Chapter Text
I've always looked up to Verosika. She's just so… twizzler-like.
I just want to rip her up into strips one by one and suck on her.
We met in the 2nd grade when my mom married my lesbian father. She was at the cheese ceremony, where we were all swimming in creamy, melted cheese, and that's when I first noticed her socks. It was love at first sight.
They were just so… sickenly socky.
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I'm at Verosika’s concert.
The bass is pulsing through my chest --or maybe that's just my heart trying to burst out of my ribcage and through my flesh to get closer to her.
It's a giant haze of flashing lights and flying glitter, but all that I can seem to focus on is Verosika.
She's On-stage, working it like it owes her money, her voice like honey mixed with something savoury.
She looked like a snack.
But her feet?
They looked like a full-course meal.
She's in these thigh-high sparkly boots, and every time she moves, I catch a glimpse of the lavish socks peeking out from inside them.
They're pink, unicorns on them; and I want nothing more than to wrap myself around them.
You would think that I'm drowning in the pounding music, but in all honestly, I'm drowning in the thoughts of her socks.
I wonder if she sorts them by color, pattern, or fabric type.
I wonder if she folds them.
I’d fold them with my teeth.
The set has now ended, and the roar of the crowd is deafening, but a close second to the blaring crowd's intensity is my bladders.
squeezing my way through the river of loud sweaty imps and various demons, I start walking around, searching for a bathroom.
Turning corner after corner, I eventually take a left down a darker hallway, and I could've sworn that I saw the sign for the restroom.
I open the door and walk into the room, but it is, in fact, not a bathroom.
"Great.”
I turn around, muttering curses under my breath to no one in particular.
"Just great."
Shuffling from the other side of the room.
This room isn't empty.
Sitting on a crate, legs crossed in the dimly lit corner, and smelling of expensive perfume and hairspray, was one extremely bored looking Verosika Mayday.
Her eyes snap to mine, widening in surprise. Before narrowing into a glare that could melt obsidian.
"Who the hell are you?" she demands, her voice raspy from singing.
"I... I'm Laura," I stammer, suddenly feeling highly embarrassed. "I got lost. Looking for the bathroom."
Verosika sighs, rubbing her temples. "Of course.. You're not one of those crazed fans are you?"
"I mean, I'm a fan," I admitted. "But I'm not crazed. Just... deeply un-navigational."
She stares me down for a moment, then chuckles. It's a dry, humorless sound.
"Well, Laura, navigational or not, we're stuck. That door locks from the outside, and security probably won't check it for a while. Its a storage closet."
looking over at the door handle, It's sleek and uncompromising.
I look back at Verosika, she's even more stunning up close, and she changed out of the boots.
I can see her socks now.
She's wearing a pair of knee-highs with little hearts on them.
They're just so…
"Sickeningly socky" I whispered without thinking.
"What the hell?" She looks down at her feet, then back up at me, one eyebrow raised. "Did you just call my socks sickening?"
"No! I mean yes, but not in a bad way!" I rush to explain, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. "They're... great. Just really... socky." I let out an embarrassed groan.
Verosika stares at me for a long second, then a smirk forms at the corner of her mouth. "You're weird as fuck, I love that for you."
We then end up sitting against opposite walls for the next three hours.
-It should be really awkward.
I mean, hells biggest pop star and a random lesbian locked in a storage closet, odd.
But Verosika's surprisingly chill once she gets over the initial annoyance.
We end up talking about everything.
She tells me about the stress of touring, I tell her about my lesbian father and how he bathes in melted cheese daily.. For some reason.
She chuckles at all my jokes. She even lets me rant about my hyperfixation on human television.
It’s perfect
--except for the fact that I'm hyper-aware of her socks.
Every time she shifts, I catch a flash of those heart-patterned socks and my brain short-circuits.
When security finally shows up to pry the door open, Verosika stands up and brushes off her outfit, looking relieved.
Then she turns to me, extending her hand.
“You’re not half bad, Laura.” she says, pulling me up. “Give me your phone”
I fumble as it flops out of my pocket, my hands shaking. She types her number in–her personal number—and hands it back.
“Call me if you need to rant about the Kardashians again.”
She winks AT ME, before sashaying out into the hallway, leaving me in a haze of lesbian relief and disbelief.
Later that night, I lay in my bed staring at her contact name on my screen: Verosika <3.
I think about her laugh.
I think about the way she looked at me when I tripped over my own words.
I think about how much I want to shove her socks up her tight pussy and pull them out with my teeth.
I need to kill myself
God
I am down bad.