#idk if this is angst or fluff or both | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

decaffedthoughts · 9 months ago

Text

That Flower Was You

pairing: Son Dongju (Xion)/Kim Geonhak (Leedo)

word count: 8.2k

Equal fluff and angst, I'd say

summary: After an innocuous conversation with Hyunjin, Dongju begins to question what he likes to wear and what that means for who he is. What follows is a tumultuous period of internal self-discovery and change. At the same time, Dongju continues to deal with his feelings for Geonhak, and there are a lot of those. His roommates and friends are all very aware of all those feelings, much to his dismay.

a/n: Inspired by this fic on ao3 by gardenjins! Also crossposted on ao3. In the texting sections other characters will be bold and Dongju will be regular text. Fulfilling the clownracha quarterly prompt: new year, nugu

Dongju had plenty of friends his age at college. So many of them were so cool that he had to befriend at least some. Currently, his dearest of those was Hwang Hyunjin. Of course, Hyunjin had xyr own set of friends, and boyfriends and partners of all ages. Dongju was proud to say they had regular contact, so he wasn't surprised when he received a random picture with no other message attached.

He opened it, walking back from class one day, and was surprised to see Hyunjin in a pretty little skirt. Xe was clearly standing in a dressing room and was typing while Dongju stared.

do you think i should get it?

why me specifically

gc is 50/50 split, so you’re the chosen one

i totally think you should, it’s really pretty

that’s what i said! good financial choices mean nothing when i can have pretty clothes

And that was where the conversation ended for the day. For Hyunjin, at least. For Dongju, the skirt just never left his head. He had never seriously considered wearing a skirt before. In that photo, Hyunjin looked good, and Dongju wondered if he could pull it off like xem. Probably not exactly, because Hyunjin was somehow one of the prettiest people on campus, but in xyr own way.

So, the next day, he went back to their message thread.

hey hyunjin do you have other skirts too?

ooooooooh yes i do! good morning to me

Dongju breathed out a laugh, watching Hyunjn type, likely taking longer because xe was trying to type and take photos simultaneously. What followed was about an hour of Hyunjin going through their impressive skirts collection, some highlights from other closets, and a nice long tangent on Changbin's dresses. Dongju only sent a word occasionally commenting on a particularly nice item. Hyunjin always responded with "noted", but he didn't mind.

It culminated in Hyunjin finding xyr own only dress, to which xe assured Dongju xyr getting more soon. The picture immediately took Dongju's breath away. Hyunjin was wearing a gorgeous strawberry dress. Dongju was never interested in the dress while it was a tiktok trend, but suddenly, he understood why everyone else was. The original dress was a little expensive at $500, but Hyunjin found a silhouette they liked for a little less. More than Dongju would spend on a single clothing item in college, but that's what would happen when you had 2 rich boyfriends who loved to spoil you.

Dongju couldn’t stop staring that time, but it felt different in a way he couldn't explain. Hyunjin emphasized that clothing was just pieces of fabric and said little to nothing about your gender, but Dongju felt something different when he looked at Hyunjin spinning in a field in a dress. He both could and couldn't imagine himself doing it at the same time. It was an abstract feeling. Like he couldn’t because he hadn’t ever done it before, and it sort of felt like he wasn’t allowed to, for some reason. But he could, and he wanted to, to feel the freedom that Hyunjin embodied in that photo.

All of that stayed inside for now until he could make a little more sense of it.

"Oh." Dongju breathed.

It felt better than anything he had ever worn, and he couldn't imagine anything else being even better. It felt so right. He spun, and the translucent layer hung long and brushed over his calves softly. Slowly, he looked up at the mirror he knew was there. It's hard because despite the pretty, flowing skirt, everything else about him is still distinctly masculine, or so he thinks. Maybe Hyunjin would say otherwise, but some things weren't meant to be spoken out loud yet. They'd just live in Dongju's head for now.

It was more apparent when it was on him that the gold pieces were meant to be little fireworks. It was pretty. Not a word Dongju thought he would ever be allowed to use to describe himself, but it felt good. He likes being pretty. Inside, his childhood self is clapping and watching with adoration. This could be the beginning of everything that child wanted.

Now, it was different. Because he'd thought that Seoho was pretty and Seoho was a man. He thinks Geonhak is pretty on a daily basis, and Geonhak is probably more secure in his masculinity than anyone else Dongju knew.

"Ju? You all good out there?" Hyunjin's voice came, muffled, through the door.

Dongju mentally curses, he forgot Hyunjin was here, how rude. But it's so easy to just keep staring at himself in the mirror and going over 50 arguments about why this is a good and a terrible decision.

"Yeah! You can come back now." Dongju said.

Hyunjin flings open the door, only stopping it from slamming back against the stopper with the tips of xyr fingers. Dongju would be impressed with xyr reflexes if he wasn't otherwise occupied. And he certainly is, swaying back and forth and feeling it brush softly against his legs. A little bit ticklish but mostly pleasant.

Hyunjin squeals at both a pitch and volume too loud for what is meant to be happening in the dorm today, which is nothing. Dongju hurriedly shushes xem, and Hyunjin apologizes softly but kept xyr eyes on the skirt.

"It's like it was made just for you, Ju. Look at you." Hyunjin lifted xyr eyes to Dongju's face and practically melted at what xe saw.

Dongju was staring at himself in the mirror again, wholly entranced. "I look like myself. I feel like myself. This is incredible."

Hyunjin didn't have any words to answer with, xe just smiled at Dongju through the mirror, glad xe could bring this piece of joy to xyr friend.

"I'm gonna bring you so many pretty skirts. I don't think any of Changbin-hyung's dresses would fit you, though, sorry. His shoulders are stupid wide."

Dongju sighed, but he didn't expect much from that. And the idea of being small, smaller than Changbin is kind of nice. His group of friends was great for that because all but one were either the same height or taller than him. And what Hwanwoong lacked in height, he more than made up for in energy and feistiness.

They did this over and over again. Dongju suspects that not all skirts were recycled hand-me-downs but new gifts, but he didn’t say anything. It's not like he had a receipt or anything to prove it. Just a feeling. Either way, it's nice to be spoiled by someone else without asking. The last time he felt like that was when his parents would bring home the toys he wanted without asking. Or would the times that the others show up with food count? Either way, he felt spoiled in a way that he rarely did.

It happened so often that the others were not necessarily suspicious, just a bit confused. Hyunjin came in with a bag, stayed for an hour, and then left with nothing. No one knew what was in the bag or where they went because Dongju made them disappear.

Internally, he was becoming more confused by the day but said nothing to anyone. He'd noticed being out in public is a little more uncomfortable, and he didn't like people looking at him. Sure, he didn't really before, but it wasn't so visceral and uncomfortable then. There wasn't an apparent reason why in his head, so he just kept moving along and trying to avoid being around many people in public.

The other strange thing is the slight wrongness under his skin when someone calls him a man. At first, he just attributes it to not feeling like a proper adult despite being almost done with college. It lasts a few weeks until he googles it to see if anyone else felt like this and how they deal with it.

The results he got were... different. Reddit post after Reddit post, ranging from one reply to almost a hundred.

I don't feel like a man, but nothing else seems right. What do I do?

I feel uncomfortable when people call me a man or a boy, it feels wrong. Anyone else feel this way?

I have long hair, and someone behind me assumed I was a woman. Why did I like it so much?

Dongju had thought about growing his hair long once, and Hyunjin regularly oscillated between shoulder length and short hair. What if someone mistook him for a woman in public because of his hair? It didn't feel *wrong* per se, but that was probably just because it was a theoretical experience, and he wasn't actually experiencing it. If he was called a woman, he'd definitely be weirded out. Definitely.

The googling continued, and Dongju found other pieces he related to in some people's stories, so he kept looking. However, the more he looked, the more similar the results became.

Trans, egg, trans woman, trans femme, agender, non-binary

He'd heard some of the terms from Hyunjin, who also gracefully explained what they meant personally, but Dongju would never have connected them to his own experience. And he continued to be determined not to.

There was no moment in his childhood where he wanted to try on a dress or makeup or anything like that. Nobody teased him for being different like that. Mainly, they focused on him being nerdy or quiet or something. He never found himself wishing his body was different or that his puberty was wrong.

But... sitting in his room in the dark, Dongju let himself wonder for a little bit. What happened at 2am didn't count, so he ignored it until morning.

What would it be like if his voice hadn't dropped in middle school and stayed slightly higher? Or what if his body was smaller and rounder, rather than the muscle his roommates had encouraged him to build?

Dongju clicked his phone off and slapped it down, throwing both hands over his face as if to avoid looking at his thoughts. Surely, there was no way that he liked some of these thoughts? There was no way he would want a different body or a lighter voice or to be accepted in longer hair and skirts. No, this was just slight sleep deprivation and a sign he should stop staying up so late googling this nonsense. He silently resolved to get a better sleep schedule over the next few weeks, which would solve everything.

Getting more sleep was pretty good for him, but it didn't solve anything in thinking about what he'd be like as a woman. If anything, it was worse because it also started being in his dreams. Some were more like his current self and experimenting, but some looked completely different.

Dongju would wake up and lay in bed, turning the dreams over in his mind until he woke up more and realized what was happening, shaking it away and ignoring it for the rest of the day.

Eventually, it wears him down a little, seeing the same dreams and thinking about the repetitive results he got when googling such personal experiences. There were some queer clubs/groups on campus, so he went out to one of them.

Thankfully, Dongju hadn't met any of the people before, so they just nod and accept him. They don't ask him any questions, and he didn't say much in return and instead just listens. It didn't provide any answers but is a friendly little community.

He went for a few weeks, becoming somewhat of a new regular. It came to the point where they start asking him questions.

Name? Easy. Pronouns? Dongju hadn't properly admitted it to himself yet, but exclusively he/him didn't feel quite correct anymore, and he didn't know what to replace it with either.

"Um... not sure yet. That's why I started coming here. He/they, I guess?" That was the best answer he could get out.

The person, Moonbyul, just nodded and didn't question it. She seemed really chill. He kept going, talking to more and more people and becoming less and less sure of everything. At some point, Moonbyul and another girl named Yoohyeon. He was a little scared at first, and it must have shown on his face because both laughed and assured him they were committed lesbians.

One night, he texts Moonbyul impulsively before he could convince himself not to.

Hey

Hello there

Can you try something out for me? She/her pronouns. Not in person, just like. A short text

interesting. sure Dongju is a new friend of mine. I think she's kinda cool

Dongju stared at the text for a while without responding, internally repeating it again and again. I think she's kinda cool. She is. She.

You alive over there?

Oh, um yeah Just.... yeah

It felt good?

Hah, I guess so

Well, welcome to the club I guess

Lol the club of what? Womaning? Am I a woman? Oh god

Hah, I'll let you figure that out I can't answer it for you Want me to tell anyone, or are you doing it yourself?

No, I'll do it myself. Just... give me some time He/they for a while, if you don't mind

Yeah, whatever you need Just lemme know when it's gonna be okay

Dongju sends a simple heart before closing her phone and then her eyes. Now what? Seriously, how do people deal with this and then move on? Who should she tell first? What should she tell them? How long should she wait? Now she knew, and there was only so long she'd be able to handle the wrong pronouns now that she knew the right ones and what they feel like.

She picked her phone back up and looked at the time. Damn, no time for a crisis right now, she had an assignment due that night that she'd done hardly any of.

After submitting the assignment Dongju was so exhausted from several hours of adrenaline-fueled work that she was exhausted and went right to bed. It took her a while to fall asleep, but she had no space to think of much.

The next day, she had nothing else pressing, so she spent almost an hour wondering what to do. After she eats breakfast she just sits at the table and stared into space. Her other roommates seem to be out or asleep, so none of them were there to ask what the fuck is going on and she could zone in and out in peace. The clock on her phone ticked over to 11am, and she decided to get out of there before her luck ran out and she had to explain or find some excuse.

When she returns to her room, Dongju is struck with sudden inspiration. Hyunjin! Xe'll obviously be okay with it and might even have some advice on what to do now. It's not a 1-1 exact experience, but it's something, and god knew she needed anything right now.

Hyunjin answered fast, and she was there a 30-minute bus ride later. One I'm here text and a knock later, and Hyunjin is practically bouncing as xe lets them in. Most of their boyfriend roommates were also home, so it was much louder, and Dongju stared wide-eyed. She'd been here before, but usually, it was much emptier and quieter. It made it less likely that someone would hear them talking over all the noise, which was nice.

Minho, Chan, and Seungmin all nod at her, and Jisung and Felix take a break from intense Mario Karting to wave. It was nice because she'd hardly talked to any of them, but they accept her like it's nothing just because she knew Hyunjin so well.

Hyunjin closed the door behind them and plops down on xyr bed, looking at Dongju.

"So, what's up? You never ask me to come over, and it seems serious."

Dongju starts fidgeting with her clothes awkwardly. How the fuck should she do this? Ugh.

"Um... well. Okay, I'm not sure sure yet, but I think I might be uh. Fuck, I hate this. Why is it so hard."

Hyunjin snorts before slapping a hand over xyr mouth to stop anything else. Xe stands up and forcefully pulls Dongju over to sit next to them.

"Unless you say you're like... getting married or something, I'm not gonna judge you. You see the fucking circus of people I live with. You're so normal in comparison to all of that."

It's genuinely a little reassuring to be "normal" for a minute. Dongju had been so caught up in feeling alone and not knowing who to go to that she forgot she was not completely alone. Personally, or just in other people who have these feelings.

"Thank you. I'm... I think I'm trans." She lets it hang in silence for a moment. "But you know, I'm not totally sure! I just had someone call me she over text, and it felt really nice. Yeah."

Dongju waits, staring down at her hands in her lap and waiting for Hyunjin's response.

"Okay, I was waiting to make sure you weren't gonna blurt out anything else. This is so exciting, though, oh my goodness! Am I the first person you told? Other than the friend you texted, who I definitely need to know more about." Dongju nodded slightly, and Hyunjin clapped in excitement. "Ah, I'm so honoured!"

Hyunjin launches xemself forward into a forceful hug on Dongju, who freezes for a minute but melts into it. She wasn't the biggest fan of hugs and whatnot, but she felt like she needed it now. They pull back, and Hyunjin is seriously beaming. It made Dongju a little less nervous, that this wasn't a bad thing and that maybe she'd make new friends or get closer to other friends.

"I get to be your little trans fairy godmother, this is wonderful. So, do you wanna tell me more about all of this? How did it happen, what are you doing now, any of that?"

Dongju laughed nervously, biting the inside of her cheek. "I'm not sure there is much to tell. It was months ago I started looking online cause I didn't feel like a man and thought it was just because I didn't feel like an adult yet. Then I started going to one of those college queer club things. That's where I met Moonbyul, the friend I texted, and she's super chill and open. I just randomly texted her and was like, hey, can you do something for me, use she/her pronouns in a message about me. She did and I don't even know how long I sat there looking at it, and it felt good, so I thought I was actually going insane. Like, no way. Yeah, that was, like, a week ago. And now I'm here."

Hyunjin looked at her with this strange little look on her face, like xe was proud and upset at the same time.

"Oh, my goodness. Little trans egg Dongju, not knowing what's happening. So you said not a man, but do you know what you might be more comfortable with now? Like, are you a girl, a woman, or not quite all the way that way? I just don't wanna say trans girl or trans woman or call you girlie if you're not, you know. And you don't have to have an answer yet! It's only been a week, so we can just keep testing what you like."

Dongju sits momentarily and thinks about it because she hadn't allowed herself to do so thus far. Is she a girl or a woman, or is she closer to some of those other terms she had seen?

She didn't know yet was the honest conclusion she came to, and she tells Hyunjin as much.

"Yeah, that's so fair! You've only known for like a week. So just tell me if I say something weird, or if I say something good!"

Hyunjin's the best person Dongju could've asked for on this journey. Xyr knowledgeable but also accepting and often upbeat. Of course, xe had xyr own serious and sensitive moments, but in general, xyr is just kind of chilling.

She spends another few hours there, just hanging out with one of her good friends, and it's lovely. Maybe she should get out more often, like Seoho said. God forbid she tell Seoho he was right about something, though, never.

As Dongju heads home, she considers when and how to tell her roommates about this. They're roommates and some of her closest friends, so there's no world where she didn't tell them. For now, everything was going perfectly fine. Her marks were good enough to pass, she'd got good friends, and she'd been learning more about herself. What more could someone ask for? Well, probably a whole lot more money, but that's beside the point.

But something had to break eventually, and in Dongju's opinion, it happened in the worst way.

It was another day, another Hyunjin visit.

In the house, they weren't in the habit of busting into other people's spaces, and to be fair, Geonhak did knock first. Unfortunately, the two seconds of warning provided was not enough for Dongju to make any meaningful attempt to hide. Geonhak must be way more flustered than Dongju could have guessed because it took a solid few seconds before he noticed.

His face got all red, and he couldn't stop staring. Dongju would like nothing more than to somehow evaporate. Or turn invisible, or teleport, or literally anything to make Geonhak stop staring like that. It made her feel itchy, and wrong. Even though she knew she wasn’t doing anything wrong, it's a piece of fabric.

"Are you gonna say anything? I feel uncomfortable and I'm not even involved." Hyunjin speaks, breaking the tenuous silence.

Dongju couldn't tell if she should thank xem or smack xem. Geonhak flinches like he was hit and starts about 6 different sentences before he commits to one.

"You look good, Dongju. Seriously. But, uh, if my laptop isn't in here, I should go. Have fun."

Geonhak waved awkwardly and then closed the door behind him. Dongju breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Could he have been lying? Sure, maybe. He wouldn't do that, he wouldn't say something like that just to spare someone's feelings, and certainly not Dongju's. They'd known each other for too long to pretend like that.

She'd take what she could get because it was nice. Hearing it from Geonhak directly gave her a little confidence boost. Maybe she'd show him more pretty things in the future, if the mere thought of doing so didn't make her want to explode.

"That was good! I've been telling you they won't care. First guy down, and he was the one you cared most about!"

Now it's Dongju's turn to flinch, because she certainly had not told Hyunjin about her crush on Geonhak. She would remember that.

"Who said he was the most important one? Who are your sources?" Dongju raises one eyebrow, trying her best to look suspicious and not nervous.

It did nothing for her, so the effort was really just wasted.

"Oh come on. Whenever I brought up telling somebody you'd always mention him first. Every single time. I'm not that stupid."

Dongju had no counter to that, unfortunately. She simply sighed, then nodded and watched as Hyunjin grinned in triumph.

After the Geonhak skirt fiasco, Dongju decided to move along a little more because clearly, things would come to light whether she wanted them to or not. And Dongju did not like being out of control like that, not about her own identity. So she planned, and she wondered, and she panicked, and she cried a little. Ultimately, she knew she couldn't control her friend's thoughts and reactions and would just have to trust that they would accept her.

"Hey, uh, guys?" Dongju peeked around the door, and all their heads snapped over to her at her voice.

It's clear they're all anxiously waiting, because she gave them almost no information on what was happening. Just that she had an announcement. Geonhak looked a little more relaxed, he must assume he already knew what this is about. If it were any other situation Dongju might have laughed, but she was too stressed about this to even try. He was about to get the shock of a lifetime.

"Okay, first of all, this." She hesitated a moment before stepping out from behind the door.

Hwanwoong is the first one to say anything, "cute!"

Agreements from everyone else ring out after. Geonhak leaned back onto the couch a little bit with a smug smile.

"I already told you I think you look good in this one." He said.

It's true, and precisely why she chose this skirt specifically. Geonhak wouldn't steer her wrong, which gave her peace knowing he would be behind her for this part. The rest of them explode, demanding to know why he got to see before the rest of them. Dongju rolls her eyes, these guys never change.

"It was an accident! Stop all your complaining, my ears hurt." She shuts them up fast, but they still don't look happy. Hwanwoong in particular side-eyes Geonhak and if she didn't want to avoid another argument Dongju might have laughed.

"But you said first of all right? So I feel like there's something else still." Seoho said, turning back to her.

Ah, trust Seoho to pick up on and remember that. Oldest of the friend group, always paying too much attention.

"Yeah." Dongju sighed.

She went over her mental script and the answers for the immediate questions she had a feeling they'd have.

"This is really hard, so I'll tell you when I'm done. Just… wait." She pauses, trying to force the words out of her mouth. "I'm trans. I'm a girl. And if that changes anything between us I'm sorry, but I can't live like this anymore. Hearing 'he' is grating, and being called a man makes me want to claw my skin off. I'm sure you have questions, ask away. Unless you just wanna kick me out right now. Yeah, I guess that's all.."

A few seconds of silence pass as they all process everything she'd said. Geonhak got there first, his face twisting in displeasure.

"We're not kicking you out. If anyone wants you to leave just because of this, I'm telling them to leave, not you."

A few tears well up, but Dongju starts blinking them away, determined not to cry about this in front of them. They all agreed quickly after that, and Dongju couldn't be more relieved.

"It might be hard at first, and I'm sorry for when I say something wrong. But you're still you, and I still love you." Seoho said.

Damn you, Seoho. That did it. Dongju crouched and hunched in on herself, suddenly sobbing almost violently. An explosion of emotion that no one was prepared for. All 4 men close in quickly to try and comfort her, murmuring comforting words. What Dongju is even less ready for is Geonhak petting her hair. It felt so good that she leaned towards him a little, only realizing when her side hits his knee, and she jerks back.

He didn't push it, which Dongju was very thankful for. She could only handle so many emotions at once, and flustered embarrassment would not be one of them. It took a while, and at some point, they all have to sit down to avoid their legs and feet going numb. Eventually, Dongju's tears slow, and she begins to breathe correctly again.

Someone's warmth disappears from behind her, and half a minute later, Keonhee crouches in front of her, a large glass of water in hand. She took it gratefully and downed it, not realizing just how dehydrated all that crying made her.

She did feel a little more clear-headed now. No one was upset, they all rushed to comfort her, and everything was still okay. Nothing is perfect, but things should get a little easier now.

What did not get any easier is having feelings for Geonhak, but at this point, Dongju expects that. She wasn’t even sure if her gender complicates things because she'd never heard of him with someone else, and he didn't talk about it either, at least not with her. And she'd rather fling herself into space than ask him, so she did some information-gathering first. In the process, she learns some harsh truths.

"Oh, are you thinking of finally confessing to him?" Hwanwoong asked.

Alarming statements all around, considering she had not spoken a word of her feelings to him. Lying to Hwanwoong was useless, especially since she was sure her shock was written all over her face already.

"Who told you? I bet it was Hyunjin. I never should have trusted that snake." Dongju bit her lip and contemplates the best method of revenge for this betrayal.

"What? No. I figured it out because when he's not looking, you look at him like he's the best thing since iced americanos. It would be sweet if it weren't so awful."

What if she murders this guy one day because spewing such absolute nonsense should be a crime. Surely, she looked at Geonhak in a completely normal way.

"Like he personally puts the moon up every night. I think it's sweet, but you didn't seem ready to talk about it, so I didn't say anything." Seoho said, staring at her and shrugging.

"This may be the worst day of my life," Dongju declares, and Seoho sputters. "My roommates know I have feelings for this guy, but I didn't tell any of them. What am I doing wrong?"

"Are you always this dramatic? Or does Geonhak just inspire that in you?"

Dongju ignores him in favour of pondering how her life led to this point. If she was so obvious about it, did Geonhak know too? He wasn’t the most observant guy, but it wasn’t like he was completely oblivious. Now, she had to deal with a new layer of nervousness around him, as if she wasn't doing badly enough already.

Despite that, she manages to be reasonable and normal around him, or she assumes. It all crumbles when they're out one day. They're all just walking around together, being menaces and taking up the whole sidewalk. Suddenly, Seoho flinches and sidesteps into Dongju, who yelps and glares. Seoho defends himself very quickly by pointing to the kid attached to his leg, who looked to be on the verge of tears. Geonhak moved so fast, and Dongju took a half-step back in shock.

"Hey, little buddy. My name is Geonhak, what's yours?"

The kid hesitates, clearly heeding stranger danger warnings but too far from any parental figure to say no.

"Hajun."

"Nice to meet you, Hajun! These are my friends. Can we help you find your parents? I bet they're very worried. Where did you see them last?"

"Back there. But they were going that way. I just wanted to look at the cool toys." His eyes start welling up again, but Geonhak is faster.

"Very good! You wanna go up on my shoulders? Then you can tell us about them, and we can all look together."

That dried the tears quickly, and Hajun nodded so fast that Dongju worried for his neck. Geonhak crouched down, and Seoho leaned down to assist Hajun's little legs up. Hajun squeals when Geonhak stands, and he flew up. For a moment, Dongju relived the weightless feeling she remembers as a child. She snapped out of it when they started walking, and Hajun began to talk.

"My mommy is kind of short, and she says one day I'll be taller than her. I'm so excited. But I won't be taller than my dad 'cause he's tall like you, Geonhak-ssi!"

Incredibly cute but not helpful. Many women were short, and plenty of men were tall, like Geonhak. Dongju was hoping that Hajun's parents recognized him and come over because she wasn’t sure that he would be helpful in their search.

"I bet you'll grow tall like your dad, Hajun. What are your parents wearing? Some cool outfit just like you?" Geonhak asked, and thank goodness for him. Dongju didn't know where they'd be otherwise right now.

Of course, Hajun only locks on to the most important part of that message. "You think my outfit is cool? Thanks Geonhak-ssi! I think your outfit is cool, too."

Dongju had to admit the kid had taste. Geonhak had a monochrome outfit on, and Dongju had been staring. A black and white jacket, a white shirt with some indeterminate design, and lethal black skinny jeans. She had tripped several times today because she was staring at his ass. In her defense, it's a nice ass!

"Thanks, buddy. What cool outfits are your parents wearing?" Dongju mentally congratulates Hwanwoong on the seamless transition.

"They're not wearing cool outfits! Not like you, mister." Hwanwoong visibly preened at the compliment, and in Dongju's opinion, it was horrifying. "My dad is wearing his weirdo One Piece shirt, and my mom is wearing her nerdy Sailor Moon shirt. They always argue about which one is better. I think it's dumb cause Naruto is better. Obviously."

"Obviously." Keonhee laughed, and Dongju found herself laughing along, too, amused by this child's certainty about his opinions.

They walk, and they keep walking. Dongju was starting to get worried that Hajun's parents were behind them somewhere or crossed the street to look and that they weren't going to find them. But she didn't say anything, so they just kept going.

"Hajun!" They hear, and they all whip around to find the source.

Two people frantically pushed through the crowd towards them and shouted for Hajun. Hajun himself starts wiggling, and it took quick moves from Keonhee to avoid either Hajun or Geonhak getting injured. Hajun and his parents meet in the middle in a heartwarming moment. His mother looked near crying, clearly frantic about losing her son for several minutes. His father hardly looked any better, but Dongju could see the panic melting away into relief. After a minute or three, they stand and look at the group.

"Thank you so much for helping him. We were so afraid when we looked down, and he wasn't there anymore. I should have been paying more attention." Hajun's mother said.

"No, no, it was my pleasure. He's a very well-behaved kid, you're doing well with him." Geonhak said sheepishly.

"You're very kind, thank you. Okay. Hajun, buddy. What do you say to the kind people?" Hajun's father bent down and asked.

Hajun gasped, bowing to them all. "Thank you, Geonhak-ssi and friends! I had fun."

Hajun stands and beams at them all, and they all look back at him, smiling just as sweetly. Of course, Dongju is drawn to look at Geonhak's smile. He seemed to be smiling the widest of them all, and Dongju would bet 10 bucks that he was already attached to Hajun.

It was devastating, and Dongju is barely holding herself together. She was able to keep it together while searching because that was much more pressing, but now Hajun is safe, and she had nothing else to focus on. The family walks away, talking happily amongst themselves and moving on with their day.

Thankfully no one is paying attention to her, and she had a few moments to pull herself together while they all discussed Hajun's cuteness on a scale from 1-10. Or, she thought no one was looking at her, but she heard her name in the middle of one of her deep breaths. It's a tone so familiar that her eyes snap open and immediately slide over to him. True to form, Geonhak is looking at her, practically staring her down and analyzing her from head to toe. She knew the man better than almost anyone else and still found it intimidating.

"You okay, Ju? You seemed upset." Geonhak asked.

"Of course! Just a little tired and stressed from being surrounded by all these people, you know how it is." Dongju throws on her best little smile and prays it's good enough for him to believe.

It seemed to be, as Geonhak watched her for a few seconds longer, then nodded his head, seemingly seeing what he needed.

"Okay. Let me know if you need a break. We can go to the side, or I can take you home."

Dongju could kiss him on the damn mouth right now, but that would defeat the whole point of her holding her feelings in. Instead, she just nodded, and they kept moving on with their original plans for the day out. They still circle back to Hajun occasionally, talking about how cute he was or how it was good he found them and not some creepy people, but mostly how cute he was. It's mostly Geonhak leading that part of the conversation, and Dongju had to actively and viciously squash down the thought of Geonhak with his own children and what they would look like.

They enter some random store, and a few minutes in, Seoho pulls her over to the side and starts whispering before Dongju could even process what was happening.

"You looked like you were in pain while Geonhak talked about that kid. Are you okay?"

Dongju externally just sighed, but inside, she was crying and about to lose it. Was she really that obvious? Oh, god. Hopefully, Geonhak was too distracted thinking about Hajun and didn't notice. But he was so observant, so he probably did, and thought she was a total weirdo. It was over.

"Dong. Ju. Shut that head up and answer me." Seoho hisses.

"Fine, I'm fine. Typical crisis about how cute he is with kids, no biggie. I just have to pray he didn't notice me being weird." Dongju shook her head.

Seoho waved it off. "Not much weirder than you normally are, it'll be fine."

Dongju is about to ask exactly what the hell that is supposed to mean, but Geonhak decided it is the perfect time for him to appear.

"Why are you two hiding in the corner? You could've told us if you wanna leave." Geonhak tilted his head, and Dongju had to take a deep breath before she said something stupid. It was really a problem.

"Nothing, nothing. Our little Ju is just having some boy problems." Seoho grins wickedly and casually strolls off, leaving Dongju silently plotting how to murder him quietly but painfully.

When she looked over, Geonhak looked... strange. When he saw her looking, he smiled and put on his older brother face.

"Boy problems, huh? You know you can come to me for those. We gotta make sure he's good enough for you." Geonhak said seriously, and it took everything in Dongju's muscles not to react in any of the immediate ways she wanted to.

"Ah.... seriously. You'd like him. He's protective, kind, smart, and funny. Too good to be liking someone like me." Dongju sighed, staring at her feet.

Geonhak made some strange set of offended noises. When Dongju looked up, she saw his accompanying twisted face and knew what was about to come.

"He'd be an absolute fool not to like you! If he's that dumb, then you're too good for him." Geonhak said.

Once again, Dongju had to tamp down the ironic laugh that wanted to jump out. She wishes she could tell him not to be so mean to himself, but she categorically refuses to confess publicly. If she had to do it, it would not be in some tacky clothing store in the middle of the day.

"Thanks. Anyways, not like I'm going to do anything about it. So, if he likes me back then we'll never know."

Geonhak wanted to protest, she could see it in his face, but Keonhee popped up from behind a rack and told him to come look at something. How neither of them saw that man the size of a tree walking over was entirely unknown, but Geonhak smiled awkwardly and shrugged. Dongju laughed a little at him and waved him off.

It hurts to be so close yet so far. Was Geonhak's praise a platonic or, romantic or other type of praise? At least it was genuine, which always felt good, but it made her heart go wild in a way that she shouldn't know if she should be accepting or not. He didn't seem overly bothered by her so-called "boy problems," which told her nothing.

Dongju had always and would always go to her mother for help if she needed something. That bond hadn't broken through time and change, and she loves her mother through all of it.

The first piece of advice is entirely expected.

"Give him food, honey! Everyone loves food, and not having to make it is nice. You've always said that man of yours is like a vacuum for food, and you know he'll appreciate the effort."

Dongju felt herself light up like a fire truck at "that man of yours" and immediately starts whining. It's a good thing she remembered to put her headphones in before this because if anyone else is home, they do not need to hear this. They'd teased her about this enough as is. Her mother laughed and ignored all of Dongju's very valid complaints.

"I've seen that man, and I know you'll get him. Though, you should do it quickly, just in case. Someone else might come along, and he might choose them if he doesn't know you're an option." Her mother said wisely.

Dongju just sighed because she knew, but hearing it from someone else was scary. Sitting back and watching Geonhak fall in love with someone else would tear her apart. If she tried, she'd know it wasn't meant to be and could try to move on.

"Ah, yeah. I know."

"If you know, then why haven't you done it yet, my girl! Make him your man properly."

Dongju's heart warmed hearing "my girl" come so naturally from her mother's mouth. It had taken a bit of accidental slip-ups, but her mother was so proactive that it was over quickly.

"I should do it soon, right? Kick everyone out and then surprise him after the gym or something. Yeah."

"Yes! It'll be perfect, he'll be so hungry, and then you can get out of your own head and talk to him when he's done."

Dongju's jaw nearly cracks at how quickly it drops open in sheer offense at her mother calling her out. She might be correct, but damn, she didn't need to say it like that! Her mother just cackles through the phone and waves goodbye, hanging up before she could get upset. Dongju lets out a short yell and then groans loudly, flopping back into her pillow pile.

After a short moment, a knock came at her door and opened after she called out some strange, probably affirmative, noise. Of course, Geonhak peeked around the corner, smirking in amusement when he saw her body flopped haphazardly all over the blankets and pillows.

"Everything okay in here? Nothing seems broken." He cautiously looked around, searching for anything broken or injured.

"No, I'm okay. Sorry. My mom was teasing me when I called her, and then she hung up before I could get her back."

Geonhak laughed, and Dongju pouted at him until he noticed.

"I love your mom, seriously. Is she gonna come down again soon? It's been a while."

"Why do you like my mother so much! She's gonna adopt you as her own damn son at this rate."

Geonhaks clicked his tongue and shook his head at her. Dongju felt slightly offended by it but let him speak before she ripped his head off. He should have felt lucky that he was so pretty (and kind and funny and-) because Hwanwoong would absolutely not be given that grace.

"You gotta make good impressions on everyone's moms for 2 reasons: they would believe you about anything and give you banging free food." Geonhak nodded slowly, like he'd just told Dongju the secrets of the universe.

He wasn’t wrong, but it was a little lackluster. For now, he lived.

Dongju had planned everything out, and it would convince Geonhak that she was very dateable. Until that confession happened, Dongju's roommates would still have to deal with her rants regularly. She loved them, even if she'd never say it.

Today's victim was Seoho.

"Seriously, dude. Seeing him with that kid permanently rewired my brain, I swear to god." She groans.

Seoho looked at her for a moment. "I don't know how that's possible, given how down bad you were before."

Dongju sits up, mouth hanging open and glaring at Seoho. She flops back into his pillows when he simply raises an eyebrow, silently screaming and kicking her feet.

"1. Rude. 2. It is possible. My brain is losing it 24/7. Do you understand how hard it was not to say something like 'hi, Geonhak! After seeing you with that child, I can't stop thinking about having an apartment with you and seeing you wake up in the morning and you coming home to me after working your day as a teacher!' He'd have me committed to a fucking psych ward. I'd probably deserve it at this rate 'cause what is this."

Seoho opened his mouth to say something, but someone hesitantly knocked at his door before he could. Dongju immediately freezes and looked about halfway to passing out then and there. Seoho stands but waits a minute to ensure she won't be doing that before swinging the door open.

She couldn't see Seoho's expression from there, and there was no time to say anything before he went past the person in the doorway. And who else walks in but Geonhak himself. She couldn’t do this right now, absolutely not. Apparently, she was rooted to her spot by some freeze instinct and possibly some masochistic will to see what he'd say. Assuming he heard what she had said before and didn't just happen to come in.

"So. You wanna live in a cute apartment with me and see my horrible morning bedhead?" Geonhak asked sheepishly, playing with his fingers and not looking at her.

Internally, she wondered how he was acting like the nervous one right now.

"I mean. Right now I'd much prefer going to drown in the nearest body of water, actually." Dongju stared at the ceiling, wondering how her life had come to this point.

"Um, I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that. Taking a soaking, drowned body on a date seems like a pretty bad time for everybody."

She had to sit and blink for a good 30 seconds or so just trying to process what that man just said. Surely, he didn't say date. Surely, he just said... something that sounds like date and had a similar meaning but wasn't. She had to sit up and look at him when he said nothing else. He was still fidgeting with his fingers and not looking at her.

"Did you just say date? Like a romantic type of date?"

"Yes. And if you're not going to drown yourself, then I'd like to take your very alive self on one instead. If you want to anyways, we obviously don't ha-"

His nervous rambling gave Dongju the strength and rage to push herself off the bed and stalk over to him.

"How did you hear me telling Seoho that I want you to come home to me and still wonder if I want to go on a date with you?"

Geonhak stayed silent and just took one, then two, slow steps toward her, stopping just far enough away that she could feel his presence.

"Can I kiss you?" He whispered.

She nodded before thinking and stared at him, waiting and not daring to move. He raises his hand and lays it lightly on her cheek before leaning in. Dongju's eyes flutter closed and she stayed in the dark for a moment for him. When their lips touched, he put his other hand on her waist, and all she wanted to feel was more. She couldn't tell him that, but she tried to push a little into his hand anyway.

Their first kiss is short, and sweet, and she pulls back less than a centimeter before going back for more. Her arms feel awkward by her side, so she put them on his broad shoulders. Finally, she got to feel the results of all his workouts instead of just staring longingly. And, presumably, she'd be able to do that a lot more now, too. Delightful.

It still wasn’t enough for her, and Dongju looped her arms around his neck and pushed herself closer, pressing their chests together. Geonhak made a surprised little noise, but it only seemed to inspire him to grab her waist firmer with both hands. Exactly the way she wanted. The half-second pull away to breathe quickly stopped being enough, and Dongju leaned back then laid her forehead on his shoulder.

"Fuck." She breathed, and then giggled a little at her own breathlessness.

Geonhak laughed with her, holding her close. It's perfect. Everything is warm and comfortable, just as Geonhak always had been for her.

#oneus fluff #oneus angst #oneus mxm #clownracha prompt #clownracha monthly prompt #clownracha quarterly prompt #idk how we're tagging this now so we're just doing both this time #my writing

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loaksky · 26 days ago

Text

— 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.

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