#it is quite overwhelming sometimes actually

[laziestgirlintown]

@nathleeng their metro system makes zero sense but the city's actually quite beautiful sometimes in the summer, but otherwise it's a big city like ours, and like ours you can figure it out - meaning obvs overwhelming at first and tenth - but also like ours they don't care where you come from, people come from everywhere - in fact, most people there come from elsewhere - and I'd take you to our bookshop there if we ever went 🚀🐉

[moki-dokie]

there's been a bit of a Hot Topic going around bsky (and twt too i guess) about why my age group (particularly in the US) doesn't cook at home much anymore

and there's been a whole lot of takes ranging from dogshit to good and intelligent to total confusion from folks in other countries. neat stuff right. decided to throw my 2 cents in from my own perspective as part of the demographic.

the tldr of it being: there are *several* factors that make it not worth it nor cost efficient anymore where it once was. obviously that isn't gonna be the case for everyone, but it is the case for an overwhelming majority, me included. and this isn't even including, you know, a whole population of disabled people who are physically unable to cook for themselves but I sort of figured that was a given. but maybe not, considering...

then this absolute genius comes in

thank you buddy for having no reading comprehension and missing quite literally every single point i made that it isn't strictly about the dollar amount of the meal itself. like. okay??? good for you i guess.

sure, there will be some meals where that is very true. I could make a bigass pot of ham and beans that'll last me a whole week for about $10. hence why i added there will always be some meals cheaper to make at home. but that completely disregards every. other. point.

it is not, and has never been, about the direct cost of the meal itself. that's just one of a handful of reasons that factor into the whole conversation. there are going to be times that eating out will be more expensive price-wise, but when it checks off like 5 different boxes i couldn't fulfill myself for whatever reason, that price balances out. and we really are in an age where we're having to negotiate the worth of every action we take and every minute we spend on something. i don't know why thats such a hard concept for people to grasp.

legit nobody is arguing it *should* be this way. it shouldn't. we all recognize this. in the ideal world it would be both worth it and affordable to make every meal at home and leave eating out for special occasions, as was the case when i was growing up. and i totally get it that our parents, many of whom raised us by their lonesome, managed to do it fine so in theory we should be able to as well. sometimes, yeah, it really is a matter of sucking it up and doing it no matter how exhausted you might be. that's true for all facets of life tbh. but it shouldn't be that way all the time every time.

and, i don't know about the rest of you, but for us? it really was a whole fucking To Do to clip coupons and plan Shopping Day. I'd spend a couple hours clipping from a few different newspapers and the mail fliers we collected. then we organized them by store. then mom would plan out which stores we would go to for which items,the route we'd take since sometimes it meant going outside of town, the timeframe for everything since it was typically an all-day event. like, a whole day of planning and a whole day of executing JUST to grocery shop, and that was back in the 90s/00s. Inconvenient, yes, but still actually worth the trouble. couponing saved SO much money back then, especially if you knew the stores that would double them. coupons like those don't exist anymore. period. now the ones that do are like, pennies off or bogo deals and otherwise it's app this and app that for any sort of savings - which even then might only be like a meager 10% off the purchase. in no way is it worth my time and effort today to do the same thing we did when i was young.

anyway. so yeah. for a hell of a lot of us, sometimes going out to eat or ordering in is in fact the most worthwhile way, and sometimes even the most cost efficient way, to feed ourselves anymore.

[misty-235]

TW- mentions of cannon typical violence and cannibalism, war, sexuality, mental health issues and bullying

My first shot at some headcannons! Enjoy :D

Bubba:

Bubba loves cartoons! He often goes to Chop’s room to watch them on his television after he’s finished all his chores, before Drayton calls him over to do more work. He’s especially fond of any that involve talking animals. However, he’s also partial to cooking shows- boy does that food look good!

His room is probably the nicest in the house- although it's a little messy, as Bubba forgets to put things away after he’s used them, there's a pretty dresser, and an actual bed. The bed is a little too small for him, so he has to curl up- he’s a big guy, afterall. He probably has a ratty old teddy bear or two, and a couple of porcelain dolls.

As a small boy, he also enjoyed playing with these dolls, dressing them up and doing their hair. Although Drayton was initially opposed to this, he quickly figured out how much joy it brought the otherwise shy and nervous child, and allowed it- even his rather cold heart melted at little Bubba’s no doubt overwhelming cuteness. The brothers would find new dolls and pretty fabric for him to make doll dresses out of.

He first realised how much he liked makeup after his grandmother died; it made him feel pretty, but also closer to her, as he remembered her painting her face. He also occasionally wears dresses that belonged to her (although most of them are too small) for the same reason- sometimes he dreams about just being a lovely, beautiful, caring housewife, like the ones in magazines and on the radio. He has a naturally gentle and quiet nature, and likes to care for his beloved family in that way.

He probably wears one of those lacy, old fashioned nightgowns to bed, pretending to be a fancy lady. He also has a childhood teddy bear or two. They know all of his darkest, most guilty secrets- like the time he broke a jar of pickled eyeballs and just swept the evidence under the cooler before Drayton could come and tell him off.

Bubba grew up isolated from the outside world, and doesn't really understand the usual concepts of masculinity and femininity, instead attempting to look pretty as he understands it. Bubba likes things that are nice to look at, and the ladies in magazines are pretty, so why shouldn’t he want to look like them?

Bubba’s masks are very important to him. Each mask is a sort of identity that he can embody for a little while, related to that of whoever it came from, to hide his vulnerable, timid, childlike inner self, like a layer of protection between himself and the outside world. Perhaps it's a form of dissociation for him- he can’t handle the traumatic experience of killing somebody, so he puts on the face (and personality) of somebody who can. For example, when he feels too scared to hunt down a victim, wearing the face of a strong man makes him feel like he can do it- quite literally putting on a brave face. Likewise, wearing a pretty face with lots of makeup on it makes him feel gorgeous- just like the mask he uses for killing, the “pretty woman” is a cute, girly persona he likes to put on, although one associated more with fun things and play, like dressing up for dinner and makeup as opposed to murder. His grandma mask is for when he is caring for somebody/ being a housewife.

He loves being praised. Bubba nearly never really gets any positive attention from Drayton, the only real parental figure he’s ever known (the twins, on the other hand, treat him much better). He is constantly scared of making a mistake and being punished for it by Drayton, so confirming that he’s done something good makes him overjoyed. Therefore, if someone (like Stretch) so much as tells him that he’s been “good,” he loves it.

Bubba has very little knowledge of sex, falling in love, or anything of the sort, so when he saw Stretch and immediately had feelings for her he didn't really know what to do with himself. The new feelings frightened him. Nobody had ever bothered to tell him anything about his body or emotions, leaving him to deal with them all on his own.

He isn’t really aware that Drayton is nasty to him, because he’s never known anything else. Sure, he’s sometimes very scared of his older brother, but all older brothers everywhere behave like that, right?

Bubba feels genuinely bad for what he does to his victims. He’s a gentle soul, and his own actions make him scared. He does it because Drayton says it's what he has to do, and Bubba thinks he knows best- he’s very childlike, and would be lost without somebody to guide him. He’s also scared of the intruders at his home, because he’s never really felt safe around new people, and loathes changes to his carefully thought out routine. What if they hurt his beloved brothers, or his grandparents? It’s just a part of daily goings on for him now.

Bubba is scared of insects, especially spiders and roaches. He cowers and whimpers at the mere sight of them, and whines until Drayton squashes it with his broom or Nubbins keeps it as a pet (or eats it, depending on whether or not it looks tasty.) He’s also scared of armadillos, as he doesn't like their horrible little claws.

Although Bubba can’t talk and doesn’t know sign language, he understands most of what is being said to him- making some of Drayton’s particularly caustic insults all the more nasty.

He doesn’t get to do it very often, but he loves drawing. He’s a creative person in general, but give him some crayons or paint, and he’ll be busy making something. He’d probably draw his family, or perhaps his pet chicken, or might simply enjoy making hand prints.

He doesn’t have just one favourite colour, but if he really had to pick, it would be pink.

He is very partial to a nap- if his brothers are home and he feels safe, that is. After doing all of his work, he sometimes makes his way to the sofa, takes off his mask and his boots, and just goes to sleep for a little while, snoring loudly and drooling a little bit. One of the twins usually wakes him up, or Drayton comes along and tells him off for being a lazy bitch hog.

Bubba loves to dance! It makes him feel pretty, and besides, it appeals to the childlike part of him that just wants to play and have fun.

Bubba loves sweet things, although, like most pleasures in life, he rarely gets them. He also likes the cola from the vending machine at Drayton’s gas station.

This boy has a ravenous appetite. He loves food! If Drayton didn’t tell him off, he’d be constantly searching for something to eat in the kitchen. Afterall, he does a lot of hard work around the house, in the sweltering Texas heat, so he is definitely tired and hungry at the end of the day. While his older brother’s chilli and barbeque are obviously his favourites, Bubba will eat pretty much anything, and is partial to mac and cheese. That being said, Drayton is constantly insulting his weight, making him somewhat insecure about apparently being “fat and ugly.”

Often expresses his love for his relatives by cuddling and hugging. It’s his way of saying “I love you,” and it makes him feel safe and cared for, whilst reassuring him that his family is safe in his embrace. He often falls asleep with his arms around one of his brothers. Unfortunately, Bobby and Nubbins are both constantly moving about, making it hard for him to get comfortable, and Drayton doesn't like physical affection beyond awkward, one armed side hugs.

He hates being home alone. He’s so much more scared for his grandpa and grandma (despite the fact that she is literally a corpse), and becomes paranoid. He spends so much time being vigilant for intruders and dangers that he drives himself to exhaustion. The stress in turn makes him more violent.

Chicken is his best friend in the whole wide world. She’s a great listener, and loves snuggling! Chicken goes by many names, seeing as Bubba is quite indecisive and can’t really just pick one. Needless to say, she doesn't respond to any of them. He doesn't let his brothers pet her very much, as the twins are a bit too rough with her, and Drayton is often mean, slamming his broom into the cage or calling her nasty names. She mostly eats grubs and seeds from the front yard, along with leftover bits of victims, such as the little bones in their hands. Bubba is always overjoyed when she lays an egg, and eats it scrambled.

Bubba does actually like baths, although he probably smells pretty bad day to day- of the ladies’ perfume he uses and sweat, from all the work he does. He just doesn't like that the water in the shower at their house is cold and a little murky. If the water is warm, however, he’s happy to sit around and luxurate, especially if there is some nice smelling soap laying around.

Bubba never went to school. When he was very young, Drayton tried to teach him to read and write, but quickly gave up. He’s illiterate, but loves it when people tell or read him stories. As a child, he was well behaved but very shy and easily frightened, although the main reason why he didn’t attend school was his severe intellectual disability. The school that he would have gone to was likely, given the limited understanding or such things at the time, simply not equipped to help or provide for him, perhaps mistakenly deeming him too “stupid” to learn anything. Given proper attention, he might have learnt a great deal, given his natural curiosity and creative nature.

He doesn't really like being called Leatherface, because he associates it with his brothers being angry with him/ being told off for something. He very much prefers to be called Bubba.

Nubbins:

Despite being a connoisseur of roadkill (yes, he eats it sometimes if it’s fresh enough) Nubbins is also a fan of living animals. He gets along well with rats, coyotes, racoons and opossums, because they recognise him as one of their own. He also likes deer, and enjoys watching them from the porch.

Nubbins hates vultures and crows, however, because they try to steal his roadkill. They’re the competition. Whenever he sees them, he starts cursing them out and trying to scare them off- “D-d-damn birds! Shoo!”

His little bag is seemingly bottomless, like some sort of Tardis. Despite its small size, he can find some wild stuff in there. He made it out of a dead squirrel he found chilling (or perhaps boiling, given the climate) by the road.

He loudly blows raspberries at people anytime he’s annoyed, especially at Drayton. Will also give a middle finger- Chop taught him that one.

Nubbins doesn't really understand the gravity of killing and eating somebody, and sees it all as a sort of little game, hence why he pokes at the victims and mimics them. He finds their cries genuinely funny, because he doesn't really comprehend that they're scared and doesn't really understand when other people’s body language or facial expressions convey that they’re uncomfortable or frightened. He thinks they're just playing together. He also doesn't really understand that death and pain are bad. He’s always been around them, from when he was younger and working in the slaughterhouse, to now, and has become completely desensitised, maybe even finding it comforting or enjoyable.

He can’t sit still or concentrate for the life of him, hence the need to constantly run about and make a racket. He obsesses over things- be that a certain photograph, or an interesting trinket he found on one of his adventures- and then forgets about that thing just as quickly. However, meat, roadkill and headcheese are his more consistent (and bizarre) special interests.

He finds the pain from cutting his palm genuinely enjoyable, and he is fascinated by the blood that comes out. Again, he struggles to understand that cutting himself is bad for him, or that other people could find this behaviour shocking.

Nubbins loves Bubba’s pet hen, but he’s sometimes too rough when playing with her, so he doesn't get to spend time with her often.

His schizophrenia causes him to have auditory and visual hallucinations, although he can’t really express what he sees and hears. When he gets frightened, he usually just hides somewhere dark and tight, like an animal in a burrow, because that makes him feel secure and safe. He usually goes to sleep there too.

Unlike Bubba, he went to primary and middle school, but never went to highschool. He never really fit in, and was often picked on, being somewhat of a social pariah. He can read, but not well. At least he’s able to write his own name.

Nubbins is the younger twin, being born a minute or so after Robert. They are likely fraternal twins, as that would explain their obviously different appearances . Because their mother didn’t know she was going to have twins, she’d only thought of one name, which was given to the firstborn. He had to fend for himself in that department, and the nickname just stuck. Fittingly enough, the word means “a stunted ear of corn” or “a small lump,” perhaps in reference to Nubbins’s thin frame, or perhaps because he was smaller than average as a baby, as twins often are. Alternatively, it may have just been a dig at him from Drayton.

He gets along extremely well with his twin, and was devastated when he left for Vietnam (Nubbins didn't pass the preliminary intelligence test to enter the army.) As teenagers their main pastimes were setting fire to dumpsters and searching for roadkill. Chop also unironically believed, and continues to believe, in various cryptids, so the duo spent a great deal of happy childhood afternoons searching for the Chupacabra and Bigfoot. Unsurprisingly, they never found anything other than a mangy coyote.

Nubbins twitches, kicks his feet and makes funny noises in his sleep, like a dog. He dreams about hitchhiking with stupid hippie college kids, and finding roadkill.

Nubbins originally found his first camera in a dumpster behind the school when he was fourteen or so. He quickly figured out what it does, and began photographing everything interesting that caught his eye- roadkill, Grandpa, butterflies, dead cows at the slaughterhouse, and everything in between. He also took a much treasured picture of Bubba and Chicken, that his little brother keeps in a fancy frame.

For the most part, Nubbins looks after and stands up for Bubba, although he does occasionally play nasty tricks on the exceptionally gullible and blindly trusting younger man- mostly hiding his stuff or leaving insects in his bed, earning him a high pitched, girly scream.

Nubbins loves bugs of any kind. He loves putting them in jars to keep them as pets, and he loves eating them if they look more than passingly tasty. He especially likes the crunchy ones. If questioned, he proudly proclaims that it's “free food,” and offers one to try.

He does actually have an enormous crush on Franklin. He just wants to be close to the one person outside of his family that listens to his ranting and takes an interest in what he’s saying, and who is nice to him despite his alarming appearance. He’s probably no more informed or experienced than Bubba in the romance department, though.

Nubbins shares a room with Chop, and has since they were both kids. Said room is neatly split in half, with Chop’s band posters and lava lamps on one side and Nubbins’s chaotic mess on the other. He has random piles of clothes laying around, a few animal bones here and there, and has befriended a couple of rats.

Chop Top:

Vietnam actually traumatised him more than he cares to admit. He never talks about it seriously for fear of being ridiculed by Drayton. He has terrible nightmares and flashbacks, but hides them well from everybody other than Nubbins. He didn’t want to go and fight, but was drafted and had no choice. When it turned out his brother couldn’t come, he was devastated.

Probably didn’t get along well with his fellow comrades, being a completely irresponsible, incompetent moron with a grenade launcher most of the time, and talking back to the higher-ups. How did this guy even pass basic training (or any sort of medical examination- look at those teeth)? We will never know.

Despite his cheerful outward demeanor, Chop Top is actually deeply miserable. One of the reasons, I think, that, despite being a grown adult he still behaves like a hippie teenager is because his youth was effectively stolen by the war in Vietnam. The only way he can feel any comfort is by behaving in the way that he did before he got drafted- a carefree, happy- go- lucky hippie boy- and effectively pretending the war never happened. He’s also lonely. All the people he hung out with as a teenager have moved on or died, leaving him all alone.

He and Nubbins are basically fused at the hip, and do everything together. They share a room, their food, their hopes and dreams, their toothbrush (when they even remember that it exists), their childhood pet goldfish, and, when they were kids, even a secret language. Chop is definitely the cleverer twin, however, and when they wanted to make some mischief he’s the one that comes up with the plan. He sometimes (always) bails Nubbins out of trouble.

Has a massive crush on Stretch, because she’s the coolest chick he’s ever seen. He’s a little jealous when Bubba gets “together” with her, hence he teases him ruthlessly about it. Unfortunately for him, Stretch is clearly beyond disinterested.

Being a hippie, Chop is possibly the only one of the brothers to have any actual experience with women, and actually managed to get laid at a concert or something (free love and all that.) He’s probably also been with men- he’s a little, erm, zesty sometimes. He’s the most desperate for a girlfriend out of all of them, and owns a vast collection of dirty magazines, which he hides under his bed so that Drayton can’t find them and tell him off- the love quest for a boyfriend free girl continues. He occasionally shares these with Nubbins, but is not happy when they get returned and all the pages are stuck together. He has a massive thing for feet, and is not embarrassed by it at all. Also, he canonically gets off on scratching his plate. He seems to have the same preoccupation with cutting himself, and his own blood, as Nubbins, and, like for his brother, it gives him something to focus on and some stimulation.

Smokes an exorbitant amount of weed, which he grows himself in an abandoned barn somewhere. He claims he grows the best weed in Texas. Actually, it's absolutely awful, and might as well be lettuce. Nevertheless, he’s willing to share with Nubbins, who somehow gets even more dumb when he’s stoned.

He found a “kitty” by the side of the road one time, and decided to take it home. It was a possum, but to be fair, he was pretty high when it happened. It ran away the next day.

Chop was very, very proud of his long, silky black hair, lovingly grown and cared for throughout most of his youth, so when he lost it all it was somewhat of a personal tragedy. He wears a wig because of it- his Sonny Bonno wig is only one of many, which possibly go with different outfits that he owns.

He speaks passable Spanish and a little Vietnamese, which he learnt in his time with the army.

Unlike Nubbins, Chop Top does understand that killing people is wrong. However, he simply doesn't care. The war made him completely lose hope in humanity, to the point that he isn’t really averse to killing people.

He got into highschool, but dropped out pretty quickly. Like Nubbins, he was a complete pariah and was picked on a lot for being weird and awkward, and stuttering, though probably had a friend group of fellow stoner misfits. Needless to say, he didn’t have a good time, and was much happier working at the slaughterhouse with Nubbins and Bubba.

Chop is a big fan of Bubba’s chicken (she’s “radical” and “groovy”), but, rather like Nubbins, he’s not very gentle with her, so Bubba tends to keep her away from him. Also, the hen isn’t a fan of loud music, and tends to stay away from him.

Chop may have ocular albinism, which mainly causes a lack of pigmentation in the eyes and skin, but does not always affect hair. This is why he has extremely pale skin and red rimmed, bright blue eyes, contrasting with his black hair. It could also be why he seems to have a sensitivity to bright light, like when Stretch pointed a lamp at his face and he knocked it out of her hand. Ocular albinism often causes people’s eyes to be hypersensitive to light.

He also has remarkably nasty teeth. He’s extremely scared of dentists, and doctors in general, because of some less than ideal experiences as a little boy.

Drayton:

Before the shutting down of the slaughter house, Drayton was a much, much kinder person. He was still known as a somewhat grouchy old man, hardened by essentially being a surrogate single father his entire adult life, but he definitely didn’t have murderous tendencies. He especially had a soft spot for Bubba, the baby of the family. The desperation that the family experienced after the slaughterhouse closed brought out the worst in him, uncovering the previously buried childhood trauma of the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl and triggered his survival instincts left over from that time- feed your family by any means necessary or perish. Living through these events might be the reason for his frugal nature and preoccupation with money, but also his ready acceptance of cannibalism as an acceptable way to get food. Hunger results in desperation- clearly the scarcity of food he experienced during his formative years convinced Drayton that sometimes one must use deviant measures to feed one’s family.

Despite the fact that he regularly beats Bubba, and to a lesser extent the twins, he does care about them, in a roundabout way. This care was probably more honestly and healthy expressed when times were not so tough. He genuinely believes that violence is the only way to corral his unruly siblings into being obedient and not winding up in jail or dead. He’s somehow seemingly grown to accept Bubba’s tendency towards crossdressing, not even commenting on it when he sees it. Clearly, he does want to keep his sibling happy, at least in that tiny way.

He’s a massive virgin, and has no real idea about “scex.” The twins ridicule him for it constantly, despite the fact that nobody wants to touch them with a ten foot pole. It seems, however, that he truly isn’t interested in relationships, finding intimacy disappointing. Perhaps the love of his family is enough for him.

He’s probably the most educated of the brothers, having finished highschool. He’s the most inteligent one by far, and thus controls the finances and such. He’s also the only one that seems to be able to hold down a real job, other than Chop’s stint in the military, and the time that the brothers put in at the slaughterhouse. He’s a slimy, cunning little fellow.

Drayton never really had the chance to experience his youth the way others did, but instead was forced to look after his younger siblings, essentially taking on the role of a father figure. Their parents were largely absent during their childhood, choosing to leave in search of a more prosperous life and leaving the children behind with their aging grandparents. He’s still bitter over that, but it's also one of the reasons why he idolises his grandparents- they were there for him when his mother and father were not.

Drayton suffers from some sort of split personality disorder. As demonstrated by his treatment of Sally in the first movie, he can sometimes be kind and polite, before rapidly becoming meaner and more aggressive. Drayton himself doesn’t like killing, and is probably not a naturally violent person; he is simply in dire straits and willing to ditch morality and sanity in the pursuit for food, perhaps these moments of southern hospitality are his calmer, more civilised personality fighting back against the violence he’s committing, whilst the more sadistic, ruthless side of him takes over.

[ellisbian]

rewatching bnha s3 and especially the pro hero provisional license exam arc (i think it is the one since it began after the train camp arc, i’m not good at remembering arcs ok lol) , and i’m hanging on the “the greatest two of the classes have failed it?” of kaminari referring of course to todo and bakugou. now, i guess he was referring only to the practice one, but it seems to me he implied at the theory too? so in the course classes they have to study, and now maybe i’ve missed it but if i’m not wrong we don’t never know what grades these kids have in the classes aside when they get in action training their quirk (and that’s obvious for the genre of this story) , we know obviously that deku is intelligent, with momo, iida, todoroki and bakugou too but now i really want to know what grades they get in the theories, and their approach to it in more details

[keeps-ache]

once again i am on the playlist lol

[noxtivagus]

woah i. wrote a lot.

[iwatcheditbegin]

I really hate putting on an outfit and realizing it’s definitely a straight hair outfit. Idk maybe I’m just weird or do other curly headed girlies know what I’m talking about ?

[pikavani]

It's hard to seek comfort when most people around you are all kind of crazy-overwhelming.

I did this comic before Episode 3 released not knowing what would actually happen but to no one's surprise, Kinger is actually quite a comforting Character... sometimes.

I do hope their friendships only grow stronger throughout the episodes. I'm very happy so far 😊

[loaksky]

— come a little closer

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

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

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

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

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

main masterlist | arcane masterlist

VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it is.

It all starts at The Afterparty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you hum passively.

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

The step creaks under pure muscle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“________,” you offer.

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

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

You nod once.

“Neuroscience, fourth year.”

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

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

Vi’s floored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

Vi decides that she needs to see you again.

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

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

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

“So?”

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

Her teammate snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Violet,” you acknowledge.

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

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

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

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

You don’t even bat an eye.

“I did.”

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

“I am.”

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

Especially when you look up at her like that.

You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.

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

Vi could melt.

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

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

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

“So I can get paid?” you fill in.

“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”

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

“You’re fucking joking!”

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

“Maddie,” you whisper.

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

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

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

You look around in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”

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

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t start.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maddie,” you warn.

“Love you, see you at home!”

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

“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

“Am I going too fast?”

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

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

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

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

You decide to fold your cards first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You refresh for good measure.

“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.

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

“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”

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

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

“Violet.”

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

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

“V—”

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

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

Vi’s smile is crooked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”

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

“N-No,” you stammer.

“Great, see you tomorrow?“

You swallow.

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

Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.

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

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

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

“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”

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

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

“Jack shit,” she laughs.

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

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

“Sure, anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hungry?” you ask.

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

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

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

“Not since breakfast,” you admit.

“You like pizza?”

“Only the good kind,” you challenge.

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

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

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

You shake your head.

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

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

Vi’s desperate for more.

“As in?”

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

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

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

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

And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.

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

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

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

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

“God, marry me now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like cigarettes?

no, weed, dummy.

Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.

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

And then she gets the invite.

Ellie swears it’s her in.

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

“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi raises a brow.

“My cat,” you clarify.

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

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

Cute. So fucking cute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vi,” you whimper.

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

She resists a smile.

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

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

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

Test the waters, cop a feel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A small little laugh puffs from your lips.

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

Vi deflates in relief.

“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”

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

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

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

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

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

5—4.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe,” you whisper finally.

“Maybe what?” Vi teases.

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

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

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

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

You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.

“Puck off.”

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

“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.

You whine.

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

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

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

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

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

Violet only snorts a laugh.

“Whatever, good game,” she calls.

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

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

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

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

“Leave it.”

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

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

She winks.

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

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

You should come, I can pick you up.

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

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

“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breath out a little laugh.

“Here I am.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”

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

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

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

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

I wanted you to want me.

“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” she hums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh.”

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

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

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

It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.

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

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

Ellie laughs benevolently.

“You have a cat?”

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

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

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

“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”

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

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

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

“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”

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

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

This is getting fucking ridiculous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.

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

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

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

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

A nervous giggle bubbles.

“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.

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

You bite.

“If you ask nicely.”

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

“Can I?” she husks.

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

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”

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

“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”

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

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

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

You’re staring, hard.

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

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

You relax a fraction.

“Everything okay?”

You smile, something small.

“Yeah, good,” you assure her.

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

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

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

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

“Like right now?”

You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.

“Like right now,” you confirm.

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

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

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

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

Your heartbeat skips.

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

Vi’s grinning wide.

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

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

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

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

You think for a moment before shaking your head.

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

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

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

She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re running.

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

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

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

Her expression screws up.

everything ok? can i do anything for you?

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

I’ll see you next week.

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

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

She sighs. Hard.

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

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

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

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

Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?

.

.

.

Then you add, We can smoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like?”

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

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

“Uh-huh?”

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“But?”

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

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

“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.

“Violet,” you sigh.

“Abuse what?” she husks.

“I know you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She clambers back into the driver’s seat.

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

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

Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.

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

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

Your breath catches.

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

“Why?”

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

It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.

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

“You really believe that?”

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

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

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

Vi’s brows furrow.

“You’re what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.

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

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

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

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

violet <3: can i see you this week?

You open Instagram.

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

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

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

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

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

The bracelet.

Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.

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

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

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

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

Ellie’s face scrunches.

“Huh?”

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

Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxxx: i really miss you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.

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

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You humph.

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

“And that’s my problem because...?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Violet’s in love with you.”

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

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

Ellie’s brows shoot up.

“Whoa, what?”

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

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

“There’s a video.”

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

She reaches a palm out.

Show me.

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

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

“She’s fucking dead.”

When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7—5.

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

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

Her bracelet.

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

The crowd cheers.

Fight, fight fight!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” you squeak.

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

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

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

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

You swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t,” you admit.

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

“We could start off with the obvious.”

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

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

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

“Vi.”

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

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

“Pl—ease.”

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

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

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”

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

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

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

“Maddie home?” she breathes.

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

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

“Oh–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Vi.”

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

“F...F—uck,” you sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cry out when her fingers slip out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nnngh, fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything except Vi.

Oh, you think to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

“Babe?”

Your gaze snaps up.

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

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

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

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

“Thought you left,” you croak.

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

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

You whine.

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

Violet groans.

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.

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

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

neng © 2024

[chaoskiro]

I just wanted to show you people this amazing podfic podfic_mcgee made and which I made the cover art for. Ey did an amazing job (go listen!) on this nice small moment between Robin and Max right after Starcourt.

I also just kinda wanna brag a bit about this coverart tbh ^^ I'm really proud of how it turned out, it took ages to get their silhouettes looking right and I learned so many things about photopea in the process. But I'm just really proud of it and I love the story and the podfic so I wanted to share <3

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Demon King Headcanons

You have accepted the Demon King’s marriage proposal!

I wasn't planning on writing a second part, but some of you gave me ideas and I decided on short headcanons instead. The image of a big, buff, evil Overlord lovingly doing house chores for their human was too tempting.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance

[Main Story]

The proposal, as you quickly found out, came as a surprise to everyone. Not even the King’s loyal butler knew of such intentions; he’d assumed they were finally going to destroy everything and everyone at once. To him, the dramatic scene of you and his Lord enveloped in flames was anything but a romantic confession. It was your final battle. So one might imagine the poor lizard’s confusion when the Demon King returned with you following behind. “S-sir?” He questioned meekly. The armored creature nodded at his servant. “It has been done. We’ll plan the wedding upon our arrival home.” The what? His baffled expression must’ve given him away, because the Demon continued: “What’re you gawking like that for? Didn’t I ask you earlier how humans forge a bond?” The butler stumbled to search for his words, swallowing dryly. “Well y-yes, your Majesty…I just didn’t expect it to be anything more than curiosity.”

The same speechless reaction repeated itself all the way to the Kingdom. Soldiers, diplomats, other monstrous entities of the unknown Land, they all greeted you in disbelief. So much, in fact, that you began to poke fun at their hesitant response: “I am his mortal enemy”, you’d announce with a dramatic bow. “Spouse! We talked about this!” the Demon Lord would quickly correct you, flustered.

Truth be told, you're not quite sure what made you accept this ridiculous offer. Perhaps a mixture of intrigue and disillusionment. The city you've dedicated yourself to stood no longer, burnt to a crisp along with its corruption and crookery. In a way, the monster had unshackled you from a responsibility you no longer wanted to bear. And if that wasn't enough to convince you, well, the sight of the Ruler himself kneeling before you certainly sealed the deal.

Although it may take a while for you to accept the idea that your worst adversary had actually been infatuated with you this entire time. Were there even any hints? During your last battle you nearly died. You'd crawled out of an enormous crater on your fours, bones shattered and ligaments torn. When you pointed this out to your groom-to-be, he stared at you in horror. "I had no idea humans were that fragile. I was trying to adjust my strength so as to not do any harm." You could only nod, patting away the sweat beads forming on your forehead. Uh huh. Maybe it's better you didn't experience his full range of attacks.

Ever since the devastating revelation, he's been extra careful when handling you. Sometimes he'll awkwardly hover his large hands above you, with a concentrated frown on his face. "What the hell are you doing?" you ask, eyeing him suspiciously. "I'm trying to be gentle." he'll answer. "You're not even touching me." Fair point, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

The Demon King will often ask you about customs from your world as a way to make you comfortable, just in case you get struck by the occasional homesickness. His Realm is very different from what you're used to, after all. Lamentably, his own years spent in the human world were not too fruitful from a cultural point of view. He was either busy stalking you or devouring the souls of the innocent. Now that he has nothing else to worry about, he will gladly listen and even do his best to actively participate.

You wake up shrouded in thick smoke. Overwhelmed by heavy déjà vu, you rush down the grand stairs, searching for the source of the fire. Are you being attacked? Enemies of the Demon King? You elbow yourself against the kitchen door, similar to when you left your home to find the city ablaze. The Demon Lord turns to face you, visibly overwhelmed and exhausted. You gawk at the scene unfolding before you and remember to close your mouth, mainly out of politeness. "It's too small. I'm afraid I cannot use it", he reveals timidly, holding a human spatula between his fingers to showcase the impractical size difference. You glance at the disastrous attempt behind him and manage to deduce he'd been trying to make breakfast. In an unspoken agreement, he steps back and allows you to take over.

"I'm surprised you let him burn down the kitchen", you mention to the butler once you get a moment to yourself. The scaly servant sighs, and theatrically lifts his clawed hands in hopelessness. "Pointless to argue with him when he's like this, (Y/N). In my entire life serving the Family, I've never witnessed a more stubborn leader." He points to the lavish portraits adorning the walls with a faint smile. "And, to put it frankly, he's obsessed with you. I've never seen him in a more deplorable state. Marrying a human?! The shame, the outrage!” he cries out. “No offense intended to you, of course. You must understand." You hum in agreement, a tad uncomfortable, yet sympathetic. "M-maybe it'll tone down after the wedding?" you suggest as encouragement. "Oh, no, I suspect it will only get worse", he bemoans in return. Then, he promptly straightens his back and resumes his duties.

You go on your own way, not wanting to burden the lizard in his work. As you cross the hallway, you find the Demon King himself scanning each room, somewhat agitated. He notices you and his features soften. "I was wondering where you'd vanished." You approach him with the words of the butler still ringing in your ears.

[limitbreaker23]

This so cute, and I'm so touched you enjoyed my little oc being present, that I wrote you this little moment of Lan Xichen and Yu Mengwan together after Chengzhan's wedding in Silence. Thank youuuuuuu so much!🥹 🤲 *ugly crying noises*

Lan Xichen let out a sigh too loud to be ignored. Watching his little brother set off for weeks of night hunting right after his wedding left him with tangled feelings. The soft expression of happiness on Lan Wangji’s face stretched his lips into the smallest of smiles and sprinkled glittering light into his eyes. Rarer than blue and red moons, calmer and more threatening than both as well. Next to Clan Leader Jiang’s bright grin, cutting across his face until his teeth were bared in laughter instead of a growl for once, no one would once again pay attention to Lan Wangji’s subdued happiness. Only this one person looked at Lan Wangji with all his might, and Lan Xichen tried only to linger on that.

He didn’t have trouble smiling back as Lan Wangji bowed his final goodbye and rode off on horseback with Clan Leader Jiang. That heavy heart of his forced him to watch them grow smaller and smaller in the distance. It wasn’t torturing him anymore, it wasn’t painful, but a heart needed more time to let go of some people. Lan Wangji had always enjoyed night hunts, travelling, wandering the world and taking in its wonders and plights. Lan Xichen had always enjoyed receiving his letters, never more than a few sentences, and a gift from his travels attached from time to time. Now, would he still receive letters from his brother?

“Zewu-Jun.”

Clan Leader Jiang’s second in command had approached him, clasped his hands in a quick, friendly greeting. Yu Mengwan had been appointed as second in command only recently, and was now already in charge of the entirety of Lotus Pier in Clan Leader Jiang’s absence. He smiled as if that responsibility was joy, not a burden, and a little flutter of the heart was unavoidable.

“You’ve been standing here for a while. Would you come and join me to show you a better view?”

Lan Xichen smiled back. His heavy heart could still flutter, perhaps it could soar again sooner than anticipated. “I’d be happy to. Lead the way.”

Yu Mengwan offered him a smirk void of mischief to cling to, then led him away from the gates of Lotus Pier. They crossed bridged walkways, water full of lotus flowers glistening beneath their feet, and headed through courtyards full of wedding decorations. Lotus Pier had bloomed under them, and the disciples and servants all indulged in taking in the sight once more, before joining efforts to take them down together.

Yu Mengwan was chatting as they walked towards the lakes. It was always good to have someone around that was great at telling stories, that could take the mind to different places when it wanted to hide. Lan Xichen listened to all the stories as intently as possible. Listened to which rooms Clan Leader Jiang had rebuilt, which details in the carvings he had been particular about, where he had been fed up with delays to the point of hammering a roof into place himself. He listened to which places Lan Wangji had enjoyed to spent his days at when he had visited Lotus Pier for a prolonged amount of time last winter. How he had taught little Young Master Jin horse riding here, archery over there, and scouted an instrument for music lessons right there.

Apparently, another roof had fallen victim to the snow and Lan Wangji had fixed it together with Clan Leader Jiang. This was just something Lan Wangji indulged in at times, when he saw the need for a helping hand, he extended it until his arm was pulled and nearly torn off. Clan Leader Jiang didn’t seem like the person that would sit on a rooftop in winter to fix wood and frames, but looking up at the room Yu Mengwan pointed at, Lan Xichen could see the shape of his brother, joined by his now-husband, and he hoped they had looked as happy as his mind painted them.

“These piers, too,” Yu Mengwan said as they walked out towards the lakes. “They were scorched and broken when we returned to Lotus Pier after the Sunshot Campaign. Supplies and workers were limited, so we all worked on it together. Oh, watch out if you ever go to the eastside. Whoever put those planks together thought all people can float over those giant gaps between them.”

Lan Xichen raised his hand to cover his laughter behind his sleeve. The railing here was steady enough to lean against, which Yu Mengwan made a point out of showing him as he casually leant against it to present the view of the lake. Perhaps not worth another laugh, and Lan Xichen gave it anyway.

“Good work,” he said and patted the railing, as if it had put itself together, and that was ridiculous enough that Yu Mengwan should laugh back at him, not just smirk.

“Thank you, Zewu-Jun. Up until… this part over there, I built it all by myself.” Yu Mengwan ran his hand over the smooth railing like he, too, was praising it for holding together so well for many years. “So, naturally, I think it has the best view in all of Lotus Pier. What do you think?”

Lan Xichen settled his hand on the railing, smooth and without the danger of possible splinters, and looked out over the lakes. From where they were standing, nothing obscured the view all the way to the other shores, no houses, no pavilions, no boats, only the vast horizon. In the golden sunlight, the water gleamed more beautiful than jewellery. The thick green leaves of the lotus flowers around them were covered in sparkling dewdrops, healthy and strong, without bitemarks from water spirits on them. In the coming months, they would bloom splendidly, surely.

“What a beautiful view to enjoy while working,” Lan Xichen said. “I hope to see more of it in the summer.”

“Nothing will stop you from visiting,” Yu Mengwan said with that hint of his smirk almost teasing, quite distracting from the view. Quite some foolish flutters of the heart.

“Oh, I’m sure there’s no need to worry,” Lan Xichen said quickly. “This isn’t a prison, after all…”

Yu Mengwan squinted at him for a moment, then took it as a joke, which most people at Gusu-Lan were not skilled at. “You looked quite pitiful, staring after your brother, as if you’d never see each other again, so I wanted to make sure,” he said, just like this. “I’m aware there were some disagreements between you, your brother, and Clan Leader Jiang. But it’s settled now, and you know…” He looked down to the pier, poked the tip of his boot at the small gap between the planks where the lake water was dragged past them by the gentle winds. “Water under the bridge.”

“Oh? Why do I feel like you have to talk to a child, Yu Mengwan?” Lan Xichen asked with a smile, too appreciative for the advice to make his reply sound insulting.

Yu Mengwan seemed to take no offense, had given none either. “Don’t most of us enjoy when someone talks to us like they worry? And too few people try and encourage us to do better after a certain age, hm?”

Lan Xichen smiled, because yes, at some point, teachers seemed to never guide you anymore. Apart from Jin Guangyao, who now had too many people to worry about, only his brother had never stopped. And now, with Lan Wangji leaving him, who would find him early in the morning in a cold room and drape a cloak around his shoulders, sit quietly next to him as he answered correspondence, play the qin to ease his mind?

Lan Xichen noticed that he had nervously tapped the smooth railing and been watched. He quickly smiled and stopped treating wood as if it was an instrument’s strings, worth a melody long past.

“I know that it’s sometimes hard and sometimes not so hard to let a brother go, I do,” Yu Mengwan said. “Oh, believe me, my brother would be over the moon if he didn’t have to see my face every day. I hope you didn’t feel offended hearing him serenade the moon the other night. He was a little tipsy.”

“I saw you blocking Clan Leader Jiang’s view when your brother was drinking under the kitchen table,” Lan Xichen said, because he couldn’t help himself. Not when Yu Mengwan made such an endearing pained face as if someone had caught him and not his brother drink from the giant jar of wine under the table. “It seemed Clan Leader Jiang only pretended he didn’t see.”

“Brothers,” Yu Mengwan said through clenched jaws, expecting reassurance, and Lan Xichen gave it instinctively, his heart fluttering, hoping for another smile, and when relief washed over that handsome face, the smile returned. Thankfully.

A little foolish, but no one there to judge foolishness and flutters. Lan Xichen clung to the railing and leant just a little closer, lowered his voice just a little.

“You and your brother,” he asked, slowly and carefully, almost whispering his words, as if they were sharing a secret, “have been staying at Lotus Pier for a while now. Perhaps you feel unrest… and yearn to travel soon?”

Yu Mengwan crossed his arms on the railing, right next to his grip, and leant right into his space, eyebrows raised in question. “What do you mean to ask?”

He wasn’t too sure himself. “By now, it’s almost certain Clan Leader Jiang’s second in command is destined for greater adventures the moment they’re appointed. Your predecessors married quickly only a few months later and returned to their homes. Do you… well. Someone like you… I’m sure, well, you have many options.”

“Me?” Yu Mengwan chuckled as if that was the only funny thing about Lan Xichen’s embarrassing stutter of words he had immediately regretted. “I don’t plan on getting married. And I don’t plan on leaving my home here. When you ask whether my brother and I will ever return to Meishan-Yu, then I cannot speak for him, only for myself. Lotus Pier is my home now. I decided to follow Jiang Cheng during the Sunshot Campaign, and I have seen nothing that will change my mind.”

“Oh?” Perhaps sometimes a mere sound implied a thousand questions.

“I know Jiang Cheng since he was a child. When we trained with the spiritual whip, my brothers and I, he was dashing through the gaps, jumping over and around them, until we had to tie him up, and he still demanded to train with us. I remember him fighting, leading, rebuilding. I remember the blood on his face and hands, and I stopped thinking that this is only a child I knew once. That was Clan Leader Jiang now, who would do anything to keep us safe, stain his hands before ours, even when others would judge him for his actions. All of our wrongs and rights built this shelter we have now. We made ourselves a new home at Lotus Pier, all of us together. I’m not leaving it. I’ve worked so hard for this position. The heavens, the earth, hell can all try and take it from me. Let them come.”

Lan Xichen smiled, listening to this confession of loyalty, and even when his heart felt heavier again, it wasn’t stopped from soaring straight out of his chest, leaving him warm all over. His smile felt like it reached place it hadn’t reached in a long time, and Yu Mengwan did smile back at him, his face seeming a little redder than before.

He pushed himself off the railing and rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly, cleared his throat. “I also remember your brother when he was a strict little boy, disciplining boys three heads taller than himself. He was far from polite refusing to eat my steamed buns. I even had some without meat for him. Just to remind you.”

“I don’t need reminding. My uncle fondly remembers Wangji’s first time punishing someone, three heads taller than himself. He loves telling the story.”

Yu Mengwan let out a pained chuckle, as if he was about to burst into tears at the memory of that strict child standing tall next to his kneeling figure, reciting the regulations to hammer them into his brain with unrelenting calm.

“It’s hard to remember your brother ever was a child,” Yu Mengwan said.

Lan Xichen nodded. “Sometimes…”

Yu Mengwan glanced at him for a moment too long, then patted the railing next to Lan Xichen’s hand, a little close, a little too far away. If he stretched his pinkie finger now, he could find out if that hand that had built this railing was rough or soft, cold or warm, a little of both perhaps.

All those flutters of his heart had taken his sanity from him, apparently.

“Hanguang-Jun isn’t easy to read, and I don’t assume many people aside from you and Clan Leader Jiang can, but I hope when you remember how happy it made all people at Lotus Pier to have him around, you can rest assured that we’ll look out for him. Oh, I’ll write to you when he eats a steamed bun I made, would that be alright with you?”

Lan Xichen smiled, tapped at the smooth railing and looked into the sky after his fluttering heart, soaring in the sky among that flock of swallows between the clouds. He nodded.

“Do keep me posted,” he told the lakes. “I look forward to correspondence from Clan Leader Jiang’s second in command.”

“Then I’ll –”

Loud trampling sounds, as if a horde of cows had burst onto the piers, made them both turn. Three children ran towards them, two pushing and pulling each other in their attempts to be first, the one behind them laughing, attempting to walk as fast as possible.

“Young Masters, slow down!” Yu Mengwan blocked the children’s way and crouched in front of them, arms outstretched so that they couldn’t make it past them.

Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi nearly toppled over each other. Behind them, Lan Sizhui stopped as well and bashfully looked at his feet, as if Lan Xichen would scold him for running now.

“Yu Mengwan!” Jin Ling put his hands on his hips. “You are slacking off again, I will tell Uncle!”

“But what if I tell him first that you’re running on the pier, hm?” Yu Mengwan also put his hands on his hips, while Jin Ling seemed to ponder the consequences carefully.

Lan Jingyi looked ready to smack him over the head, looked up at Lan Xichen, then at Lan Sizhui, and then decided to also look bashfully at the pier. “We won’t do it again, Zewu-Jun. Please don’t tell Hanguang-Jun.”

“We were practicing,” Lan Sizhui said. “By jumping over the gaps between the planks.”

“When Uncle and Hanguang-Uncle come back, I want to fly to greet them,” Jin Ling exclaimed with such determination, Lan Xichen chuckled softly.

“Then we’ll practice together,” Yu Mengwan said to the cheers of the children. Jin Ling was jumping at him suddenly, wanting to be carried on his back. Lan Jingyi stumbled after, pulling at Yu Mengwan’s other arm and at Jin Ling at the same time, until no one could have guessed if he wanted to pull Jin Ling away or climb on Yu Mengwan’s back as well. “Slow down, I can’t carry all of you!”

“I can carry one of you,” Lan Xichen said.

“Oho!” Yu Mengwan grinned up at him with that teasing smirk that could have disarmed an army, then turned to the children. “Who of you is brave enough to ask Clan Leader Lan, Zewu-Jun, infamous member of the Venerated Triad, for a ride, hm?”

Jin Ling used Yu Mengwan’s robe to hide, Lan Jingyi froze as if time had stopped for him, and Lan Sizhui stepped forward, soft smile on his face. He reached for Lan Xichen.

“I am,” Lan Sizhui said, holding out his hands as the other children gasped. “Carry me, Zewu-Jun?”

Lan Xichen smiled back, that group of people too happy not to. He let Lan Sizhui climb on his back, while Yu Mengwan heaved two children on his shoulders. For a moment, he swayed as if he was crumbling under the weight, and Lan Xichen reached out to steady him, right before Yu Mengwan caught his balance dramatically. Jin Ling laughed as if it was an old joke between them. Even if it wasn’t necessary, apparently, Lan Xichen kept his hand close to Yu Mengwan’s back in case any would fall, stumble, even sway again.

“Hold on, Young Masters,” Yu Mengwan said and started to speed up, away from Lan Xichen’s hand. He had to walk faster to keep close. Up. “Let’s see if we can win a race against Zewu-Jun and A-Yuan, hm?” He grinned at Lan Xichen, only a heartbeat for a silent question, and dashed ahead like an arrow shot from a bow. The children yelled and cheered him on, and Lan Xichen ran after all that noise, Lan Sizhui clutching at his neck much like Lan Wangji had as a child, the only difference the bubbling laughter hitting his neck.

At Lotus Pier, running wasn’t forbidden, and surrounded by such laughter, it was quite fun. Lan Xichen caught up after a few steps, the pier just large enough to run next to each other, so there was no need to race ahead. Indulge himself once, feel an elbow brushing his, and letting a laugh escape into the symphony of shouts and cheers.

a completely self-indulgent portrait sketch of Lan Xichen and Yu Mengwan, Jiang Cheng’s second in command from Silence Withered in Spring by @limitbreaker23

[fastandcarlos]

Overwhelmed With Love : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: having family at the race is always fun, but bringing your baby girl to the paddock too excites lando like never before

“Cover your eyes!” You shouted out to Lando, holding your daughter close to your side as she covered her mouth, muffling her laughter.

“Hurry up,” Lando chuckled, bouncing on his toes as he waited for you two to appear. You opened the door to Lando’s driver’s room, checking his eyes were closed before walking in, shushing your daughter as her eyes lit up at the sight of her father.

You counted down from three before Lando moved his hands, opening up his eyes. A gasp escaped from him as his daughter smiled back, dressed in a perfectly sized papaya race suit.

“We thought we’d get something, just in case people didn’t know who we were cheering for,” you laughed as Lando stood up, opening his arms up and taking your daughter into them. He leaned across and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before studying his baby girl closely, admiring how beautiful she looked.

It was one of those rare occasions where Lando was speechless; you could tell from watching him his breath had been taken. He always loved seeing you in papaya, but seeing his little girl was something else.

“You look beautiful,” he cooed pressing several kisses against the top of your daughter’s head. She squirmed in his hold as Lando showered her with affection. “I really am the luckiest man in the world.”

After a few moments Lando walked over to you too, snaking his arm around your waist. He nodded in your direction, taking note of the papaya shirt that you wore too.

“I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, his heart racing a million miles an hour as he looked between the two of you.

“We thought we’d surprise you,” you mused, brushing a hand through his messy hair. “Do you remember all those years ago when you told me this was a dream of yours?”

“Of course, I just never imagined that it would actually come true,” Lando whispered, finding himself overcome with emotion, “maybe I always hoped it would come true, but I never thought that it would feel as good as this.”

You gave Lando a moment as he tried his best to compose himself, having to remind himself that there was still a race to win this weekend, despite already feeling like he’d won the world having you and your daughter there to cheer him on all weekend.

“I love you,” Lando whispered, handing your daughter back across to you, “and I love you as well little lady,” he added, kissing your daughter once again.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Throughout the day you found yourself swarmed by friends, family, photographers, and random people around the paddock who wanted to compliment your daughter. She always generated quite the crowd obsessing over her, but dressed in her papaya, she had certainly found a new audience.

And Lando was keen to fuss over the two of you as much as he possibly could too. He was desperate to take your daughter around the media pen with him, but you quickly intervened, reminding him how chaotic it could be sometimes.

But watching your daughter with his closest friends meant the most to Lando. Daniel especially seemed to have captured your daughter’s heart, she was constantly messing with the curls in his hair whilst he tickled her sides dressed in orange again and again.

When the race came around, Lando didn’t want to leave. He found the two of you the perfect space to be able to watch the race, for his dad to keep an eye on you, and to give him easy access back to you as soon as the race was over. You insisted time and time again for Lando not to fuss, but he never listened to you.

The moment the race was done, Lando was before you. He was sweaty, tired, but it was all worth it to see the wide grin on your daughter’s face. He took hold of her straight away, kissing against your lips before being beckoned over. Lando’s advisors reminded him that the media pen waited, his eyes hopefully looking at you. You pondered for a moment before nodding, trusting that Lando would be able to take your daughter and keep her safe with him.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

“Lando, as much as I’d love to talk about your race, we can’t ignore your biggest fan,” Natalie grinned, reaching across and poking your daughter’s tummy. “It must feel incredible to be able to have your family here with you for today’s race.”

“I love my job, and I love my family and being able to marry the two together is a dream for me right now,” Lando smiled in reply, bouncing your daughter gently. “I had no idea this little one was going to be dressed in papaya today, I always insisted that she would definitely rock the colour, but I had no clue that she would look as good as this. She was definitely my lucky charm, that’s why I’ve ended up in P2 today.”

“I know from speaking to your lovely partner that they try to get out to as many races as possible to watch you and cheer you on, are you possibly trying to give us a future world champion? You’ve got to be giving her some tips whilst she’s here, right?” Natalie then asked, watching Lando gush about his family once again.

“She’s only two, I’m not sure about future world champion yet, although I wouldn’t say no one day,” Lando chuckled, continually glancing at your daughter to check on her. “Just having them here though and knowing that they’re safe is most important as far as I’m concerned. I love being able to get out of my car and immediately just see my family waiting to give me the biggest cuddle in the world.”

“I’m sure that you’ve got plenty of fun things to be getting up to now that race weekend is over, so I won’t keep you any longer,” Natalie smiled as she brought the interview to a close. “Have a great evening,” she noted, tickling your daughter one final time before seeing Lando and your little girl off to the next interview.

“I don’t know why your mummy was ever so worried to bring you here, this is the easy bit,” Lando whispered to her as they walked around. “I think I might be more worried that if you get spoilt anymore, you’re going to end up loving your Uncle Carlos and your Uncle Oscar much more than you love your daddy.”

Truthfully, you knew you never had anything to worry about, Lando would go to the end of the world for your little girl before he let anything happen to her. He loved being able to show her off, listen to people gush about her knowing that she was all his. Every time she was at the paddock it brought a tear to his eye, it was everything that he had ever wanted from the moment the two of you first found out that you were expecting.

He’d spent years having his family cheer him on, encourage him when he was down and celebrate those highs with him too. And now that he had his own little one to do all of that with too, Lando couldn’t wait for the future with your little girl, to help her chase her dreams and fill her with an overwhelming amount of love too.

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[mell0wjello]

𝓣𝓦𝓢𝓣 !𝓝𝓢𝓕𝓦! 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 !

~~~~~~

DNI If you’re uncomfortable with these topics !

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓼𝓵𝓪𝓫𝔂𝓾𝓵 𝓿𝓮𝓻 !

~~~~~~

𝑅𝒾𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈

mommy kink

Tries his best to top, but ends up bottoming almost every time

The reason he’s bad at topping is because: 1, he’s very stiff, he’s too overwhelmed. 2, he literally tops by the book

Before his first time, he read a book on tips and bases everything he does on that

He is trying his best to get better though

Serious praise kink. Degradation will actually break his heart

Riddle has surprising stamina so he can go a decent number of rounds, although he doesn't last as long

He's prone to overstimulation, this is all very new to him

Mostly liquidy, and tastes ok. Somewhat sweet.

Kind of loud, but he tries to muffle most of it because he considers it "indecent"

𝒜𝒸𝑒 𝒯𝓇𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑜𝓁𝒶

Ass man

Eating ass, looking at ass, cumming in ass, fucking in ass. Completely ass drunk

Lots of foreplay for him. Even teasing can count as foreplay for him when he's in the mood, which is quite often

He's really mean. He'll deny you orgasms and will tease you the entire time about it.

He loves reverse cowgirl and doggy for obvious reasons aforementioned, but he likes seeing your spine arch as well

Personally I hc Ace specifically being either Bi or Pan. I feel like he'd also be open to poly relationships or simply bringing a 3rd person into the bedroom

A little bit of degradation on both ends will really get him going

Ace is a switch but prefers to be the one in control. He's super athletic, of course he'd have good stamina too.

Thicker consistency, and kind of sourish. A little harder to swallow.

So whiny and he curses so much

𝒟𝑒𝓊𝒸𝑒 𝒮𝓅𝒶𝒹𝑒

Deuce is very sweet and very gentle

Would never do anything to hurt you

It would be pretty chill with him, very sweet unless you propose something else

Deuce thinks of intimate time as a private thing between the both of you, so he takes it very seriously

Your pleasure above his. His priority is to make sure you feel good all throughout

This by consequence also brings about some of the sweetest aftercare. He’ll make sure you know how loved and appreciated you are <3

For that reason, I think he’d be very open to experiment with kinks and positions, as long as it doesn’t involve hurting you or potentially putting you in a dangerous situation

Seeing your blissed out expressions fuels him to keep going further

Sometimes a few curses slip up, but he tries to hold them back

Tastes as decent as cum can taste like. Not watery, but not super thick either, it’s not particularly difficult to swallow

Cuddles afterwards always. Or at least expect him to end up falling asleep cradling you in his arms

𝒞𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒟𝒾𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓃𝒹

He films the whole thing on his phone and has a whole album dedicated to it. And he’s sneaky about it too, you can hardly tell when he’s filming, unless he’s blatantly doing it which also adds to the excitement

Asked for nudes way too quickly

Sexting (shocking)

He’d have no reservations using his unique magic. Are both of his hands busy? No problem, he’ll use Split Card for another pair, sometimes several

Taking advantage of his unique magic, he’d try all sorts of things to push you over the brink.

I feel like he'd test to see how much stimuli you can stand with all his clones

He’d put your hair up if it’s long enough, and pull on it

Cater would also have an obscene amount of toys from the most popular ones to the most niche.

He’d also be down for pretty much anything, at least once

A little thicker, with a little more sour and salty taste.

𝒯𝓇𝑒𝓎 𝒞𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇

He'd definitely use doodle suit to make his and your cum taste like whipped cream

For this reason he loves eating you out and vice versa

Trey sucks on whatever he can. Your shoulder, your neck, your tits, your fingers. Treating them like sweet candy

He loves to have you clawing at his back and leaving scratch marks all over it, so he really likes missionary

He'll help you brush your teeth after giving him head

Best aftercare ever?? Like he'd whip up anything you'd like, run a hot bath for you, and tuck you in afterward, maybe even cuddle if you feel like it

Although Trey is very usually mild-mannered, this switches around with you. He can become quite rough as a way of stress relief if you give him permission. He'll slap you, yank on your hair, keep a sharp grasp on your hips and wrists

Trey is vocal, but not too loud.

He can make it taste and smell like anything, but it does have a thicker consistency

He'd often incorporate real food, as a form of temperature play and sitophilia. He'd pour a chilled drink over your body to lick it all up or place something sweet between your legs to eat you out

~~~~~~

[girlkisser13]

dating tim drake would include

• tim is really sweet. he’ll kiss you to welcome you home or say goodbye when he goes out on patrol and he’ll happily carry you to bed if you fall asleep on the sofa and makes sure to tell you that he loves you everyday.

• he hacks your computer sometimes (for good reasons though). like you’ll just turn on your computer/laptop and your background is changed to a picture of you and tim together. <33

• even though everyone knows that you’re dating he still gets quite flustered and is prone to blushing if you call him a pet name in front of others. (you’d definitely do this just to see him blush).

• tim has your coffee order memorized (no matter how complicated it is).

• tim is SUPER clingy when he’s sleepy, like he can be needy and just want to hug and kiss you all the time. they’re kinda sloppy because he’s tired but his lust for affection is still cute.

• he cuddles or hugs you any chance he gets to make up for the many hours he spends on his computer away from you.

• since he’s a detective, he notices every detail including anything off about yourself. if something is wrong he will notice immediately no matter how good you are at hiding it, afterward he’d do pretty much anything to make you feel better. (even leave his computer for a day or so).

• he notices everything about you. favorite flower, favorite color, he always seems to notice that you’re cold even before you do and wraps his jacket around you. that intense focus can be a lot, sometimes, a bit overwhelming even. but at the same time you’re touched that he just seems so interested in everything about you. he wants to learn every last detail about you and is willing to take the time to do so.

• tim works really hard and doesn’t keep regular sleep patterns as a result, which means it’s up to you to make sure he gets proper sleep most of the time. plus, you’re one of the few people he actually listens to since you’re basically his favourite person. <33

• you have to learn most of his sweet spots to use against him whenever you’re trying to drag him away from the computer for a break.

• he remembers important dates even if it’s last minute— he still remembers. anniversaries, birthdays, you name it and if it’s anything to do with you then he’ll remember it and usually buys the best gifts for you.

• he celebrates the most ridiculous anniversaries, and he always remembers them. like, “it’s been one year since the first time you held my hand” or “it’s been a month since we went to that fair and rode the ferris wheel”.

• he lets you play with his hair and it’s so entertaining, he doesn’t mind and finds it relaxing when you run your fingers through it, he always checks to see what he looks like after you’ve styled it whether it be a man bun, ponytail, or braids. you told him that he looked good in a loose ponytail once and you he didn’t take it out for whole day.

• the two of you get take out food at least once a week because tim cannot cook to save his life, he just gets too distracted and the food gets burnt. he will also take time just to eat with you and ask about your day rather than work or will watch tv with you.

• tim LOVES watching detective shows with you but but sometimes it can get annoying because will usually ruin the ending by telling you who the criminal is and the exact reasons for his motives so it’s difficult to ignore the fact he just destroyed the next 45 minutes for you.

• he’s a literal genius so if you need help with anything he is on it, he’s actually written your essays for you before but you know that you couldn’t pass them off as your own because it’s not your writing style and you redo them using his basic ideas. you’re very appreciative of his assistance but tell him he doesn’t need to do that for you. however, he shakes it off as if it was nothing.

• he loves you and your acceptance of his coffee loving and sleep-deprived ways. <33

[crescenthistory]

Okay, Fine, Maybe We're In Love!

Pairing: Regulus Black x Reader

Summary: Part 3 to Totally Just the Fifth and Sixth Wheel and Still Just Totally the Fifth and Sixth Wheel, You Guys. Regulus' resolve is crumbling, you are starting to realise the others might have a point, and there is a Quidditch game against Ravenclaw today.

Words: 6.7k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, use of y/n, pining as per usual, bickering/banter/teasing, minor injury, minor fight, public displays of affection, best friends to lovers, mental spiraling over feelings, possible inaccurate depiction of quidditch, background dorlene and rosekiller

Note: this is so much later than i promised, BUT it's also longer so... fair deal? it's been so sweet how many of you requested this one, hope it lives up to your expectations<3 final part

Regulus rarely had dreams that were not nightmares, but when he did, they were of you.

Something he never gave much thought to, it was a given for him – he spent most of his waking time with you, it only makes sense that you sneak into his dreams. If you were bathed in a soft, ethereal glow in each one, Regulus did not let himself notice.

As he turned in his emerald sheets, face twisting into the pillow, consciousness started its pull on him while his mind still remained in his dream, you were all he saw.

The dream had started simply. It was you and him, sitting on one of the low stone walls on the castle grounds, somewhere half-hidden by ivy, a soft breeze rustling through the trees. Away from pestering friends and professors, just the two of you, finally allowing peace to settle in his heart. Your knee was brushing his from where you sat close by him, and your scent was filling his nose, in an overwhelming way he did not quite think possible. You were talking to him, but Regulus had no idea what you were saying, only that you were laughing and your hand was on his shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He was saying something to you, and you smiled at him, all brightness and warmth, the one he knew you reserved for people you actually trusted. It glowed in a hazy way he knew to be the product of the dream he was becoming increasingly aware was a dream, but he let himself bask in it. The way you looked at him – really looked at him, eyes dark and deep and full of something he didn’t know if he was allowed to name – made his chest tighten. He felt your fingers curl slightly into his arm, pulling him closer, and he knew he could lean in and–

In the surreal way dreams sometimes shift, he was in the middle of kissing you. Hands already cupping your face, holding onto you like a lifeline. Your lips were soft and he was floating with a strange weightlessness as he fell deeper and deeper into you, like you were the only real thing in the world and a world in and of yourself all at the same time. You responded to him with gentle sighs against his lips that filled his mind and turned it into a whirlwind. Your hands were scorching hot against him as you pulled him closer, a heat that should hurt but instead was something he savoured. It was warm and sweet and completely, blissfully easy, like something he had done a thousand times.

It was a moment that felt like it should stretch on forever, never-ending, but with a thud on the horizon of his consciousness, your face was replaced with his pillow and your arms with his duvet.

Sigh.

For a few brief, hazy moments, he half-expected to open his eyes and see you there beside him, maybe giving him that slightly incredulous look you got whenever you thought he had done something too sentimental. Like a deer caught in headlights. Instead, all he saw was the dim light of his dorm room, and he realised with building force that it had been a dream. Better yet, that he was dreaming about kissing you. His lips tingled with the ghost of that kiss, as if you had actually been there, as if he could just close his eyes and fall back into it. Into you.

Regulus swallowed, his chest tightening as the dream slipped further from his reach, leaving only the hollow ache of waking up. Kissing you was the last thing he should be thinking about – you were his best friend, dammit, someone who kept insisting that friends were all you were. It was clear cut. Yet, that was all he had been thinking, and now dreaming, about ever since Hogsmeade. If he was being honest with himself, he had for years, he just had not allowed himself to acknowledge it. Minds are fickle things, what they conjure up after dark holds no merit. Yet his heart was the one getting increasingly involved, and that was harder to ignore.

Propping himself up on his elbow he looked towards his canopy as if it held an answer to his predicament. When all he was met with was silence, he shook his head as if it would knock out his thoughts, curls messily spilling into his vision.

It's nothing. It's stupid. Ignore it.

No matter how many times he told himself it was just a stupid dream, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way your hand had rested on his shoulder, the softness of your lips, the warmth of your smile. The dream lingered just out of reach, but when he imagined himself grabbing at it, all he saw was you.

Bollocks.

"Oi, Reg!"

Regulus looked up to where Barty was sitting on his own bed, already tying his shoelaces and grinning at him through the green strands of hair falling into his eyes. "What's got you in a tizzy, mate? You look like someone hexed your pillow."

"It's not like you to be the last to wake up," Evan grumbled from behind him, working on buttoning his pants.

"And what a joy it is to wake up to the two of you," Regulus commented dryly before he wiped his hands harshly over his face, slinging his legs out to hit the ground.

"I'm glad you acknowledge it," Barty grinned. "Now, what'cha dream about?" There was a knowing gleam in his eyes that made Regulus roll his own.

"The match. Which I should be getting ready for."

It was gameday, Ravenclaw against Slytherin. A match that usually was considered in the bag, but the Ravenclaw team had truly been challenging everyone this year. Their beaters had grown aggressive and the other seeker was fast. It had been on his mind for the week leading up to it, so really, Regulus told himself, he wasn't really lying.

Nothing gets past Junior though.

"Cute deflection. Did you practise it in the mirror?" Barty asked smugly, continuing without waiting for a response. "We're more or less ready, we're just waiting for your dreamy arse."

"Glad to know you think my arse is dreamy," Regulus replied at the same time as Evan slapped Barty in the back of the head with his quidditch gloves.

"Ugh, you know what I mean!" Barty flopped back onto his bed, just as patient as always. "Hurry up now!"

Regulus had his strict morning routines to fall into, which he always thanked himself for when he woke up frazzled like this. He knew what steps to do when and how to speed up the process, allowing him to grasp onto a sense of control that always calmed his nerves.

Yet, you were still ravaging his mind.

What you were doing, who you were with. If you remembered to set aside time to meet up with him before the game, even though the two of you always did and you had never once forgotten. If he could get there – the stone wall outside the locker rooms – a bit earlier than you today to properly gather himself before he sees you.

If he would have the guts to kiss you.

That last thought he shook out of his head, trying to imagine it falling out of his ears and disappearing like a Healer once told him to when he divulged his struggles with intrusive thoughts. It usually helped, but did little for him today as the idea of kissing you kept falling back into the forefront of his mind. I can't, I can't, I can't.

I want to.

"You have that look on your face again." Barty once more cut into Regulus' mind's inner workings, gazing at him with interest from where his head was hanging upside down from the edge of his bed. Regulus was hurrying his way through his routine and barely spared him a glance, accustomed to his antics.

"What look?" He forced any hint of his emotional turmoil from his expression in preparation, as he began to pack his quidditch gear bag.

"I'm asking you," Barty drawled. "I already know, I'm just interested in if you know."

At the same time, Evan shot in from where he was waiting by the door. "You look like you're hoping someone is willing to go to Azkaban just to put you out of whatever misery you believe yourself to be in."

"Aren't you two cheery today?"

"Following your beautiful example, my boy." Barty grinned, moving to grab his bag as he could tell Regulus was almost ready. "Still can't believe we got up before you. I'm disappointed in you, for shame."

"Yeah, yeah," Regulus muttered. "You didn't have to get up yet, though, I always head off to the pitch before you."

Evan gave him a knowing look as the three of them moved towards the common room. "No, you always head off to meet with your good luck charm before the games."

"Tell our lovely Y/N that we say hi, by the way." Barty shot him another wide grin as he plopped down in an armchair by the exit. "We'll be focusing on the actual game plan."

Regulus chose to ignore the first part. "Your only game plan today is to keep those bloody Ravenclaw beaters off their brooms."

The groan that escaped Barty was entirely too loud and dramatic. "Salazar, they are annoying me."

"Then do something about it." Regulus gave him a pat on the shoulder as he began to move away, nodding to Evan who was sat too far away. "I'm off."

"Have fun with your girl!" Barty called as he exited, and he could barely hear him giggle to Evan about it before the door shut behind him.

Lovely silence. Regulus stood still and breathed it in for a second, but with Barty's voice out of his ears, it only gave ample space for yours to fill his head instead.

The walk to your usual meeting place felt like a practised choreography, his heart beating harder on the way up. Though you often laughed about how meeting outside is inconvenient, given the tendency for bad weather in Scotland, he was grateful for it today as he hoped the fresh air would clear his mind of you. Or at the very least, of kissing you.

It seemed that as much as you were an angel in his dreams, you were a bit devilish in reality, because when he turned the corner to your spot you were already there, leaning against the wall with that easy confidence you seemed to wear only in his presence, reading a book to pass the time.

"There's our seeker!" You greeted him with a hug and he fought back any panic in his face over your shoulder as he breathed you in, hands splayed delicately over your back.

"Good morning, love," he all but whispered back.

You pulled away from him all too quickly, leaning back against the wall with a mischievous smile that always seemed to undo him a little. "Ready to kick some Ravenclaw ass?"

Despite his hummingbird heart, the ease of being around you settled into his body at the sight of your smile, and it took him no effort to mirror it. "As ready as one can be."

"I mean, all you have to do is find a teeny-tiny golden sphere flying through the sky at high speeds. Easy, yeah?"

He loved when you were in your more sassy moods. He loved how you looked at him when you were. He loved–

"Super easy," he laughed. "That's why I always catch it."

You scoffed in place of saying well, duh and looked at him with mirth in your eyes. "Always?"

"Are you doubting me, amour?" If he didn't know better, Regulus would say your breath hitched at the nickname. Why would it, though, he calls you that all the time?

"Do I have any reason to?" you shot back, leaning a bit into him as if he would let you in on a secret.

"No, not when I have a pretty girl like you cheering me on in the stands." He said it breezily, feigning nonchalance, but studied your reaction intently. He revelled when he saw the faint pinch of your cheeks at that, indicating a blush, glad that he has some effect on you, too.

"Are you calling me your good luck charm, Black?" Regulus couldn't bite back the laugh at that.

"You know, Evan called you that earlier today as well."

You cocked a brow at him. "Really? Pray tell why?"

This time it was Regulus' turn to blush a little, and though he hoped you wouldn't notice, he also knew deep in his bones that you would. "Just him and Barty messing around as usual. They say hi by the way."

"I'll see them on the pitch in less than an hour," you laughed at your friends' antics. Any leftover tension in his shoulders eased out at the sound.

"You know how they are." Regulus' smile softened as he turned his body towards yours were it was leaned against the raw stone.

"Some causes are lost, indeed," you chortled. "Much like this game, of course, which Ravenclaw lost ages ago."

"That's the spirit of a true luck charm. Keep that up in the stands, yeah?"

"Of course. What can I say, I take my job very seriously."

When Regulus looked at you through his laughter, he knew you must be able to see every emotion flashing across his face. He could never hide, not from you. He let his eyes travel across your face, taking in every beautiful divot and crevice, fighting the urge to reach out and caress them with his fingers. What he could not fight, though, was his eyes flickering to your lips, memories of how they felt against his in his dream rushing through him once more. It would be so easy to reach forward and slot them with his, you were already standing closer than most people would. Even best friends like the two of you, and Gods, when Regulus thought that, he knew in his heart he did not just want to be best friends with you.

He almost did it, he swears he almost closed that gap – but then he looked up and met your eyes once more, saw the understanding, the confusion and the hesitation there, and he was knocked off course.

With a rough clearing of his throat, he broke the spell that had captured the two of you, even if just for a moment. "I should probably head off to meet with the team soon," he said, embarrassed at how raw his voice sounded.

You shook your head a little, clearing your own mind, and Regulus imagined thoughts falling from your ears. He desperately wanted to know what they were.

"No rest for the wicked?" you said with a smile, and he was almost jealous at how at ease you seemed.

"Not with the way Ravenclaw's been playing, no."

"You'll do great, Reg. As always." The softness of your voice did not go by him and his smile grew more genuine and assured.

"Thanks, amour. I'll look for you in the stands."

"And you'll find me there, probably surrounded by pestering friends and freezing my arse off." You all but giggled, and an idea formed in his head at impressive speed.

"Well, I can't have that," he laughed. Before he could think better of it, he opened his quidditch bag and pulled out his quidditch jersey. "Here, take this. It'll keep you warm for me."

His heart was hammering in his chest, but he managed to keep his hand steady as it held the Slytherin jersey between you. It was far from the first time you wore his clothes – though usually it would be classified more as stealing than just wearing – but he was aware that this type of hand-off held a different charge. The tradition of wearing your partner's jersey during their games was tried and true at Hogwarts. He could tell by the way your eyes flitted almost nervously from his jersey to his face, searching for an answer, that you felt the same way. By some miracle of courage, his resolve didn't falter.

At last, you put him out of his misery as you chuckled a little, taking the jumper from his hands, feeling the soft wool against your skin. "There'll be no confusing who I'm cheering on now," you said cheekily, turning the jersey over to where his name and number were printed in bold.

"Don't think there ever was any, to be honest," Regulus shrugged at you. "But if so, we have to set the record straight. What if Ravenclaw tries to steal you?"

"Can you imagine how much flack I'll get from your brother and his friends for wearing this?" you laughed, contradicting your own joking concern by beginning to pull it on over your own clothes.

Regulus furrowed his brows, unable to defeat the pang of insecurity in his chest. "If you're worried, you don't have to–"

"No, I want to. You gave it to me, it's mine now," you reassured him, holding your arms up in faux defence against him. Regulus let out a relieved laugh.

"Gonna have to go get a new extra one after this, I see."

"Clever boy."

He began backing away from you ever so slowly, face still turned towards yours with a smile. "I'll see you up there then?"

"Warm and toasty," you agreed, smiling brightly at him. "Break a leg."

Regulus stopped in his tracks, tilting his head at you, confused. "Why would you want me to break a leg?"

You shook your head at him with a smile. "You're such a pureblood. It means good luck."

"Ah, in that case, I'll break all my bones."

"Not what I meant!" you call after him, and just before he walks out of sight, he gives you a quick wink.

You're grateful that he is not around to see the flush that takes over your cheeks.

You're left reeling for several moments more than you're proud of. What just happened?

With your head still spinning, you headed off to the stands, feeling the weight of Regulus’ jersey on your shoulders like a warm reminder of that moment. Your fingers tugged at the edges of the jersey, trying to steady yourself, but every time you remembered the look in Regulus' eyes, the corner of his lips curving up just slightly as he handed it to you, your stomach flipped over itself. You had not allowed yourself to believe your feelings for him ran so deep, not until this moment, anyway.

Maybe you always knew, though, if you were being honest. Maybe you had always ignored it, because the alternative was terrifying.

Arriving at the stands, you spotted your friends instantly. Marlene waved you over, grinning, while James and Sirius were huddled close on each side of Remus, gesticulating wildly to each other about something. The latter looked prepared to be accidentally hit in the face any minute now. Peter was probably putting money on the match, judging by the low tones and suspicious glances he kept sending around. Lily and Mary were sharing a large Gryffindor scarf, leaning into each other for warmth.

“Oh, look who’s gracing us with her presence!” James shouted, dramatically clapping a hand to his heart as you arrived, while Remus, Mary and Lily each greeted you more quietly with soft smiles.

“And with a certain someone’s name on her back!” Marlene pointed out with a smirk, eyeing Regulus' jersey with devilish amusement.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could explain, Sirius zeroed in on it, eyes lighting up with mischief. “Is that my darling baby brother’s jersey?”

"He wouldn't like you calling him that," you said simply, taking your seat on the bench in front of the three boys and Marlene, painfully aware that it put the back of your jersey in their direct line of sight. Beside you sat Mary and Lily, whose smiles were warm but no less teasing.

"I'm not under the impression he much likes anything these days," Sirius huffed petulantly.

"Except you." Remus mumbled it so quietly you almost missed it, but you didn't. Neither did James and Marlene, if their snickers were anything to go off of.

"So," Marlene drawled, poking you slightly in the back. You have spent a decent chunk of time with her as of late through Dorcas, which unfortunately meant she had joined in on the teasing. "Is Regulus aware of you representing him loud and proud, or is this a bout of kleptomania we should be worried about?"

"You should always be worried, McKinnon. With shiny jewellery like yours, a confrontation with one of our household nifflers is bound to happen." You looked over your shoulder and smiled at her to show you mean no harm.

"You have household nifflers?" Mary asked curiously.

"Barty," chorused you, Marlene, Remus and Sirius with decreasing humour and increasing worry in that order. “And Pandora,” you added.

"And if you must know," you sighed while biting back a smile. "Regulus willingly gave me his jersey when I complained of the cold in the stands. You know these things are better adjusted to the climate." You waved the sleeve of the jersey slightly to demonstrate your point.

"Ah, what a true gentleman." Sirius' grin was bordering on wolfish. "I raised him right, I see."

Remus elbowed him, causing Sirius to dramatically fake a fall into Marlene. "You cannot teach what you don't know, dear Pads."

You smiled at how much more seamless your integration into the friend group felt, a true display of the work the Black brothers had put in. Though, you knew it would feel better if the younger of the two was here too.

At the thought, you turned your gaze towards the field, spying for a glimpse of your friends.

"Any thoughts on the game?" you asked absentmindedly to steer the conversation away.

"My only thought is that if those Ravenclaw beaters send even one bludger at Cas I will obliterate them next game." Marlene's words were laced with a malice you knew she was not scared to act on.

"Sentiment's shared," you all but whispered.

Sirius leaned forward – across poor Remus, mind you – to jostle your shoulders slightly. "Don't worry, bub, Reggie's the furthest away from action one can be."

"I'm not worried," you said simply, no reaction at practically being manhandled.

"I am!" Mary said then. "Quidditch's violent enough as is, we don't need Marlene and Sirius to have a vendetta for their next game."

"I've always found they play their best when they have a vendetta," James said through a sheepish smile. "Maybe some revenge-worthy offences would be helpful."

"Oi! You wishin' assault on my darling baby brother?"

With that, some more tussling occurred behind you, but you didn't deign to look around, just sighing through a smile. "Let me know if you need to escape to the front bench, Lupin," you threw over your shoulder.

"Don't mind if I do." His voice was already much closer to you as you saw the lanky boy scrambling into your right field of vision.

You turned to look at him half-incredulously, laughing when he wore what must be a mirrored expression. When he chuckled along with you, the lines around his eyes crinkled.

"Look at the in-laws cahooting together," Marlene cooed from beside Sirius and James, unaffected by their scuffle.

Remus' hand stretched over your shoulder towards Marlene in some gesture you couldn't see. Her gasp clued you in on what it was, though.

At last, you saw the small green figures walk out on the pitch, brooms in hand. You could barely make out Barty trying to climb onto Evan's shoulders, while Regulus and Dorcas were chatting, faces turned towards the stands.

You couldn't help the skip of your heart or the immediate grin that took over your face as you waved – as casually as possible, due to current company – to them both. Perhaps mostly the former, though.

Even from a distance, you could see how Regulus lit up, waving back at you in a more dramatic gesture than you would expect from him. At the same time, Marlene stood up behind you and wolf-whistled at Dorcas, waving at her with even more theatrics. The poor girl on the pitch turned her face away, whether to laugh or cringe you were unsure, before she gave a small wave back.

"You're really going for it, Marls," James commented happily.

"With more success than you've ever had, Jamie."

Suddenly Marlene was included in the squabble behind you.

On the pitch, the teams lined up in front of each other and mounted their brooms before flying into formation. Ravenclaw blue and Slytherin green decorated the otherwise grey skies adorning Hogwarts' landscapes today.

"Welcome to this most anticipated match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin!" Pandora's voice floated through the stadium, somehow still as elegant while booming. "A match where I must admit I am conflicted, my house versus my twin, but alas today is not about me."

Her light oddities brought a sense of familiar calmness through you as Pandora began to outline the scores so far in the season and what this match would mean. You wonder if that was why she was chosen as commentator.

When she introduced Slytherin's team, you beamed with pride, paying closer attention. "And of course we have the stoic Regulus Black, who is looking rather dashing in his green jersey, which the lovely Y/N has dutifully matched today it seems."

Just like that, calmness was replaced by a painful flush shooting across your face, both at the incredibly public comment and the immediate hoots and hollers and yeahs that exploded from behind you.

The unsuppressed giggle from Pandora revealed her intentions. Clearly, she's spent too much time with Barty, you decided.

"He is rather dashing, isn't he, Y/N?" James asked from behind you.

"If you spent more of your time complimenting Evans, maybe she'd actually go out with you," you said drily. To emphasise your point and feeling perhaps emboldened by the Gryffindor bravado that engulfed you, you looked at both Mary and Lily. "You two look beautiful today, by the way."

The girls smirked at you and you could hear James guffawing behind you.

Remus bumped his knee against yours with a sly smile. "I must say, you're fitting right in with your in-laws."

"Don't start," was all you offered, but your smile held more warmth after that. Remus held up his hands in a display of innocence, but his laugh betrayed any pretence.

The sound of the whistle alerted you all to the game being in motion.

Players zoomed across the field at speeds that would tighten any friend's heart, gracing you with some silence from those around you as everyone zeroed in on the game. Regulus flew around the pitch, keeping out of the way, but close enough to pay attention. You could tell how alert he was even from a distance, ready to twist after the snitch at any given moment, even before it came into play.

Pandora continued her commentary with her typical flights of fancy, describing the players’ movements like they were graceful choreographies and making odd analogies that half the stadium likely didn’t follow. “Ah, and Ravenclaw’s beater winds up to swing like a very determined house elf polishing silver. Look at that tenacity!”

Regulus looked so in his element out there, still his assertive, poised self, but with a decisive ruggedness about him. It almost made you want to play alongside him, to witness this version of him as well.

With the years you had found you wanted to see every version of Regulus.

Even with your distractedness by overwhelming emotion that just wouldn't stay away like you instructed it to, you saw the moment Regulus caught sight of the snitch. His body gave little reaction as to not give away that he had seen it, but the increased speed and determinism of his broom could not be mistaken.

You found yourself sitting on the edge of your seat, watching his every move. You could hear the exact moment James, Marlene and Sirius – in that order – recognised it as well.

"Come on, Reggie," Sirius whispered. You weren't sure if he knew he had said it.

With your eyes fixated on Regulus, you barely registered when the Ravenclaw team realised the snitch had been spotted. Their seeker hauled around, following Regulus, but she was too slow. Excitement built in your chest, victory within Regulus' reach. The small golden sphere was close to his broom now, enough that Regulus made to grasp at it, when another ball came into view, bigger and darker.

The bludger collided into Regulus' elbow. A second one immediately went for his head, which he was barely able to dodge, but it still made connection with his upper chest.

You jumped up from where you stood, a yell of fear and protest already making its way out of your lungs before you could think. A collective gasp went through the crowd before the stands erupted in boos at the clear foul.

In the skies, Regulus barely kept his balance on his broom before Dorcas was at his side, stabilising him. You could see him flinch when she accidentally grabbed at his hurt elbow. The whistle went off before any further developments in the game could occur. For a moment you thought it was due to Regulus' injury, before you caught sight of Barty and Evan engaged in mid-air fist-fights with the Ravenclaw beaters.

Good.

As Dorcas steered Regulus downwards to the Healer's station on the side of the pitch, underneath a makeshift rooftop, there were few thoughts that went through your head other than Regulus' name.

Regulus, Regulus, Regulus.

Which is the only explanation you had for why you ran out of the stands with no hesitation nor explanation.

You could barely hear Sirius and the others call after you, but you were already taking the stairs three at a time, making your way down to the pitch – making your way to the Healer's station. Your brain didn't turn on again before you saw Regulus, already sitting down beside the 7th year interns of Madam Pomfrey who were wrapping up his elbow.

His face was wrung up in a pained grimace, which he quickly tried to school away once he saw you, eyes widening. He waved the healers off with his good arm and stood up a bit wobbly as you ran up to him.

"Regulus," you breathed out as you stopped before him.

"Amour, I–" he started, but you cut him off as you grabbed at his chin to move his face around and look for pain or injury. You tugged his jersey down slightly to take a look at the purple bruising spreading beneath his collarbone.

"Those absolute fucking bastards," you murmured, fingers tracing lightly over the colouring that kept all of your attention.

Regulus brought his good hand up to your own chin, tilting it so that your eyes were on his once more, small smile hidden within his irises. "I'm alright," he whispered.

"No, you're beaten literally black and blue," you huffed.

"I'll be alright, though." His face aimed at being reassuring, but it was difficult through the pain. "I've been given pain potion, healing cream and they episkey’d my–"

"Those tossers broke your bones?!" you cut him off incredulously at the mention of the healing spell.

"You did tell me to break them before, did you not?" Regulus said teasingly. You realised his hand migrated from your chin to the side of your jaw when he brushed his thumb calmingly over it once.

You narrowed your gaze at him. "Not. What. I. Meant." You punctuated each word with a poke to the non-bruised side of his chest.

"I'm alright," he repeated softly. You still wanted him to say it one more time.

"Black!" The referee called and you both turned around, like a deer caught in headlights. "Will you be good to return to the game or do you need a reserve to take over?" Behind him, the Ravenclaw beaters and Barty and Evan had finally been separated and quickly patched up. You hope episkey was needed for those two as well.

"I'm good!" he called at the same time as you said "Reserve!" You whipped your face around to look at him incredulously.

"Regulus. You are injured."

"I'm patched up and there's just a few minutes left anyway. I'd go crazy if I didn't finish this game, amour." Regulus was so attentive when he reassured you, returning his hand to your face, massaging at the back of your neck.

"And what do you think would happen to me if you went back out? I'll go crazy." You felt almost childish as you said it, like a 5 year old stomping your foot, but you felt justified in it nonetheless.

"It'll be alright. I'll catch the snitch and come right back to you, yeah?"

He was already starting to pull away from you as he said it, to return to the pitch. It was only then you realised you had stood nearly flush against each other. Your hand shot out to grasp at the side of his jersey.

"Y/N–" Regulus started.

You cut him off with a kiss.

It was soft despite the tension in your body and your knuckles whitening from the strength of your grip on him. His lips were cold from flying, but responded to yours in an instant. It was brief in its sweetness, but sweet all the same.

You pulled away and took a step back immediately, hands dropping at each of your sides. Regulus stared at you dumbly.

"Was that– was that to keep me off the broom?" he asked carefully. You almost wanted to say yes from the possible willingness in his voice.

You just smiled at him. "It was for good luck. Since you clearly can't be trusted with my muggle idioms."

A slow grin spread across his face at the same time as the referee called his name more harshly. "Okay," he whispered, seemingly awestruck as he backed away from you for the second time that day. "Okay, I'll be back in a moment, promise," he said more loudly.

Behind him Dorcas was grinning at you over her shoulder as she walked away from the edge of the tent. You felt bad you hadn’t realised she was near, but it didn’t seem like it bothered her at the time, smug happiness evident in her features.

How Regulus was able to play with a bruised collarbone and a just-repaired elbow you had no idea. Yet you knew he had done worse, so it shouldn't surprise you even as it horrified you to no end. You remained in the Healer's tent, shielded from view in the stands, and chewing on the side of your thumb as you watched Regulus' every move in the sky. The beaters were still on him, but so were Barty and Evan, more incessant than ever. You all but flinched when Regulus reached out once more with his injured arm, and the sigh that took over your body when his gloved fingers closed around the snitch was nothing but pure relief.

The stadium burst into loud cheers and you could vaguely make out Pandora's melodic voice over the roar, but it all fell on deaf ears. Your eyes were locked with Regulus' from the moment the players neared the ground.

While worry still clenched in your heart, now that Regulus was officially safe, the shock of what you did was able to wash over you.

You kissed Regulus. He kissed you back. He smiled. He seemed okay with it. What the fuck? Your mind was going a mile a minute as you kept looking at him, recognising to the fullest extent how his tousled hair makes your heart spin, how you longed for his presence in your arms in every form of the word. It was both disorientating and oddly familiar to you. Natural. Right.

You swallowed it up as the players landed.

When their boots hit the pitch, Evan and Dorcas physically collided into a hug in a way that must have hurt, practically screaming in victory as they shook each other.

Likewise, Barty was on Regulus, but it seemed for a different reason. Mindful of his injuries, Barty lifted Regulus up by the waist, spinning him around twice while yelling something along the lines of "Took you bloody long enough!" before all but launching him towards the Healer's tent – towards you.

"Fucking finally!" Barty once more screeched cheerily behind him as Regulus used the momentum from Barty's manhandling to jog towards you. "Finally!" Then he turned around and joined Evan and Dorcas' howling.

Regulus smiled as he came up towards you and when you opened your arms for a hug, his hands went up to cup your face and he went straight for the kiss.

You melted against his body, holding one arm around his waist and another at the nape of his neck. This kiss was longer, deeper, in a way that made your stomach flip and toes curl. It felt real. It felt like it meant something.

"Sorry, I wanted to be the first to do it," Regulus mumbled against your lips. He pulled away slightly, body still flush against yours as he studied your face curiously. "I– You want this? You want me?"

"I've always wanted you, Reg," you whispered.

His eyes flitted between yours, your eyebrows, your lips, even your nose and the way it crinkled slightly. "Like this?" His voice was raw and honest, laying everything bare.

"Yeah," you laughed almost tearily. "Like this."

He smiled as he brought you in for another kiss before scattering them rapidly around your lips, your cheeks, your nose, crinkling it once more. You laughed against him and it felt perfectly right.

Regulus flinched a little when he tried to tighten his hold on you and his elbow collided with yours. You immediately sobered up.

"We're going to Pomfrey's," you declared, stroking a hand up and down his back consolingly. "Now."

"I just have to finish up with the team first–" He tried, but you cut him off.

"You won the game for the team, I think you've done enough." You smiled knowingly, but the sternness did not leave you. "We are going to get you properly patched up and receive in-depth instructions on how to deal with the injuries."

Regulus nodded, reluctance fading away. "Okay. I just have to let Sirius know I'm okay first."

You sighed, indulgence flickering through your eyes. "You're impossible."

"Got it from him."

"We'll check in with Sirius and then head off to the infirmary." You were mapping out the plan in your head and Regulus stared at you fondly. You cheekily added, "I can't very well kiss this better."

Regulus’s eyes softened, a warm glow flooding his gaze. His voice was quiet, tone raw. “Could you please try anyway?”

You shook your head fondly at him. Slowly, you brought him down for a lingering kiss, breathing him in.

Regulus was smiling against your lips when a wolf-whistle pierced your silence.

"Is the gig finally up then?" Sirius called. 

You both turned your heads, still all up in each other's space to see Sirius strolling up to you, friends in tow. Marlene was guilty of the whistling and bore matching grins with Sirius, James and Remus.

Regulus looked down at you, almost as if to check if you're okay with it. Upon your indulgent smile, he turned back towards his brother and said, "Okay, fine, maybe we're in love!"