her on so he can listen to her sweet little moans pierce through the thin walls. He does need to keep his schedule though, otherwise it'd be too suspicious. On the other hand, no one would complain about an extra video occasionally. 

The soft thud of the needle bumping off his record pulls Sylus out of his trance. The room is suddenly awfully silent. Then, he hears it. 

The softest of whimpers. 

He turns off the record player and walks into his room curiously. The sound is coming from the air extractor fan in the bathroom, just as it had this afternoon. The shower isn't running and your noises sound farther away, so it's possible that you're in your bedroom with the bathroom door open. 

"Is she doing this on purpose," Sylus questions as he stands in the middle of his bathroom, listening to the sounds you make while his dick starts to strain against his pants. "Would she hear it if I did the same thing?" 

His curiosity quickly gets the better of him. Just for good measure, he quickly sets up his phone to record on top of the toilet reservoir and presses record. Then, he moves to lean against the sink cabinet, his head thrown back as he rubs over the fabric of his pants, just as he had this afternoon. 

He hears a particularly lewd moan and prays to the gods above his phone picked the sound up. His hand moves to his zipper and he undoes himself skillfully and fast. He takes his dick out of his boxers, not bothering to take his pants off. It's hard as a fucking rock and already leaking with just those little sounds. 

"What is this woman doing to me?"  

Lazily, he starts stroking his dick. Soft groans and moans slipping from his lips, suppressed in an attempt to still hear you through the vents. Then the prettiest picture slips into his mind. 

You, laying on your back in his bed, naked. Heels planted on his mattress, legs spread, hands lazily pulling on the hair on the back of his head. That beautiful blush on your cheeks, looking desperate and longing for release while he drives his length into you. The little sounds you make, so much louder when he's this close, so much more beautiful. Your eyes focused on him and only him. 

His hand starts moving faster, chocking his dick ever so slightly while his other hand grips the sink, knuckles turning white. An animalistic sound leaves his throat, a sound he's never made before. Something like a chocked growl. 

God, that image. He'd lean in closer, wrap his arms around your body to pull you closer, his lips exploring the expanse of your neck and shoulders while your nails leave trails on his back. One of his hands would leave your body, move to your little bud of nerves to help you reach ecstasy. 

Another growl leaves his throat, louder this time. He's getting so close after so little time. Is this really all because of you? Because some pretty girl showed interest in him? He's not sure, but the picture in his mind keeps getting more and more realistic. His eyes screw closed, head leaning forward now, his breathing heavy. 

He'd sit down on his heels, pull you onto his lap and hold you close to his chest, as close as humanly possible, while picking up the pace and drilling into you. Your pretty little moans would get louder, would morph into his name so beautifully strewn out on your tongue, barely recognizable to anyone but him. And you'd bite his collarbone. The pain and pleasure of the whole thing tipping him over the edge, his hands bruising your skin, serving you the same mixture to help you fall into the abyss with him. 

Hot ropes of cum lay on the tiles in front of Sylus while he tries to catch his breath. He doesn't hear your voice anymore, so you must be done as well. 

"What the hell just happened?" 

He steadies himself and grabs his phone from the toilet reservoir, stopping the recording. Before he can throw the thing to the side again, he gets a notification on his video from this afternoon. When he opens it, the name and profile picture look awfully familiar. It's you, there's no denying it. His lips pull into a grin when he reads your comment. 

"Raw, next question." 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Previous - Next

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Taglist

@carmelves

@d0llfilth

@terriblesoup

@valkyyriia

@fvcknwww

@itsizumiiii

@ludwigsb0nker

@amywright

@frenchmess23yo

@malleus-draconias-rose

@deathkat657

@sweetnanah

@trishiepo0

@iraot

@nyxie-00

@sherlockstolemyname

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

[d-z20]

For Your Own Good (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You're on your third all-nighter in a row and your girlfriend is not having it. She tries to ask nicely but you are a stubborn so-and-so who's stressing about deadlines so she resorts to other methods

- OR -

Agatha helps you unwind in the best way she knows: by fucking you until you're too exhausted to move

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, top Agatha, bottom masc reader, 'good boy' used for reader, praise, established dynamic, fingering (R recv), oral (R recv), mattress grinding/humping, subtle sub/dom themes

Words: 2.9k

A/N: Finally written a fic with an explicitly masc reader getting called a good boy :D I had imagined a masc Agatha too but it can be interpreted in anyway requested fic

AO3 | Masterlist

The glow of the laptop screen casts sharp shadows across your cluttered desk, highlighting the deep furrow between your brows. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, the rhythmic tapping the only sound in the dimly lit apartment. Scattered notes, half-drunk cups of coffee, and a plate with an untouched sandwich bear witness to the relentless battle you're waging against your coursework. You barely blink, eyes scanning over dense paragraphs, lips pressing into a thin line of determination.

Agatha stands in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, weight shifted lazily to one side. Her jaw tenses as she watches you, concern etched into the hard lines of her face. She’s let this go on long enough—one all-nighter was bad enough, but three in a row? That’s a disaster waiting to happen. She exhales sharply through her nose before pushing off the frame and stepping forward, boots scuffing against the hardwood.

“Sweetheart,” her voice cuts through the thick silence, warm but edged with authority. “What the hell are you still doing up?”

You don’t so much as glance up. “Just finishing one last section,” you mutter, tapping a few more keys. “I’m almost done, I swear.”

Agatha rolls her eyes, knowing damn well you’ve said the same thing yesterday. With slow, deliberate steps, she comes up behind you, hands settling on your tense shoulders. You flinch at first, as if you’d forgotten she was even there, before sighing under the pressure of her firm grip.

“You said that last night,” she reminds you, kneading at the knots in your muscles. “And the night before that. Baby, you’re running on fumes.”

Your posture stiffens. “I can handle it.”

“Come on, darling,” she coaxes, dipping her head slightly, her voice warm but insistent. “You’re not going to learn anything if your brain’s fried.”

“I said I can handle it. I’m fine.” The words come out clipped, your fingers still moving over the keyboard with stubborn determination.

“That so?” Her thumbs press in deeper, a calculated move that has you biting back a groan. “Because it looks to me like you’re about to pass out face-first into that damn keyboard.”

Your jaw tightens, fingers still moving, unwilling to relent. Agatha lets out a slow breath through her nose, reeling in her patience. The soft approach isn’t cutting it.

She bends down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Come to bed,” she coaxes, voice dropping lower, smooth and persuasive. “You can use me as a pillow. I’ll even let you steal the covers.”

You swallow, hesitating just for a second before shaking your head. “Can’t. The deadline’s too close.”

A muscle in Agatha’s jaw ticks. Alright. You want to be difficult? She can handle that.

Straightening, she moves in front of you, planting her hands on the desk and leaning forward just enough that you have no choice but to meet her gaze. “I don’t like repeating myself.” Her voice drops an octave, that commanding edge slipping in. “You need sleep.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, tipping your head back. “What are you gonna do, carry me off to bed?”

“If I have to.” A slow smirk creeps onto her lips, and something dark flickers in her eyes, something that sends a sharp jolt through your already exhausted body.

Your scoff holds no real weight. “You wouldn’t.”

Agatha arches a brow. “Try me.”

Before you can form a retort, she swoops in, one arm hooking under your knees while the other slides around your back, lifting you clean off the chair in one swift motion. Your body is cradled effortlessly against her chest, your legs bent over the crook of her arm. A startled noise tears from your throat, hands instinctively gripping her shoulders.

“Agatha! Put me down—”

“Nope.” She adjusts her hold with practiced ease, shifting your weight so that one arm slides fully beneath your thighs while the other moves up to support the middle of your back, pressing you snug against her torso. Your head naturally rests near the curve of her shoulder, her grip firm and unyielding. “You had your chance to walk, gorgeous.”

Your pulse jumps as she carries you down the hall, her strength effortless, her scent wrapping around you—oud, cedar, and something undeniably Agatha. You squirm, trying to protest, but the tightening of her grip warns you that resistance is pointless. Then, just as you think about trying again, her lips graze your ear, her voice dipping into something low and honeyed.

“Be a good boy for me, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and whatever fight was left in you fizzles out instantly.

The bedroom door nudges open with a soft creak; she deposits you onto the bed, pressing you down with the weight of her body before you can even think about running.

“You think I’m gonna let you run yourself into the ground over some assignment?” Her hand slides up your chest, fingers tracing the sharp lines of your collarbone, down to where your heartbeat thrums wildly beneath her palm. “Nuhuh, darling. That’s not happening.”

You gulp, suddenly very aware of how effortlessly Agatha is pinning you down. “I—”

“Shh.” She leans in, her lips ghosting over yours. “I’m gonna have to tire you out myself since you clearly don’t know when to stop.”

The sharp hitch in your breath doesn’t go unnoticed. Agatha smirks against your skin, her knee pressing between your thighs, pinning you down with effortless strength. Her weight is solid, grounding, leaving you nowhere to escape—not that you would, even if you could. She knows it too, sees it in the way your fingers twitch against her shoulders, your body tensing, fighting a battle between resistance and surrender. She leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear as her voice drops, dark and knowing.

“Be a good boy for me,” she purrs, letting the heat of her words settle over your skin. “And let me take care of you.”

Agatha’s presence looms over you, her lips ghosting over your neck, a slow, tantalising trail of heat that sends shivers down your spine. Teeth graze your skin, the pressure sharp enough to make you gasp, but she only smiles against your throat, clearly enjoying the effect she has on you. 

A shudder rolls through you, sharp and betraying. You hate how easily she reads you, how easily she knows exactly what buttons to press and exactly how to unravel you, no matter how stubborn you try to be. Her hands slide down your sides with slow deliberation, fingertips teasing over the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath, warm against your skin. Her touch is confident, making it clear that in this moment, you belong entirely to her.

You shift beneath her, but Agatha doesn’t budge. If anything, her grip tightens. “You have to fight me on everything, don’t you?” She muses, dragging her lips along your jaw, nipping at the delicate skin just below it.

The words hit you like a challenge, a dare that ignites something dark inside you. You try to squirm, to break free, but her grip tightens again, one hand now pinning your wrists above your head, the other trailing down your torso with deliberate slowness. Every inch of you is her playground, and she knows it. 

She tilts her head, watching the way your breath stutters, the way your pupils dilate under the weight of her stare. Her fingers trace over your stomach, dipping lower, teasing—not giving you what you need just yet, just showing you she could if she wanted to. She takes her time, revelling in the way your resolve starts to crack, in the way your body slowly starts to melt into her.

“Always so damn stubborn,” she teases, dragging her lips lower to your collarbone. “But you’re mine tonight, aren’t you? Just putty in my hands.”

Your lips part, a protest forming, but before you can get a word out, she presses forward, stealing the breath from your lungs with a kiss that leaves no room for argument. It’s deep, slow, utterly consuming. Her teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging at it, before she soothes it with her tongue. You feel yourself sinking, your fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt, desperate for something to hold onto as she takes you apart piece by piece.

She pulls back to lock eyes with you before whispering, “Just relax for me, sweetheart.”

Her voice is thick with satisfaction, her hands mapping out every inch of you like she’s memorising the way you react. Her touch is firm and possessive, and the praise spills effortlessly from her lips between heated kisses.

“Such a pretty boy for me.” 

A slow drag of her nails down your stomach.

“So good for me when you finally stop fighting.” 

A kiss against your collarbone, followed by the sharp bite of her teeth.

“You’re driving me insane,” you mutter, your voice hoarse with frustration and need. 

You try to move your hips, but her grip only tightens, her body pressing against yours with unyielding strength. She can feel the tension in your muscles, your desperation, and she smirks, knowing she has you exactly where she wants you.

“Look at you,” she taunts, her voice a smooth drawl full of wicked amusement. “So desperate to finally unwind.”

Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants, a teasing brush of knuckles against sensitive skin. She doesn’t rush. She savours, lets the anticipation build, enjoys the way your breath stutters, the way your hips twitch ever so slightly as if trying to chase the contact you need her to give.

“Patience,” she chides, her lips ghosting over your jaw, the heat of her breath sending a delicious shiver down your spine. “I’ll take good care of you, baby.”

She slides her hand further down, fingers curling between your thighs, stroking slow, measured circles over your clit that make your entire body tense with aching need. Your hips jerk involuntarily, and she chuckles, low and knowing.

“Yes,” she murmurs, her voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”

You can’t help but gasp; your body already thrumming with anticipation, but Agatha still isn’t in a hurry. She takes her time, working you over with practiced precision, each touch calculated to make you melt further beneath her. 

Her fingers trail lower, teasing at your entrance, her gaze fixed intently on every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face. The moment your eyes flutter shut, a frustrated moan slipping past your lips, she finally pushes in, finding that perfect spot that has you unraveling beneath her, your sounds spilling freely for her to drink in.

Your hands claw at her shoulders, your nails biting into muscle as your breath stutters into something helpless, something raw. But she just smiles wickedly against your throat, dragging her teeth along your pulse before sucking a bruise into your skin, marking you as hers.

As she guides you closer to the edge, her lips find yours in a kiss that’s both soft and demanding, a tantalising mix of tenderness and raw hunger. She swallows your moan, her tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you completely, and you can feel the vibration of her growl against your lips.

The moment you think you can’t take it anymore, she pulls back to admire her handiwork. Your chest rises and falls in ragged breaths, skin flushed, pupils blown wide with desire. Agatha’s gaze darkens, drinking in the sight of you unravelled beneath her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she breathes, voice husky, laced with hunger.

Agatha toys with the hem of your shirt before slipping beneath the fabric. Her touch is slow, feeling every inch of newly exposed skin as she inches it upward. Her nails scratch lightly over your stomach, making you shudder. The grin tugging at her lips is unmistakable—she’s enjoying this, watching you squirm beneath her, utterly at her mercy.

“I want to see you,” she coaxes, voice thick with authority and something that makes your breath catch. When you don’t resist, she peels your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before making quick work of your pants. Every inch of bare skin is met with the heat of her gaze, the weight of her presence pressing heavier onto your body.

“So, so beautiful.” It’s almost like she’s talking to herself, fingers skimming over your thigh before tracing back up, ghosting over your ribs. You shiver, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach as her lips follow, leaving a searing path along your shoulder and down your chest, lingering over every spot that makes you gasp.

She takes her time, lips and teeth teasing, coaxing you further under her control before her mouth moves lower, settling between your thighs. With you now bare beneath her, she’s on you in a matter of seconds, her breath fanning against sensitive skin. Agatha’s grip tightens on your hips as she presses you down, pinning you beneath her as she drags her tongue over your clit, her pace torturously slow. As she does, you feel the subtle press of her own hips against the mattress, a slow grind of her own need that sends a wave of heat through you, intensifying the sensation of her every movement.

Your hands tangle in her hair, fingers tightening instinctively as a filthy moan rips from your throat. Your hips jerk, seeking more, but Agatha keeps you firmly in place, her grip on your thighs unyielding. She chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through you, making your breath stutter. As she continues to rock her hips against the bed, her own rhythm starting to match the teasing pace she’s setting on you, the heat between you both begins to build, a tension that fills the room.

Then, just as the tension coils impossibly tight inside you, her fingers join the fray—slipping into you with a slow, calculated precision that leaves you trembling. She moves in sync with her mouth, a dizzying rhythm that pulls you under, drowning you in sensation. The contrast has you whimpering, your body caught between the edge of bliss and the unbearable ache of wanting more. As she grinds herself deeper into the mattress, the added pressure of her movement pushes her closer to the edge, and you can feel it in the urgency of her touch.

“Fuck you taste so good,” she groans, the heat of her breath making you shudder. “I want to feel you cum on my tongue.”

Her words are both a command and a promise, and you can do nothing but obey. She doesn’t let up, doesn’t falter, working you with a patience that borders on cruel, unravelling you inch by inch. Every stroke, every flick of her tongue is purposeful, drawing you closer, coaxing you to the brink until the pressure inside you turns unbearable. Your body tightens, muscles clenching around her as your breath turns ragged, the pleasure cresting into something all-consuming. With every motion of her hips against the bed, she pulls herself closer to her own release, her movements becoming more urgent and intense.

And then she pushes you over.

Your orgasm slams into you, overwhelming and unrelenting, pleasure rippling through every nerve like a live wire. A choked cry tumbles from your lips as your back arches, your entire body shuddering beneath her hold. Agatha doesn’t stop—she rides out every wave with you, her hands firm on your hips, her tongue still teasing, still claiming, as she continues to grind into the mattress, using the friction to chase her own climax. The intensity of her rhythm keeps you spiralling, dragging out every second of pleasure until you’re boneless beneath her, pleasure spilling over in thick, breathless aftershocks.

She finally eases, her pace slowing, her touch turning soft as she presses one last, lingering kiss to your trembling skin. She doesn’t move right away; instead, staying close, her palm smoothing over your thigh in slow, lazy circles, grounding you in the aftermath.

“Tired now?” She teases, pressing a gentle kiss to your jaw.

You try to mumble a retort, something snarky, but the words barely form before she hushes you with another kiss, softer this time, slower.

“That’s what I thought.”

She shifts, manoeuvring you effortlessly until you’re curled against her, her arm slung over your waist, keeping you close. You don’t fight it. Instead, you relax into her warmth, your fingers lazily gripping at her shirt, keeping her exactly where she is.

Agatha smooths a hand over your hair, thumb tracing lazy circles against your temple. “I better not catch you pulling another all-nighter,” she hums, voice low and firm.

Half asleep, you mumble. “I mean, if this is the punishment for it...”

Agatha chuckles, shaking her head. “Brat.” But she pulls you closer anyway, making sure you don’t slip away to start working again.

She lets out a quiet sigh, content, pressing a kiss to your forehead as her fingers card gently through your hair. “That’s better,” she surrates, her voice softer now, threaded with something fond. “You’re not allowed to work yourself sick, y’hear me?”

A sleepy hum is your only answer, your body pliant and spent against hers. A satisfied smirk tugs at her lips as she holds you tighter, her grip firm and possessive.

“There we go; that’s my good boy,” she whispers, a note of pride slipping into her voice.

You sigh, half-asleep but content, and Agatha lets her own eyes drift shut, knowing damn well she won’t be letting you pull another all-nighter anytime soon.

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6stolenangel9 @jujuu23 @juls-stark

[1980shorrorfilm]

pain breaks the rhythm

click here. resources for palestine, congo, sudan, and other countries.

pairing…ellie williams x gn!vampire!reader

in which…ellie wants you to bite her out of curiosity. or something more.

before you read…18+. no smut; vampirism is just sexual. blood drinking.

nirvana plays lowly in ellie’s dorm, her warm fairy lights mixed with orange halloween ones, on the verge of falling due to how lazily she placed them.

they cast a warm glow in the small space, and over the few scattered books on her bed. they lay in between you, along with some notes, both of you sitting in silence as your brains are completely fried from studying at this point.

ellie hasn’t even spoken in five minutes, and knowing her, that means her mind is either empty or on overdrive. she keeps looking at you, as you keep looking at your phone, awaiting a message from whatever girl replies first.

your appetite is growing by the minute, and you can feel it. it causes your head to hurt, and your fingers to fidget, tapping them on your thigh as you attempt to focus on the opened textbook before you.

your little secret wasn’t a secret to ellie. you had trusted her with it, because you trust her with your entire life. she had found the whole thing fascinating, like something out of the many comic books she grew up reading.

except, this is reality, and it’s not as pretty as those colorful pages make it out to be. you’re not a murderer, you don’t have it in you. you’ll stalk the alleys of jackson for rats when desperate, and butter up pretty girls who think your bite is just that— a bite.

a painful yet sensational feeling that makes them want more, and why you rely on them in moments like these.

and for some reason, none of them want to fucking reply to you tonight. it feels like torture, and ellie almost feels bad watching you grow anxious— but she also doesn’t. you and another girl…it makes her want to throw up.

she’s not caught up with her lore, but a kiss from a vampire is equivalent to a proposal to her. and no one, other than her, deserves that from you. she tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth, heart jumping out of its chest when she finally speaks, “i’m curious.”

“hm?” you hum, glancing at your phone again, going over your irrelevant notifications to see if you missed anything. “what it feels like…you know…”

you look up at her, “what?”

“a bite…what it feels like,” she says shamefully; as if she’s admitting the most taboo thing ever. maybe because she had imagined it, seeing you at a corner of a party, head snuggled comfortably in a blonde woman’s neck, everyone else distracted by the blaring music and bumping bodies while she was stunned like a deer in headlights.

how she wasn’t disturbed, she was so far from. she thought about it being her, and letting you take what you wanted, not just what you needed. she could be your personal buffet, she would do that for you in a heartbeat. ellie could satisfy you. no one else, just her.

but, you laugh at her words, as if she told you a joke. ellie did have a habit of shitty vampire jokes and puns, often made in group settings because she thinks it is hilarious to have such an inside joke. she grabs your complete attention, “i’m serious.”

the smile you wore, leaves your face, understanding what she was trying to imply without asking. something off the table, absolutely forbidden.

“no…no, ellie,” you tell her, the rejection like a stake to the heart. there was absolutely nothing more in this universe you’d want more than to taste her, just the idea of it makes your heart beat even faster, shaking your head as though it would rid the enticing picture. you’re hungry enough as is.

“why?”

“because ellie.”

“you can do it to anyone else but not me?”

her question is more of a salty remark, causing you to glare at her, ellie now quickly swallowing whatever other comment she already had prepared. she doesn’t get it, she really doesn’t, and you cannot explain it to her.

how drinking from other people is a necessity, like eating food to her. how you have absolutely no emotional attachment to them, and you don’t crave any more than you’re given.

and with her, someone you love deeply, you could drain her completely. which isn’t an overstatement. you’ve watched the blood run along her veins on more than one occasion, how thick and sweet it is.

you can taste it on your tongue without having a single drop if it…how good it would taste running down your throat. you would get drunk off of her.

“it’s not that simple…you’re…you,” you scratch the back of your neck, confusion crossing her pretty features at the statement. “i’m me?”

“yeah…god, ellie, can we drop it?”

you don’t mean to sound so frustrated, but you are. ellie isn’t aware of the weight of her words, how her desire isn’t just hers. you share it, you want her. you want to quite literally devour her.

your phone vibrates, ellie trying to read the notification, someone asking to meet up with a stupid wink face. a sigh leaves her lips, sinking into her bed, redirecting her gaze to the book in her lap.

“see you tomorrow?” she quietly says, assuming you’re ready to go have dinner. and you should, you know you should, but you remain seated on her bed.

“it’s…hard…when it’s someone close to you,” you try to explain, “and i could hurt you.”

she’s sat up straight again, green eyes boring into you. “could isn’t a for sure thing,” ellie says, “i could get hit by a car tomorrow.”

“that’s not— you don’t get it.”

“i do,” she groans, tossing her head back, huffing, then looking back at you, “…i…trust you.”

the contemplation rests on your face, ellie noticing, her determination still adamant. she reaches for your hand, grabs it, and faintly leans forward.

“you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.”

the cool air thickens with tension as you consider her request, listening to how hard her heartbeat thuds. it compels you, along with the unwavering gaze of her green irises, luring you into her. she adds, “it’ll be a win-win.”

ellie is right. you think you could attack the first person you’d see when you leave her room, suck them until the light leaves their eyes— mouth salivating thinking about it. you’re practically starving, or so feel that way, and ellie could easily relieve you.

“okay.”

you expect a shit-eating grin on her face, the mischief glint in her eyes whenever you give her what she wants. and this was practically giving her the greatest gift on earth, yet her mouth drops ajar and she looks shocked, even nervous.

“really?”

“yeah…if that’s what you want.”

“yeah— yeah,” she responds almost too quickly, but she has already shown her desperation for you.

you push away everything in between you two, getting close enough to where you’re nearly in her lap.

“it’ll hurt.”

“i can take it.”

you watch the low spoken words leave her mouth, the suggestive tone combined with her hand squeezing yours, abruptly taking the air from you. for a moment, you find yourself more attracted to her lips, than her neck.

a very brief moment, because you’re swiftly distracted by the pumping of her jugular, the veins screaming at you.

you steady yourself, “ready?”

ellie nods, and with that, she lets your gentle hand cradle one side of her jaw, tilting it upward. her breathing hitches while you move in closer, fangs grazing the soft skin of her neck.

the heat radiating from her pulse sends shivers throughout your entire body, carnal desire growing stronger each millisecond that passes. along came restraint, slowly sinking your canine teeth in the side of her neck, afraid of actually hurting her.

she gasps immediately, guilt hitting you at the noise. maybe you should pull back. maybe you should stop, and apologize to her for even agreeing to this.

but the moment her smooth blood runs down your tongue, your delicate pressure turns into something feverish, electrifying. you crave more.

you bite harder, sucking the crimson from her body with your eyes fluttering to the back of your head, your worries about the ordeal fading into oblivion. ellie tastes even better than your fantasies, like the ripest fruit in the orchard, so fucking rich.

she is unlike anyone else— you mean that in every way, but the taste of her might just drive you mad. the way her blood rushes into your lungs, she fills you up just right.

when she whimpers, you moan, continuing to feast on her, the warm liquid is like ecstasy. ellie is gripping the sheets beneath her, the pain she feels is euphoric. addicting. damn perfect.

you’re driving her to an edge she’s never been before, in between life and death, a high that makes her body feel lightweight and her mind empty. the only thing she can think about is you, and your fangs inside of her, her life being in your hands as she gives you life.

for ellie, it is the best feeling in the fucking world.

she truthfully believes you could gnaw on her flesh until it was raw, and she would welcome the burning sensation with wide open, and loving, arms. she falls back, onto her pillows, your lips not leaving her for a single second.

“fu…” ellie murmurs, unable to finish the word, mind suddenly blanking.

on top of her, you can feel ellie shuddering beneath you; this is it.

for a moment, everything fades away. her warmth, her pulse, and the world surrounding you. you listen to her whimper once more, the color leaving all of her features, going pale.

your indulgence comes to an end, divorcing yourself from the crook of her neck, scanning her face out of worry you had gone too far.

she’s exhausted, breathless, fluttering her eyes at you. her pupils are blown, looking at you with pure admiration, as if you’re an angel hovering before her. then, she smiles faintly at you. and how beautiful she looks so drained underneath you.

you bring a hand to her face, thumb stroking her freckled cheek gently, “still with me?”

“mhm,” she hums, and you give her a moment to collect herself. you await for her heart rate to return to normal, for her temperature to rise, hand traveling down to her neck in the meantime.

softly, you touch the puncture wound, a strange feeling of pride at the mark. not wanting to heal it, and not wanting ellie to cover it up. it’ll remain a happy reminder of tonight.

when ellie’s pupils are no longer fuzzy, she takes in the view before her, her blood coating your face, on your mouth, on your chin. sinful thoughts run through her head, it makes her feel wrong— perverse —but with how tantalizing you look, she doesn’t care.

ellie almost wants to take a polaroid, and keep it locked away safely in her underwear drawer, afraid this won’t happen again.

she reaches for your face, thumb swiping the stray trail of crimson on your chin. you think she’s cleaning herself off of you, but she has different intentions.

after experiencing such an intimate moment with you, ellie feels bold, and she keeps it going, daring to brush her thumb against your lips— giving you a very clear signal, and order.

one that you accept, mouth opening slightly. her finger slips in, and your tongue curls around it.

ellie’s teeth dig into her bottom lip while you suck the blood off of her thumb, your eyes shut in bliss at the mere taste of her. you wouldn’t waste a single drop.

ellie is hypnotized by you, by the way you bring your hands to her forearm, holding her tightly in place until you are finished. and when you are, you glance back down at her, noticing how flustered she is by the pink hues of her cheek.

you can’t help but laugh, and she gulps, realizing she’s been caught in her trance. it’s cute.

the sudden confidence she had is now fleeting as you crawl off of her, ellie searching for the right thing to say. unfortunately for her, the only words that want to come out are ‘i love you,’ as if you had just taken her fucking virginity.

she decides to keep her mouth shut, lying there dazed.

ellie would happily die to you, if this was the death you’d give her.

[fear-is-truth]

how do you think patrick will react when you try to break things off with him?

breaking up with patrick bateman .ᐟ.ᐟ

tw ; mentions of drug use, homicide

a/n: apologies for the word salad.. my brain is kinda fried from my classes. also he’s such a pretty crier

𝜗ϱ ┆ denial & gaslighting

his immediate reaction would likely be disbelief. the idea of someone rejecting him, particularly someone he views as an extension of his life, would be incomprehensible to him. this disbelief would manifest as condescension and dismissal, accompanied by gaslighting.

“you’re leaving me?” he’d say with a strained smile, eyes narrowing to slits. “that’s ridiculous. you don’t mean that.”

patrick wouldn’t process the emotional weight of your decision, instead assuming that you’re acting irrationally or that something external has influenced you. his need to maintain control would drive him to undermine your perspective, likely accusing you of being under the influence of drugs.

“have you been doing too much cocaine? or maybe those diet pills? you’re not thinking clearly, darling.”

this gaslighting would be less about convincing you and more about reinforcing his own denial. patrick lives in a world where his perception is reality, and your decision to leave disrupts that. denial is his first line of defense.

𝜗ϱ ┆ manipulation & desperation

as the conversation continues, patrick would pivot to emotional manipulation. while he lacks true empathy, he is an expert at imitating emotional responses to “fit in”. he’d beg you to reconsider, framing his argument that appeals to your sense of loyalty or guilt.

“think about everything i’ve done for you. everything we’ve had together. you can’t just walk away.”

if manipulation doesn’t work, his desperation would become more overt. while patrick is typically composed, cracks in his facade could begin to show. you might see a flash of raw panic in his eyes.

“you don’t know what you’re doing. you’re making a mistake.”

𝜗ϱ ┆ begging

patrick would eventually resort to begging, and this is where the irony comes in—remember the time he dumped evelyn with an air of theatrical superiority, telling her that she’s “simply not terribly important” to him.

“you can’t do this to me. please, don’t go. we can work this out—whatever this is, we can fix it. i’ll change.”

of course, he is incapable of real change, and his promises would ring hollow. but the desperation in his voice would feel oddly genuine.

𝜗ϱ ┆“i need to return some videotapes.”

when it becomes clear that he can’t sway you, patrick would retreat, unwilling to let you witness the full extent of his unraveling. maintaining appearances is critical, even in moments of personal crisis. with a curt, almost robotic tone, he’d excuse himself with his signature non sequitur:

“i need to return some videotapes.”

this statement, bizarre and out of place, serves two purposes. first, it allows him to escape the confrontation without completely breaking down in front of you. second, it reaffirms his facade of control.

𝜗ϱ ┆ private despair

once alone, patrick would no longer be able to hold himself together. the breakup would be a complete fracturing of his identity. while he outwardly projects confidence, his inner world is fragile and deeply insecure. your rejection would strip away the validation he relies on to maintain his ego. he’d cry—silent, bitter tears of frustration and humiliation.

𝜗ϱ ┆ homicide as a coping mechanism

but patrick is incapable of processing emotions in a healthy way, so the tears wouldn’t lead to introspection or change. instead, they’d fuel a darker spiral—he’d channel his feelings of loss into compulsive, destructive behaviour. violence is often an outlet for him, and your departure could serve as a catalyst for a spree of homicidal acts. (e.g killing homeless people)

[cythena]

JUST FRIENDS

ꨄ︎ synopsis . satoru told your parents you were "just friends" then proceeded to dick you down in your bedroom

warnings . fwb, porn with no plot, protected sex this time, almost getting caught, multiple orgasms, teasing, slight degradation, gojo has is attached, reader's feelings are ambiguous

word count . 0.8k words

notes . 100 posts yippee

"no don't worry, we're just friends," with an emphasis on that part.

satoru was a liar through and through and he'd be caught in a huge one if anyone were to catch you two right now. his broad shoulders covered your own as he dug his nails into your waist. his other hand pushed your back into the perfect arch for him. his strong thighs slammed against your ass, forming ripples for him to admire. you gripped onto the pillow that you sank your teeth into, soaking it with spit and muffling moans of your friend's name. he also tucked his shirt between his teeth to quiet himself.

"shiiiittt," satoru cursed into his shirt. he let it fall out of his mouth. "barely even touched you 'n you're soaking. should've done this way fuckin' sooner, y'know."

"t-toru! i- ngh—" your pretty voice slipped off into a whimper. satoru grinned at how mindless you became. your brain fried from his cock pounding into you. mascara dripped from your eyes onto your pillow now smearing from your watery eyes. you'd surely have to throw it away or maybe satoru could keep it.

it'd be a nice memorabilia. y'know, finally getting to fuck the girl he's been into since he met her. it needed to be framed, never forgotten. not that he could forget this if he tried. he already ingrained the feeling of your cunt around him and the sound of your moans.

"it's okay, pretty, don't need ya to speak. you're doing so good for me," he teased. you could hear your parents walking through the hallway but he didn't slow down. "you hear that-"

"y/n?" your mother called. satoru wrapped his hand underneath your chin and pulled your face up. he urged you to respond, squishing your doughy cheeks and pulling at your swollen lip. you blinked into to focus enough to reply.

"yes mom?" you bit your lip hard.

"pizza's here. you and gojo can come down wherever."

satoru sighed mentally, relieved that she had no reason to open the door. he gave you a particularly hard thrust. one that sent you over the edge just as you were giving your final reply to your mother. your juices spilled all over satoru's cock and dripped down to your bedsheets.

"yeah be down— ngh! in a sec!" you hurried your words before burying your face back into your pillow.

satoru leaned down next to your ear. he dipped his fingers down to your clit where he rubbed delicate circles. his sultry voice soaking you further with a soft chuckle, "naughty girl . . . you came while talking. didn't think you could be so slutty, all for me."

you let out of muffled sob into your pillow. "y-you're such a— fucking b-bully satoru," you hissed. his length continued hitting you in all the right places. he knew he was a bully but you didn't mind at all. you could feel every detail sliding against your walls and going so deep into your guts that you were sure you could taste him.

"i know it doesn't bother you. can feel you squeezing down on me. wanna cum on my cock again, pretty?"

you frantically nodded. your body writhe under the cool palm he dragged over your back and pushed your shoulders down with. you reached a hand back. your brain was overridden with pleasure and you grabbed onto nothing until satoru linked his hand with yours.

"oh fuck fuck fuck toru! i'm cumming!" you gasped so loud you slapped your hand over your mouth.

holding hands while you came on his cock again? how romantic, he thought. it made his head dizzy and his heart pound. he felt his cock twitch inside of you. he held you tighter while his pulsating cock spurted out warm ropes of cum. his eyes shut in bliss as he sighed.

"mhmm, so good . . . you're so perfect f'me."

he rocked his hips steadily before he pulled out. he sank to a sitting position where he carefully removed his condom then tied it and tossed it into the trash. he helped clean your smudged makeup and even replace your pillowcase. he brought you a new shirt to throw on.

"lie down with me," he whined. he wrapped his arms around you and held you close to his chest. he nuzzled his face in your neck.

you gently pushed away from him but it was futile. you sighed and let him hold you. "what are you doing satoru? we have to go downstairs," you reminded him.

"come on it's just an innocent nap . . . as friends." friends is what satoru decided to call you. it's what you were and he was okay with it being just that as long as he got to hold you like this.

[imjustdelusionalok]

yandere dc: meeting camgirl! reader <3 pt. 2

Yuppp, this is the part two of my previous post <33 but this time she'll be meeting the rest of the batboys and kon! (reminder she has met some of them even from before!!)

if you get into the 'terry mcginnis' part and is confused on who he is, watch batman beyond bc hes the new batman and its sooo good and hes underrated <3

Anywho here it isss

BIG warning: this may more or less have the same amount of clownery as the last one so prepare my sweets and also my brain is fried so some parts might not make sense but i tried😔💔 please repost to support me i spent sm timee 😭

tim drake aka 'red robin':

Also one of your most biggest and creepiest faithful fans that you've ever had in your stream!

Hes a frequent donor AND victim to your relentless charms just like jason and dick.

Has met you before you decided to even become a cam girl, as you two both go to the same school AND classes too 🥰 (he may or may have not gotten bruce to manipulate the principal or some higher up into changing classes...)

he's like a lovesick highschool student who developed a crush, but this time more extreme.

While you on the otherhand, saw a weird looking boy staring at you with the most fullest smile you've ever seen. toothy, cheshire grin, and all-- (he ran away almost IMMEDIATELY when you saw him)

(...you also chased after him when he ran 💀 he was shooked, but stops once your hand grabs his shoulder and you ask him who he was)

"You >:D i saw you looking at me, who are you >:)"

...my, he never knew you were this bold... you really need to stop being so cute or your further fueling his delusions i swear--

You shake him. "Ow- okay-- my name's Tim--"

You then smile and drag a stunned but intrigued timothy with you.

...Are you perhaps some social butterfly, darling?...

From that moment on, tim's interest in you increases and a friendship between you and him bloomed! Hes so proud of himself for making the first move even though you did it first...

(Again, dont ask how darling lives in bludhaven, but meets tim and jason whose in gotham 💀 either think of her as having teleportation powers being the reason for the frequent back-and-forths or tim being so obssessed, he moves in bludhaven just to see reader--)

When i said creepy, i said c r e e p y. Even worse than klarion, thaddeus, and even dick who i said before was on another level 😦

Tim is both sweet, nervous, and shy... or at least, is how he shows himself for you.

he must look decent for you or how else would he make you reciprocate his feelings?

He's capable of changing in a blink of an eye so anybody who isn't his beloved, dont test him, okay? <3

He sits in the back with darling in class. In the back. You heard me.

Normally he'd be in the front to be able to see and listen better, but darling is a slacker so--

He sighs, looking at his rushed and poorly written notes. He doesnt even know what the topic is anymore, and it kinda looks like hieroglyphics--

Meanwhile, you on the otherhand, was cooking instant noodles with the others... with a pot AND a stove... D: (he loves you but damn he wants to cry rlly bad on how screwed you two are--)

As for the part where he finds out about your part-time job as a cam girl, this man was seething.

No honey, not at you, but at your parents-- how could they let their beautiful daughter do this?! Do they even care?!-- oh? What was that, darling?... Your parents were gone? i guess that explains it...

proceeds to feel bad for you, and wishes to look after you. But you being you, you remain so hardheaded. Why cant you let him love you?? why cant you quit that stupid job?! >:( (hes a bit hypocritical on this one since he literally donates thus further fueling you to go on)

Sigh... nevertheless, he realizes a bit that he can't persuade someone like you for now, so he donates in your live like the good friend he is...

Yeah, 'good friend'...

In the darkness of his room, he watches with unblinking eyes the way your body moves on his screen. You look so enticing, the way a bit of pink colors your cheeks, how every moan you give were light and breathy... simply fantastic. He sighs.

"Oh baby... what am i going to do with you?... <3"

Yandere rating: 100% on money, 38% for nuisance, 70% for humor (80% as red robin)

⋆˚✿˖°

conner kent aka 'superboy':

Ah yes, another top donor and one of your most perverted watchers out there.

Cocky, rebellious, womanizing... doll, you're just another girl for him to use in order to piss off tim since he loves pushing that man's patience so much.

Has probably met you through him too, as this man follows his best friend that has been, in his eyes, acting a bit too strange lately.

And he now knows why. You.

thinks you're absolutely adorable. the way you act out of impulse to the way you speak so brazenly to him, intrigues the kryptonian so much.

Hm, your going to be so much fun to play with <3

But unfortunately, the boy of steel did not know who he was up against.

"...Doll, what did you just say?--" it was 8 at night and he was in his best attire holding a bouquet of flowers. Not just your average red roses, but a well-thought out blend of daffodils, carnations, and tulips. just for you.

But right now, you're breaking his heart.

"Yeah Kon, i love you but no. i'm not dating you. Sorry."

...you don't have the right to say you love him.

"a-and why can't we date?--" he was so confused, these months spent trying to court you, all wasted.

"erm... im not interested, kon. yeah you're hot and you support me and all, but im gonna be honest with you... you're not my type. and plus..."

he feels his heart break even more when you continue.

"...I'm interested in someone. I've known them for so long Kon, and i would hurt them if i get with you."

...

"...sorry." you run away.

things with kon has never felt the same since. he no longer visits tim just to see you, only him. he ignores you too, not even a single glance being spared. but you swear you could feel cold blue eyes watching your figure sometimes...

...and then that happens. you see a message notification from him. conner.

'im sorry if i made things awkward between us. forgive me, doll? :('

your thumb hovered whether or not to answer. you made your decision.

'kay. wanna play dti? :3'

he's so glad you cant see him right now... crying pure tears of joy, and complete relief that you took the bait.

'okay :)'

just because he got rejected by you once that doesnt mean he's immediately gonna back down <33 and about that boy you like, who was it? can't you tell him and he'll give a quick visit to the very lucky guy...

Yandere rating: 100% on money, 49% for nuisance, 80% for humor (95% as superboy)

ᯓᡣ𐭩

damian wayne aka 'robin':

...knows the guy that you like.

he's genuinely angry at you, but mostly at your taste.

seriously, him? why not him instead...

frequently donates money and is also very dedicated in line.

(to save you trouble, most of the batfam is a big fan to you and are often your biggest donors. they wish to stop you from pursuing such a... scandalous, line of work but cant help but further support you the more they give money and get addicted to the content you make 😞💔)

discovered you on accident when a certain someone, *cough* tim, *cough* left their computer on without closing the tabs.

you cannot simply imagine the sheer shock that painted his face during that time, seeing someone, you, getting it on with another guy that seems all too familiar.

...and he cant help but get angry. (you'll all understand soon enough why he and kon hates reader's man and possible bf sm 😭)

meeting you face to face... thats a whole situation. tim immediately regrets bringing damian to see you because this man already went off on how much of a 'hoe', you are.

you can take a lot of things, but this boy rubs you off wrong.

"seriously, drake? your new friend is a prostitute? you drew the line making friends with that kryptonian clone, but this takes the cak--"

*slap.*

...that hurts. damian's hand slowly makes its way up to his cheek, where the red was starting to spring.

he looks at you like you were mad. you are, thanks to him. "...you... you little---"

he was held back by an angry but calmer kon despite being also insulted, whilst tim holds you comfortably.

"hey don't listen to damian over there, alright? :( he's just a bit--"

"I'm speaking facts here!-- hmpfh!" a hand covers his mouth.

"seriously tim, does he ever shut his mouth?" kon says.

he huffs. "no. and that's why i was considering bringing duct tape earlier, Kon."

...okay, maybe his first impression forever got him labelled as a bitch in your eyes, but damian tries to make it up to you in any way he can since he actually finds you decent after getting to know you. (think of those asian parents that after scolding you till you cry, they give you food but instead money in damian's version)

"...ahem."

no response.

"...AHEM."

you finally look up at him, and a bag was thrown straight at your face. "you stupid ass-- wait a minute." you look inside the bag and it was filled with... money.

you look up at damian, only to see his figure quickly dashing off and hide behind a wall where he would secretly try and take a peek for your reaction. you smile and give a thumbs up.

"...you aren't that bad, but try shutting your mouth most of the time, okay? :3 <3"

...the green in his eyes glinted... and he scoffs. typical damian wayne.

"...sure, prozzy-- HEY STOP CRYING--"

fierce but protective. rude but caring. that is what damian is towards you.

and that is how he'll always be as long as that man is around...

"i'll be with you. and i shall do everything in my power to ensure you do not end up with him!--" too late.

Yandere rating: 100% on money, 25% for nuisance, 78% for humor (89% as robin)

ִֶָ࣪☾.𔘓

terry mcginnis aka 'batman beyond':

...is the man that kon, damian, and the others have beef with.

how he's part of the main timeline in this is that all of the events before batman beyond happens earlier. (i also tweaked a few things in canon here so dont mind me)

terry's dad died before the entire 'Powers' situation, leading to Terry living with his mom earlier.

...terry also suffers from something.

at a young age, terry cannot feel any sort of emotions. remorse, empathy, such things were removed from him. he could only feel empty, comparable to having a large gaping hole inside his chest instead of a beating heart.

the boy ponders why he was cursed with such a thing, and why he could only feel pity and sadness. just a little.

...he thought he was unsavable. until--

his eyes lands on you, the girl who was playing on the playground's swing. (note: darling used to live in gotham as a kid)

...he gulps. pretty...

"you there, what's your name?" you asked. always the first one to make a move...

...and you sound nice.

"hm? well? :3"

...he decided to speak. "...terry. i'm terry... you?..."

you smile. "they call me (name), pretty right?" he could only nod. yes, it was very pretty...

i think everybody could guess how things go from then on.

he meets you, grows up with you, falls in love with you, and in the end lives happily with you... if only it weren't for his tendency to maim just about anyone who gets near you.

he's a dog, honey. but he's your rabid, vicious dog.

by the time he grows up, he's learned how to hide what he truly is from you, and the terry that we all come to know and love is now here.

charming, witty, humorous... terry mcginnis is nothing but an amorous boy for you... and you love it. (u match his freak sm)

in his eyes, you two are together <3 and its not even a lie you two are but you're too much in denial since you firmly believe he deserves better :( (tho thoughts like that dissapear when he and you yk ;))

absolutely hates it when you spend time with anyone, especially with his adopted siblings. dick, jason, tim, and damian? fuck no. (if you read the batman beyond comics, those two despise each other--)

...so expect those two to be at each other's necks.

and about the cam girl part, yup, this man knows. and like tim, he tries to persuade you to stop. you're a complicated person, he knows. either for money or fun, you do crazy shit like this every time... but this one's really serious.

"...look at me." you obey, eyes staring back at ocean blue ones. terry's eyes were always so pretty...

"...hehe, pretty eyed as ever, mcginnis..." and he can't help but smile slightly at your words.

"..." damn you, really. his soft spot for you is huge, and 99% of the time, you get off the hook easily.

in the end, he might have allowed you to do this... 'artist' stuff, but on one condition:

he gets to f*ck you on some parts.

you blink, cheeks starting to redden. "...what--" and just like that, your fate is sealed <3

...currently, you were on Live. the rest of your boy toys watched with envious yet very heated gazes as your pussy was getting demolished by his dick. the close up shots were so unnecessary, the way he roughly pummels into you was so--

'$10000 from GR4YS0N_68'

'GR4YS0N_68: ugh yea terry ruin that little bitches cunt'

terry grins, feeling you getting closer. the position you and him were in was perfect, babe... perfect for a pic.

his strong hand gently but firmly grabs your jaw, making you face the camera.

he whispers to you so closely."smile for the camera, sweetie."

you oblige, a broken smile on your lips. the stream abruptly ends.

no need for the public to know what you both are doing in private anymore...

Yandere rating: 100% on money, 0.0001% for nuisance, 90% for humor (100% as batman beyond)

(finally its finished 🤕 i have so many unfinished works huhu....)

(update: ill also try editing this too <3)

[edamameimei]

everything you wanted

"you're just thinking it's a small thing that happened, the world ended when it happened to me."

pairing: daniela avanzini x reader (childhood best friends!au)

synopsis: after an unexpected accident shakes their world, your friends make it their mission to carry out what seems to be your 'final wish.' however, what they discover goes deeper than anticipated.

feat: winter from aespa, soobin and yeonjun from txt

so much angst im so sorry. there are points where it's kinda fluffy, but do not be fooled. loosely based off the kdrama 'move to heaven,' more specifically, episode 5 (ifykyk). CW: character death, kissing, swearing

wc: 4271 words

now playing: we hug now - sydney rose

It was any other night for you. 

After consuming a copious amount of caffeine, you are finally done studying. You look at your watch, sighing tiredly when the screen displays 2:00 AM. You rub your face with your hands. What you thought would be a short study session became much longer than anticipated. You didn’t realize how behind you were. 

You slowly stuff your laptop into your bag, zipping it up then swinging it over your shoulder. You yawn as you make your way toward the library exit. When you walk outside, you can’t help the quiet, ‘fuck’ that escapes your mouth. 

It’s a torrential downpour tonight; your measly hoodie was the only thing you had.

You put your hood on, shaking your head as you walk quickly to your apartment. It was only a couple blocks away but in this weather, it might as well feel like years. You keep your head down as you walk, shivering with every step. You’re relieved when you finally get to the crosswalk that leads straight to your apartment building.

You step out onto the street, not thinking to look both ways. It was late and your brain was fried, having any rational thoughts at this point is impossible. 

But as you keep your head down, your eyes trained on your feet, you don’t notice the headlights getting closer. You don’t hear the rev of an engine or the music that blasts loudly from a vehicle. You just wanted to be in bed already.

You don’t notice until you hear the ugly screech of the tires. 

You look up, your eyes immediately widening when you realize. You raise your hands, the world going silent in a blink of an eye. 

You meet Daniela Avanzini in the 8th grade.

You were tasked with tutoring the younger student due to your above-average knowledge of the subject she was struggling with. The only thing you know about the girl is that she’s quite loud, very sociable, and is terrible at science– things you are not. 

You sit in the classroom waiting for the girl. Your nose is in yet another book, so entranced by the story that you don’t even notice when she walks in. You only look up when you hear the chair next to you being pulled out. When you see her, you immediately freeze. 

She was undeniably the prettiest person you have ever seen. 

She holds her hand out, smiling widely, “Daniela Avanzini.”

You grab her hand and shake it. It almost feels like a promise. “Y/n L/n.” 

Your closest friends stand at your apartment door, a sad silence surrounding them. 

It felt wrong. Going into your apartment with you nowhere to be seen. 

But, after the funeral, your parents asked them to go through your things. They asked for your awards, certificates, medals, but nothing else. The rest is junk. It enraged them to think that’s all you ever were to your parents and even after death, it’s still the same. You often complained about them, telling stories about how they pushed you to be just like them. But you were nothing like them. You were just as hard working, that much was obvious. But you had your goals set on something else. It wasn’t medical school nor your research in the labs. But it was something you kept to yourself, never once sharing with your friends. 

And they are determined to figure out what that was.

Winter leans down, removing the mat lying in front of your door. She picks up the key, shaking her head with a chuckle. “For a genius, what a stupid place to keep a key.” Soobin laughs and so does Yeonjun. They watch as Winter unlocks the door. At the same time, they all realize that you will not be inside waiting for them. You will not be three energy drinks in, studying at your desk. You will not be lying on your couch, cozied in your blankets with a book. You will never be in this apartment again and it doesn’t make sense because it’s yours. 

Soobin walks in first and the others follow suit. They stand in the hallway, taking it all in. After a few moments of silence, they walk into your room. They’ve been in your apartment almost a thousand times but this time it felt unknown. What usually feels homey now feels desolate without its warm presence. The feeling intensifies when they walk into your room.

The bed wasn’t made. It was as if you were there this morning. 

The thought almost makes them want to turn around. The desire to leave everything untouched becomes unbearable. At least then, there would be evidence that you were there. It wouldn’t matter how long ago, you would be there and you would be alive. 

Your desk was littered with papers, some crumpled up while others had words scratched out with a pen. The trashcan was filled with coffee cups and energy drink cans. Yeonjun walks over to the nightstand, spotting your ID badge. He picks it up and stares at it for a moment. 

Y/N L/N. 4TH YEAR PRE-MED INTERN. EMORY MEDICAL RESEARCH CENTER. 

His lip trembles as he looks at your ID photo. “We were gonna graduate in three months…” He shakes his head and pockets your ID, wanting it as a keepsake. It’s a weird thing to have sentimental value over; but grief does that unfortunately. Yeonjun turns around and walks back toward Winter and Soobin. They found an empty spot on the floor to sit, not wanting to sit on your bed. Yeonjun sits next to them and takes a deep breath. He lets out a shaky sigh. “Well. This is really fucking weird.” Winter laughs. She tries not to let the tears brimming her eyes to fall. She looks down at her lap and whispers, “What now?” 

Soobin shrugs his shoulders. He leans back, propping himself up with his arms. He looks around your room with a sad smile. “We find what we’re looking for.” 

You are known as an academic weapon to your teachers and peers.

You aren’t a natural by any means. It takes a lot of sacrifice to be as smart as you are. Other kids your age are going out and having fun while you are at home, studying for an exam weeks away. The determination was built into you, wired this way by your parents who believe in nothing less than perfect. You had a destiny to fulfill and you were dedicated to it. If it meant long hours of studying at the library, in study hall, or at home, then so be it.  

But your favorite study spot by far is on the bleachers. 

It sounds ridiculous because it is. It doesn’t make sense for you to like it so much. It’s the noisiest place to be, especially after school. The constant yelling from the football team, the shrill of a whistle every five minutes, the cheerleading squad repeating the same routine over and over again. The bleachers were an overstimulating nightmare. 

But it gives you the best view of Daniela Avanzini, your best friend in the entire world. 

You learned more about the Latina through the many tutoring sessions in middle school. Even after she began to improve in science, Daniela insisted on still meeting with you. You learned she was very dedicated to dancing and performing. She wanted to become a star. For the first time, your life wasn’t consumed by formulas and medical terminology. You secretly lived vicariously through the girl, seeing her chase a dream that was all hers. You had no dreams. 

You just had to get into medical school. That’s all you knew. 

After some convincing (and her not willing to let go of you when you were desperately trying to make your way toward the school’s library) you finally made use of the time waiting for Daniela to finish cheer practice. You wouldn’t admit it, but after a couple of weeks, it has become one of your favorite places. Watching Daniela cheer became a new hobby of yours. She shined on the field, her bright smile lighting up the student section even when their football team loses yet another game. The feeling you get watching her is the same when you attend her dance competitions. You feel proud to be her best friend. And you even feel special when you are always the first person she runs up to when they’re over. 

Daniela never lets you forget how important you are to her. 

And in return, you’ve never missed a football game when she started on the team last year. You haven’t missed a cheer competition nor a dance competition. Every single thing Daniela participated in, you were there. She always urged you to do the same, to join an activity so she had something of yours to go to, but you always had the same excuse. You were just too busy. And why should you? You’d miss the way Daniela looks up at you in the bleachers after practicing well. The way she smiles as if looking for approval. And you’d always smile back because she always does well. 

After practice ends, you always wait for her outside the locker room. When she comes out, she makes a beeline toward you, interlocking your fingers immediately. She would always look up at you with a smile, her dimple evident in her cheek. She asks, “Did you like what we did today?” And even if it’s always the same thing, you always nod, squeezing her hand gently, “Of course I did, sunshine.” The nickname never fails to make her giggle. You called her that once during one of your tutoring sessions in middle school, and she never let it go. 

She pushes your glasses up on your face, leaning up to place a lingering kiss on your cheek. When she pulls away, she giggles, grabbing your hand again. She pulls you toward your car. “Come on, make yourself useful and get me ice cream!” You roll your eyes, allowing her to drag you. You playfully respond, “What do you say, sunshine?” 

She giggles again. “Please make yourself useful and get me ice cream?” 

You didn’t need the please. You just wanted to hear her laugh again. 

Your friends return to Soobin’s apartment after digging around your apartment for hours. 

They sit on his couch and in front of them on the coffee table is a locked box. They found it hiding amongst your old medical textbooks underneath your bed. They were always curious about this box. They’ve watched you put things in it before but your friends always respected your privacy, never asking about it or bringing it up. But they knew whatever was inside held the answers to their question. 

The only problem is the lock on it. 

Yeonjun suggested picking the lock (“We don’t know how to do that.” “YouTube is our best friend, you know?”) and Winter says to break it open (“How do you intend on doing that?” “Just… Smash it open?”) but Soobin feels it would only be right to figure out the combination. When he says this, Yeonjun raises his eyebrow. “Are you serious? We don’t even know what’s in here. And you think we can just figure out a combination?” Soobin sighs. He knows it sounds stupid, but he already feels bad for invading your personal life like this. After a few seconds of silence, Winter picks up the box. Soobin reaches his hand out, scared she may try her idea, but she pushes him away, fiddling with the lock. “Trust me! Let me try something…” 

The two boys watch Winter work on it. Their eyes widen when they hear the lock click open. She pulls it off, surprised as well. Yeonjun leans over, the shock evident in his voice, “How’d you figure it out that fast?” 

Winter shrugs, looking down at the box in her lap. “I tried their phone passcode. 0701.”

It’s your senior year, and your feelings for Daniela have evolved to a point where they have become distracting. 

Your parents have noticed your lack of focus on your studies. Being the child of two well-known doctors in Atlanta made it even more difficult for you. There was a title to uphold and a pressure for you to be just like them. Before meeting Daniela, it was something you’ve accepted. You had your entire future figured out before you were even born. After meeting Daniela though, the free spirit that she is, made you realize there’s a lot more to life than the expectations your parents set for you. 

There were days where you’d stay longer in study hall, attempting to study for your AP classes. But it would be immediately forgotten once Daniela joins you. On the days where she isn’t at cheer or dance practice, she would join you wherever you are. She’d sit next to you, taking out her homework or the latest book she had begun reading. She would put her glasses on and get lost in her task, while you took glances at her shamelessly. 

It always confused you on why she’d spend all her free time with you when she had her own life to live. 

When you arrive at school in the mornings, you’d find her standing at her locker talking to her friends from cheer or class. The moment she spots you, she’s ending the conversation and attaching herself to your hip. No one at your school understood your friendship with Daniela. You were always so quiet, so timid. Daniela was energetic and everyone knew her name. But no one would ever see one or the other, they always saw you and her. And that’s how it always was. 

Until one morning. 

You walked into school expecting to see Daniela at her locker. However, you spot her on the other side of the hallway. She stands with a boy you recognize from the football team. You watch as they interact and your stomach drops when she places her hand on his shoulder. You see them laugh together and you have to will yourself to look away when you see her light up at whatever the boy says. You walk quickly down the hallway, avoiding her eyes. You don’t stop when she calls your name. You just keep going, ignoring the stinging in your chest. 

It goes on like this for a week. And then two weeks. Then suddenly, you’ve stopped keeping track of how long it has been since you talked to Daniela. You have exams and projects to focus on.

You walk out of study hall, your eyes on your phone as you walk toward the exit. However, you bump into something– or someone more like it. When you look up, your eyes widen. 

It’s Daniela. 

She has her arms crossed and she is glaring at you with that intense look in her eyes. You check your watch, noticing she should have been on the bus to go to the game 15 minutes ago. You’re about to say something but Daniela pushes you, successfully knocking you back a couple steps. You look at her surprised. The Latina steps closer to you, jabbing a finger into your chest. “What the hell has gotten into you lately?” You look away from her, your voice shaking slightly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…” She scoffs, crossing her arms again. Her tone comes out even harsher than before. “You’ve been avoiding me. I thought you were just busy with everything but you haven’t even answered my texts! You won’t even look at me anymore, what the hell is going on?!” 

You look at her, exasperated. “Dani, I don’t need to always–” 

She cuts you off, yelling, “Don’t call me that!” Her words make you roll your eyes. You try to walk away but she grabs your wrist and stops you. You turn toward her, your tone firm, “Let me go, Daniela.” But once the words leave your mouth, you regret them immediately. Your eyes soften when you see how hurt she looks. Tears are threatening to spill from her eyes and her lip trembles. She whispers, her voice cracking, “What did I do wrong?” The desperation in her voice breaks your heart. Knowing you’re the reason makes you feel worse. You shake your head, taking a deep breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sunshine.”

She wipes her eyes and you want to reach out and wipe her tears for her. She looks up at you, her eyes glistening. “Then what’s up with you? You’re supposed to be my best friend…” She shakes her head and looks down at her feet. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Y/n.” 

Her words knock the wind out of you. Without a second thought, you grab her by the waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She doesn’t respond at first. You begin to think that you’ve ruined everything, that you’ve lost Daniela completely. You’re about to pull away but she grabs your shirt and pulls you closer. Her lips move against yours desperately and it makes your knees weak. 

For the first time in your life, you have something worth fighting for. 

On top of everything lies an envelope. 

Yeonjun grabs it. He takes a deep breath and opens it slowly. His hands shake as he pulls out two pieces of paper. 

One is a one-way ticket to Los Angeles. 

The other is a concert ticket. 

Winter takes the concert ticket from his hands, studying it. She can’t help the giggle that escapes her lips. “Katseye?”

Your first semester at Emory is a nightmare. 

After years of being able to breeze through any assignment and project, you now find yourself struggling to keep up with the demands of what it takes to be a pre-med student. 

You’re consuming more caffeine than you ever did in your life, there are days you’re not even sure if you ate anything besides a granola bar you found at the bottom of your bookbag, and amongst all of your fellow pre-med colleagues, you feel somewhat inadequate. 

You’re sitting at your desk in your dorm when you hear your phone begin to ring. You want to ignore it knowing your exam is in the morning, but your eyes briefly land on the name. You grab your phone, answering it immediately. You lean back in your chair and smile. “Hey there, sunshine.” 

“I’m outside.” You sit up, your eyes wide and your heart beating out of your chest. Your smile gets wider as you stand. “Are you serious?” She giggles, responding, “Come outside and find out.” You speed walk toward your door, your hand on the door knob but Daniela stops you. “Nuh uh. It’s cold out here, put on a sweater.” You roll your eyes, groaning, “How do you know I’m not wearing one?” The silence on the other end is the only response you get and it causes you to sigh, quickly grabbing one of the hoodies you threw on the ground earlier. You sprint downstairs and hear Daniela laughing on the other end at your excitement. You run out the door and spot her immediately. 

You run toward your girlfriend, wrapping your arms around her waist. You spin her around and her loud squeals cause you to smile even wider. When you put her down, you lean in, kissing her softly. She places her hands on your cheeks, deepening the kiss. You pull her closer as if you were scared this was all a dream. After a few minutes, she pulls away, looking at you with stars in her eyes. You kiss her dimple before pulling her back for a tight hug, burying your face in her shoulder. You murmur, “What are you doing here?” 

She giggles, running a hand through your hair. “To see you, dummy.” You pull away slightly to look at her in surprise. “You drove almost an hour to see me?” She nods, wrapping her arms around your neck. She leans in and kisses your nose. “I missed you…” You pull her in for another tight hug and chuckle. “I missed you too, sunshine.” You hold her close, your worries disappearing. You’re about to ask her to come inside but she speaks up, saying, “I do have something to tell you.” You pull away, your arms still around her waist. You notice the excitement in her eyes and tilt your head in curiosity. “What’s up?” 

She takes a deep breath. She speaks softly,  “Do you remember that audition I was telling you about?” You light up at her words, nodding quickly. “Yeah! Did it go well?” Daniela bites her lip and nods. You hug her again, shaking her excitedly. You remember how nervous she was for her audition, but you knew she’d do well. She always does. 

However, you notice a shift in her mood. You pull away, placing your hands on her shoulders. You look at her worriedly. “That’s a good thing, right?” Daniela looks down when she hears your words. She whispers, her voice barely audible, “I’m going to California.”  

Soobin continues sifting through the box and pulls out a stack of letters that are neatly kept together with a rubber band. Yeonjun and Winter lean closer to him, watching as he pulls the rubber band off with caution. He goes through the letters and notices they are all addressed to you. They’re all dated and signed off by the same person. 

‘Your Sunshine.’

Yeonjun grabs one of the letters. Unlike the others, this one was mailed to you. He opens it, taking it out of its envelope. “This one is from three years ago…” Winter looks at it, her eyes scanning for anything important. She sits up straighter when she reads the words ‘Dream Academy.’ She reads the whole paragraph aloud: “I know you’re not happy about me going to Los Angeles. About me being on Dream Academy. But this is everything I’ve ever worked for. I can’t give it up for anything, I’m sorry. You have your dream and I have mine.”

Soobin looks at her with a raised eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?” Winter grabs the envelope that contains the two tickets. She holds it up, waving it around, “Y/n was going to Los Angeles–” Yeonjun cuts her off, adding, “Yeah? They got a job at the UCLA Medical Research Center there… That wasn’t that surprising.” Winter rolls her eyes, continuing, “They weren’t just going to Los Angeles for a job, dumbass. They were going for whoever this is.” She opens the envelope, taking out the Katseye ticket. “And I think it’s someone from this group.” 

Yeonjun leans back against the couch, chuckling. “You’re joking right?” Winter shakes her head. She looks back at the letter, putting the pieces together. “Dream Academy was the survival show that created Katseye… It just makes sense.” And no one can deny it, it certainly does make sense. But it all seems so far fetched. If anything, they could be putting together a story that doesn’t exist at all. They sit in silence, not knowing what to do with the information in front of them. Winter sighs and puts the letter down. She looks at the two boys with a determination in her eyes. 

“There’s one way we could try… Seeing if I’m right.” 

Daniela breaks up with you over the phone. 

It wasn’t a long phone call. But it did enough to crush you. 

She tells you that the distance is too much to handle. She tells you that she needs to focus on training. She tells you how she can’t be distracted. 

When the phone call ends, you can’t help but feel you’re back at square one. 

You sit in your dorm, taking a glance at your anatomy textbook. You push it off your desk, tears spilling from your eyes. 

An hour later, they move their investigation to Winter’s apartment.

They sit in her room, waiting patiently for your phone to charge. It was given to her by the police when they came to break the news of the accident. Your driver’s license still had the address of when you and Winter lived together in your second and third year at Emory, which led to her being the unfortunate one to know what happened first. 

She was also the unfortunate one to identify the body.

The sound of your phone turning on fills the silence of the room. They turn their heads, looking at it. Your lockscreen was all of you together during a trip you all took last spring. You’re all smiling widely, holding each other close. Even through the cracks on the screen, the photo still emanates a happiness that they are afraid of never getting back. 

Soobin grabs your phone and looks at the others, his hands shaking. They watch him unlock it ‘0701’ and swipe for your contacts. He sighs in relief when he sees you haven’t blocked the contact he had been looking for. 

‘Sunshine <3’

“What if they pick up?” He whispers, looking up from your phone. Winter shrugs and keeps her eyes on her lap. She speaks quietly, “I guess we’ll see.” Soobin nods and looks back down at the contact. He taps on it, putting it on speaker for everyone else to hear. 

To their surprise, the person answers on the first ring. 

“Y/n? Are you okay?” 

a/n: i literally have no clue how this idea came to mind considering I watched the drama like two years ago but hey! heartbreaking content! i lowk don't recommend watching it bc it is so sad and it took a lot of mental energy for me to finish but it was so good. watch it if you'd like some context, esp episode 5 but u rlly don't have to.

also, ik this was pretty long so there will be a part 2! stay tuned!

requests are open