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synopsis: she didn't want to call it off. but you didn't want to call it love. and now, you do all you can to stop the feeling.
content warnings: modern au, cursing, present-day ellie and reader are in their late 20s/in their 30s, present-day reader is married to a man, cheating, reader is a closeted lesbian with severe compulsory heterosexuality, homophobia (internalized AND externalized) and transphobia (strap-on is belittled in comparison to a penis), use of homophobic slur, dina is really mean to reader (reader deserves it), descriptions of alcohol, SMUT, dom top!ellie, sub!bottom reader, strap-on sex, ellie refers to her strap-on as her "cock", semi-public sex, ass slapping, slight nipple play, praise kink, degradation kink, slight orgasm denial, slight breeding kink, reader has a vagina, minors do not interact
word count: 7k
based on the chappell roan song "good luck, babe!"
we will see a free palestine
keep the lesbian flag creator alive
Absent-mindedly swirling the whiskey in her glass, Ellie’s ocean green eyes stare at the football game playing on the television hanging behind the bar. The guys in yellow and red seemed to be losing to the guys in purple and gold. She’d never been a sports girl, but it was better than causing yet another unnecessary anxiety attack by scrolling through social media on her phone. Her right hand twitches now and again to reach for it inside her jeans, but she resists the temptation.
After one of the teams seems to score a touchdown, Ellie clicks her tongue and downs the rest of her drink. She flags down the bartender and silently requests a refill with a quick gesture. The bartender nods and heads in the opposite direction to fill her glass, her ocean green eyes instinctively following him as he walks away. Before her gaze returns to the boring football game, something across the bar catches her attention: a beautiful woman leaning on the bar top, chatting with a tall man towering over her.
The man speaks animatedly as he flashes the woman his perfect, pearly white teeth. The woman elegantly crosses her bare right leg over her left. To a casual observer, the woman is very obviously listening to her companion with rapt attention. But Ellie was not a casual observer.
Ellie notices the woman’s eyes glossing over and her tight-lipped smile and how her laugh is cleverly forced. Ellie’s slitted eyebrow raises when the woman suddenly takes the man by the collar and plants her mouth on his. Ellie doesn’t notice that the bartender has placed her drink in front of her, her stare focused on the couple shamelessly making out in public.
Eventually, the woman releases the man’s collar and softly pushes him back. The expression on his face appears shocked but pleased with himself. Finally picking up her glass of whiskey, Ellie lets out a dry chuckle before taking a generous sip. The man doesn’t notice the woman’s half-eyed gaze, her cagey grimace, her twitching fingers. But Ellie does.
The man leans in to whisper something in the woman’s ear. Ellie holds in a mirthless laugh upon seeing the woman rolling her eyes slightly in disdain, an act completely imperceptible to her companion.
The man leans back before handing his phone to the woman. She stares at it blankly for a few moments before taking it and quickly typing something. She hands it back to the man, and Ellie mentally notes how she carefully avoids brushing her fingers against his.
The man smirks before muttering some kind of farewell and walking away. The woman nods and waves him goodbye, a wedding band on her ring finger glinting brightly under the bar’s dingy lights.
When the man finally rejoins his friends in a dark, far-away corner of the bar, the woman no longer bothers to mask the look of displeasure on her face. She sighs as she turns back around to the bar top, taking out a compact from her purse. She spends a few moments staring at her reflection in the tiny mirror as she fixes her smudged lipstick.
Ellie continues to watch boldly as the woman closes her compact with a heavy sigh. The despondent, empty look on her face is one Ellie hasn’t seen in years. It almost tugs at Ellie’s heartstrings to watch such a sad image before her. Almost.
The woman sighs once more as she shakes her head softly, shoves the tiny mirror back into her purse, and throws on a false, plastic smile. She raises a couple of fingers to wave the bartender down her way, quickly muttering her drink order. The bartender nods before placing two shot glasses in front of her, filling them both to the brim with tequila.
Giving a silent thanks, the woman takes one between her fingers and promptly downs it. She quietly slams the glass back onto the wooden bar top, her face twisting in mild aversion to the liquid courage. She starts to reach for the second shot when she finally realizes that she’s being watched.
Your panicked eyes widen in utter shock when they meet Ellie’s ocean green ones. Your bottom lip quivers as her top lip curves up in a smirk. You try to turn away, but Ellie holds your stare as she gets off her barstool to make her way to you.
You take in her appearance as she saunters over, the image of a woman you once knew so well many years ago. Her auburn hair was shorter in its shaggy mullet cut, her lean arms seemingly more muscular, the air about her more confident than you knew it to be. Her much more intimidating presence only worsens your dread. When she finally finds herself in front of you, you only get a quick glimpse of the smug look on her face before you tear your eyes away to stare at your trembling fingers.
You’ve already deduced that she witnessed the past few minutes, that your unscrupulous actions did not go unseen. And though you were refusing to meet her gaze, you know that Ellie is once again staring right at your silver wedding ring.
She takes a seat on the barstool to the left of you, glass of whiskey still in her hand. She takes a few more sips before finally speaking, her rough and husky voice creating a hole at the bottom of your stomach.
“Hey, babe.”
“Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck!” you screamed breathlessly.
Your hands clung desperately onto each of the car’s headrests, your breasts spilling out of your shirt and hovering above the console. Ellie’s fingers were gripping your hips, relentlessly fucking you back onto her in determination. Your mouth hung open as moans of bliss spilled shamelessly from your lips. The windows of Ellie’s truck would have, no doubt, been fogged up completely if it weren’t for the open car sunroof.
“Yeah, right there… Just like that, baby… Fuck…” Ellie groaned as she felt your bare ass slap loudly against her thighs.
Her strap was buried deep inside your pussy, completely drenched with your sticky cum. Ellie bit her bottom lip while she concentrated on roughly pumping herself into you and stretching your cunt out even further. The louder and more borderline pornographic your moans got, the sloppier Ellie became as she fucked you dumb.
“You like that, baby?” she breathed cockily.
“F-fuck! Fuck, yes! Yes, I love it!”
“I know you do, fucking slut. Take it, fucking take it.”
The entire truck shook as she increased the pace of her thrusts. It was incredibly fortunate that it was early evening and you were parked in a woodsy area in the middle of nowhere; your screams alone could be heard from miles away.
“You’re being such a good girl for me,” Ellie praised. “Such a good fucking girl.”
“I’m your good girl! I’m your good girl!” you repeated desperately.
“Yeah? Is that right?”
A slap to your ass caused you to whine loudly in pain and pleasure.
“Oh!! F-fuck! Yes, yes, yes!”
Ellie’s grunts became more and more animalistic each time you moaned.
“Shit, you get me so fucking hard, baby,“ she groaned. “My cock feels so fucking good inside your tight little pussy.”
“Oh g-god—” you stammered. “Don’t stop, don’t stop!”
“You’re such a fucking slut, g-god…” Ellie panted, her cunt throbbing with pleasure as the base of the strap rubbed against her clit. “Shit, oh fuck, fuck!”
One hand released your hip to run her fingers down your back, sending a chill down your spine. Ellie watched the sweat on your skin glinting under the setting sun’s rays and relished the way your ass rippled with each of her thrusts.
“God… fucking look at you…” she sighed. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, babe.”
She cascaded her fingers down to sink her nails into the supple skin of your ass. She reveled in the marks she would leave on you, possessiveness and pride coursing through her.
Your brain was entirely blank, and you couldn’t think of anything or anyone else right now but Ellie. Every time you felt her this deep inside of you, your desire for her consumed every aching bone in your body.
“I’m gonna fucking fill you up,” she rasped. “I’m gonna fill your cunt up with my cum.”
The moan that escaped your lips at her words nearly sent Ellie over the edge. She wrapped an arm around your neck and pulled you up to her chest, falling back onto the backseat as you continued to bounce on her strap.
“That’s right, ride my cock.”
“Mmpf! Harder! Harder!”
“Say please, baby girl.”
“P-please! Harder, please!”
“Good girl.”
You suddenly felt Ellie’s hands palm your breasts. She started tracing circles around your nipples, savouring the sound of your pathetic whimpering. Not fully satisfied, her fingers pulled harshly at the tip of your nipple, eliciting a pitiful moan from you. Ellie groaned at the feeling of your cum dripping onto her lap and drenching her strap even further.
Her thrusts got rougher and faster as she fucked up into you. You felt your pussy begin to tense up, getting closer and closer to your climax.
“Oh god, I’m—I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” You screamed.
“Fuck, yeah, cum for me, baby girl. Cum all over me.” Ellie grunted.
Her left hand found your neck while her right arm slid in between your thighs, pulling your legs apart and positioning her hand on top of your clit. You bit back a moan as her fingers began to circle your sweet spot.
Her thumb and pointer finger softly squeezed your clit before returning to playing with you. You nearly screamed.
“Ellie!!!”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Your eyes began to roll to the back of your head as her grip on you got tighter. Her grunts became harsher, your legs got shakier, and your climax approached rapidly. Ellie could feel you reaching your limit and chuckled.
“No cumming until I say so, babe,” she teased softly, slowing down her movements ever so slightly.
“N-no, please!” you pleaded.
“Need to cum, angel?”
“Y-yes!”
Ellie chuckled once more.
“Then beg for it. Beg me to cum.”
“P-please, Ellie. Please l-let me cum—” you stuttered.
“Oh, come on,” she crooned. “You can do better than that. I know you can.”
You whined as she squeezed her fingers around your neck.
“El, please! Can I cum? Please, I need it. I need it so fucking badly! Please!”
“Mm,” Ellie hummed, peppering your shoulder with kisses. “Such a good girl. Go ahead, babe. Cum for me.”
“C-cum with me, Els. Cum inside me! Please! I want to feel your cum!”
“O-oh, fuck!”
Ellie moaned shamelessly at your plea and felt herself approaching her orgasm as you rode out yours. Your strangled cries harmonized throughout the woods, echoing off of flowing leaves and sturdy tree barks. Your climax lasted longer than it usually did, and Ellie held you until she felt your body slowly crumple on top of her.
She kissed your shoulders softly as you shakily caught your breath, her fingers grazing your chest. When her lips started moving up towards your ear, Ellie inadvertently hit a ticklish part near your chin, and you burst into sudden laughter. Chuckling, Ellie repositioned you onto the leather seat and laid down on top of you to continue attacking you with kisses.
The only thing anyone would have heard over the humming of crickets and the occasional blowing of wind was the giggles shared between you and the auburn-haired girl. Neither you nor Ellie had dressed yourselves just yet, both still partially naked in some form. But neither you nor she had cared, far too engrossed in each other’s presence for something as trivial and irrelevant as clothing to matter.
Your cheeks hurt from how much you smiled, and your dry lips prickled and stung from how much you’d been kissing her all day. You knew that you likely looked unattractively unkept and probably needed a nice, long everything shower. But the look of pure, unwavering adoration in Ellie’s eyes had you suspended in the present; choosing to leave such a perfect moment seemed the most unnatural decision to make.
Laid down in the backseat of the truck with her whispering sweet nothings into your ear, you couldn’t recall a time when you’d been happier. Everything from the smell of sweat and Ellie’s musky cologne to the awkward entanglement of your limbs was the unadulterated definition of heaven.
“Do you know…” she whispered in between soft kisses to your lips. “... you have the most kissable face I’ve ever seen?”
“Shut up!” you giggled.
“Never,” she objected. “How is it my fault that you’re just so kissable?”
“Oh my god,” you laughed, pulling her closer to you. “You’re so annoying.”
“What? Do you want me to stop kissing you?”
“No…” you grumbled, eyes rolling.
“Then you shut up,” she concluded before she peppered your neck with more kisses, eliciting bursts of giggles from you.
You weren’t sure exactly how long you and Ellie stayed interlaced with each other. It could have been an hour or five since you parked. Time didn’t exist in the backseat of that truck; it was only you and Ellie.
An uncontrollable hankering for food was what ultimately wrenched you both out of your euphoric stupor. A sudden loud rumble from Ellie’s stomach caused you to burst out into tearful laughter. With her strap-on tucked back inside of her boxers and your pants hastily pulled back on, you were both back to cruising down the highway back into town. She’d handed the reins of the radio to you, so you were singing your heart out to a playlist you’d created just for blissful car rides like this.
As you were belting out the bridge to some indie folk song with an enormous amount of zeal, Ellie spent a minute on autopilot to recklessly stare at you. You were watching the street lamps zooming past the passenger seat window with both arms out through the car sunroof, and she thought that there was nothing in the world that would ever be able to tear her away from you in this moment.
She slowed her driving down when you eventually found yourselves back in the city. You were quietly humming along to the radio at a lengthy red light when a sudden and loud gasp from you made her nearly jump out of her skin. Ellie glanced at you in concern to find you shrinking quickly down your seat.
“Babe? What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously.
“Shh!” was all you uttered in reply.
You were avoiding her eyes, your stare focused on something towards your side of the truck. She followed your gaze, and the sight she was met with made her stomach drop.
A large group composed mostly of young women was gathered at an outdoor seating area next to a lively restaurant, all laughing and drinking together. Ellie recognized them instantly: they were your co-workers at a weekly post-work dinner together, a gathering you’d happily ditched that day to hang out with Ellie. The auburn-haired girl quickly glanced back at you, her eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing upon seeing the petrified look on your face.
“Seriously?” she breathed.
“Shh, shh!” you repeated, your fingers reaching for the volume knob of the radio and turning the music all the way down.
“They didn’t see you,” she uttered bitterly.
“Just drive, Ellie!” you begged.
“I can’t. The light’s red.”
You both sat in silence for another minute or so, you nervously wringing the bottom of your shirt between your fingers and Ellie white-knuckling the steering wheel, before finally driving off again. She had to resist snapping at you when you hissed for her to go after a millisecond of the stoplight turning green.
Ellie knew you were still rigidly in the closet, even before you’d begun this love affair. She was almost sure that she’d merely started out as an experiment for you. But she had thought that maybe, after all this time, whatever you felt for her would overpower your inner self-loathing.
You weren’t the first “straight” girl she’d stubbornly and stupidly developed feelings for. But you were the first for whom she held out genuine hope, hope that being with her would be more than enough for you.
But as she watched you readjust yourself in the passenger seat once your co-workers were out of sight and obliviously continue on as if nothing had just occurred, it clicked painfully for Ellie: she was merely a fool in love, and she couldn’t and wouldn’t be the one to make you accept your fate.
“What are you doing here?” You whisper accusingly, still refusing to look up at the auburn-haired woman.
“You’re the one who’s married with a husband. What are you doing here?” Ellie chuckles humourlessly.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Yeah, I guess not.”
You both sit in painstakingly loud silence, you tightly gripping your purse in your lap and Ellie finishing off the rest of her whiskey. Once her glass is empty, she waves the bartender down for another refill. Ignoring the worker’s curious eyes at the palpable tension between you, you begin compulsively picking at the cuticles of your perfectly manicured nails.
“Still do that, huh? You’re gonna ruin the pretty nail job that I’m sure Chad spent a lot of money on,” Ellie points out after a sip of her drink. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“That is not his name,” you grumble.
“Might as well be,” Ellie shrugs. “The dude is so boring and dull, a boring and dull name suits him. Can barely even remember what he looks like.”
This was a lie on Ellie’s part; she knows what your husband’s name is, and she knows exactly what he looks like.
“Are you just here to chew me out?” you ask bitterly.
“I’m here to get a little drunk and watch some football. You just coincidentally happen to be at the same bar.” Ellie shrugs.
“Bullshit,” you say. “You don’t care about sports. You never have.”
“Oh, please, you don’t know me,” Ellie retorts. “Not anymore.”
Your mouth falls open slightly before you gulp guiltily.
“Y-yeah. I guess not.”
A few more awkward moments pass before you speak again.
“E-Ellie,” you begin. “About the last time we saw each other—”
“It’s fine,” she shrugs once more.
“No, but—”
“It’s cool.”
You finally look up to stare at her. You can’t read her at first, her expression steely. But when her ocean green eyes finally meet yours, Ellie can tell that you know the truth.
You used your copy of Ellie’s apartment key to let yourself in through the front door. You noticed her in the kitchen preparing dinner on a chopping board. You dropped your purse next to the door and walked up behind her to wrap your arms around her waist, sighing contentedly. You didn’t catch the way her body immediately froze up at your touch.
“Hey,” you hummed, peeking past the top of Ellie’s shoulders to glance at the food. “What’re you making for us?”
“What are you doing here?” she asked stiffly, ignoring your question.
You frowned, finally noticing her cold demeanour. Pulling your hands away, you backed up to get a better look at her. She kept her back turned to you, resuming her chopping. You tug on the end of her shirt in an attempt to get her attention.
“Ellie. What’s wrong?” you asked tensely.
“Nothing,” she muttered in reply, almost indistinctly.
“It’s obviously something,” you insisted. “What’s going on?”
Ellie finally turned around but kept her eyes on the ground and her arms crossed.
“Just not in the mood to be around anyone right now.”
“Okay, well, why didn’t you text me then? I could have just come over tomorrow instead. Or I would have planned to—”
“I completely forgot you were coming over,” Ellie shrugged. “Sorry.”
You looked completely perplexed, at a loss for words at her iciness. She didn’t look the least bit sorry, and it was obvious that she wasn’t trying to hide it.
Ellie wasn’t always the most amiable person towards others. But she had always been warm and kind when it came to you, more than anyone had ever been. This side of her, so closed off and callous, was a side you never expected to experience for yourself.
“D-did I d-do something?” you stuttered, twiddling your fingers anxiously.
“No. Just had a bad day.”
“Are you sure? I feel like I’m bothering you.”
Ellie shrugged again.
“Do you… do you want me to l-leave?”
“Do what you want.”
Your eyes welled up with hot tears, and you put every effort into trying not to let them spill.
“What’s going on? Why are you acting like this?”
Your hands began to reach towards her again, but she suddenly brushed them away before walking out of the kitchen.
“Ellie! Wh—”
You followed her into her bedroom and watched as she started packing up miscellaneous belongings into a backpack.
“Wh…what are you doing? Where are you going?”
“Think I’ll spend the night at Jesse’s.”
“At Jesse’s? This is your apartment. And you just said you weren’t in the mood to be around anyone right now.”
“Well, Jesse’s not just anyone.”
“But I am?”
Ellie turned around and finally looked you in the eye. You expected to see fury woven into her ocean green irises; instead, you were taken aback by the misery and disappointment etched on her face.
“E-Ellie…?”
“I think you should go.”
“B-but why? What happened? What did I do?”
“I… I…”
Ellie took a deep breath before speaking again.
“I think we should call this off.”
You looked at her, bewildered and rattled.
“C-call it off?”
“Yeah.”
You began to pick at your nailbeds nervously.
“What do you mean? C-call… call what off, exactly?” you whispered.
“Seriously?” Ellie scoffed in amazement. “Yeah, I… I need you to leave. Now.”
“What?”
Ellie scoffed again before turning back around to continue packing.
“You’re unbelievable,” she laughed bitterly. “After everything we’ve done with each other, after everything we’ve been through… You still refuse to admit we’re together. You refuse to call what we have a relationship. You don’t even wanna call what we have ‘love’.”
“E-Ellie… we’re just—”
“Don’t you dare say that we’re ‘just friends.’ Friends don’t do what we do. Friends don’t kiss and cuddle and make out with each other. Friends don’t fuck each other every night. Friends don’t call each other ‘baby.’ Not the way we do.”
She threw a shirt onto her bed before facing you again.
“I get it. I know you’re not out. I get that you still have so much shit you need to figure out about yourself. But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be your experiment. I can’t be your secret.”
“You’re not! You’re not my secret. Y-you’re—”
“I really don’t want to hear what I am to you anymore,” Ellie interrupted. “None of your friends know about us, not a single fucking one. They just know me as that one girl you hang out with a lot. They think we’re ‘besties’ or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. It’s obvious that I’m less important to you than you are to me.”
“No! No! Ellie, it’s not like that. I-I—” you stuttered. “I care about y-you. I really do. Y-you do make me feel things that my other friends just don’t. B-but… I-I’m not… I’m not—”
“You’re trying to say that you’re not a dyke.”
“Ellie!”
“It’s fine. I know that’s what you were thinking.”
“It’s not! I’m just… I’m just… not… like that.”
“Like me.”
“Th-that’s not what I’m saying.”
“I don’t… I just don’t fucking care anymore. I can’t keep doing this to myself.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, frowning, before continuing.
“I-I… I love you. But I need space. I need a little air from… from all of this bullshit.”
“E-Ellie—” you struggled to find words, anything to comfort or satiate her.
“I don’t want to hear you make another fucking excuse or stupid reason for why you can’t want me the way I want you to. I can’t force you to do anything or give you the courage to be honest with yourself. But I just can’t be part of your lies anymore.”
“Ellie, will you stop?” you demanded. “I didn’t come here to have you insult me to my face, to have you call me a liar and a user and—”
“I didn’t say any of those things.”
“You basically did! I came over because I thought we’d have a nice night and enjoy ourselves like we usually do, so I really don’t know what’s gotten into you!”
“Have you seriously not been listening to anything I’ve said?”
“I have! I just don’t get what I’ve done for you to start shit like this suddenly! We’ve been doing just fine and having fun, so what the hell is all this?”
Ellie ran her hands down her face in frustration, while you balled up your fists in anger.
“Tell me you love me.” Ellie suddenly said.
“What?”
“Tell me that you love me. It’s that simple. Tell me that you love me, and we can figure this all out.” Ellie declared. “But I want to hear you say it.”
You blinked at her.
“I… I…”
Ellie smirked ruefully before speaking.
“Yeah. Thought so.”
She slung the backpack onto her shoulder and walked out into her living room. You paused for a moment before sprinting after her and catching her by the arm.
“W-wait, Ellie. I…I do love—”
“Don’t.”
“Baby, please—”
Ellie shook your arm off to turn towards you.
“Stop. Just go. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
“I wish I could be what you want. I wish I wasn’t straight, I—”
“Ha!” Ellie laughed. “I’ve been knee deep inside you, and you’re straight? That’s the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“I know we don’t have the most conventional friendship, but—”
“But what? I’m supposed to be okay with you using me for attention and sex, only to get thrown away and forgotten about in the end?”
“Huh,” you scoffed. “Is that what you really think of me? Do you really think I’m that shallow of a person?”
Ellie took a calculated beat before responding.
“Yeah. I fucking do.”
Your eyes welled up with tears once again, crushed and livid.
“Well, thank you for that. This has been very enlightening. Thank you for being so fucking honest with me.”
“Yeah, well. One of us has to fucking be.”
You glared at her while she stared at the floor, arms crossed against her chest. There was a stinging sensation burning at the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill spitefully from your lips. Something deep within you knew instinctively it would be cruel, but your temper and rage got the best of you.
“Oh, you want to talk about honest, Ellie?” you spat. “Let’s talk about you being so fucking honest then.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You want to complain about me being straight, but don’t tell me that it didn’t give you a huge ego boost the first time you got me to sleep with you.”
“Excuse you?”
“I bet you were just so fucking excited to stick your strap in me so you could brag to fucking Jesse and fucking Dina that you got to ‘convert’ a straight girl for the night. How long did you wait to tell them the news?”
“Stop it.”
But you didn’t.
“Can you not see how much of a cliché you are? I’m sorry if you feel I’ve led you on or whatever, shouldn’t you know not to fall for a straight girl? Did you think we were going to ride off into the sunset on a white horse if you strapped me enough times? You fuck good, Ellie, but not that good. Your dick is fucking plastic. You can wish and pretend all you want, but it’ll never be the real thing.”
Ellie’s face completely drained of all colour, her many freckles extra prominent over her pale skin.
“This was fun while it lasted, but I was never going to be the one for you. It’s time you stopped deluding yourself. You really gonna spend the rest of your life pathetically chasing after girls who will never want you?”
You chuckled mirthlessly and walked towards the front door. Picking up your purse from the floor and turning the knob, you turned back to where Ellie stood frozen in place.
“Well, good luck,” you proclaimed before shutting the door behind you.
“I know it’s been years,” You begin, almost in a whisper. “But it was… really fucked up, what I said to you. You didn’t deserve that. We were so, so close, and I’m sure that really hurt you. I wouldn’t blame you if you totally hated me. I was going through something at the time, and I lashed out at you unfairly and—”
“That’s great and all,” Ellie interrupts. “But I don’t really hear an actual apology in any of that bullshit.”
You fidget in embarrassment before speaking once more.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sure,” Ellie shrugged before taking a huge swig from her whiskey.
“H-how…” you attempt. “How have you b-been?”
Ellie has to stop herself from cackling and settles for a snort.
“Oh, come on. You don’t actually give a fuck.”
“N-no, I do—”
“You don’t have to pretend. I know you’re just asking to be polite.”
Ellie takes her eyes off you to avert her gaze once more to the football game on the TV.
“I’ve been great, actually. Really great.” Ellie assures.
You stare at her, attempting to decode her expression. Her voice sounded confident and assured, but her ocean green eyes tell a different story.
“You want me to do what?”
Your face scrunched up in total bewilderment as your eyes bore into the girl sitting in front of you.
Dina. One of Ellie’s best and closest friends.
“Just what I said,” Dina replied, eyebrows raising. “I’m being completely fucking serious.”
“Wow,” you scoffed. “This is why you wanted to meet up so badly? You couldn’t have just said this in your message?”
“I wanted to see you do it. With my own eyes.”
“Do you not see how fucked up and invasive this is?”
“I don’t really give a fuck. Do it.”
“No.”
Dina’s deep brown eyes stared you down intensely, and you glared back.
“I never liked you, you know,” you muttered. “Not really.”
“I seriously don’t give a fuck.”
“Great.”
“Great.”
“You’re a fucking weirdo.”
“I still don’t give a fuck.”
“Why does it even matter that much to you? You’re not her new girlfriend or anything. You know, you’re not even her type. Why does it matter to you if I block her number or not?”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done, the damage you did to her? Do you know how distraught she is, how badly she’s hurting right now?”
You fought hard to hide your burning interest in Ellie’s current state.
“You broke something in her,” Dina continued. “She won’t even tell anyone exactly how things went down between you two, but it was obviously really fucking bad.”
“You ever consider that she hasn’t told you anything because it’s not your fucking business?”
“Maybe so, but I can’t watch her go through this anymore. She looks through all your old pictures together and lurks all over your pages. I can tell she fights not to call you all the time. Part of her still believes that you’re going to come back and make amends, but you and I both know the truth.”
Dina crossed her arms and leaned back into her chair before resuming.
“The only way she can start healing from this is if she has zero access to you. Any part of you. But that’s only possible if you do something about it.”
You stared at her in disbelief.
“I’m sorry that Ellie’s having a hard time right now,” you said slowly. “I really am—”
“Then prove it. Prove it right fucking now. Do the one thing that will allow her to accept this and move on with her life.”
“I’m sorry she’s having a hard time,” you repeated. “But she’s a fully grown adult, and I’m not responsible for her mental well-being or what she does with her fucking life. It has absolutely nothing to do with me. If she’s so incapable of moving past what happened between us, that’s on her.”
It was Dina’s turn to stare at you in disbelief, and you returned it with a look of cold inflexibility. She scoffed and shook her head as she gathered her things.
“You know, I told her not to get involved with you. I had this nasty gut feeling about you since the very start, and I told her that it would end badly. But it’s Ellie, so of course, she didn’t listen to me. She didn’t want to listen, no matter how many times I told her that I didn’t like you or trust you.”
Dina quickly downed the rest of her drink and slung her purse over her shoulder.
“And despite all of that,” she went on. “I never thought you’d be this much of a callous, cold-hearted bitch. I thought that maybe, just maybe, you still cared enough about Ellie to do this for her. I thought that she had meant enough to you that you would just let her go.”
She sneered, stood up from her chair, and sharply uttered the words that would involuntarily echo in your mind for years to come.
“Just know this. In ten years, you’re gonna be married to the dullest, most boring man alive. You’ll have the boring white wedding, and you’ll live in the boring, three-story suburban house, and you’ll work an unfulfilling, boring job. You’ll have the most unsatisfactory sex, maybe pop out a kid or two for that same boring man.
And one day, you’ll wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, turn to your husband lying next to you, and you’re going to think of Ellie. You’re going to think of everything she did for you, all of the patience and trust and love. You’re going to remember exactly the way she made you feel and what you felt for her. And you’re going to look down at this man that you married, and you’re going to realize that you have been reduced to nothing more than his dull, boring wife. Everything you once were has been stripped away completely so you can be the final accessory to this man’s white picket fence dream.
And you’re going to break down and sob harder than you ever have in your life, and he’s not going to move a single muscle to comfort you. And you’re not even going to care because in that moment, you’re going to realize that Ellie had left you behind all of those years ago. She’s happy and successful and content. You will not have crossed her mind in years, but she will haunt yours for the rest of your life. And there will be nothing you can do to ever stop that feeling.”
With that, Dina stormed off.
An hour later, you were lying on your bed, still fully clothed. You’d been staring intensely at Ellie’s phone number. There was this prickling impulse to call her, an impulse that your mind chided you for.
You thought about what Dina had told you, that Ellie had been going through a hard time. “Part of her still believes that you’re going to come back and make amends,” she’d said. Ellie was still thinking about you, even after everything.
You exhaled deeply as you rolled onto your side and found yourself staring at the wall of pictures next to your bed. Over a dozen frames hung against the white drywall, each holding a faded picture of you with friends or family. The photos were placed quite meticulously, all uniform and aligned. All but one.
In a corner stood out a small polaroid picture flimsily stuck onto the wall with blue painter's tape. It was of you and Ellie, taken several months ago in your living room. She’d snapped the photo candidly, her head lying on your shoulder while making a silly face as you laughed boisterously at some stupid joke she’d just made.
You’d berated her for taking it, embarrassed that she’d caught you in a moment of vulnerability. Your shame amplified when she’d insisted that you put it up on your wall of photos. She’d whined that you had no pictures of her anywhere in your place, and you refuted with the argument that it was a shittily taken photo. She won out in the end, sloppily placing it onto the wall with tape as you watched begrudgingly.
Still lying in bed on your side, you stared at how unbefitting it looked amongst all your other photographs. It paled in comparison to the rest that were situated neatly in their wooden frames. It looked lopsided, unpleasant. Wrong.
Your eyes turn back to your screen. With shaking hands, you blocked Ellie’s number before going through the rest of your phone and completely removing her existence from your life.
You continue to stare at Ellie as she takes her eyes off the game to down the rest of her whiskey. You wait for her to elaborate further, but she doesn’t.
“That’s… that’s good to hear,” you mutter. “I’m glad to hear you’ve been doing well.”
“You’re so full of shit,” Ellie chuckles almost imperceptibly. You pretend not to hear her, but you both know that you did.
“Are you still friends with Jesse and Dina?” you ask timidly, unsure as to why you’re attempting small talk. “How are they doing?”
“Yeah, of course I’m still fucking friends with them. They’re my family,” she replies bluntly. “I don’t know why you’re asking, you never seemed to really like either of them.”
You purse your lips. You never did like either of them much, both having cleverly kept their guard up against you during the time you’d known Ellie. Despite your efforts, they never fully warmed up to you. It angered you, over the years, to know that you proved them right, Dina specifically.
“I was just wondering,” you respond defensively. “They were both really important to you, especially Dina.”
The last two words slip from your lips with little thought, and Ellie’s face contorts into a look of incredulity and indignation.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
You shrug, toying with the second shot glass of tequila you’ve yet to drink.
“Let me get this straight,” Ellie huffs. “You’re the one with a ring on your finger and a husband who is nowhere to be seen right now, hooking up with random fucking men two seconds after meeting them.”
“I never—”
“But I’m being questioned on whether I’ve fucked someone I’ve known since childhood, when I’m the one completely unmarried and free.”
“I didn’t hook up with that guy—”
“Your tongue was halfway down his throat, and you want to get pedantic about it?” Ellie laughs humourlessly.
“What the fuck do you want, Ellie?” you almost cry.
“You really should be asking yourself that question, angel,” Ellie retaliates.
Ellie flags the bartender down one last time to close out her tab as you sit next to her silently, completely stunned and dumbfounded. You knew you shouldn’t have let your curiosity and envy get the best of you. You knew you should have ignored Ellie the moment you saw her. You knew it was a mistake to be here at all.
“Jesse and Dina just celebrated their wedding anniversary last month,” Ellie suddenly says as she watches the bartender walk away with the card she just handed him. “They’ve even got a cute kid. JJ, my godson. They’ve been happily married for years.”
You look up to glance at her, and you notice she’s staring at your ring finger.
“I’m sure you know all about that, don’t you?” she asks sarcastically.
“I, I’m—” you mutter, still at a loss for words. You involuntarily place a hand over your wedding band.
“Look,” Ellie continues, turning away from you slightly to sign the check the bartender just placed in front of her. “I don’t know you anymore. I haven’t for a really long time.”
She pushes the pen and paper away, and her eyes meet yours.
“But even after all these years, I guess I’m still the one person you can’t fool with your bullshit. You can lie to your friends, you can lie to your shitty husband, you can lie to all the guys you meet at these bars. But I don’t even have to say, ‘I told you so’ when your life has clearly done that for me already.”
She leans in close enough that you could see a slight tinge of blue in her irises. Your breathing hitches as your heart and other parts of you throb wildly. For half a second, you involuntarily gape at her lips before your bashful eyes dart back up to meet her ocean green ones. You can hear the smugness dripping in her voice as she chuckles.
“Hope you figure it out one day, babe,” she nearly whispers.
Mesmerized, you’re about to lean in even closer when Ellie suddenly pulls back and sits up. Disoriented, you watch as she takes your second shot of tequila and shoots it. She slams it down onto the bar and swipes a thumb across her bottom lip to wipe off the dripping excess of liquor. You attempt a response, but your tongue continues to fail you. Ellie gets off her barstool before turning towards you once more.
“Good luck,” she croons. She gives you a wink and walks away.
You gape after her, your body rigid with shock. After a moment, you slowly swivel in your seat to face the bar again. You find yourself face-to-face with the bemused bartender.
“So, uh,” he asks slowly. “Did you… want another shot?”
author's notes:
yes i am alive 🫶
hi beautiful people, can't believe i'm finally uploading something again after what, a year and seven months? 😭
i honestly didn't mean to take a break from writing, life kind of just happened. met the love of my life kali who i've been with for almost two years now, and moved VERY very far away (the furthest i've ever moved as an adult) to be with said love of my life. we have two cats and we very recently moved into our second apartment. still a preschool teacher but my new school is 50x better than my last place, and my bosses & students genuinely appreciate me. life isn't the most perfect bc being a teacher still means being broke foreverrrrr, but i'm in a far better place now than where i used to be back when i was more active
i know this isn't what everyone's been asking for (yes i still read people's comments on here and AO3 despite not really being active lol, i know y'all want more ncty and the last chapter of the heartbreak trilogy). but honestly i just needed to get my proverbial writing sea legs again, so i decided to work on a fic that i've been working on for nearly two years lol
proof btw:
a special thank you to kali my boyfriend my wife the absolute loml for helping me with this (yes i refer to him as my boyfriend but also my wife often times, my partner is a transmasc butch lesbian who uses he/him pronouns and we are a very classic butchfemme lesbian couple; please let me know ASAP if that is an issue so i may block you 🫶)!! he proofread this many times and came up with SO many vital suggestions, and he is honestly one of the biggest reasons why i was able to go back to writing again. thank you for being my biggest supporter always, i love you! (everyone say thank you to belle's wife kali for literally encouraging me to go back to writing fics again, y'all have him to thank for this)
(also to kali only: you need to finish what you were doing when you were helping me come up with inspiration for the sex scene, thankssss)
my wife at the end of us editing this: "bartender's name should be owen by the way cause i think it's funny"
anyway, i will eventually continue my WIPs! i will do it at my own pace because i am a full-time employed adult, but i hope to remain as active as possible if i can. i'm already working on other fics as you read this :)
feel free to send me questions in my inbox if you'd like!
summary: hogwarts au. years of academic rivalry between you and ellie williams turns into something far more complicated.
word count: 4.6k
a/n: loove their dynamic sm and I tried not to make the typical cliché scenes, so I hope u enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!
It all started three years ago. In potions class.
Professor Madden had set the class to make a Draught of Peace. It was a tricky potion, requiring exact measurements, but you weren’t worried. You had practiced.
Yet, when Madden passed your cauldron, he merely hummed in approval. When he reached Ellie’s, he actually paused.
"Interesting," he murmured, peering into her cauldron.
You glanced over before you could stop yourself. The shimmering, silver-blue liquid inside looked… perfect. Identical to yours. No. Better.
Professor Madden nodded slightly. "Five points to Gryffindor."
The words stung. He rarely gave points in class, especially not to second-years.
You clenched your jaw, glancing at Ellie. When she saw your reaction, she couldn't stop from smiling at you, enjoying your irritation.
And for years, this rivalry hadn’t stopped. It just grew.
Every time you and Ellie Williams shared a class, it was a battle waiting to happen. You studied until your eyes burned, perfected every spell, and brewed every potion flawlessly—because if you didn’t, Ellie would. And the most infuriating part? She barely tried.
While you spent late nights in the library, Ellie spent hers on the Quidditch pitch. While you dissected every spell down to its core, she flicked her wand with reckless ease and still got it right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she was good at everything. It wasn’t fair that, no matter how hard you worked, she always kept up.
And it definitely wasn’t fair that she knew how much it pissed you off.
Professor Samuels strolled along the front of the classroom, sleeves rolled up, chalk tapping against the board as she listed different dark creatures.
"Can anyone tell me the best way to subdue an Erkling?"
Your hand moved instinctively, but—
"Stunning spell," Ellie said, leaning back in her chair.
You didn’t even hesitate. "That wouldn’t be the best method."
Ellie’s head turned, eyes locking onto yours. You ignored her burning gaze. "Erklings are highly resistant to stunning spells. If you actually wanted to stop one, a Silencing Charm would be much more effective."
A beat of silence.
Ellie blinked at you, unimpressed. "Oh, I’m sorry. Did I ask for a correction?"
You smiled sweetly at her. "No, but Professor Samuels did ask for the best way to subdue an Erkling. I was just making sure the right answer was given."
The class let out a collective 'ooh'. Samuels, ever patient, only looked mildly amused. "Both answers are usable, though silencing an Erkling would neutralize its main weapon—the voice."
Classes had just ended, and the corridors were flooded with students. Ellie leaned casually against the stone wall outside the classroom, her broomstick propped lazily against her shoulder. Jesse and Dina stood beside her.
She smirked, still thinking about how you had damn near vibrated with annoyance when she corrected your pronunciation in charms.
"I swear, she was fuming," Ellie said, a slow grin tugging at her lips. "Thought she was gonna hex me right there in class."
Jesse snorted. "You do kinda push her buttons every chance you get."
Ellie shrugged, "yeah, but it’s fun."
"You know what else is fun? Not being obsessed with her." Dina added.
The green-eyed girl rolled her eyes. "I'm not obsessed."
"You talk about her constantly."
"I—" Ellie started, but couldn't finish her sentence.
Jesse grinned. "Hey, I get it. It's entertaining. She's all proper and serious, and you—"
"—drive her insane," Ellie finished, pleased with herself.
Just then, another voice cut in. "Yeah, but come on. She’s kind of pathetic, don’t you think?"
Ellie’s head turned, spotting Miles—one of the more insufferable Slytherins—sidling up next to them.
"You know," he continued, "acts all high and mighty, but if she didn’t have her nose buried in a book twenty-four-seven, she’d be nothing. Without all that studying, she’d be just another nobody."
Ellie’s grin vanished. Miles, oblivious, kept going. "Bet she cries about grades at night. Or maybe she’s just desperate to be noticed. Like, does she even have a life outside of being a try-hard?"
"You done?" Ellie asked, voice slow and measured.
Miles blinked, thrown off by her tone. "Uh, yeah?"
Ellie scoffed, shaking her head in clear disgust. She pushed off the wall, looking at Miles like he was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
"Right," she muttered. Then, without another glance at him, she turned to Jesse and Dina. "C’mon."
Jesse and Dina exchanged a look before following Ellie as she walked off, leaving Miles standing there, confused.
You were in the common room later, curled up in an armchair with your notes. The fireplace crackled softly, and the murmur of other students filled the space—but your concentration shattered the moment your friend dropped onto the couch beside you.
"Did you heard what happened?"
You blinked, startled.
Val scoffed at your reaction. "Miles was making fun of you and Ellie just—" She gestured wildly. "She didn’t laugh. She didn’t tease. She didn’t even play along."
Your stomach twisted. "What?"
"I’m telling you, she looked at him like he was trash. Like he wasn’t even worth the breath it’d take to insult him back. Over you."
You frowned, gripping your notes a little tighter. Ellie never passed up the opportunity to make a smug comment. Never let a chance to rile you up go to waste.
Why she would do that?
The Astronomy Tower was quiet at this hour. You had been up here for nearly an hour, practicing. Perfecting.
The spell was supposed to be easy, something delicate, something that required absolute control. But after the day you had, your hands were unsteady. When you moved your wand in the final motion, the energy snapped back before you could react. A sharp sting tore through your palm.
You hissed, flinching as a thin line of crimson welled up across your skin.
"Shit," you muttered under your breath, trying to shake off the pain.
"Y’know," a voice drawled from behind you, "if you wanted a dramatic midnight brooding session, you could’ve just invited me."
You tensed. Of course she was here.
Ellie Williams leaned lazily against the stone wall, arms crossed. "Kind of late for extra credit, isn’t it?" she teased, raising a brow. Then, glancing at your hand, she smirked. "Should I call a prefect? Tell ‘em you’re up here sacrificing first-years?"
You scowled, "piss off, Williams."
Ellie’s smirk faltered. Her gaze flicked to your injury again, her posture shifting. She stepped closer, the usual amusement in her face dimming just enough for you to notice.
"Let me see," she said.
You rolled your eyes. "It’s nothing—"
Ellie ignored you, reaching out and catching your wrist gently but firmly. The warmth of her fingers against your skin sent a jolt through you, but you were too caught off guard to pull away. She turned your hand over, studying the cut under the moonlight.
Ellie exhaled through her nose, jaw ticking.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
You hesitated, then shrugged. "I’ll survive."
Ellie’s grip on your wrist tightened just slightly.
"Not what I asked."
Her voice was quiet, steady. The teasing tone was gone, replaced with something else. Something serious.
You swallowed. The way she was looking at you—like she actually cared, like she had been worried—it sent your heart into your throat.
"I’ll be fine," you muttered, but even you didn’t sound convinced.
Ellie didn’t say anything for a moment. She just held your gaze, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin. Then, with a sigh, she muttered, "C’mon, let’s fix this before you actually start dripping blood all over the place."
She didn’t let go of your wrist as she led you toward the stairs. Maybe you were too tired to fight against her touch. Or maybe—just maybe—you didn’t mind.
The walk down from the Astronomy Tower was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old castle floors beneath your steps. Ellie still hadn’t let go of your wrist, like she expected you to shake her off at any second.
You should have. But you didn’t.
She led you through the dim corridors with ease, eventually slipping into an empty classroom. Ellie finally let go of you, pushing a chair out with her foot before nodding at it. "Sit."
You raised an eyebrow, "Bossy much?"
"Just sit, try-hard," she muttered, already rummaging through her robe pockets.
You rolled your eyes but obeyed, watching as she pulled out her wand and crouched in front of you. Her expression was unreadable, mouth set in a line as she studied the cut across your palm.
"Hold still," she murmured, lifting her wand.
A soft warmth spread through your skin as she muttered a quiet healing charm. The cut began to seal itself, the sting fading into nothing.
A beat of silence stretched between you.
Then, without thinking, you blurted, "Why aren’t you asleep? Don’t you have the big match tomorrow or something?"
Ellie snorted, leaning back against the desk behind her. "Awe, you remember my matches, huh?"
You didn’t answer, your ears red.
She sighed, her playful smirk fading just slightly. "I couldn’t sleep," she admitted, voice softer now.
That caught you off guard. You finally looked at her, brows furrowed. "Why?"
Ellie hesitated. She glanced away for a moment, as if debating whether to actually answer. Then, with a quiet breath, she said, "Dunno. Just had too much on my mind."
The way she said it made your chest tighten.
Because for the first time since you met her, you realized something—Ellie Williams, your biggest rival, the person who had tormented you for years, the girl who got under your skin like no one else… wasn’t as untouchable as she seemed.
You wanted to be thankful at her for this. But inside your chest only boiled confusion and sudden anger.
Before you could think it twice, you snapped, "why are you doing this?"
Ellie’s wand stilled. She glanced up at you, her green eyes sharp under the low light.
"Excuse me?"
You gestured vaguely to your hand. "You spend years annoying the hell out of me, making my life miserable every chance you get. And now, what? You suddenly care that I got a little cut? It could've been perfect for you to snitch and tell some teacher about it."
Ellie didn’t respond immediately. For the first time since you met her, she seemed… caught off guard. Like she hadn’t expected you to question it.
Her jaw shifted, fingers tightening around her wand.
"You’re an idiot," she muttered, shaking her head.
You frowned. "What—"
Before you could finish, Ellie grabbed your wrist again—gently this time, nothing like before. The heat of her skin against yours made your breath hitch.
"You think I’d just let you sit there bleeding like a dumbass?" she asked, voice quieter now. "Even I’m not that much of a dick."
You searched her face for any sign of mockery, any hint that this was just another game to her. But there was none.
She was serious. And that was somehow worse. You could handle Ellie when she was smug, when she was insufferable, when she was competing with you for the top spot in every class. But this? This was new. This was unfamiliar.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look away. "Whatever," you muttered, trying to ignore the way your pulse was suddenly too loud in your ears.
Ellie didn’t say anything else. She just let go of your wrist and stood up, stuffing her wand back into her pocket.
"Let’s get out of here before some prefect catches us," she said, her voice back to normal, back to teasing. "Don’t need you losing house points and crying about it later."
The tension cracked just slightly. You rolled your eyes, shoving her shoulder as you passed her. But even as you walked ahead, you couldn’t ignore the feeling of her gaze lingering on you. Or the realization that, for some reason, Ellie Williams cared.
The next day, the Quidditch pitch was packed.
The air buzzed with anticipation, students waving banners and shouting house chants as the players took their positions in the sky. It was the kind of electric energy that had never mattered to you.
You’d been to maybe three matches in your entire time at Hogwarts. Quidditch had never been your thing—not because you thought it was stupid, but because there were always more important things to do.
But today… Today, you were here. And you hated that you didn’t have a good enough reason for why.
You sat stiffly in the stands, arms crossed, trying to act like you didn’t care, like your eyes weren’t already scanning the field for a flash of messy auburn hair and that stupid cocky grin.
Ellie flew in lazy circles, gripping her broom with easy confidence, her eyes flicking over the crowd. She wasn’t even paying attention to the other team, wasn’t listening to her captain’s last-minute pep talk.
She was looking for something. Or rather—someone. And when she found you? She nearly lost her grip on her broom. You were sitting there, in the middle of the stands, not cheering, not waving any banners—just watching. Watching her.
She barely heard the whistle blow, barely registered the game starting. She was still staring at you, caught somewhere between disbelief and… something else.
The match kicked off, brooms shooting into the sky, players diving for the quaffle. Ellie should’ve been focused, but her head was still in the stands.
Jesse, who had been tailing her in the air, noticed immediately. "Ellie," he called, banking his broom closer to her, "what the hell are you doing?"
Ellie blinked, snapping out of it. "Nothing," she muttered, gripping her broom tighter and diving into the game.
And she played hard. If there was one thing Ellie Williams did better than almost anything else, it was flying. She weaved through players like she was made for the air, cutting through the wind in sharp turns, scanning the field with trained eyes.
The game stretched on, fast and brutal, both teams evenly matched. But Ellie wove through the chaos like she was born for it, ducking and dodging, always a second ahead of the defenders.
The quaffle was tucked tight under her arm as she shot forward, hair whipping in the wind. She feinted left, then veered right, completely throwing off the keeper.
And then— She threw it. The quaffle sailed through the hoop, clean and effortless.
The crowd erupted. Ellie let out a sharp exhale, only half-aware of her teammates shouting, of Jesse nearly knocking her off her broom in excitement. She had won. Gryffindor had won.
And yet— the first thing she did? She turned back to the stands. Back to you. And for one dizzying second, your eyes met across the pitch. You didn't stand. You didn't even screamed at their victory. You just held her gaze, and smiled.
She barely heard the cheers around her as Gryffindor’s team swarmed together in celebration. Jesse was shouting something in her ear, but it sounded distant. The world felt distant.
Because you were there. Watching her. And smiling.
She was still thinking about it long after the game ended, long after the party in the common room stretched into the early hours of the morning. Her teammates had been buzzing with excitement, but Ellie… Ellie was still there.
And the next day, everything was different. Not dramatically. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But you noticed.
For the first time in forever, neither of you had snapped at each other in class. No biting remarks, no smug comments. When you passed each other in the halls, Ellie didn’t bump your shoulder like she usually did. When you caught her looking at you, she didn’t smirk, she just looked away.
It was weird. And you weren’t sure if you liked it.
A few days later, you were sitting in the library, curled over a book when a shadow fell over your table. You glanced up. "If you’re here to gloat about Quidditch, I’ll hex you."
Ellie snorted, pulling out the chair across from you. "Tempting, but nah."
You raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you here?"
She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "You came to the game."
You blinked, caught off guard by the way she said it. "Yeah," you said carefully. "So?"
Ellie studied you, her green eyes unreadable. "You don’t like Quidditch."
It wasn’t a question. Your stomach twisted. "Not really."
Ellie tilted her head slightly. "So why’d you come?"
You hesitated. Because why had you? You had never cared before. Never cared who won, never cared about any match.
You dropped your gaze to your book, fingers tracing the edge of the page. "Dunno. Just felt like it."
Ellie hummed, unconvinced. She tapped her fingers against the table before leaning back in her chair.
"Alright," she said. "Then let’s test a theory."
You frowned. "What?"
She smirked, but it wasn’t her usual cocky grin. It was something softer. Amused. "If you really don’t care about Quidditch," she said, stretching out her legs, "then you won’t mind coming to my next match."
Your breath caught as Ellie shrugged. "Just to prove you don’t care.”
You dropped your book, astonished. "That doesn't even make s—"
"—Nuh-uh. Just answer."
You stared at her, trying to find the catch. Trying to understand why she was suddenly acting like this. But she just watched you, waiting. Your heart pounded.
"…Fine," you muttered.
Ellie grinned. "Great. It’s next Saturday."
You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. "I hate you."
She just laughed.
Saturday arrived faster than you wanted it to.
The game started with a whistle, and the players shot into the air. You tried not to search for Ellie right away, but your eyes found her anyway. She was easy to spot—Chaser. Fast. Sharp. Too damn good.
You weren’t watching, not really. At least, that’s what you told yourself. But then something happened.
Ellie had the quaffle, flying hard toward the goalposts. A Slytherin chaser came in from the side, fast. Too fast. The collision was brutal. One second, Ellie was in control. The next, she was spinning.
She managed to stay on her broom, but barely. The quaffle was lost, and the Slytherin team surged forward. The crowd roared, half in protest, half in excitement.
Your stomach dropped. You gripped the edge of your seat, pulse hammering in your ears. Ellie steadied herself, shaking her head like she was trying to clear it.
She looked up, right at you. Your breath hitched. And then—Ellie smirked. It was a little weaker than usual, but it was still her. And fuck, did that make your chest ache.
The game continued, but you barely registered it. You watched, though. More than you should have.
And when Gryffindor won, the stands exploded. And you just held her gaze. And smiled. Just like before. And this time, Ellie smiled back.
That night, the Gryffindor common room was wild with celebration. Laughter, music, and the occasional drunken cheer filled the space, students packed together in a sea of red and gold. Butterbeer bottles clinked, spilled, and passed from hand to hand. It was warm, loud, alive.
You found yourself on the small balcony overlooking the chaos, leaning against the railing, your third butterbeer in hand. The cold air brushed against your flushed skin, doing little to sober you up. The drink wasn’t strong—nowhere near Firewhiskey—but three of them on an empty stomach made your limbs feel light, your head a little too fuzzy. You sighed, taking another sip. Maybe you should just go to bed.
Then—
"You gonna fall off or what?"
Your heart jumped at the sudden voice beside you. You turned, only to find Ellie leaning against the railing, her own butterbeer in hand, watching you with that lazy, lopsided grin.
You scowled, rolling your eyes. "Shouldn’t you be celebrating the victory?"
Ellie lifted her bottle and clinked it against yours. "Oh, but I am."
You blinked. Then, against your will—you smiled.
You hated that she did this to you. That no matter how much you tried to keep your distance, she had a way of getting in.
Ellie didn’t say anything at first, just took a slow sip from her bottle, eyes flickering down to the party below. She looked… different. Not just because she was cleaned up from the match, hair damp from a shower, but because—
Because she was just here. Next to you.
The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the muffled laughter from inside filling the quiet. It should have been awkward. It wasn’t.
Finally, Ellie exhaled, setting her bottle down on the railing.
"You know," she started, voice quieter now, "I really didn’t think you’d come."
You swallowed, fingers tightening around your drink. "I almost didn’t," you admitted.
Ellie nodded, as if she expected that. "Why did you?"
You looked away. "Dunno."
Ellie hummed, like she did know. Like she was waiting for you to admit it.
You shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "It’s not like I care about Quidditch."
"I know."
"Or Gryffindor."
"I know."
You hesitated. Ellie leaned in slightly, her voice softer now. Closer.
"But you care about me."
Your breath hitched. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even smug. Just—honest.
You turned, ready to snap something back, to push her away like you always did, but her eyes stopped you. They were warm. Open. Studying you like she could see straight through you.
You gripped your beer harder. "You hit the ground pretty hard."
Ellie raised an eyebrow at the subject change but let it slide. "I’ve had worse."
"…Does it hurt?"
Ellie leaned in just a little, voice barely above a whisper, "I’ll survive."
Your stomach twisted. You swallowed, turning away, but Ellie didn’t move. She stayed close, her presence buzzing against your skin.
The party roared on behind you. But here, on this balcony, it was just the two of you. The weight of Ellie’s stare made your whole body buzz.
You could lie. You could roll your eyes, take another sip of your drink, and shove her away with a snide remark like you always did. You could pretend like none of this meant anything.
But it did mean something. And then you made the mistake of looking up at her.
Ellie was close. Too close. The dim torchlight caught the freckles dusting her nose, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips parted slightly—like she was about to say something, but thought better of it.
You should’ve said something first. Should’ve broken the tension, pushed her away, anything. But Ellie’s hand moved before you could react. Soft. Gentle. She reached up, fingers skimming against your jaw like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to touch you.
Your breath caught. Then—so quietly, she breathed, "Tell me to stop."
You should. You should tell her to stop, because this was Ellie Williams, your rival, your biggest annoyance, your— your what?
You swallowed, but your throat felt too dry.
Ellie was watching you now, green eyes flickering between yours, searching. Waiting.You didn’t say anything. The girl exhaled sharply, like she’d been holding her breath.
Then, slowly, she leaned in. Your mind barely had time to catch up before her lips were on yours. Warm. Soft. Sure.
Your breath hitched, but your body betrayed you before your brain could. Your fingers curled around the fabric of her sweater, pulling her closer instinctively. Ellie let out a quiet sound—something between a sigh and a hum—and tilted her head, deepening the kiss.
The world outside the balcony disappeared. The party, the noise, the rivalry, all of it. It was just her. Ellie kissed you like she’d been waiting for this. Like she’d been holding herself back for years and finally—finally—let go.
And you? You kissed her back. Because fuck it. For once, you let yourself lose.
The days that followed were a blur.
Ellie would find you in the library, pretending to study when all she was really doing was nudging her knee against yours under the table. You’d roll your eyes at her, but you never moved away. She'd brush against your side in the corridors, just enough to send a shiver up your spine. At night, she'd meet you in empty classrooms, her hands warm against your skin, her lips everywhere.
And right now? Right now, you were completely, utterly fucked.
"Ellie," you hissed against her lips, barely able to catch your breath. "We are so late."
She just hummed, hands gripping your waist as she pressed you back against the wooden desk. "Mm. And whose fault is that?"
You let out a breathless laugh, hands fisting the front of her shirt. "Oh, you did this. You—"
Ellie cut you off with another kiss, and for a second, you forgot what you were even arguing about. Until the clock tower chimed, and you froze. Shit.
Ellie grinned, completely unbothered. "Think Samuels will care if we miss another class?"
You shoved her, grabbing your bag. "Yes, Williams, she will."
"Call me that again and I swear we won't be going for good." She said, leaning onto the desk amused by your redness. "You know how much it turns me on."
You hurried to fix yourself up, wiping at your lips and smoothing your hair. Ellie just watched as you tried to compose yourself. When you glared at her, she held up her hands in surrender.
"Okay, okay, I'm going," she said, stepping back. "You go first. I'll come in a few minutes."
You nodded, heart still hammering, and rushed out the door.
By the time you slid into your seat, the lecture had already started. A few heads turned, but you kept your gaze forward, pretending like nothing was wrong.
And then the whispers started. Quiet at first, and then more obvious.
Your stomach twisted. Slowly, cautiously, you glanced around.
A few students were looking at you. Not in a you-just-walked-in-late way. No, this was different. You looked down, and then you realized why the sudden confusion.
Your tie. Your fucking tie. The red-and-gold Gryffindor colors stood out immediately, a stark contrast against your uniform. Your own tie, the one in your house colors, was missing.
And then, before you could even react, the door creaked open.
Ellie strolled in, looking as nonchalant as ever, her hands stuffed in her pockets. She met your eyes across the room, and the second you saw her smirk, you knew.
Her tie. It was yours. Your actual house colors, wrapped loosely around her neck like she didn’t have a single care in the world.
The whispers turned to quiet laughter. You clenched your jaw, gripping your quill so hard it nearly snapped. Ellie, the bastard, just grinned.
She sat down across from you, still watching, still smirking, like she was so damn proud of herself. Like she wanted people to know. Like she had planned this.
You exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. Ellie only raised a brow. And then—that fucking smirk again. Like she was saying mine.
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.
vi loves making you feel good. when she’s between your thighs, her hair matted to her forehead with sweat, thighs clenched so hard around her head that she feels her brain rattle the slightest bit; it is heaven. she loves when she does so good you shudder in her grasp and yank at the hair at the nape of her neck. she loves to know she’s doing good. she moans desperately onto your clit, the calculated movements of her tongue making you throw your head back and soften your grip in her hair. vi briefly parts with you to speak, groaning in tandem with you at the loss of connection.
“mmh- fuck. got you, baby,” she readjusts her big arms hooked under your thighs, pushing her face deeper into your pussy. “gonna take care of you.”
it’s her thing, her purpose, she feels. to provide for the people she loves. to pour all her love into you, her everything. to make you feel so fucking good that your head goes numb.
“yes! god, fuck- you take such good care of me, baby…”
violet whines loud, speeding up her devouring of your cunt. every time you moan she follows. she doesn’t tend to think much about her own pleasure when she’s taking care of you, but shit that feels so good. she wants more, please tell her more.
her legs shuffle and she briefly feels how slick she is in her boxers, groaning more into you. she knows exactly when you’re about to cum before you can even realize, pointing and angling her tongue to flick your clit just how you like. stars begin appearing in your vision, and then you’re fisting the sheets and blabbering out just what she subconsciously needed to hear.
“aah! fuckkk, so fucking good, vi! i’m gonna cum for you, vi- shitshit!”
and as you’re caging her face in, yelling her praises, vi feels such a euphoric rush come over her. you’re cumming together, her fingers digging bruises into your thighs and you know her moans would’ve been way louder if she wasn’t so muffled down there.
hold her after and tell her how amazing she was for you, sweet puppy girl <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"How do you write such realistic dialogue-" I TALK TO MYSELF. I TALK TO MYSELF AND I PRETEND I AM THE ONE SAYING THE LINE. LIKE SANITY IS SLOWLY SLIPPING FROM BETWEEN MY FINGERS WITH EVERY MEASLY WORD THEY TYPE OUT. THAT IS HOW.