joshuhaos

[joshuhaos]

academic rivals request! viktor x fem!reader, nsfw

request: @4-leafed pls... if u have time pls write a viktor x reader that r both geniuses at the academy but very much toe the line of rivalry and sexual tension...i love competitive smart people that fall in love when the rivalry becomes respect ... and they FREAK IT!!! possibly in a lab ! up to you : 3c

i liked this request so much that i ended up writing a decent-ish one-shot….

rating: explicit

word count: 3,5k

warnings: academic rivals. LOTS of dialogue and bickering. dubious science because i skipped it in school, had to do some basic chemistry revision to write this pornographic catastrophe, so please pat me on the back. rough sex? rough… foreplay, that’s for sure. dirty talk, if you can call bickering that. penetration. reader tries to slap viktor, spits in his mouth and he cums in his pants. normally, i only write vanilla stuff, so i have no idea how it turned out THIS kinky (at least for me okay). not proofread (yet). nsfw under the cut:

—

“How do you take your coffee?”

His voice betrays the feeble intention of civility, fusing that polite inquiry into a hiss—a phonetical torture you didn’t even know could occur before. So much for killing you with kindness. Outstaging quips by desecrating courtesies. 

“I don’t care,” you mutter on autopilot. Can’t let him in on any personal preferences, no matter how insignificant. “Just don’t put arsenic in it.” 

Viktor scoffs. Puts the kettle away and peers at you over his shoulder, all wretchedly complacent. 

“So the rest of the periodic table is welcome, I presume?” 

Viktor. The local Nikola Tesla knock-off. Never a moment of peace with him; and the fierce taste of competition grows coppery in your mouth whenever he’s in your sight—the most handsome trigger of your cheek-biting reflex.

His name is an insult on your lips and you want to taste it. Chew it, crush it with your teeth and spit right out, preferably aiming for those poignant eyes seeking you in every classroom—so eager to light up with objection the second your opinion differs from his. 

Always the first prick to disparage your input. A never-resting generator of all the meticulous ways to denounce your projects. 

“If I may.” 

Sickeningly polite, too. With that lithe finger pointing in the air— so irritatingly comical. He may not, but there isn’t a chance he’ll shut up, now, is there?

And so he’d clear his throat, straightening his tie in that ridiculously solemn fashion. As if stepping on a pedestal to deliver a life-changing speech—not some shallow nitpicking regarding your circuit breakers. All eyes on him while his kept staring only into your soul. Special treatment, if you will. 

You will not.

“Using magnetic frames is careless,” he’d state. With his hand imposingly pointing to the blueprint on your slide. “Copper coils may oxidize. Not to mention the overheating. I would use thermoplastics. They’re significantly more efficient. And heat-resistant.”

Oh please. Like someone here gives a shit about what you’d use. 

But you can’t say that. Not in a room full of professors. And, judging from the countless nods of approval, the shits were, in fact, being given. 

“Too risky,” you oppose. “Thermoplastics often degrade at high temperatures. Electric insulation is not worth the damage of releasing hydrocarbons. I assumed that you’d be aware of that, Viktor. But I suppose that was an omission on my part.” 

More nods of approval, now in your favour. Here it goes again—the ever-lasting spectacle of hatred. Elegant, when entertaining the audience. Anything but discreet, in private. A perpetually drawn game of chess. By repetition, not agreement. Both of you refuse to retreat until checkmate. 

Oh yes, the sentiment was mutual. You and Viktor were notorious for tearing at each other's throats. The things you’d sacrifice to make that more than a mere metaphor, though. To pull him by that neat tie to sweet asphyxiation and hear him rasp for mercy with eyes full of pathetic condemnation. And he dreamed of that, too. His cane was itching to give you a smack—to paint your behind a plum so deep you’ll have troubles sitting without wincing. When it came to making metaphors literal, he’d pick being the pain in your ass.

However, your mentors couldn’t care less about the rivalry. The Collegiate Inventors Competition was coming up. And who could possibly make better candidates than two greatest minds of the engineering department, with academic excellence so accurately neck and neck that both of your names now occupy the honorary first place in every ranking table? 

That’s how you ended up with your sentence—three weeks of after-hours cooperation in the lab with the incorrigible bastard himself, a quarter of which you’d already successfully wasted on pointless bickering. Well, not without achieving some common grounds. The choice of prototype landed on one of your personal ambitions—a wearable exoskeleton for post-surgery rehabilitation, with plenty of robotics involved. Endorsed by Viktor, for once. The greater good must have swallowed even his dispute. Off to a nice start, if someone were to ask you.

However, the first issues struck early: on the very stage of development. Viktor volunteered for modelling: meaning, the framework would be custom, to accommodate his spine specifically. An object lesson for everyone involved, it would seem—but only in an ideal world. Which, considering what you had at hand (acrimony, bitterness, an entire picky bit of gall), was filtered out by default.

Now, five gruesome days and who’s-even-counting-anymore restarts later, you’re nowhere near close to at least a draft, yet borderline keen on murdering each other. And you’re certain the latter is approaching. He did just contemplate putting arsenic in your cup, after all. 

Viktor stirs the coffee. Watches his reflection smudge in the dark, whirly water, shooting you an askance glance from beneath thick brows when you start stirring yours—the spoon clanking a tad too loud, as if you were doing it on purpose. Which, you undoubtedly were. 

“Stop that,” he groans, almost leaping out of his chair. Heavy, disturbed gaze meets your cheeky simper. “You don’t have to stir it so thoroughly. It’s not like you take it with sugar anyway.”

“Of course.” You shrug. “I don’t drink slop.”

“Oh, I figured. There’s nothing sweet about you, so why would your coffee be any different?”

“There’s plenty of sweetness about me. I simply don’t squander it on entitled pricks.” 

That finally grounds him. And you’re giddy for the way his sturdy hand grips the cup so hard that it almost shatters into his palm, knuckles growing pale enough to match the porcelain. More so when you take a loud, languid sip, feigning innocence. Fully wallowing in his darling, defeated speechlessness. 

“Excuse you,” he mutters. “Entitled?!” 

“So you agree with the ‘prick’ part?” 

“Yes, and I take great pride in it. You may mark me flustered.” 

“Don’t forget to bust in your pants.”

Viktor sneers: chapped lip twitching, scowl growing defensive. Lanky legs untangle as he rises to his feet, towering above you in an angry lean on his cane—long frame transforming into your personal, scrawny menace, pissed exhale sharp and nasal above your head. And you admit to looking small beneath him—all hunched shoulders, weak smile finally tumbling lopsided. 

“Don’t you dare call me entitled,” he demands—and means it. It’s palpable in the way he twists the handle of his cane, the squeaky sound violently scratching your brain. “I sweated blood to achieve my privileges in this establishment.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “So did I, and yet you keep ordering me around as if I’m some braindead apprentice. We’re counterparts, Viktor. You’re supposed to be mindful of my perspective.”

“I never see you being mindful of mine,” he counters.

And, well. You can’t argue with that. 

Your coffee break continued in avoidant silence, but the ambience simply reeked of hostility—stifling enough to make you leave the lab feet first. The deadline’s chokehold besieging your neck wasn’t of any help, either—you had to submit the draft for approval by Sunday. And, so far, you haven’t even agreed on the design plan. 

You shoot Viktor a reluctant glance. Pensive, he sat slouched over his parchment, emitting pure peril. Like his shoulder blades might stab you if you attempt a single tap, belligerently peeking through the thin shirt. You tucked your lip under your teeth, chewing hard, tongue running over every small, neurotic wound inside your mouth. Fruitless negotiations held a special spot amongst your least favourite endeavours, but this conundrum called for a desperate measure.

“Viktor.” You winced at how chocked up it came out. He noticed that, too—because of course he did—turning in his chair to nod at you, ever so shit-eatingly. Lancing eyes scrutinised their way up to your face. What an affront. 

“Yes?” Always chiding in that condescending tone of his. Hissy ‘s’ echoed in the lab, gnawing at your nerves. 

“We have to submit something by the end of this week. Let’s at least decide on the blueprint.” 

“Fine.” He shrugged, returning to his sketch. “We’re going with mine.” 

“No!” You snapped. “We’re coming up with a new one. Together.” 

Viktor hummed in mock consideration. The strand of hair he’s been twirling unraveled, claiming more attention than you deemed him worthy of. Sighing, he lazily reached for your graph, frowning as his eyes started skimming over the scribbles. You made your way to the desk, claiming a spot behind his shoulder. That required a tacit truce. 

“You really want to wield… hydraulic actuators?” He winced, looking up at you. Had your breath hitching at that respectful attempt, the effort prominent in the very way he uttered those words—as if struggling to filter out swear ones. 

“Yes,” you mustered. “For high power.” 

“But they’re so heavy.”  

“Well, what would you use?” 

He chuckled—rich and malicious. Flipped the page and finally averted those curious eyes, arching a bushy brow. 

“I thought no one gave a… crap about what I’d use.” 

Oh, well. It felt nice while it lasted. 

“How did you even—“

“You ought to be more discreet with your vitriol,” he retorted. “I’ll let you know that I’m a decent lip-reader.” 

“Then don’t stare at my mouth next time. What would you use, Viktor?” 

Now that left you both startled. His fingers stilled above the diagram, flexing in disbelief, hollow cheeks hued a puzzled rouge as you almost chomped your tongue off, showing an embarrassed curse back into the depth of your throat. 

“Ahem. Electric motors,” he chanted, pretending to overlook the slip-up. And for once, you were grateful for his tact. 

“I see. Well, er… put that down, please.” 

He instantly complied, fetching a pen. Left you to reflect on your misery to the rhythmic sound of his scrawling, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. 

“Right.” He sighed. “What about the power supply?”

“Rechargeable batteries?” You suggested weakly. “Lithium-ion.”

“Very well. Frame?”

“Something durable. Titanium?” 

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, pushing the notes away. “Why must you always insist on using the heaviest equipment?”

“I don’t know, corrosion resistance?” You muttered back, hovering over him. “Biocompatibility?”

“That’s perfectly manageable with carbon fiber!”

“So it shatters after the tiniest bump? Bravo, Viktor, how ingenious.” 

He lurches forward—rigid breath quivering over yours. Close enough to crush that thick skull with your forehead—if only you ventured, that is. But, alas, you’re not as brave just yet. Some brief eye-stabbing is about all you’re good for. 

“Fine,” he agrees, pulling away. “We’ll use aluminium alloys. Corrosion resistant and easy to machine. No one wins. Does that suffice?” 

“Yes. Now will you finally let me take your measurements for the sketch?”

He doesn’t answer—at least not verbally. Merely stands up and nods to the measuring tape, face still heavily contorted with displeasure. But you don’t oblige just yet. How can you, when Viktor’s fingers suddenly reach for his collar, fumbling with the button? And—oh no—now they’re sliding lower, reiterating once, twice, thrice, until his chest (flushed, but that might just be wishful thinking) is fully peeking out, teasing the smooth scrap of ivory skin. 

“What… are you doing?” You mumble, utterly startled. 

“…Undressing?” He says matter-of-factly, looking up at you so askance as if you’d just asked him if the sky is blue. One more ministration and the shirt is neatly folded next to the parchment—waiting for you to be through with the measurements to be slid back on his bony shoulders. 

“That, I can tell,” you mumble. “Why did you undress?”

Viktor’s gaze daggers into you again. “Don’t tell me you were actually intending to measure me clothed? Can you not comprehend precision?”

“Precision?”

“The prototype is expected to cling to me. I don’t see how that’s achievable with my shirt on— I assumed that was rather obvious.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Ah, sweet civility. I even started worrying that other entitled pricks must’ve depleted your decorum, but it seems like you saved some up for me after all. I’m flattered, really—“ 

You don’t even register when it happens.

Next thing you see is Viktor seizing your wrist—sternly yanking your slap off his face before it gets the chance to land there in a flared handprint. Nothing but pure rage and prickliness—right where his short nails are lancing your skin, engraving an ugly bracelet you’ll wear for hours.

Well, maybe there is something else. Something inexplicable, and tremendous—deep in the way your eyes keep drifting south—where his pants sling low on defined hips, and the pretty trail of dark hair runs from navel to waistband—no doubt circling exactly what you manage to make out in the convex slope of his crotch. And you want to slap him for that, too—sonorous, and frenetic. Going in again with full force, but his force always turns out to be fuller—and in an instance he firmly twists your arm, pinning it behind your back—pale face barely five inches away from your flushed one. 

What happens next is beyond any explanations. Later, he’ll blame it on inertia—that stupid urge to maintain the speed, to stay in motion with your messy antics until some external force stops him—a simple need to claim you before the inevitable collision.

But there’s no inertia in escalation. In the way his free hand grabs you by the nape and clashes agape mouths together, teeth bumping hard enough to make you consider booking a dentist appointment later. Not a sign of inertia when you grab him, either—a little clumsy through the sharp pain in your twisted arm—bold fingers raking his scalp in a vengeful tug on his hair. 

And it’s more than a kiss. If anything, it looks like you’re trying to eat him—tongue out and thrusting into his throat so fiercely that he gags on it, almost tearing up. Now you know what sheer desperation sounds like, and it’s grunting against your mouth, suddenly pitching to a pathetic moan when you grab a handful of chestnut hair and pull so hard that his eyes roll back, lean frame shaking under your violent approach. You use that startled momentum to try and pry your arm free, but he still keeps it in place. 

“You’re hurting me!” You hiss, attacking his neck—the very one you always shamefully admitted to finding the sexiest any man can possess, and your teeth roughly pinch at his voice box, coaxing another whine. 

“Good.” He groans with spite. “I hope I am.” 

And yet, he releases your aching arm, trading it for a calculated squeeze of your waist. But the audacity overshadows his little mercy. You instantly use the unrestrained privileges to force a finger into his mouth—astounded at the way he instantly opens up, almost mockingly pliant. More so when you spit on his tongue, sparing no shame—as if trying to rile him up beyond recognition. Grinning, when your saliva dribbles down his chin. 

“Ah.” He huffs, instantly licking up the remnants. “Thank you. Ever so disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect,” you lie, nudging him towards the chair. Not even bothering to wait until he lands, impatient hands already messing with his belt—so treacherously earnest as you shake, unfastening the buckle, and the bastard chuckles at that, looking down at your eager work. 

“That’s a new low, then,” murmurs coyly, helping you into his lap, heavy head leisurely thrown back. “Sleeping with someone you don’t respect.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh yes. You’re about to.” 

You glare at him from under heavy lids, but the anger refuses to linger—not when he stares back full of indignant awe, so clearly basking in your attention. With his cock half-springing out of undone pants, shamelessly twitching against your palm. And not a single breath was hitched to conceal his excitement. 

“Must you always be so insufferable?” You reproach, pushing his hair back—too domestic for your own liking, and yet it doesn’t feel unfitting. Especially when he leans into your hand, welcoming your touch on his sweaty forehead—like he wanted you to feel it fever up with want.

“No.” He shakes his head. “But if it can grant me this, I’ll triple the effort.” 

“What happened to new lows? You don’t have a fraction of respect for me, either.”

“You’re right.” He shrugs. “Fractions could never encapsulate my tribute to you.”

And his hand slipped under your skirt, shakily crawling home—precisely where you’d never confess to needing him a mere minute ago. But the sentiment did a decent job at diluting your rancour. There came no protest when he introduced two long fingers into your underwear, openly gasping at the evident dampness. And you allowed him that with no regrets. Moreover, you helpfully sank yourself knuckle deep, wincing at the brief burn, arms wrapping around his neck as he sweetly looked up, seeking your  permission. Which was instantly found in the pretty moan you spilled into his mouth, slick tongues back at their futile attempts to strangle each other. 

However, your patience was running thin. As much as you wanted to indulge in proper foreplay, whatever masochistic dance he exposed you to had you in agony ever since it started—and it was getting unbearable to ignore the ache, no matter how bad Viktor  craved to postpone the main course. 

Your thighs clenched hard as you crouched above him, fingers wrapping around the hilt to awkwardly line the tip up with your cunt—the slick sound of it slowly sliding down suddenly igniting some tender bashfulness. Like you didn’t just spit in his mouth with a vile smirk. Like he never had to confine you from slapping him in the face. 

That stretch felt different from the one after his fingers. Significantly richer, it made you whine—a pitiful sound reverberating against his skin as you held on tighter and allowed him to bottom out, savouring every little crevice inside you. Raw, yet neither of you seemed to care—that concern was pushed alongside your underwear, then forgotten altogether when your walls clenched him, offering tight bliss. 

“Move,” you demanded, grabbing him by the chin. Viktor rasped something back, but you didn’t catch it—already too busy tongue-fucking his pretty neck, turning your teeth into sharp tools ready to stain it mauve with bites. 

And he complied again. One hand trembled on your hip while the other crawled between your legs—first missing your clit in the chaotic pace of thrusts, then finding it again as it grazed his fingertips. So cheeky when he dared to pinch it, avenging every pull on his hair. Though, he couldn’t gloat in your wince. Not when it clearly was one of the pleasured kind. 

But you didn’t feel like letting him regain composure. You already missed his husky groans—ached to test what else fucking you could make him mutter. Fogy gaze found his face again, softening at the sight—all wet forehead full of concentrated creases and thin lips bitten to bloodless paleness. 

You took over. Let him lean back and rest as you roughly rode him into the chair—and for that he gave you a grateful moan, the insistent thumb toying with your clit never stopping even for an instant. Good with his hands, and he knew it—proudly grinned when you struggled to keep going, taut legs treacherously giving up astride him. 

That didn’t please you in the slightest. You wanted him to be close, too: slid a hand up his chest and angrily tugged at one nipple—chortling when his mouth dropped in a stunned gasp. Bewildered, but he didn’t mind it—amber eyes squeezed shut when his head lolled, and you finally got his lovely moans back—raspier than before, ravenous enough to make your head spin. 

You could already feel it, pulsing somewhere deep within. Blurry vision couldn’t make him out anymore, the lab smudging into a mess of weird shapes—you were about to cum, hard, and Viktor threatened to follow suit any second—his thumb failing to hold steady, and yet the pressure was still there, courtlesly helping you chase that sweet relief. Such a gentleman. 

“Close,” you chanted. “So, so close.” 

“I know,” he answered, choking on a groan. “Me too.” 

And you melted, almost crushing him with your weight. Quivering in a spasm so intense that it had him struggling to keep moving, and yet he was mindful of the risk—used the last fractions of his brain capacity to gently nudge you off his cock and pump it fast and hectic. Cumming in one endlessly thick rope, with a moan so vocal that it reached you even through the layers of foggy, ear-buzzing aftermath. Had you shuddering when you clung off his shoulder, glassy eyes wide with trembling astonishment. You stared at him through the approaching wave of disbelief. 

No signs of regret so far, or maybe it was simply still forming—for now, you silently admired not a snarky bastard, but a pretty, fucked out boy beneath you. 

“Oh, would you look at that.” Viktor chuckled, sheepishly looking down. “I didn’t forget.”

“What?” You mumbled in confusion, following his gaze.

And when it finally caught your attention—sticky and relentlessly staining his pants—you slammed a hand over your mouth, muffling the hysterical laughter. 

“And here I thought I finally fucked your remarkable memory out.”

“Oh, by no means. As, eh… intense as that was, that misery of mine is not going anywhere. However,” he trailed off, his hand skittishly moving towards yours, “sex clearly proved beneficial for our… dynamic.”

You smile, sliding your palm into his warm grasp. 

“Can it ensure us enough civility to win the competition?”

And Viktor scoffs, coyly looking you in the eye. 

“Why should we limit it to just that?” 

[joshuhaos]

— come a little closer

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

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

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

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

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

main masterlist | arcane masterlist

VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it is.

It all starts at The Afterparty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you hum passively.

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

The step creaks under pure muscle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“________,” you offer.

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

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

You nod once.

“Neuroscience, fourth year.”

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

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

Vi’s floored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

Vi decides that she needs to see you again.

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

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

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

“So?”

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

Her teammate snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Violet,” you acknowledge.

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

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

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

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

You don’t even bat an eye.

“I did.”

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

“I am.”

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

Especially when you look up at her like that.

You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.

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

Vi could melt.

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

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

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

“So I can get paid?” you fill in.

“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”

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

“You’re fucking joking!”

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

“Maddie,” you whisper.

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

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

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

You look around in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”

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

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t start.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maddie,” you warn.

“Love you, see you at home!”

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

“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

“Am I going too fast?”

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

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

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

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

You decide to fold your cards first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You refresh for good measure.

“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.

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

“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”

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

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

“Violet.”

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

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

“V—”

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

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

Vi’s smile is crooked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”

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

“N-No,” you stammer.

“Great, see you tomorrow?“

You swallow.

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

Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.

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

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

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

“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”

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

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

“Jack shit,” she laughs.

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

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

“Sure, anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hungry?” you ask.

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

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

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

“Not since breakfast,” you admit.

“You like pizza?”

“Only the good kind,” you challenge.

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

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

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

You shake your head.

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

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

Vi’s desperate for more.

“As in?”

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

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

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

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

And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.

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

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

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

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

“God, marry me now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like cigarettes?

no, weed, dummy.

Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.

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

And then she gets the invite.

Ellie swears it’s her in.

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

“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi raises a brow.

“My cat,” you clarify.

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

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

Cute. So fucking cute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vi,” you whimper.

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

She resists a smile.

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

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

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

Test the waters, cop a feel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A small little laugh puffs from your lips.

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

Vi deflates in relief.

“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”

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

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

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

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

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

5—4.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe,” you whisper finally.

“Maybe what?” Vi teases.

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

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

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

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

You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.

“Puck off.”

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

“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.

You whine.

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

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

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

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

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

Violet only snorts a laugh.

“Whatever, good game,” she calls.

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

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

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

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

“Leave it.”

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

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

She winks.

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

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

You should come, I can pick you up.

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

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

“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breath out a little laugh.

“Here I am.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”

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

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

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

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

I wanted you to want me.

“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” she hums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh.”

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

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

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

It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.

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

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

Ellie laughs benevolently.

“You have a cat?”

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

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

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

“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”

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

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

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

“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”

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

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

This is getting fucking ridiculous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.

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

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

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

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

A nervous giggle bubbles.

“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.

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

You bite.

“If you ask nicely.”

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

“Can I?” she husks.

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

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”

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

“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”

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

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

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

You’re staring, hard.

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

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

You relax a fraction.

“Everything okay?”

You smile, something small.

“Yeah, good,” you assure her.

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

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

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

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

“Like right now?”

You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.

“Like right now,” you confirm.

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

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

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

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

Your heartbeat skips.

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

Vi’s grinning wide.

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

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

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

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

You think for a moment before shaking your head.

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

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

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

She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re running.

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

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

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

Her expression screws up.

everything ok? can i do anything for you?

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

I’ll see you next week.

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

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

She sighs. Hard.

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

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

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

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

Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?

.

.

.

Then you add, We can smoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like?”

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

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

“Uh-huh?”

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“But?”

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

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

“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.

“Violet,” you sigh.

“Abuse what?” she husks.

“I know you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She clambers back into the driver’s seat.

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

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

Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.

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

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

Your breath catches.

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

“Why?”

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

It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.

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

“You really believe that?”

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

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

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

Vi’s brows furrow.

“You’re what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.

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

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

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

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

violet <3: can i see you this week?

You open Instagram.

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

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

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

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

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

The bracelet.

Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.

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

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

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

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

Ellie’s face scrunches.

“Huh?”

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

Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxxx: i really miss you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.

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

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You humph.

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

“And that’s my problem because...?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Violet’s in love with you.”

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

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

Ellie’s brows shoot up.

“Whoa, what?”

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

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

“There’s a video.”

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

Her reaches a palm out.

Show me.

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

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

“She’s fucking dead.”

When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7—5.

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

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

Her bracelet.

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

The crowd cheers.

Fight, fight fight!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” you squeak.

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

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

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

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

You swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t,” you admit.

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

“We could start off with the obvious.”

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

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

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

“Vi.”

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

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

“Pl—ease.”

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

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

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”

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

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

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

“Maddie home?” she breathes.

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

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

“Oh–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Vi.”

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

“F...F—uck,” you sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cry out when her fingers slip out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nnngh, fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything except Vi.

Oh, you think to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

“Babe?”

Your gaze snaps up.

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

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

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

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

“Thought you left,” you croak.

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

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

You whine.

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

Violet groans.

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.

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

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

neng © 2024

[joshuhaos]

Hiii! I wanna make an angst to fluff/comfort request with Sevika x fem!reader.. where like they had an argument about something and where reader thought Sevika was gonna hit her so she flinched away with a bit of tears in her eyes? Like a “when you flinch during an argument scenario”.. I hope this was okay!

BREAKING POINT

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: You and Sevika had gotten into an arguement after Sevika was seen as weak due to public affection, but it escalated to the point where it brought unwanted trauma and made you flinch.

Request: Anon 🤍

The dim glow of the single overhead light flickered in the room, casting long, uneven shadows along the cracked concrete walls. The tension between you and Sevika was heavier than the smoke-filled air of The Last Drop. It hung there, thick and unyielding, an invisible wall that neither of you had the words to break down.

Her metal arm clicked softly as she flexed her fingers, her flesh hand pressed firmly against her hip. She was pacing, her eyes darting toward the ground as she wrestled with her thoughts. Every stomp of her boot echoed through the room, each step sharper than the last.

“Do you know how this looks?” Sevika’s voice was rough, strained with frustration she was barely keeping in check. “How it looks when you cling to me like that in front of him?”

Her words hit like a whip crack, and you flinched inwardly. But you kept your chin high, refusing to back down. “I’m not ‘clinging,’ Sevika. I’m just—”

“Just what, huh?” she snapped, spinning to face you, her eyes sharp as broken glass. “Acting like we’re untouchable? Like Silco won’t notice? Well, guess what? He did. He asked me if this—” she gestured harshly between the two of you, her movements sharp and forceful, “—is gonna be a problem. If you are gonna be a problem for me.”

Her words struck deeper than any blade ever could. Your breath hitched in your throat, and the burn of unshed tears prickled at the corners of your eyes.

“You’re acting like I’m some kind of liability,” you muttered, your voice quieter now but laced with pain. “I’m just showing you I love you, Sevika. Since when is that a problem?”

Sevika’s eyes shut tight, her jaw working as she inhaled deeply through her nose. “Since people like Silco see it as weakness.” Her voice was lower now but no less cutting. “You think I want him thinking I’ve gone soft?”

“That’s not fair,” you said, voice trembling. “I’m not asking you to be soft. I’m just asking you to let me love you without feeling like I’m doing something wrong.”

Her eyes snapped open, and something wild burned behind them—anger, frustration, but maybe guilt too. Her hand shot up, metal fingers running down her face before she threw both hands up, exasperated.

Her voice rose with her movement. “Why do you always have to make everything so damn hard?!”

The motion was fast, sharp, and your heart betrayed you before your mind could catch up.

You flinched.

Not just a small, subtle recoil. It was sudden, visceral—like every muscle in your body lit up with the command to move, now, before it’s too late. You stumbled a step back, arms half-raised as if to shield yourself. Your breathing hitched, sharp and shallow, as the memories you’d buried clawed their way to the surface.

And just like that, the room went deathly silent.

You felt it before you saw it—Sevika’s entire demeanor shifting from volcanic rage to stunned stillness. Her arms slowly dropped to her sides, her metal hand twitching, fingers curling inward as if she’d suddenly realized they could hurt.

“Fuck,” she muttered, barely audible. Her eyes were locked on you, wide with something like shock. Horror.

Her gaze darted between your trembling hands and the tears slowly spilling down your cheeks. Her brow furrowed deeply, her lips parting like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. She took a small, hesitant step toward you, and you flinched again.

“Fuck.” Her voice was louder now, pained and raw. “I’m not, I wasn’t gonna—”

She shook her head hard, like she could physically will the idea out of existence. Her breathing had gone shallow too, her eyes darting around the room like she was looking for a way to undo what had just happened.

“Babe,” she rasped, her voice cracking in a way you’d never heard before. “I would never.”

You believed her. You knew she would never. But that didn’t stop the past from dragging you back into the fog of fear. The panic didn’t care who it was or what you knew. All it cared about was survival.

“I know,” you choked out, voice tight and unsteady as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I know you wouldn’t. I know.”

But you were still shaking.

And Sevika saw it.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, dragging her metal hand through her hair and down the back of her neck, her whole body stiff with regret. She took a slow step toward you, but she moved like she was approaching a wounded animal—slow, cautious, careful. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice was quiet now, rough with emotion.

Her words cracked something open in you. Your knees went weak, and you sank down to sit on the edge of the old couch, burying your face in your hands. Your breath came in shallow bursts, like you couldn’t fill your lungs no matter how hard you tried.

“Hey, hey, no,” Sevika was in front of you before you realized it, crouching low on one knee, her flesh hand hovering just in front of your arm. She didn’t touch you—not yet—but she stayed there, close enough that you could feel her warmth.

“Can I,” Her voice was soft and unsure in a way you’d never heard before. “Can I touch you?”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded. Slowly, carefully, she reached out, her flesh hand resting on your knee, fingers curling gently around it. Her palm was warm, grounding, and that was all it took to break you.

You sucked in a ragged breath, squeezing your eyes shut as the tears fell harder. Sevika moved then, pulling you forward into her chest, her arms wrapping around you with all the strength she always tried to hide. She pulled you in like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

Her hand cradled the back of your head, her lips pressed softly against your temple. Her chest rose and fell against you in slow, steady beats, and she held you like you were something fragile but precious.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice thick with guilt. “I never want you to feel like that again. Not with me. Not ever with me.”

You sobbed harder, hands clutching the fabric of her vest, pulling her closer like she was your only tether to the world.

“I know, I know,” you hiccuped, your voice broken but sure. “It’s not you. It’s just— it’s old stuff, Sevika.”

Her breath hitched at that. She knew what you meant. She knew that old pain never truly disappeared, that it could creep in when you least expected it. Her arms tightened around you, her cheek pressed to the top of your head, grounding you with her steady presence.

Her lips brushed against your temple, then your forehead, a soft, lingering press of warmth. “I’m here,” she murmured, her voice low and steady. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that. Minutes? Hours? Time didn’t feel real anymore. All that existed was the feel of her arms around you, the warmth of her body, the low rumble of her voice murmuring reassurances that you barely heard but deeply felt.

Eventually, the shaking subsided, your breaths becoming deeper, steadier. You stayed in her arms, letting her hold you as if you were both trying to prove something to each other.

After a long, quiet moment, she pulled back just enough to look at you, her flesh hand wiping the tears from your cheeks. Her thumb traced your cheekbone with the softest touch, like she thought you might break.

“You’re not a liability,” she said firmly, her eyes locked with yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart ache. “You hear me? Not to me. Not to Silco. Not to anyone.”

You nodded, your heart too full to speak.

Her forehead pressed against yours, her eyes closing as she sighed deeply. “Next time Silco says something, I’ll handle it,” she said softly. “I’ll handle it. Not take it out on your or us.”

“Okay,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the edge of her jaw.

Sevika tilted her head slightly, brushing her lips against yours. It was so soft, so tender, you almost felt like crying all over again.

“I love you,” she murmured against your lips.

“Love you too,” you whispered back, letting her hold you until the world, past and present, didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

A/N: I’m sorry this is so short, but I hope that it met the request anyway. I was just trying to get this one done, since I have a lot of other requests that I plan on sending out today.

[joshuhaos]

˚ ⋆ﾟ୨୧ Princess Treatment ୨୧ ˚ ⋆ﾟSevika x Fem Reader

Synopsis: How can Sevika focus on a word you’re saying when your lips just look so kissable? She just wants to take you home and spoil you…

Contains: NSFW (minors and men dni), biting, lots of hickies, sevika eats reader out, strap on sex mwahhh, reader gets princess treatment

Listening to ♪ ིྀ: The Party & The After Party - The Weeknd

Notes: Sorry it’s been so long T^T, I’ve been really struggling with writing and I’m not even confident or necessarily happy with this either. I hope you guys enjoy it regardless <\3 I totally didn’t write this because i’m projecting (I want Sevika so bad)

Your sweet voice that flowed from between your lips like syrup were all Sevika could even think about as you sat in her lap at The Last Drop. Her flesh arm wrapped tenderly around your waist and the mechanical one draped across the bar counter, shielding you from any drunkard who might bump into you. Even though it was already winding down and there were few patrons left in the bar, she would never leave you exposed. She didn’t retain a single word you were speaking though, she was too focused on the tone of your voice, the way your hands flailed wildly as you explained whatever story you were telling, and most importantly your perfectly pouty lips.

Thieram stood behind the counter listening intently, nodding his head at every little detail of your story along with Ran who would throw out a comment every so often. “…and you would not believe it… I slipped on a banana peel!” You could barely even get through your sentence without breaking out into a fit of giggles. You buried your face in your hands, tears threatening to spill over because of your laughter. The laughter of the whole group snapped Sevika out of her daze and she forced out a chuckle at your antics. It wasn’t that she didn’t find your story interesting, she just couldn’t help but get lost in your whole being.

You picked up on her behavior and shot her a look over your shoulder. You furrowed your brows gently and your lips fell into a little frown as you looked into her gray eyes. She looked up at you through her lashes as apologetically as she could before planting a soft kiss on your cheek. You’d let it slide for now, but when you got home you’d be sure to question her.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch, and Sevika made sure to actually contribute to the conversations. You had almost forgotten about her earlier slip up, until the same thing happened again. You were mid sentence when you noticed Sevika hadn’t said anything for the longest time, but her grip was beginning to tighten on you. Her arm had moved slightly lower to wrap around your hip instead, her large hand mindlessly rubbed small circles into the flesh exposed by your shorts. Your words faltered at her touch and you fumbled over your sentence. Your hand rested over her own before gliding it down to rest on your thigh instead. You kept a watchful eye on her to make sure she didn’t try anything before the night was over.

Unfortunately, it was getting late and everyone was growing tired. You four were the only other ones in the bar since it was pretty late into the night. Thieram didn’t want to kick you guys out, but he did have to close up the bar sooner or later.  “It was nice seeing everyone again! Maybe next time we could play a few rounds of pool?” You planted your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side slightly awaiting an answer from your close friends. “Only if you plan to lose.” Ran quipped back. You feigned disbelief, raising a hand to your chest and gasping. “You’ll be eating your words Ran, remember this moment.”

This got a real chuckle out of Sevika this time. She slid her flesh arm around your waist and tugged you closer to her. “I bet on my princess, sorry Ran.” They dismissed the rest of the group with a wave of their hand, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.” It was all lighthearted though, you saw the corner of their lips tug up into a smile before turning to make their leave. Now it was just Thieram, Sevika and yourself outside of the bar. The young man bid you farewell before stepping back inside the establishment for his closing duties.

A comfortable silence settled over you as you began the walk back to your shared home. Now that it was just the two of you alone though, you wanted to prod her about her seemingly not paying attention to you. “Sev… How come you weren’t listening to a word I said tonight?” You tried to keep the pout off your lips, you really did, but you were kind of irritated with her. Sevika looked like a deer caught in headlights, like she didn’t quite know how to explain herself. You stopped in your tracks, waiting for her to talk. “I’m not moving ‘til you tell me.” You knew you were being stubborn, but you thought you deserved an explanation. If there was something on her mind, you wanted to know.

The older woman could most definitely overpower you to keep you walking, but instead she stopped the moment you did. Her arm was still wrapped around your waist but she turned to face you. You were staring up at her with those big, beautiful eyes of yours and she couldn’t help but get lost in your features. You were feeling shy under her gaze, your cheeks flushing uncontrollably. She brought her flesh hand up to your face, gripping your chin between her thumb and index finger gently. “Princess, I’m sorry you’re just too beautiful. I was so mesmerized by your sweet voice I could barely process what you were saying tonight.” Well you couldn’t be mad at that explanation.

“I was just thinking about how much more sweet you’d sound under me, begging for more.” She angled your head up slightly higher before capturing your lips in a kiss that was far too quick for your liking. When she parted from you, you tried to chase after her lips eagerly just wanting to feel her against you again. “Why don’t we get home first?” She murmured. All previous thoughts you had were no longer present and instead all you could think about was getting home as quickly as possible. You nodded slowly and you two continued down the path to home.

Your home wasn’t the closest to The Last Drop and your legs were getting tired, but you didn’t want to complain. Your pace was beginning to slow, the shoes you had decided on were not the most comfortable, but you weren't thinking about the walk home when you chose your attire for the night. The gentlewoman that Sevika was, had noticed your discomfort and scooped you up into her arms. No matter how many times she did it, it made you gasp still. “Sevi!” You wrapped your arms around her neck as an automatic response and she just chuckled. “I can’t have my princess feeling tired before we even get home.”

The implications of that were enough to make your cheeks flush again, and you were practically buzzing in her arms with anticipation.

The rest of the walk home was filled with sweet idle conversation, although it was mostly you rambling away like always while Sevika listened intently. She couldn’t get enough of you and your honeyed tone.

Your shared home was slowly coming into view and you huffed prematurely, knowing she’d have to set you down to get the door open. “Sweet girl, I’m going to get this door open, but you’ll be in my arms again in no time.” Your feet hit the ground for the first time in a while, but you felt well rested thanks to your thoughtful girlfriend.

“Thank you baby.” You drew out the pet name as she opened the door, whisking you inside before locking it behind you. Before you could even get another word out you were in her strong arms once more. Her flesh arm cradled your back and her mechanical arm hooked under your thighs as she carried you bridal style to the bedroom. Your sweet giggles filled Sevika’s ears as she planted about a dozen soft kisses all over your face.

The next time you were put down you felt fuzzy blankets beneath your body as you sank into the bed. Sevika propped herself up with her mechanical arm and snuck her knee between your thighs gently, chuckling at your eagerness to feel her when you squeezed your legs around her limb. Her gray eyes peered down at you, heavy lidded with lust and adoration for you, her perfect, angelic sweetheart. “Fuck, I wish you could see just how beautiful you look under me right now.” Her gray, puppy dog eyes met your own and you couldn’t take it anymore. The way they glimmered down at you made you want her even more. You snaked your arms around her neck and tugged her down to meet your lips in a heated kiss.

Your tongue swiped over her bottom lip briefly before prodding into her mouth. If you weren’t listening so intently you would have missed the tiny groan that emanated from her throat. You wanted to hear more, so with all your strength you pushed her to the side and flipped your positions. Sevika definitely let you, otherwise you would have stayed snuggly under her due to the difference in strength.

Your legs rested on either side of her hips and your head dipped down to her jaw to press several feather light kisses to her skin. Whatever was left of your pink lipgloss transferred to her jawline and you loved how your kiss marks looked on her tanned skin. 

She was enjoying your kisses even more than you though. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were fluttering shut every so often to bask in the feeling. The next time your plump lips met her skin, it was on the tender patch of skin in the middle of her throat. You placed one kiss, two kisses, and on the third one you sucked a small bruise into her skin. Her deep moans vibrated on your lips and you felt like you couldn’t get enough of her. “Baby I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.” She chuckled in between moans.

Those soft lips of yours curled into a smile as you peered down at all your hard work. Her neck was littered with evidence of your affection. Dark purples and reds were blooming all across the expanse of her supple skin. “You can do whatever you want to me… just let me have my fun first.” You whispered into her ear, your teeth nipping her lobe.

“Whatever my princess wants, she gets.”

What you wanted to do was leave her neck completely covered in love bites, so that she’d have to wear turtlenecks out for the next two weeks. And you were on the right track for that. Sevika would never admit it out loud, even though you’ve witnessed it before, but just being kissed and bitten by you was enough for her to cum in her pants. She got off on how desperate you were to mark her and show everyone she was yours just as much as you were hers.

You slipped your hands under her cropped shirt, sliding it up her toned stomach. Her breasts sprang free and you adjusted yourself lower on her body to give them soft kisses before taking one of her nipples into your mouth. Her breathing grew heavier as you sucked little bruises into her breasts. Little grunts and sighs escaped her lips and a devilish idea presented itself to you. You nipped her nipple with your teeth as you kneaded her other breast softly. You began grinding on her, the friction felt unbelievably good for the both of you. Her body was growing taut at the sensation and in no time you had her cumming with a string of moans.

“Fuck, princess your mouth is heaven on earth…” She trailed off after taking a deep breath. 

You tried containing your smile, but you felt rather accomplished for making her cum with nothing but your mouth on her. “You’re so sensitive, who knew that’s all it would take.”

“Well it’s easy to give in when I have the most beautiful woman in the world sitting on top of me.” Her charming words made your heart melt and you couldn’t help but lean down to kiss her for the millionth time. Unfortunately for you, the kiss was cut short by Sevika pulling away.

“I think it’s time to spoil my baby.”

Her flesh arm flipped you over, your back hitting the bed as she caged you underneath her broad body. A squeal escaped your lips at the sudden move and Sevika ate up your little noises as she captured your lips in a fervent kiss. Your hands instantly found purchase on her muscular shoulders as you tried to pull her closer. Her mechanical hand had a bruising grip on your hip, and the sting felt delicious. Her flesh hand was gentle, a complete contrast. She held your face like you were made of glass, her thumb caressing your blushed cheek. 

As much as she loved kissing your perfect, plump lips, she wanted her mouth on your body too. She took the hem of your shirt in between her fingers and ripped it off of you. No time was wasted as she unclasped your bra as well, throwing it somewhere in the room. Her lips trailed heated kisses down your jaw, across your throat, and all across your chest. Dark lipstick was littered across your whole upper body, and it was almost making the older woman malfunction. If she could, she’d take a picture and keep it in her wallet. You were the epitome of beauty to her always, but in that moment you looked like an angel, all sprawled out for her with her marks all over you.

“Sevika… Don’t just look, touch me. Please…” You whined softly, if you weren’t so turned on you’d cringe at how needy you sounded.

She shot you a toothy grin, “I know baby, let’s get these off of you.” She tugged at the waistband of your little shorts, pulling them down your thighs, and fully off your legs. Next were the lacy panties you knew Sevika liked. She pressed a kiss to the little bow in the center of your panties before discarding those as well. The cold air hit your body and you shivered at the feeling. 

“Come warm me up, Sevi.” 

That’s all she needed to hear before hiking your thighs up on her shoulders before delving into your glistening cunt. She gave your clit a quick kiss before flattening her tongue against you.You mewled at the sensation of her thick, long tongue brushing against your aching clit. She had barely even touched you and you already felt a familiar feeling building in your stomach. Your body was something she knew eerily well, she knew all the spots that made you tick, the pressure that made you see stars, and just the way to swirl her tongue to make you clench those beautiful thighs around her head.

“Fuck baby, you taste so good, my sweetheart.” 

She lapped at your cunt like she was drunk on the taste of you. Her tongue slipped into you, deep. Reaching places only she could. Your thighs clamped down around her head, and that’s exactly where she wanted to be, buried between the soft flesh.

She was relentless when you came with a long string of filthy moans of her name. It just spurred her on even more until you were twitching under her, feeling overstimulated. When she came up for air, she licked her lips which were slick with your release. Her eyes met your own as she wiped her mouth before leaning to kiss down your thighs once more. Her tongue ghosted over your sensitive flesh before she moved away to let you recover for a moment.

Your body laid limp on the bed as Sevika rubbed small circles on your waist to bring you back to earth. “Can you give me another, princess?” Her flesh hand found its way to your face again, her thumb slipping past your lips. You nodded your head slowly, your hazy eyes finding hers.

“Words baby.” She reminded you.

“Yes, Sevi. I can take it.” Your voice was muffled slightly by her digit, but it was clear you wanted whatever she’d give you. 

She slipped off the bed to retrieve her strap, slipping into the black harness that made your mouth water. The bed dipped under her weight as she climbed onto the bed once more, returning to her rightful place between your legs again. If Sevika was one thing in bed, it was appreciative. She took in your beautiful form inch by inch, her eyes scanning your body like it was a piece of art. Her demeanor was rough and mean with everyone and if you were honest, it turned you on completely. But she wasn’t like that with you, she treated you with care as if you were made of porcelain. Her touches were tender, making your comfort her highest regard. You truly were her princess

The tip of her silicone length rested against your soaked pussy, and you knew she wasn’t trying to tease, but you just wished she’d move. You bucked your hips with what energy you had left to receive a bit of friction, and all Sevika could do was chuckle at how needy you were. She took your movements as a sign to guide the dark purple length into you. Calloused hands guided your plush thighs to wrap around her waist gently. You squeezed your thighs around her as she disappeared into you little by little.

Her eyes trailed down to where you two were connected before trailing back up to look into your hazy eyes. Your lashes were lined with crystalline tears, collecting like little dewdrops on your lashes. 

“You’re taking me so good, sweetheart.” Sevika rasped, leaning down to kiss away your tears. “D’ya think you can handle me moving?”

A lewd whimper left your lips, and you didn’t quite trust your voice to not crack when you spoke. The best you could muster out was a little, “Please.” 

God, you sounded so blissed out, it was taking every bone in the older woman’s body to not fuck you silly into the mattress. She started with slow and controlled rolls of her hips into your cunt. You wrapped your arms around her broad back, pulling her flush against you. You couldn’t help but press soft kisses onto the little bruises you created on her from earlier. She sucked in a breath as you kissed a particularly sore spot. You let your teeth graze her neck, nipping at her ever so slightly.

Her hips stuttered initially as you bit her, but she picked up her movement, moving faster than before. Soft grunts were amplified in your ears and it was almost all you could focus on. If it weren’t for the thick toy being stuffed into you, you would have said something about the noises she was making. Her huffs vibrated against your ear lobe and on a particularly deep thrust she moaned like she could feel your cunt clenching around the toy.

“Baby you’re squeezing me so hard, so perfect.” She just couldn’t keep her hands to herself either. One hand rested on your waist and the other trailed down your stomach to your clit. She rubbed slow circles on your already sensitive clit and you couldn’t take it. The feeling of her quick, deep thrusts along with the additional stimulation was sending you reeling. 

You were just putty in her hands, babbling nonsense that resembled her name and various curse words. You couldn’t even hold your head up anymore, instead letting it hit the soft pillows beneath you. Sevika took the chance to kiss up your neck slowly, paying attention to every bit of exposed skin she could get to. By now her lipstick was already rubbed off, but you could still feel every mark she left on you. You wouldn’t trade the feeling for the world.

“Fuck!” You squealed out as she snapped her hips into you at an even more brutal pace. “‘M so close Sevi!” You could barely form a full sentence the way she was ruining you. Without warning your body stiffened and you were cumming. She didn’t slow down though, she kept her pace up as you twitched around her thick length. She pushed herself up from where she was trailing kisses all over your neck to see the rest of you. Your lips were plump and parted, lewd whimpers falling from them like that’s all you knew how to do. Your hair was messy, neck filled with bruises to match her own, and your chest was full of lipstick marks. You were completely hers, and you had the marks to prove it too.

Her eyes trailed down to where you were taking her so well, “Look at how it disappears baby, you were made for me.” Her words were filthy, and her eyes were full of lust as she saw the creamy white ring forming around the base of the toy.

Your brows furrowed as you began to feel overstimulated once more, and Sevika being the attentive woman she was, took it as a sign to slow down. Eventually she slid out of you, and you sighed at the empty feeling. Your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to catch your breath. Sevika pressed soft little kisses to both of your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, and finally a quick one to your lips, not wanting to tire you out anymore than you already were. “You did so good for me, princess.” She whispered into your ear as she brought her flesh hand to cup your face.

“Gonna clean you up now, is that okay?” 

You nodded slowly, your eyes still shut as she untangled herself from between your thighs to clean herself up and retrieve a washcloth for you. When she returned she was in a fresh pair of pajamas and her hair was down. You opened your eyes to take in the sight when you heard her footsteps again. “So cute.” You whispered with a giggle. To everyone in Zaun she was a scary lady, but to you she was your sweet girlfriend who wore big t-shirts and fuzzy pajama bottoms to bed. She just shook her head with a soft smile and settled onto the edge of the bed near your legs. You spread your legs for her and she wiped the inside of your thighs and your sensitive folds. A sigh slipped past your lips and she planted a kiss on your lips as she cleaned every last bit of you. “All clean…” She tossed the washcloth somewhere in the room, she’d put it in the wash tomorrow.

It wasn’t that Sevika wanted to see you in her clothes… of course not! She just wanted you to be warm, that’s all. That’s what she told herself as she slipped one of her sleep shirts over your head. Her heart melted when you poked your head out of the opening of the shirt and met her eyes. She couldn’t resist giving you another kiss. You smiled against her lips before she pulled back to slip a pair of your panties up your thighs and up onto your hips.

The moment you were clothed you dove under the covers, waving a lazy hand to make Sevika join you. Once she did you clung to her tightly, tucking your head under her chin to rest on her chest. Her warm body heated you up, and your eyes fluttered shut. “You sleepy, baby?” Sevika asked even though she already knew the answer.

You hummed a noncommittal noise, just opting to burrow closer to Sevika if that was even possible.

“I tired you out today huh…” 

When she got no response from you she kissed the top of your head and let her eyes shut slowly too. Sleep came easy to her when she had her princess wrapped up in arms.

[joshuhaos]

Plspslpspspspspsl I’m begging for fluff Sevika 😫😫😫😫 she’s my wifeeee, like I can just imagine Sevika fixing up her arm as we ask what everything does and oh! What is that?

omg yessss more Sevika fluff (I had to write this on my break so pls ignore mistakes) men dni

The quiet hum of Zaun’s night settled around the room, broken only by the soft click of Sevika adjusting her arm. She sat at the edge of the couch, her elbow propped on the armrest as she worked a small screwdriver into place, her brow furrowed in concentration.

You were curled up beside her, watching every twist and turn of the tool. The soft lamplight made her metallic arm gleam, its intricate details mesmerizing.

“What’s that do?” you asked, pointing at a tiny dial near her wrist.

Sevika paused, glancing at you with a look that hovered between amused and exasperated. “That? It adjusts the pressure. Keeps me from breaking every glass I pick up.”

“Ah, so you can be gentle,” you teased, leaning in a little closer.

“Watch it,” she said, smirking as she turned the screwdriver. “Or I’ll adjust it the wrong way and let you find out the hard way.”

You grinned, resting your chin in your hand as you shamelessly invaded her personal space. “Sure you will. You’d never forgive yourself if you broke my favourite mug.”

“Your mug?” she quipped, her tone dry. “Not your hand?”

“Well, my hand’s important too, but the mug’s irreplaceable.”

That earned you a low chuckle, her smirk softening. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re deflecting,” you shot back. “Tell me what this does.” You reached out, your fingers lightly brushing hers as you tapped the edge of a small panel near her knuckles.

Sevika’s hand stilled for a moment, her gaze flicking to your face. “That,” she said slowly, “is for emergency disengagement. If the arm jams or overheats, it cuts power to everything.”

Your brow furrowed. “Has it ever done that?”

“Once or twice,” she admitted. “Usually in a fight. Never at home.”

You leaned closer, inspecting the mechanism. “Sounds like a pain. Good thing you’re tough, huh?”

“Tough enough to deal with you,” she muttered, though the warmth in her voice betrayed the jab.

You laughed, sitting back slightly but letting your knee brush against hers. “You love it.”

“Sure,” she deadpanned, though the corner of her mouth quirked up.

Her focus returned to her arm, tightening a bolt near her wrist. As she worked, you reached out, lightly tracing the cool surface of the plating with your fingertip.

“What are you doing?” she asked, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

“Just... looking,” you said innocently, though the way your touch lingered didn’t quite match your words. “It’s fascinating. You’re fascinating.”

Sevika snorted softly. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, love”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe.” She turned her head just enough for you to catch the faintest hint of pink on her cheeks.

You smiled, leaning back with a satisfied hum as she resumed her adjustments. When she finally set the screwdriver down, she flexed her metal fingers experimentally, the soft whir of her arm breaking the silence.

“Good as new,” she said.

“Good enough to wrap around me?” you teased lightly.

Sevika rolled her eyes, but the smirk on her lips betrayed her. “You’re impossible.”

Still, without another word, she reached out and tugged you toward her. You shifted, letting her guide you until you were tucked comfortably against her side, your head resting on her shoulder. The cool weight of her metal arm draped around you, grounding and steady.

“Better?” she asked, her tone soft now.

“Perfect,” you murmured, letting yourself relax into her warmth.

Her hand brushed against your arm, fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm. You could feel her heartbeat under your cheek, steady and sure, a quiet reminder of how close she let you be.

“You’re getting spoiled,” she muttered, though there was no edge to her words.

“And you let me,” you teased back, tilting your head to look up at her.

Sevika’s smirk softened into something warmer as her gaze met yours. She leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I do.”

The two of you stayed like that, tangled together as the night stretched on, the hum of her arm and the sound of her steady breathing lulling you into a comfortable haze.

- Love Senny

ik ik I'm low-key so bad at writing fluff, but I hope I did this well (also I'm still working on the full fic for butcher sevika but it's taking time)

[joshuhaos]

HCs of Sevika in Love ఌ

Congrats champ, you bagged a baddie!

**Reader is fem!

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It's not that Sevika has crazy high standards. Her wants in a partner are actually very straightforward; it's just that most people lack the base integrity and self-accountability to even catch her attention in the first place

I really don't think she'd ever fall for anyone from Piltover, there's just too many generations of trauma accompanied by a life lived under their foot for her to get past. She loves Zaun too much to ever love anything to do with Piltover

That said, she's attracted to the ideals she associates with the Undercity; perseverance, strength (doesn't have to mean physical), adaptability and loyalty. If you have her love, you most certainly earned it bae

For her, it's probably an "oh shit"/"oh no" type of singular moment, when she realizes she's fallen in love

Either you got hurt or in some position where her true feelings were forced out of her, OR it's during an achingly soft moment where it's clear how loyal/devoted you are to her, and only her.

Absolutely spends months denying herself. She will try to distance, reasoning that you're both better off without the notion of love walling you in.

Zaun is no place for that, she thinks. She recalls Felicia and her husband, dying together on that bridge while a twenty-something year-old Sevika, at the time, watched them fall.

The pain to know you couldn't save your loved one in your final moments (even worse to leave two young children behind). She couldn't imagine it. Didn't want to. Sevika knew that her road would end at a violent last stop, and she didn't want you anywhere near that. She thinks about having met you in a different place.

…But she can't fully hide how she feels about you, not ever. She may oftentimes be rough and ruthless, but even at her worst moment Sevika isn't a cold individual. She's too passionate about you, cares too deeply for where you are and how you are

So when you show up at her apartment to yell at her for being so cruel, for shutting you out of her heart instead of being a grown-ass woman and telling you what the fuck you did wrong, she lets you.

She lets you yell until you've tired yourself out, and then she pulls you into that embrace you missed so much. You hit her shoulder or her chest, weakly, because you love her like crazy and never wanna actually hurt her, and tell her to fuck off.

"I didn't wanna push you away, dumbass," she'll say to you, softly, as she presses a kiss to your ear, "You think I don't want you with me all the time? To tell you I love you and shit without it coming back to bite us in the ass? Of course I do. Of course I do. I just… I don't know how. But I'm gonna fuckin' learn, doll. I promise."

"You… you love me? Really?" "Doll, I don't even let Silco talk to me like that." "You asshole-!"

You're mad, but not really. How can you be? You two will make this work, she already gave you her word.

It's more likely for you to move in with her than vice versa. She lets you go ham on adding your personality to her living space, she doesn't have any strong preferences besides cleanliness

Always says I love you before she goes to work. Just in case. If you mess with her and don't say it back, she will get up in arms about it within two seconds of silence

"I could die, you know." "Babe, I'm just joking!" "Do you see me laughing??"

Obviously, lets her drama queen side show more. She's just all-around looser once she confesses.

She makes sure you know how different you are from others, how special you are. Even her posture is different the moment you're within arm's reach

Body language and physicality are Sevika's main fluency. When in love, you notice the way she angles her body protectively around yours in public, or how she always urges you to link your arm with hers when you walk.

You notice that she almost looks… smaller at home. You realize this is on purpose. She makes herself less intimidating when it's just you, lowering herself to your level and opening her posture to you

At home, she likes kneeling by your side when you're sitting on the couch, checking you over or pressing slow kisses to your hands.

Devoted, devoted, devoted. She never wants you to forget.

Every time you call her name, she always stops what she's doing to give you her attention.

"Sevi?" "Yes, baby?" Every time. It's grounding for you both, in a way

Her henchmen become your henchmen. They know better than to say no to your requests for their help. (Ran is down for antics with you regardless!!)

People all over the Undercity start to recognize you as "Sevika's woman". Not her "girl", you garner too much respect for that

You are the only person Sevika answers to besides Silco. Her close circle teases her that you turn her into a little lovestruck puppy

It's really only them who are even capable of teasing her about this, because her changes in behavior are so minute but so important

She puts out her cigarillos when you sit down with her. She always shifts you over to her left side (the side most capable of protecting you). Her eyes start scanning the room more frequently than before you'd arrived.

She figures out over time that she was wrong. When she holds you against her while you sleep, and you grab her hand half-consciously to press kisses to her wrist, she knows you don't make her weak

When you whisper that you love her against her neck while you sway in the kitchen, moving to whatever music vibrates from the depths of her beloved city, she knows you don't make her weak

When you pull her back together without fail, remind her that she is more than just a grunt in a revolution, a soldier that can be replaced, she knows you don't make her weak

There isn't anything she wouldn't do to get back to you. She has to live long enough to know what a good life in a liberated Zaun looks like with you

[joshuhaos]

melatonin

oneshot? | enemies to fuckers sevika x reader

ao3 link

summary: you're forced to go on a business trip with your least favorite coworker and share a room with her. now you can't sleep.

18+ MDNI | 4.1k words | tags; canon divergence, sevika is a little mean, sevika is nonchalant fr, reader is a brat, very light sub/dom, vaginal fingering, scissoring, begging kink, praise kink kinda, porn w/ plot-ish, no use of y/n

new record; took me 4 days to write. i don't know who possessed me. i love enemies to lovers so bad FUCKKKK!!!

“One room.” The motel owner, an old, short, and grotesque-looking woman with a thick accent, says. 

 “One room? Clear another one out then?” You insist, mildly threateningly. The woman’s eyes glaze over as she blinks. She’s not moved.

“There are two beds; who cares?” Sevika grumbles, clearly over your antics.

You shoot a glare in her direction, lip forming into a scowl. “I’m not sharing a room with you; you look like you snore.” 

She tells you something along the lines of go fuck or kill yourself (you weren’t really listening) before pushing past you and replacing the room keys on the counter with a stack of silver cogs. 

The owner collects the cogs with a grunt before adjusting her small reader glasses. Sevika strides off towards the rooms, and you quickly turn after her.

“Couldn’t you have tried to help?” You ask. Your eyes burn a hole through the side of her face.

She doesn’t spare you a glance. “You’re dramatic, and I don’t have the patience to deal with your bullshit right now.”

You hate her. You fucking hate her. You’ve been working alongside Sevika for two years now, yet you can’t shake the feeling. It started when you first met; Sevika was cold and critical, reprimanding you even though you were young and starting out. That’s not even what drove you to hate her, though; at least back then it felt like she was looking out for you, but you were painfully mistaken when you got promoted within the year. 

You don’t know what it was; jealousy, doubt, but her distaste for you only grew more apparent. There were fewer critiques and more insults about how you work or about your intelligence. Insufferable. She was insufferable.

There hasn’t been a day she’s been likable since then, so imagine your reaction when Silco tells you and her to go on a little business trip to Bilgewater. No matter how much the both of you wanted to protest, you didn’t. Instead you two argued amongst yourselves the whole trip there. 

Why would you want to spend even more unnecessary time around her?

The minute you guys enter your room, you don’t speak a single word to each other, let alone look each other’s way. You take turns using the restroom to get ready for bed, and then you find a place for your belongings, and Sevika ejects her bionic arm for the night. Although you two definitely don’t like each other, it doesn’t mean you don’t trust each other. You know she won’t rob you; she knows you won’t (can’t) take advantage and kill her. That’s the only semblance of peace you share.

— 

A faint amber light soaks through your eyelids, and you blink them open to the popcorned ceiling. You toss and turn in your bed, rustling around, unable to find a good position, and it doesn’t help that the cheap mattress is, well, cheap. You can’t sleep. You’ve always had trouble sleeping, but it’s never been a real problem before; you’d just stay up. Yes, you have permanent eye bags because of it, but it’s not like you can choose otherwise. You‘re from Zaun; any aid for it is not exactly accessible. 

However, the meeting you have tomorrow is important, so it’s important that you find a way. You can’t afford to slack off or doze off during it; you’re the negotiator, and tomorrow makes or breaks a trade deal that will be most beneficial for Zaun’s income. 

You rustle in your bed sheets again, and Sevika immediately groans. “Can you stop? And turn the lamp off.”

You look at her and you’re about to apologize, but you hold your tongue when you remember who you’re talking to. “I can’t sleep.”

“Turn the lamp off and fucking figure it out.” She snaps, turning her back towards you.

“Can’t you hear?” You squirm around, making as much noise as possible to get your point across. “I’m trying.”

“Find a different way. Count poros. Turn the lamp off.”

You scoff, eyes back on the ceiling, “I’m not five; counting poros doesn’t work, and I’m not turning off the lamp.”

You can hear Sevika shifting in her bed. “I knew you should’ve stayed back,” she sighs, “and you’re scared of the dark? Grow up.”

“Wow, fuck you. If you had asked nicely, I would’ve turned it off, and what do you mean I ‘should’ve stayed’? You’re not my boss. I’m more valuable than you are.” You angrily rant. 

“Alright, you are talking way too much right now. Cut it out.” 

“…No.” You reply. It sounds unconvincing with your lack of words, but it was the best you could come up with.

“Do you need calming tea or something? What will get you to shut up, because I’m about to hold a pillow over your head and call it a night.” She growls.

“Nothing. I can only sleep if I get a concussion or if I drink my pants off.”

She says your name like a warning, “If you ruin this deal, I’ll make sure to see you off myself.”

You bite back, “Sevika, if I could sleep, I would be sleeping. I don’t want to ruin it either, but your scolding isn’t helping.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, then Sevika grunts stubbornly. It’s followed by sheets moving and a dull stomp on the floor. You turn to look, and you see Sevika sitting at the side of her bed. 

You glance at her muscular thighs in those gray shorts—you couldn’t help it—before staring back at the ceiling. “Are you going to make me tea?”

She pushes off the bed with her one arm. “No.”

“Switching rooms then?” You ask as your eyes follow her shadow’s movement on the walls. 

“No.”

“Then... What is it?“ You turn, flinching a bit when you find Sevika peering down at you. 

She looks hesitant, timid; the first time you’ve ever seen it. “I’ll help you.”

Your defenses go off, and you quickly sit up. “Wait. You’re not going to kill me, right?”

“Over sleep? Are you stupid?” She pushes you back down, and not with much force, obviously.

You lay there, defeated. “So?”

“I said, ‘I’ll help you.'” She restates.

You stare up at her with slight annoyance, “Well, you have to tell me how?”

She has an indecisive frown before exhaling, “If you come, you’ll shut up.” 

Your head shakes in confusion. “Come? Where are we going?” 

“You’re an actual idiot.” She groans.

You gasp in offense. “You’re the one being fucking cryptic—“

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.” 

“What?”

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.”

“I heard you; I’m just,” you laugh nervously, “are you serious?” Your ears must be playing tricks on you. 

“We’re not close enough to joke around with each other.” She says plainly.

Baffled, you reply, “We’re not close enough to fuck either?” 

“Do you really care about shit like that? Sex is sex.”

You think about it for a second. You’ve never been in a proper relationship, and you’ve only had a handful of hookups, but you’ve never slept with someone you dislike, and you definitely don’t like Sevika. Even if she is hot. “Well, I guess not—“

“—Then what’s the issue?” Her eyes bore into you.

You gulp at the sudden weight of her stare, but you don’t crumble. “The issue is that I don’t like you. At all.”

Sevika scoffs, “I’ve seen the way you stare at me. You’re not subtle. At all. I saw you do it a few minutes ago.”

How embarrassing. It’s true, between all your hate are moments of admiration. Sevika is “cool,” she’s respected, she’s feared. She’s also full of herself, naggy, and blunt. Both things can be true. But on top of that, she’s hot to the point it’s frustrating. 

One time, while she was sitting in her designated booth at The Last Drop playing poker, she locked eyes with you after a big win. There was that sexy, satisfied grin she always gets after every win, and she had the audacity to lock eyes with you. 

Your thighs pressed together. You beat yourself up over it for the rest of the night and the following day; you couldn’t even look her in the eye without getting unreasonably angry.

Your face is turning warm, but there’s no point in turning away—you have to fake it until you make it. “Okay? What’s your point?” You ask, even though her point was very clear. You’re running yourself into walls.

Sevika already deciphered that; her face reads, ‘Where the fuck are you right now?’ “Listen, I don’t like you either, but if you want to sleep, I’ll help you, and if you don’t, I’ll get another room.” She explains.

You can tell it’s her final offer. You chew your bottom lip until you remember Sevika is still looking at you. Hiding your face behind your hand, you can’t believe you’re considering it. Sex with Sevika. Sounds mad when you repeat it in your head. It’s just sex, though, right? You knew she loved Zaun, but you didn’t know she loved it this much. Sleeping with you, practically her arch nemesis, for the betterment of society. That sounds insane. This is insane.

Sevika kisses her teeth, “Forget it—“ 

“—Okay,” you interrupt, “help me.” You’re unable to look her in the eyes. 

She looks at you dubiously, and her lack of doing anything unnerves you, so you continue. “Please?” You slowly look up at her, and you swear her eyes darkened. 

“Please?” She mimics. “Didn’t take you for the submissive type.” 

“No idea what you’re talking about.” You reply, although it comes out like a whisper.

“Mhm,” she hums apathetically, pulling up the covers draped over you. Her knee makes a dip in the bed. “Make some space,” she asks. You sit up, and you have no idea what to do. Looking left and right, you'd think you were trying to cross the road. She stares blankly. “Just spread your legs.” She commands.

You immediately do as she says, and she chuckles to herself at how you continue to prove her right. You’re clearly not a fan of that, your frown prominent. “What’s funny?” 

Sevika kneels herself between your legs, using her arm to help balance her in place. “Man, you love to argue.” 

You shrug. “I’ll stop when you fuck me to sleep. If you can... Don’t you think you’re a little overconfident?” 

Sevika slowly blinks at you, unsure of whether she should be turned on or irritated. You take it as the latter, and now it’s your turn to chuckle to yourself. But your self-satisfied giggling stops when she leans over you, inches away from your face, “You’re about to find out.” 

You never took the time to process Sevika kneeling between your legs, and now you can feel each exhale from her on your face. Your body starts to process it too: your breathing gets heavier and your heartbeat gets faster. You don’t have a crush on her or anything, but this is an unusual, unsurprisingly hot experience. Your eyes flicker to her full, uneven lips before they squeeze shut.

Sevika flicks your forehead. “Wh—ow?!” You whine, rubbing your head with your hand to soothe it. 

“I’m not kissing you.” She clarifies.

Your face warms with embarrassment, fingers gripping at the fabric beneath you. “How was I supposed to know you wanted a staring contest?” You grumble.

Sevika rolls her eyes, barely shaking her head in disappointment. Her face moves on from yours, and her lips attack the exposed curvature of your neck, licking, biting, and rendering you speechless. She gives you no time to regulate your emotions, and you let out a soft groan you would’ve otherwise swallowed down. Just what she wanted: less talking, more moaning.

Letting her guide the tilt of your head, you awkwardly rest your hands on her shoulders. You’re unsure of whether you can or should touch her. She pauses. “Sor— I… uh…” You stammer and put your hands up. You decide to just stop speaking to save yourself.

“Relax.” She tells you, gazing at you through her loose, dark hair. It stirs something below you. 

You place your hands back on her shoulders, albeit reluctantly, and try to maintain eye contact so you look composed. 

Sevika doesn’t buy it. She glances at your hands, very tellingly. “…Relax.” She repeats, softer than she did before, and your heart skips a beat like you’re in a cliché. 

Hesitantly, you slide your arms around her shoulders, linking your hands together. It feels intimate, too intimate, and looking at her is getting harder by the second. Sevika chuckles in a way that borders on a scoff. “You wanted to do that; don’t be shy about it.”

You huff, “I didn’t know I was being teased to sleep…”

“Is it working? It’d save me time.”

“Fuck off...” 

“You’d hate that.” She replies, as if it’s undeniable. It is, but she’s way too cocky about it. You look like you’re about to curse her out, but you’re holding it back. 

Sevika grins smugly, and for a moment, she considers kissing you. Your arms are wrapped around her shoulders, your eyes are yelling, ‘Fuck me already,’ lips practically begging to meet hers.

This is intimate, too intimate. It’s fucking with her logical reasoning—not that this is logical to begin with. It sounds stupid, but it’s worked for her so far; she casually fucks on the regular, and she doesn’t kiss them ever. Never really felt like it. Yet, here you are, making her feel new things. She knows there’s no going back if she makes an exception with you, and quite frankly, you still piss her off. It’s conflicting.

You impatiently perk a brow at her. You had to stop yourself from flat-out asking her to continue; your ego can’t afford you coming off as begging.

For a millisecond she looks like she got caught, then a millisecond later, she’s on you again. 

She attentively kisses the skin below the curve of your jawline, her tongue making frequent warm appearances. It’s much more fervent, but rough in a way that makes you tremble. She always makes sure you feel her teeth gliding over when she moves to the next spot. Your legs move on their own, one leg curling up against her side. You’re already pooling where you’re seated, but now it’s getting uncomfortable to sit this damp. 

Experienced is how you can describe her right now. You heard rumors of her activity, but you never believed it. There was no way her ol’ grumpy ass was getting laid, no matter how incredibly sexy she was. Then again, you never got along, which makes this situation, this fucking feeling, even crazier. 

She was being extra careful not to bruise you at first, but she seems not to care anymore, only driven further when she hears your little gasps or feels your arms tightening around her. She’s getting carried away, but she’ll figure out how to play it off some other time.

 Sevika pulls back. She throbs at your dazed and confused expression.  “Come closer.” She ushers as she transitions to sitting rather than kneeling on the bed. 

With no hesitation, you don’t let go of Sevika as you push yourself forward on your hips, sitting your ass comfortably on the edge of Sevika’s lap. Her hand lands on your waist. She says, “Lay down for me.” 

You nod shyly, removing your arms from Sevika’s shoulders and descending onto the mattress. Sevika tries to ignore how the loss of your arms around her made her feel. Her hand travels to the waistband of your joggers. “You’re going to have to move these for me too.” She asks, shrugging her shoulder that’s missing an arm as a reminder. 

She doesn’t move; she waits. Your insides do a flip. She’s waiting for you to remove them how you are now: legs diverged around her, hips pointed towards her. You think about how vulnerable you’ll look and feel when you slide them off, showing her the sopping mess she unknowingly made between your legs. You know she’s going to see it eventually, but from you doing the honors? That’s tearing you apart. She notices a shift in your demeanor, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. “Hurry up.” 

“Can’t you move back…?”

Sevika rolls her eyes. “No.”

You whine in embarrassment, briefly shielding your face in your hands before hastily pulling at your waistband. You wish you had turned the lamp off.

Sevika’s hand clasps over yours. “Slowly.” She scolds. Scolds. You’re fucking flabbergasted. She’s doing this on purpose, you can tell. She’s barely holding back another signature, smug smile. 

“You’re such a dick.” You curse. A direct juxtaposition in your actions that don’t defy Sevika at all. Hell, it juxtaposes your body because of how you’re aching for her.

“Yeah, yeah. Off.” She pulls at the band of your pants, letting it slap down when she releases it. 

You mutter out a few more curses that she fully grins at before you silently begin to remove your joggers and underwear simultaneously. You lift your hips for mobility, and Sevika’s eyes are glued to the fabric making its way down your thighs, and you’re forced to watch how intently she’s watching you. You can try to insist this is humiliating and cruel, but you can’t stop throbbing just from this; her eyes anticipating your reveal, like you’re a self-opening present.

The clothing starts to bunch at the middle of your thighs, and your arousal is halfway there to being exposed to Sevika. The scent is what hits her first; it makes her want to yank your pants down and give you what you want, but watching you do it so much better.

Once it reaches above your knees, she partially moves out of the way so she can help you remove them properly. While she tosses it elsewhere, you debate pinning your legs shut. 

Sevika looks back at you—your legs, actually—and you do flinch them closed. She tsks. “Don’t be stubborn. Not now.” She didn’t sound like she was insulting you, even though a small part of you wanted to be offended. 

You let out a shaky sigh and avoid her gaze, slowly parting your legs. Thighs slicked with arousal, folds glistened with the same, you’re undeniably soaked. You prepare yourself to look at Sevika’s shit-eating grin, but when you do, it’s nothing of the sort. Her eyes are low, shaded, and memorializing, and her bottom lip fully disappeared between her teeth. 

Then she grins; she even laughs, just as you expected. You groan, not at her, but at how wet you got from it. “I didn’t even do anything yet.” She teases, her eyes still locked on the ego-stroking mess she made of you. 

“Such a di—“ You cut yourself off to moan sharply. 

Sevika’s thumb came in contact with your swollen clit, the rough pad of her thumb making perfect circles; the rest of her fingers positioned in the patch of hair crowning above it.

“How fast do you think you’ll come? I’m thinking,” she pretends to, only to press her thumb over your clit. Filthy words flutter from your lips, and you instinctively grind into her touch. “Three minutes?” 

You look pissed between your bouts of pleasure; it molds together attractively. Sevika can’t wait to make it break, make you cry, and fuck the attitude out of you. “What? You should see how wet you are; you’d think I already fucked you.” 

She feels the way you twitch at her words, and it makes the pressure between her legs unbearable. She should just strip and grind her cunt into you, but she knows she won’t be able to stop there. Fuck her stupid life; she’s losing the plot. 

Her thick forefinger collects your slick as she paths towards your entrance. You twitch as she slides it in, making you gasp. She chuckles as your walls clench around her finger, and she starts pushing it in and out, painstakingly slow. 

It’s not enough, yet you can’t bring yourself to beg her for more. It’s at the tip of your tongue, but Sevika was right; you are stubborn. She reads you like a book, and she can read you now. She angles her finger in a way that brushes against your g-spot, but at the same mind-numbingly slow pace. 

Your body doesn’t know what to do; you can’t find friction anywhere; you can squeeze against her finger, but it doesn’t change her speed; all you can do is writhe in place. “You look like you need something,” she says, almost like it’s a thought in her head, so condescending, so fucking hot. Your pussy tenses around her finger for the millionth time, and you almost, almost, cry. “You’re gonna cut my finger off at this rate.” You tense again. She chuckles. 

“Sev—Sevika,” you bite your lip to hold down a sharp inhale, but it fails miserably. “Sevika, you’re not helping.”

 “Should I stop?” She asks with the tilt of her head. Her finger does stop regardless of the answer. 

Your hands reach out for her wrist, weakly clawing at it. “No! No, pl...” You mildly cringe at yourself, turning away. 

Sevika’s brows lifted. “What was that? Pl...?” She begins her pace again, and you realize you didn’t appreciate it enough before. “You said it once already; come on.” 

Your lips tremble, “Plea—se—?” She barely lets you finish the word before slipping another finger into your drooling cunt. Her pace increases, and you let go of her wrist as you succumb to pleasure. 

 Your arousal coating her fingers makes the most obscene noises; she wonders if the entire motel can hear it. You try to suppress your moans with your hand, but you can never do it right, not with the way she’s fucking you. Sevika’s glad you can’t; having one arm would’ve been even more inconvenient otherwise. She needs to hear you sob out her name at least once. “Please what?” She leans over you as she slams her fingers into you, pressing them against your wet, ridged, gummy walls.

“You’re— fuck, you’re pushing it,” you groan, and just like that, she slows down. But you’re weak, and you crumble. “Wait, wait, wait—please. Please, fuck me... Fuck me to sleep.” You ramble loosely, back to scratching at her wrists again. There’s that smile you were thinking about earlier, the one she gets after a big win. She broke you, and she lost the plot ages ago. 

—

It’s been an hour, and you’re already on the brink of your third orgasm. Sevika folded and ended up, verbatim, stripping and grinding her cunt into yours. You should be asleep right now, but Sevika said you have enough time to catch up on it before the meeting. You hope that’s true, but you don’t care. You can’t get enough of her or her abs flexing with every desperate hump. 

So intent on getting her rocks off, practically using you for her own pleasure at this point—you already came twice now; any more is a bonus, just like the one building up right now. Your eyes are pressed shut, trying to envision your release so it comes quicker. “Just like that. Keep fucking me, please, Sev.” You beg through your teeth and quiet sniffles. Sevika’s fingers squeeze the meat of your thigh.

She murmurs, “You,” her movements get sloppier; you can tell she’s close, “feel so fucking good.” Now you’re close—no, you come at her praise. 

You’re shaking, grabbing at the sheets that have since slid off the mattress. You forgot how to breathe; all you can feel is your orgasm coursing through you. Your mind is turning fuzzy, and even fuzzier with Sevika still grinding into you. Your moans are pitchy and pornographic; you’re making sounds you didn’t even think happened in real life. “Sevika...” You sob out from overstimulation, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

She loves it. “Shit…” Sevika moans, followed by several more curses as she shudders out her orgasm. Her vision goes blurry for a second from how hard she came. She tries to control her labored breathing as she comes to, breathlessly calling your name. 

When she focuses in on you, you’re passed out, fucked out, and peaceful. Sevika’s pupils dilate at the markings she left on your neck, then to your lips, which she’s yet to have the chance to kiss. She lets the sleep weighing on her win and carefully collapses beside you. 

[joshuhaos]

LOVE LOVE LOVEEEE OMG!!!

｡ﾟ•┈୨ Le temps de guérir Part 2 ୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Steb x F!reader

Part 1

It's been 3 weeks sicne you Steb tried to kiss you and vanished without another word, leaving without any signs of life. You see him outside in the rain through your windows, lost with a large backpack. Where is he going?

Tags: pining, Steb definitely has guilt and PTSD, slow burn, forced proximity, movie night, domestic, tension, suggestive towards the end

Request open for Best boy Steb <3

You sip your fuming drink with delight, thunder rumbling and neverending rain hitting the glass while you read your novel, seated at the window of your small house. This is small, but it is yours. Squeezed between two larger buildings, ready to crumble, cramped but this it’s your nest. 

You turn the page with another sip as lightning tears the sky apart, prompting you to look outside, observing Piltover, destroyed but still standing. You lay your forehead against the glass, thinking about all the habitants whose houses have been destroyed during the battle and are sleeping in a shelter or on the streets tonight... You feel your throat tightening under your incapacity to help them all. 

What are you for as an enforcer if you can’t even help the population efficiently? 

The wounded population came back under control allowing you to volunteer to help the teams rebuild the city, leaving patient care to proper doctors and nurses. This week of groceries has been offered to you by a market gardener whom you helped rebuild the shop. You would have been content with a simple “thank you” and shaking hands, but free food is free food and you do not have the paycheck to pass such an offer. 

Your eyes travel your street, seeing the people walking hurriedly under the rain, with an umbrella or not. A stray cat rushes past the corner of the street to disappear farther into the tighter streets of the poorer neighborhoods of Piltover.  

Not that yours is rich by any measure... 

You sigh. You have not taken time to rest since the end of the war as you feel like there is still so much to do, making all your previous efforts and accomplishments feel... insignificant. Discouraged you let your head rest against the window, letting your gaze get lost... 

You frown, is that Steb in the street down there?  

You press yourself against the window and focus on the silhouette... That is definitely him! Why is he here? You have not seen him since that day he tried to kiss you and then... vanished.  

You’re relieved to see him in... arguably better health than when you dressed his wounds, but you feel a bit angry at him! 

He seems to be searching his way with a bag on his back... 

Without any second thought, you jump on your feet, running down your stairs to your door, and open it with difficulties against the wind. You run to him. His ears perk up at your steps and he turns to face you. 

“What in the seven hells are you doing alone in the rain like that, Steb?!” You shout for him to hear you over the thunder and the rain. 

He looks at you up and down in surprise and his gaze rapidly comes back to your face. His ears and cheek scales shake. You lower your eyes to look at yourself, realizing you left your house with almost nothing on your back: short pajamas, and a thin dressing gown. 

Neither are meant to sustain the rain. 

You growl and slap his arm for even looking, making him frown, offended. 

“Why are you out during your remission Steb? Why are you... Nevermind! Come here!” You grab his arm and pull him inside your little house, not leaving him the choice. 

You growl as you force your door close shut! Stupid old house! You sneeze hard, wet and cold, but inside! Steb remains still like a cone in the entrance, dripping on your carpet, but more warmly clothed in his Enforcer uniform.  

He looks around with polite curiosity, detailing the passed wallpaper; the old-style mirror, the shoes on the ground; the huge dresser taking place in the cramped entrance… He is almost too tall to stand straight inside. 

You sneeze again, prompting him to turn to you with worry in his gaze, but you’re the one who should be worried about this... IDIOT! You take his hand and pull him into the small living room, releasing him to pull a tissue out of a box, and sneeze once more. 

Steb takes some steps in the living room, observing the pictures on the wall, the small, cold open fire, the plants, the used sofa, the rickety bookcase, and the table with four chairs next to your kitchenette. Your little nest... 

“Steb...” You call, making him turn to you, “Where did you go wounded like that? I ran through all the camps of Piltover. You were nowhere to be found!” 

He lowers his gaze to the ground, his cheek scales waving once as he presses his lips tight. 

“I was worried sick!” You continue, “I thought... I thought you did something really stupid!” You feel your voice crack as tears build up behind your eyes realizing how truly mad you were at him! 

He raises his gaze back to you, filled with sorrow and regret. He hesitates and takes a step toward you, reaching out with his hand but you slap it away. 

“I am MAD at you Steb!” You grit your teeth. 

He lets his hand fall back to his side and you have a gut-wrenching feeling of deja vu. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. 

Calm down... 

“You have some explaining to do, Mister! But first...” You open a closet, rummage through it, and throw him a large towel that he expertly catches. “You will take a warm shower! You’re wet to the bone!” 

He cocks his head at you with a raised eyebrow before repeating his error of looking down. He immediately turns his head away, fins and ears vibrating, and a delicate rosy shade spreading on his cheek. 

You grumble and snap your fingers. 

“To the shower, Mister!” You order. 

He obediently nods and climbs the stairs to enter the bathroom. 

You lower your gaze and gasp in shock! 

The fabric leaves LITTLE to the imagination once wet! Thank the Gods you have undergaraments! 

You instinctively cover your breast, alone in your living room, seething with embarrassment! 

You take another towel and rush to your bedroom to wipe yourself dry and put on more modest clothes. You leave dry male clothes before the bathroom door for Steb to find. 

You go back down and put some milk on a low boil. When Steb reappears you are pouring the thick hot chocolate in two cups that you put on the small table. You stop dead in your tracks when you see him 

He looks 10 years younger in those relaxed clothes ... 

He looks at you interrogatively, pulling on the collar of the white shirt. 

“I think it’s my cousin’s.” You explain, trying to comfort him. 

Comfort him? What’s it to him if those clothes belong to one of your sex friends anyway?! You mentally berate yourself as he nods silently. 

“I put your bag on the Sofa.” You notify him, “Are the clothes okay with the gills?” You suddenly worry. 

He nods once more, approaching the chairs. You push a cup to him and you both sit down, holding your own cup, both pairs of eyes glued to the table. 

Embarassed. 

The memory of the missed kiss replays in both of your minds, putting you on edge. 

“Where did you go?” You finally ask, “I was terrified...” 

He blinks his third eyelid, clearly not proud of himself before signing. 

“The barracks? I did not have time to go there, indeed...” You nod, pressing your lips in a thin line. 

You’ve been running between patient beds for three weeks and then go straight to helping the construction teams, you did not even have time to take your own stuff from the barracks for your current leave. 

Your hands tense up around your cup. 

Steb just signed. 

He never signs for very short sentences... He always made an effort to speak despite the pain. 

But not this time. 

“Your wounds?” You inquire with a calm tone, but inside you shake like a leaf. 

You nod as he informs you they are almost completely healed up, it is only a matter of days now. He signs a thank you for dressing them. 

“Don’t mention it, you would have done the same for me.” You affably smile, “Where were you going at this hour under the rain, Steb?” 

He stands up to open his bag, taking out a folded sheet of paper that he hands you, sitting back down. 

“A shelter?” You raise your eyes to him, tension visible on your face, “Why would you need to go to a shelter?” 

His shoulders lower slightly before explaining. 

“Oh... No. Steb I am so sorry for your house... Is your family okay at least?”  

He blinks at you, interrogation in his eyes. 

“You spouse? Your siblings? Parents?” 

He shakes his head, moving his hands. 

“I... always thought you were married.” You admit, biting your lower lips as you feel a bit stupid. 

He gives you the same interrogative expression again. 

“I don’t know. You look like a man who has his life sorted out, I imagined you coming home to your family once the evening came...” 

He shrugs. 

Evidently, he came home to an empty house once his shift was done. Just like you... 

“And now that your leave has come, you cannot stay in the barracks...” You put two and two together, massaging one temple before sighing, “You should remain here. It’s a bit cramped for two but we should manage.” 

He immediately frowns and shakes his head. If you did not know him you would thought he took offense to your proposition, but knowing him he must worry about you first, a single woman inviting a simple colleague to live with her like that... 

“Steb, the shelters are full to the brim, aren’t properly heated, and have difficulties providing three meals a day right now. I am not letting you go back into the streets like that! I have a sofa bed, it’s not the high of luxury but I would feel better knowing you have a real roof over your head.” 

He gulps, not really on board but evaluating his options.  

“Plus you will need a workstation if you want to join the insurance for your house and shelters don’t have those.” You hammer home. 

He closes his eyes, like he is about to make a decision he will regret, looks back at you, and nods. 

“Great...” You nod weakly, “Good...” You finish your cup in one go and slam it on the table, “I need to grab something.” 

Steb silently observes you skirting the table and leaving the room as you rush up the stairs. You close the door of your bedroom and lay against it, pressing your hand against your eyes. 

‘The fuck are you doing, you idiot?’ you ask yourself. 

You reject him and then invite him to live at your place for a time? 

But you could not just leave him like that! What kind of friend would you be? You tap your cheeks repeatedly and take a big breath. 

It’s just for a short period, you rationalize! It’s gonna be weird but it will be short!  

You reenter the living room and discover Steb cleaning the cups in the sink. He turns to you as he hears your steps, wiping a cup with a dish towel. You look into each other’s eyes for several seconds before you both turn away, embarrassed.  

You feel your cheeks heating dangerously as his ear tips shake... 

“I’ll open the couch for you.” You clear your throat. 

You turn the screws for it to unfold but when you pull on the sits you pinch your skin between metal bars, making you yelp in pain and surprise. Your finger is now bleeding! You try to shake it to numb the pain but Steb arrives at your side, taking your hand gently in his to observe more closely. 

“I pinched my skin.” You explain, baffled by your clumsiness. 

He takes a box of band-aids out of his bag and you refrain from chuckling! You’ve been doing the exact same since you became an official Medic: boxes of band-aids in every bag and pocket! 

He wraps your finger cautiously and considers it for a small moment before raising it to his lips and gently kissing it like he would console a child. 

Like it just down on him, he takes your hand away hurriedly with a shocked expression, the rosy shade spreading again while you open your mouth slightly agape, a tight knot in your stomach. 

“Thanks, Steb...” You finally manage to speak “I... You can finish the bed while I cook us a quick meal? There are pillows and sheets in this closet.”  

He gulps and nods, releasing your hand entirely. 

You slightly tremble as you cut the vegetables, remembering his tall, half-naked body against yours under that tent...  The fire between your legs and the utter confusion in your head. 

He looked so lost... 

You shake your head. Steb was wounded and in shock and you were most likely the first person to extend your hand to him at that moment and he simply forgot himself!  

Your desires and silly dreams do not matter, you should focus on offering him a solid shoulder to lay against! His recovery should be your sole focus!  

You turn toward him with a wide smile and a voice full of enthusiasm! Too much to be honest... 

“I hope you are hungry!” 

He looks at you a bit confused as to where this sudden energy comes from all of a sudden! You pour your stew into two large plates, add a bowl of diced cheese, and one of chips, and bring the tray to the sofa bed. 

“Apparently this is a special soiree, they broadcast only old B horror movies tonight on the third channel! Tempted?” You ask Steb with a little grin and a beating heart.  

Steb cocks his head, interested. 

------------------------------------------------ 

The fire burns gently as you snack on the cheese, while Steb eats his stew slowly with small spoonfuls, watching the classics of the genre. He slowly relaxes, laying back, combing his fingers through his hair, and tilting his head to the curious creature's designs. You hand him the chips bowl, that he refuses, shaking his hand. 

“The remasters aren’t that good! For those results, they should let us enjoy the queerness of the originals!” You comment, making Steb slightly chuckle and nod in agreement.  

The movies are old but the grains have been forcefully smoothened and the restored sound rings bizarrely. 

Steb lays back, picking cheese dice from time to time, both focused on your old TV post. You comment from time to time at the absurdity of the scenarios, earning a chuckle from your former mentor. You realize he is a movie enthusiast and knows a lot about all those movies, telling you how they made that effect, why they chose this instrument for this scene, etc... 

At some point, you are more looking at him signing than the screen, kicking your feet with a smile, hypnotized by the Vastaya! It is pleasant and you cannot help yourself but look at his gorgeous face illuminated with amusement. 

Too lost in the enthusiasm your hands brush inadvertently when you try to pick some cheese.  

You both look at each other, frozen before you take off your hand while Steb looks a bit confounded. 

“Sorry.” You clear your throat. 

He gently shakes his head and resumes watching, stopping his info dump but ears shaking a bit. 

You focus hard on the movies, you cannot look at him, too embarrassed. 

You try to be relaxed but he is just so close to you, and each time he enters your vision you have a flash of his lips right above yours, patiently waiting to press them tenderly together. 

You craved it childishly for two whole years... 

You mentally slap yourself. 

The next movie is... an experience, that’s for sure. 

‘Creature from the Black Lagoon of the Shadow isles.’ 

That’s a mouthful. 

You’ve never seen the movie but Steb is familiar with the synopsis, it dates back to the very first Vastayas, when the rest of humanity was not prepared for them and looked at them with some fear and suspicion. 

In this one, a first-generation Aquatic Vastaya captures a woman after getting smitten with her.  

A B movie through and through.  

But Steb explains to you this movie was in fact created by a Vastaya ally and wanted to show them in a new light. 

Still with the baggage and bigotry of the times, you cannot help but notice as the creature appears for the first time... You Steb explains that it was a pioneer of the genre and Vastaya’s held it long likea conerstone of their movement for equality, and it is still dearly regarded in his community. 

“Do you still to watch it then? Since you already know it?” You ask. 

He nods frankly informing you that he never watched in its entirety before. 

You cringe several times at some dated and now offensive jokes but Steb just... starts laughing. You look at him hiding his mouth behind his hand as his shoulders shake, holding his side. He lets himself fall down on the sofa-bed as his chest trembles with clear laughter. You look at him curious before he starts to sign, his hands still shaking. 

“Oh, the design of the creature is wrong!” You understand, looking back at the weirdly shaped Manfish, “That much?” you turn to Steb again. 

He nods, trying to catch his breath with a deep sigh. 

“I mean, it’s true you do not look alike at all. You are way more elegant and-” You almost say handsome but bite your lips into silence before putting your foot in it! 

He raises his head, looking at you with the remnant of his laughterstill shaking his shoulders and questions in his blue eyes. 

“I didn’t say anything.” You pretend, ostensibly turning towards the TV post. 

He raises back in a sitting position, way more relaxed and jovial once again, his face much looser and with a tight mocking smile. He is way more interested in this movie than the other. You observe him with a side glance, how he shakes his head with playful disagreement, and how he giggly winces. 

At least one of you is pleased.  

You devour your chips bowl as more and more misadventures happen to the scientific crew researching the Fishman until he gets his hand on the woman. 

When he catches her in his cave, the ambiance changes drastically.  

Is it the change in the lighting, the way the actress crosses her legs in this tiny bikini, the music much more subdued and lascivious, but suddenly you are not watching a horror movie anymore... 

But a completely different genre! 

You clear your throat as the creature stands proud before the woman, towering like a predator over her. But she does not look frightened, she smiles, a cheeky grin, brushing her naked legs together suggestively as an oriental flute starts with slow percussions. 

What... What are you watching exactly? 

Steb tilts his head slowly to the side, as lost as you are as the Fisman approaches his victim, his hands gently parting her legs open and delicately caressing the skin from her ankles to her thighs. 

“Huuuuuuuuh...” You let out, a bit frightened by what you are seeing on your tv. 

The music picks up as the Vastaya plays with the hem of the bikini, letting it slap the skin of her stomach while she chuckles playfully. 

You frown more and more, petrified. Should you be watching that with Steb next to you? 

When did the transmission change from old duds to erotic tapes? The creature waves over the body of his partner, as she arches her back in an almost pornographic way, making you dig your nails into the small pillow you are holding, your breath escaping you. 

The Vastaya’s clawed hand brushes the neck of the woman who throws her head back, lowering to her breast, pulling the top, threatening to tear it apart like paper. 

You’re about to scream when the Fishman starts pulling the panties off but the post suddenly cuts to black. Your scream is blocked in your throat, wondering what just happened when you hear a quick respiration next to you. You turn your head to Steb who lowers his hand holding the remote, taking deep breathes, as confused as you are.  

His large chest rises up and down in an impressive fashion while his fins tremble, proof of inner turmoil and raging emotions. 

“Good idea, Steb. It is very late, we should be sleeping already!” You declare jumping on your feet to tidy up the plates and exit the room rapidly. 

You cannot look at each other, you would implode under the tension. You throw the plates in the sink and hurry to the door as quickly as you can. 

“Goodnight, Steb!” You throw, litteraly fleeing the scene.  

You run to the upper floor, putting as much distance between you two as you can before taking a deep breath at the top of the stairs. 

You will give it to the movie, they did sensual and intimate way better than a ton of pornographic content you had the occasion to consume!  

But it had to be this film! With these characters! With him next to you! 

You suddenly wonder if a deity just decided to play with your nerves and put you in situations for their own enjoyment. 

You sigh entering your bathroom to freshen up, splashing water to your face. When you reopen your eyes, you notice Steb’s uniform hanging in the back to dry. You approach to admire it, his higher rank plake shining on his chest with... medals?  

You squint, taking a closer look. 

Steb earned a medal for his actions during the battle, and while you will never take that away from him, you cannot help but admire the irony of the situation 

Steb the decorated hero is in the streets, without a roof over his head because his house was destroyed. 

You sniff, Piltover fell so low! It is infuriating! 

And dishonoring for him! 

You should keep your head on your shoulders and focus on helping him instead of dreaming like a child! 

That said, it was hard to keep the memory of that day under the tent at bay, knowing that the man of your dream in sleeping in your living room. 

Still feeling the ghost of his touch on your skin... 

------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Steb sighs deeply, trying to calm down the beating of his heart. 

He had to stop the movie, he could not watch a second more, not so close to you! It was beyond him! 

He often wondered why his parents always cut the film when he was around in his childhood. He does not wonder anymore, and he would have liked to discover it on his own and not pressed against your warm body, when each of his breaths is filled with your scent, getting to his head. 

He sighs again, wondering where all of his self-control went... He just loses it around you. 

He had time to think about his actions, about that day... 

He was not in his normal state and was desperately searching for a gentle hand. 

He found you. 

He berated himself a lot during those three weeks, he was convinced he deeply shocked you that day and that you were deeply angry at him for trespassing the limits of your relationship. Hr first thought it was shock speaking and he would have tried with anyone else. 

But 

But he caught himself thinking back at the softness of your skin in his hands, the plump of your parted lips he wanted to taste at least once... Memories of your training under his tutelage coming back to him, comforting his shaken heart full of doubt. 

At least you 

At least you were all right 

He did not lose everything in this senseless war. Someone was still at his side, even if you were mad at him.  

He buries his nose under the cover you provided him. This too smells just like you... 

It pierces his heart a million ways, but he likes it deep down. 

He brushes his cheek against the fabric, letting the scent invading his lungs gently... 

He closes his eyes, surrounded by your reassuring and warm presence, in some form of peace for the first time in weeks... 

☆TagList☆

@aecarstairs @wiltyard @sanktastuff @mahirublue @chocalycake @rositabluemoon @blackwoodwinter @archangel1206 @marshallowy @crimson23capricorn @m0na-lis4 @chjopchjop @editedjeans @joshuhaos @dulcecita-luzita @cyberneticfrk @nottherealamber @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching

[joshuhaos]

I am so in love with him😔

get clean, get dirty

steb/fem!reader

warnings: shower sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), mutual pining, selectively mute!steb, steb has a cool less-human tongue ;), flirty!reader, 18+ MDNI, 4.1k words

synopsis: in the crescendo of a flirt, you finally push the right buttons to put steb's fantasies of your wet body under his touch in motion

read on ao3 | ao3 profile | ao3 collection

You stuck to Steb’s side like glue on the long walk back to his place. Dead silent in the setting sun, the dusky light doing nothing to hide the dusty pink hue that played on his pretty cheekbones.

Silence was well made up for in the way your hands were tightly entwined and your bodies pressed close to one another. There was a buzz between you, electric, ecstatic, that made your heart flutter and your breathing turn more and more stuttery the closer you got to your goal.

And while Steb was much better at schooling his face, he wasn’t fairing much better than you. Gripping your hand just a bit too tight and taking quicker, longer strides than he usually would. You smiled at that, months of teasing and chatting and fluttering lashes getting you exactly where you wanted.

Months, almost a year, of flirting with the cute enforcer you just couldn’t help but notice around. Learning how to read him where words failed him, exploring every inch of himself that he’d give you; it was like solving the most satisfying puzzle, with the most gratifying rewards of teasing him and watching his face flush, understanding him and watching the relief soak his features.

Maybe you’d pushed it today. You were loitering around a community hall the force used for hand-to-hand training and the likes, your presence coming to be expected by Steb’s colleagues who seemed to enjoy having you around — if only because it meant they could rag on him for the cute chick who followed him around like a clingy cat.

Chattier and more verbally confident than him, you’d taken it upon yourself to commentate on his round, wolf-whistling and throwing him a sultry wink as he pinned a colleague to the ground. It was encouraging, in your defense.

The breaking point must’ve been the very end of the session. Steb, clad in a compression shirt — that fit him much too nicely for you not to ogle — walked right up to you, his face read ‘really?’ in deadpan disbelief that you’d be so bold here. But the bright blush on his cheeks told a different story, one you couldn’t help but smirk at.

“Hey, Stebby.” You chirped innocently, a grin taking over your face that went from perfectly bright to rather devious. “You stink. You gonna shower soon?”

His eyebrows quirked, as almost invasive as you were, you hadn’t asked questions like that before. He nodded once, firmly, but with a cautious pinch of his brows and a barely noticeable downturn of his lips. What were you playing at?

“Mmm, sounds nice,” you cooed thoughtfully, “can I join you?”

The question, said much more seriously than your usual flirts, hit Steb like a sack of bricks. It showed on his face as his eyes widened in surprise and his blush became ferocious. You adored the way his lips dropped open ever so slightly, staring at him expectantly through your eyelashes.

“Is that a no?” A flirt you were, but a creep you were not. Sometimes you felt like you overstepped, so the least you could do was give him an out.

In Steb’s mind, an out was the last thing he wanted. Cocky, chatty, everything he wasn’t and he should’ve found you intolerable but for months you had occupied his mind in a hostile takeover. You knocked the sense out of his head. He dreamed of you, every part; softly sharing space to tangling in each other with burning passion.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you in that way before on his own terms, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined how your skin would look damp, dripping with water and sweat. Your skin looked so soft, it must feel like heaven under hot water.

He’d probably die before he’d admit he kept getting stuck on the thought of your bare, wet, hot body pressed flush with his — gasping at the feeling of your back meeting the cold shower tiles and your tits squashed against his firm chest. You seemed to love the way he pinned down his peers in training, surely your hand would find a harsh purchase twisting in his hair as he pinned you to the wall and took you standing.

The insinuation that you wanted that too was testing Steb more than anything ever had before. It took an immense amount of self control to not act rashly in that hall, as much as he wanted to shut you up in a searing kiss.

That conflict was entirely internal. You stared up at him in mild worry as you watched as his eyes glazed like he wasn’t grounded anymore — the frills on his cheekbones twitching out of time before he found the way out of his thoughts.

His eyes held a fire you hadn’t seen before, it froze you solid. Steb shook his head, a smug look encompassing his features. He jerked his head towards the door, not taking his eyes off you. An invitation, a dare. 

Just what buttons had you pressed to provoke him into returning the challenge? You pondered the thought the whole way.

You watched as he fumbled with his keys, delighting in the huff he let out and the frustrated twinge of his lips. 

The smug look on your face was wiped off the second you were pulled inside; Steb had you caged between him and the wall in seconds, his face closer to yours than it had ever been before with a flicker of his eyes tracing your face. You could see the occasional blink of his third eyelids, speechless at the way they glistened — god, he was so pretty. Your breathing sped up, begging for you to breathe him in.

The smell of his sweat was fainter than you thought it would be, but you could still smell him and that with the strands of hair that were starting to fall in his face were a dangerous combo. He shed his jacket, leaving him in his tight shirt and the bottom half of his usual uniform.

Steb was bad for your heart, especially with the way you could see a sliver of skin where his pants hung lower than they should on his hips.

He shot you an accusatory stare. The tilt of his head, so sweet normally, was almost intimidating with how slowly, purposefully, he moved. He let the silence do the work for him, let it get you rambling — it was cute that he finally made you trip up on your words. You were so suave normally.

“I- Uh- You… planning on taking that seriously?” You swallowed, afraid of if you’d messed up but so starstruck with this new side of Steb. He was so… sweet, sort of passive usually, content with letting you take the initiative in your interactions — the switch up had you stumbling, but you weren’t complaining.

You’d seen a flash of a more commandeering self lurking beneath his quiet exterior more than once. It had done a number on you the first time; the way his eyes narrowed and the sudden and confident intentionality of his movements had taken the air from your lungs. You found yourself the object of that focused stare now, and it was making you weak in the knees.

Without breaking eye contact, he crowded you closer, your noses a scant few centimetres apart. One brow raised, his eyelids drooping in a way you’d only dreamed of before, his eyes searched your face for permission. Your glittering eyes gave it readily.

His lips met yours, softer than you thought they would, but as you bit at his bottom lip you could feel him leaning into you. Your eyes fluttered shut and your head knocked against the wall, you stayed connected for a moment longer before Steb slowly pulled away. 

You had half a mind left to chase his lips, but the sweet touch of one of his fingers against your chin felt too good to protest. His head tilted, a slight nod gesturing down the hall — kissed silly, you were having a hard time stringing what he wanted together. 

Tracing down the shape of your body, his hand found yours again and loosely held, Steb pulled you down the hall. You fell into step quickly however, and it didn’t take you long to reach the door he was intent on finding. Pushing it open, your mouth dropped. His bathroom. He wasn’t kidding about taking you up on the offer.

You turned back to him, mouth open. Disheveled, he leaned against the door frame quietly observing you with intense eyes, your breath caught in your throat. What a figure he was…

You shuffled into the room, curious, almost bashful. When you looked over your shoulder at him, with hot cheeks and an inviting tilt of your head, it was like you were trying to kill him. You were right where he wanted you, like something out of one of his dreams. Every time you met his eyes again you made his cock ache just a little more.

Steb followed you in soon enough, leaning around you to turn the shower on. You felt so flustered standing there, waiting for the water to warm up, wondering just how he had this much control over you without even having to say anything.

He circled around to face you, a firm, searching look in his eyes as he pinched your shirt between his fingers. Did you want this? And you knew he wasn’t going to continue without an answer.

Slyly, taking satisfaction in the way his ears twitched, you raised your arms. Coyly, teasingly daring him to take it off for you — not about to give up winding him up. A furious blush coated his cheeks, a sign you were winning, but he didn’t slow; more and more of your clothes being delicately removed while he never once looked away.

By the time he had you in your underwear, the distinction between your own heated blush and the heat of the shower’s steam was blurred completely.

“It’s a bit unfair that you’ve lost no clothes yet, don’t you think?” You asked, biting your lip with fervour as you pinched at the well fitting shirt. Your hand slid underneath the tight hem and your breath caught at the feeling of fairly toned muscles, not super defined — but just enough for you to very much enjoy them.

The shirt was lost quickly, as were the rest of his clothes and you were left with your mouth ajar at the fact that the sweet, quiet, Steb was hiding all that underneath his clothes. You had half the mind to be jealous of the fabric.

His hands tugged at your underwear, impatiently, as he cornered you against the shower door. They were promptly discarded.

The warm water poured over your skin, the steam making Steb look softer through it. 

You pressed a kiss to the skin of his shoulder, tasting the salty sheen coating it as your tongue darted across the spot. You couldn’t help but pepper him with more kisses, trailing them up his neck where you found the tender spot that made Steb inhale sharply when you nipped it.

His hand twined with the wet hair of your nape, pulling you back enough for him to see you properly. 

Water poured in streams over your curves, adding a shine to your skin. Your hair stuck slick to your skin too, darker as it got saturated. Tantalising, you stood there, bare and flushed and putting his dirty fantasies to shame. 

Accurate to them however, you were as forward as ever, jumping at the chance to slick your hands with soap (a rather gentle kind, you’d discovered) and run your hands over wherever you could reach. The effect was instant, Steb’s breathing became brilliantly laboured, almost panting through the thick steam as you got so close to him but didn’t press your body to his quite yet.

Your hands deftly swiped past his nipples, making his chest jump. Steb let out a small whine that you clocked instantly, one you decided you absolutely had to hear again; you swiped at them again, fondling them, pinching at them, drawing the most explicit noises from Steb’s throat.

You were as handsy as he hoped you’d be, having your hands on him already felt lecherously satisfying. Fuck, and this was just the start, if he was guessing. 

He hissed as you closed your lips around one of his sensitive nipples, his hands finding your hips when you ran your teeth over it, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. His grip was strong and you couldn’t find yourself worrying about bruises, in all honesty you were hoping he’d leave some — all the flirting and innuendos and sweet taunting, there was no way this would end in anything other than a carnal display of need.

Steb’s hands wandered over your body, the satisfaction of seeing you bare had his head swimming already but the feel of your damp skin under his fingers had him nearly shaking. Softly, he palmed your tit, exploring and devoted. The thin string of his composure was fraying by the second.

You smiled against his skin and wanting more you kissed your way up to his lips again, taking a selfish lick up the column of his throat just to taste him. You were met with a crushing kiss, overwhelming desire fueling the searing dance of your lips.

The flow of water over your heads, chaotic and streaming over where your lips connected made the kiss feel more like a mess. Biting at Steb’s lips harder than you meant to, he groaned, and you brushed his tongue with yours the second the opportunity presented itself.

Hot and warm, you felt it all over. Your hands traced the outside of the gills resting by his jawline with purpose as you pressed yourself as close as you could — almost annoyed by the slickness of the water that almost felt in the way.

He tilted his head, pushing deeper, breathlessly allowing himself to grope you. You whined into his mouth at his touch that ghosted lower and lower, sweeping over your cunt. 

Steb pulled away, leaving you gasping, and gave you that familiar look — the tilt of his head asking for permission. He wanted to fuck you so bad but he was still so respectful, it sent a pang of need straight to your core, making it ache deliciously. The thought of finally being able to see his face twisted in pleasure, of watching himself lose his grip on his self control because of you made your head spin.

“Fuck, Steb, quit being such a gentleman.” You murmured through the water, grasping at his hand and guiding it to where you wanted him most. More than just the gentle touch before, you could feel the pads of his fingers trace your cunt, slick with your wetness. 

In turn your hand was guided to his shoulder as he backed you against the cold tile wall, his head buried in your wet hair. You gasped loudly at the frigid sensation on your back, arching up into his fingers.

Peppering your temple with kisses, his fingers circled your clit before lewdly dipping into your aching cunt. Steb panted into your ear, feeling the way your wet body writhed against him and the way your cunt greedily sucked his fingers in. He curled them and you moaned, your mouth opening so invitingly, and he captured your lips in another consuming kiss.

The feeling of his fingers, thicker than your own but still devastatingly lithe, playing with your pussy and the heel of his palm grinding against your clit was going to ruin you. Lustful and obscene, you’d never felt so good and so dirty at once. Taking his tongue in your mouth, moaning around it as the kiss grew sloppy, water seeping in everywhere — you were lost to the sensation.

Feeling your orgasm start to pool in your gut, your hands struggled for purchase on Steb’s lean, slippery shoulders. They brushed against the fins that ran down his spine, ones you liked to trace with your eyes when he wasn’t paying attention, and he shivered at the feeling. 

Your hips rutted into his hand desperately, chasing your peak, lewd sounds falling from your mouth and into his ear. He pulled away and you whined at the loss of his hand between your thighs, the frills on his cheekbones fluttering at your blissed-out, needy look.

Without breaking eye contact, Steb clasped his hand over yours that still rested on his shoulders. He peeled one off, but keeping it pressed to his skin he trailed it down his toned abdomen. Your gaze flitted between his wet, dishevelled look — the hair plastered to his face; the flush on his cheeks; the subtle twitching of his ears and frills — and the burning path he carved downwards with your hand.

He couldn’t look away, you noticed, his lidded eyes glued to your hand; pliant in his and inching further and further towards his cock. Taking initiative through the fuzzy feeling that was stuffed in your head, you reached the rest of the way yourself, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock.

Steb groaned at the sight, his head slumping forward as his eyes fluttered closed. You bit your lip, admiring him for a moment — keeping your hand still just to tease him.

“Open your eyes, Steb. Look at me.” You purred, the way he did so immediately with blushing cheeks and ears that were shyly pinned halfway back plucked a chord of satisfaction in your gut. “You gonna show me how you like it?”

A strangled noise fell from his throat, his eyes screwing shut for a moment before looking at where his hand still held yours. 

You eyed the way his stomach tense when he finally moved your hands, stroking his cock torturously slow. Your thumb darted out from under his to swipe at his tip, a motion that made him jerk into your hands and quietly whimper. You could almost see the hearts in his eyes through his fluttering lashes, cute.

“You wanna keep it like this? Or do you want to fuck me?” You asked boldly, pushing yourself off the wall to get in his face. A flash of surprise flitted across his features, before a horny, conflicted look took its place. 

Your free hand stroked at his cheek, just under his still-fluttering frills, “your call, put me where you want me.”

Steb’s hips jerked again at your salacious tone. Despite all the sensation, he clung to restraint; you wanted to break that more than anything. You wanted to see that darker, animal look swim in his eyes when he looked at you, unabashedly focused on getting what he wanted. You almost moaned at the thought of caring, quiet Steb fucking into you like an animal in heat.

You searched for his other hand, holding the curve of your back, and pulled it up towards your neck. You tilted your head to get millimetres closer. “Take what you want from me. Please. I mean it.”

You wanted him so bad, something so obvious since you started to really get to know each other. But the extent of your desire left him breathless. You wanted to give him anything he wanted, without restraint. He wanted to see you fall apart.

A shadow of unimpeded desire lidded his eyes. Steb pushed you firmly against the wall, you gasped at the temperature as well as the new drive that shone in his eyes — just like you’d seen when he leaned against the doorframe earlier. 

Unlike what you were expecting, he sank to his knees; hands tracing every curve of your body with immense care as he went down. Kisses, nips, and bites were left in his wake, stretching from your collarbone to your breast bone and all the way down to your pelvis. The last nip at your skin was left just above your cunt.

Fuck, he looked beautiful with the shower stream running down his lean, arched back, with a look in his eyes — hazy, unfocused — that screamed how lost in you he was, knees spread open. You whimpered at the feeling of his face pressed up against the outside of your pussy.

Steb’s warm hand encircled your ankle, the warmth travelling straight to your sopping cunt, and pushed your legs apart. 

Without restraint, he tilted his head and pressed a sloppy kiss to your clit; taking it in his mouth and suckling. His tongue, that felt more pointed than you’d expected, lapped at it with fervour. Steb’s eyes, closed in pleasure and focus, fluttered open to take in the way your body arched from the wall. A small smirk graced his lips from his place between your thighs, frills fluttering against the soft flesh surrounding them.

His hands slid enticingly up your legs, coming to hold your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth. Rising slightly on his knees for a better angle, he made out sloppily with your cunt, oversensitive cocktip brushing the shower floor for a second in a way that made him moan in earnest against you.

You squealed at the feeling, writhing between Steb’s hands, pushing him closer to your weeping entrance. His tongue plunged in, nose grinding into your clit in a way that made you gasp and twist your hands into his hair. 

His tongue was much longer than you’d expected, thinner and more pointed at the tip and thicker at the base. And by god was it flexible, fucking into you with ardour and rubbing against your gummy walls fast and hard. The lewd squelch of Steb eating you out like a starved man echoed against the shower walls, along with your moans.

Circling your hips with his forearms, hands coming to rest close to his face, he pulled you onto him impossibly further. You were seeing stars at this point, shower water trickling off of your stomach, curved with how hard you arched trying to chase the feeling. Your hips rocked against his face as much as they were allowed.

You looked bewitching from Steb’s place between your thighs, face flicking through expressions he’d only dreamed of seeing; your quick tongue reduced to babbling; your body writhing from his touch alone.

You caught the staring, burning eyes full of thirst almost swallowed by your flesh. The reality of the situation crashed into you at full force, the guy you’d been pining after was getting off from being trapped between your legs. Steb’s eyes, full of want, drank you in like you were the only person in the world.

His fingers snaked under your thigh, pressing against your cunt before joining his tongue. You moaned loudly at the feeling of his slick tongue and deft fingers stretching you out for a moment before his tongue slipped out. Your disappointed whine was cut short by the feeling of his tongue lapping at your clit.

Curling into the right spot, your head fell back in a long groan. You panted into the thick, wet air as the knot in your stomach grew tighter and warmer, wanton moans pouring from your lips more and more often; growing pitch as you hurtled closer and closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck- Steb-” You whimpered breathily, before being cut off by your own draw out mewl as his tongue flicked your clit hard, fingers stretching you deliciously. 

With a choked noise, you came hard; your fingers dug into his hair and you slumped forward. His ministrations didn’t let up however, fucking you through it as you trembled above him, thighs clamping around his jaw. Steb’s name tumbled from your lips like a breathless prayer.

He pulled away from your cunt, covered in you and panting. You watched his shoulders rise and fall violently with it, and you sorely hoped that the sensuous, pussy-drunk look on his face was from pleasure and not mild asphyxiation. Whatever it was, it was hot.

You slid down the wall, your shaking legs stretching out either side of him, fixated on his eyes. You spent a minute more resting, before a sultry grin stretched across your lips. You pulled your legs back in, contorting yourself into crawling a mere couple of inches closer to his face.

You kissed him under the pouring water, softly, but messily — tasting yourself on his tongue. You felt him swallow. You pulled back.

Your hand traced down his chest, sensually caressing his nipple. You traced the movement with your eyes for long enough for him to breathlessly mumble ‘fuck’ before your eyes lit up and stared him straight in the eye again. You could get him to say that again, maybe. 

“How about your turn, handsome?”

His hand on the back of your head pulled you into a fervent kiss, taking you with him as he leaned back as far as the cold, glass shower panel would let him. You giggled against Steb’s lips, looking him in the eyes as your hands travelled south.

A/N: that mf swallowed some shower water there's literally no way he didn't. he probably didn't even notice. luv yas 🫶

banner cr: @/cafekitsune

[joshuhaos]

This is soo cute!!

18+, vi-shaped brainrot, mdni

consider college roommate!vi who is the star of the rugby team and just such a fucking jock about it, spends hours at the gym, has pre and post workout drinks and never closes her door when she's blasting rock music, leaves pink hair dye on the bathroom counter, stains the tub when she gets drunk and tries to redo her roots, calls you everything but your name -- sweetcheeks, dollface, cupcake, princess -- isn't shy about her hookups, doesn't even bother to apologize the mornings after another pretty cheerleader scampers out of her room, shrugs and winks when you come out of the bathroom with a tiny thong dangling off your finger that's clearly not either of yours.

college roommate!vi who does kickboxing on the weekends and teaches a kid's course at the local gym. the first time you go there to drop something of her's off as a favor, you can't help but stare at the way she laughs and chases the kids around, so gentle with her movements, so careful, guiding their punches, correcting their forms. and the kids love her -- it's so easy to see, the stars in their eyes, the color high in their cheeks, the way the girls cluster around her legs and the boys are constantly vying for her approval, how she tries her best to divide up her attention equally between all of them.

college roommate!vi who goes real quiet the first time you laugh in her presence, a real laugh, not one of those ha-ha ones you snipe at her when she's trying to get a rise out of you, or teasing you about spending all your time in the library, but one that shakes your shoulders and makes your whole face light up. who has to blink when you cock your head and ask if she's okay bc she was so busy staring at you, wondering about the weird thumping in her chest, the tightness in her throat.

college roommate!vi who's there for you when you're stressed about your dissertation, and she knew you were smart, but listening to you rant about it at 3am in the morning, she's starting to realize that... you're kind of a genius. to be so young and already doing a doctorate in mechanical engineering, and the things you're trying to do -- they could conceivably change the world one day. who freezes when you let your head drop onto her shoulder with a heavy sigh, telling her that you don't know what to do.

"you'll figure it out, cupcake. with a brain like yours? you always do."

college roommate!vi who realizes way too late that she's kinda got it bad for you, bc since when did she start getting used to the sight of you wearing one of her gym shirts in the mornings, making scrambled eggs, rolling your eyes when she yawns her way into the tiny kitchen, leaning an arm against the fridge as she looks you over before asking what's for breakfast. who's gotten so used to falling asleep to the soft clatter of your computer keys that when you leave to visit your family for a weekend, she tosses and turns and can't figure out why it's impossible for her to get to sleep, wanders into sliver of space you guys have crammed a couch and tv into to call a living room, slumping down there to stare at the ceiling, only to feel her fingers graze against something on the ground, who tugs out the thing from under the couch only to find herself staring at one of your bunched up socks with the goofy cartoon cats pattern, and she remembers (suddenly) finding you tearing your room apart the week before trying to look for it because it's your favorite pair of socks.

she finds herself chuckling, letting the sock fall again, but the tightness in her throat doesn't recede, and invisible fingers clench in her gut as she lets her eyes fall shut.

"well... fuck."

college roommate!vi who doesn't know how to act when you get back from your weekend away, when you throw yourself into her arms, your skin still smelling of the crisp fall air and something warm, and spicy -- it reminds her of the holiday market you dragged her to last year, the cinnamon and spiced apples, the hot, mulled wine, the way it burned all the way down when she took the first sip, the way it worked the most darling flush into your cheeks above your pink knit scarf.

"i've got a present for you!" you say, when you finally extricate yourself from her gasp, your arms still around her shoulders, her hands still settled around your waist.

"y-yeah? you didn't have to do that, sweetcheeks --"

"yeah, but i saw this in a store window and -- well i just... it reminded me of you," you say, pulling back to dig something out of your travel bag, and it takes everything in vi not to tug you back into her chest. so instead, she settles for knitting her arms across her front and coughing to hide the fact that her throat's just tightened over itself at your words. you? seeing something and thinking of her? gods, she was so far gone.

"here," you say, pulling a small black box out and offering it to her on the palm of your hand.

vi stares, before reaching out to take it, her eyes flickering up towards your face, only to catch you chewing on your bottom lip in a way that makes her mind frizzle out at the edges. she refocuses her attention on the box -- opening it, she finds a tiny little gemstone, set on a thin golden chain --

"oh..." she breathes, tugging out up to let the gem dangle from between her fingers.

"it -- it's an alexandrite stone," you say, your voice a bit reedy, but you push on as vi continues to stare, "it's uhm -- one of the rarest gemstones in nature, but the cool thing is it changes colors depending on what kind of light it's under --" you reach up to grasp her wrist, her lungs seizing at the contact as you tug her into the incandescent light of the kitchen. "see? it was light blue a second ago, right? and now it's --"

"violet," vi says, her voice soft and disbelieving.

you quickly let go of her wrist, pursing your lips and wrapping your arms around yourself, looking anywhere but at her face.

"yeah -- i just --" your shoulders shrug up as she stares at you, her sky-light eyes wide, "it... it reminded me of... you."

college roommate!vi who, ever since the "necklace incident" (as the rest of the rugby team likes to call it), hasn't really been the same. she's put on the necklace and not taken it off for even a second since the day you gave it to her, but now she doesn't really know how to act around you -- bc did you actually like her? i mean, the necklace is... a pretty big thing to just give someone, but what if you were just giving it to her as a friend? as a roommate? she agonizes over it to the point that the rest of the team are so, so sick of hearing about it, they lovingly tell her to just fuck her and get it over with already. but vi insists that she can't -- it's different with you.

college roommate!vi who's stunned speechless when she gets home to find you staring at your computer, your expression blank. and at first, she thinks something's horribly wrong, but then you're slamming into her, squealing about how you've done it -- your thesis defense went well, that you're a doctor now -- and she's picking you up, spinning you around, buoyed up by the effervescence of your happiness, pressing a kiss to your cheek --

"oh my god, congrats princess! i knew it! i always knew you could do it!"

"thanks -- god, i just -- i've wanted it for so long i... i don't know what to do with myself now that i've got it, y'know?" you say, still suspended in vi's arms, your feet lifted off the ground. it takes a moment before you both seem to realize the position you're in, and vi clears her throat as she lets you down, you looking away, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool the heat gathering there.

after a brief pause though, vi chuckles, reaching out to slip a finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up towards her's.

"c'mon, put on one of those pretty dresses of yours. we're going out."

"out?"

"yeah. to celebrate."

you blink as vi pulls her hand away.

"but it's like... 4:30 on a tuesday."

vi cocks an eyebrow, a smirk twitching at her lips, "yes, and? c'mon cupcake --" her eyes catch yours and instead of looking away, she holds it this time, something flickering behind their powder-blue depths that makes your skin prickle with heat, "i'll show you a good time."

college roommate!vi who takes you to one of her favorite clubs, tugging you through the crowd, the jostling bodies, holding your hand in her's, trying really hard not to think too much about it (or the fucking insane little black and pink miniskirt you put on), telling herself that it's just to make sure she doesn't lose you in the crowd, grinning when someone knocks you into her chest, and she finds her arm wrapped around your waist, fingers scrunching the material of your skirt, your palms splayed on her chest.

she buys the both of you a round of shots, watching with a hitched breath as your tongue flickers out to lick the salt daubed on your wrist, the way your eyes squeeze shut when you take the shot and your lips wrap around the lime slice, tries to ignore the twist in her gut like a turning blade, the way her whole body flushes with heat, the dull ache caught between her legs when you wipe your lips, your eyes bright and a little blown out, your cheeks flushed with color as you giggle and lace your hands with hers again --

"come on! i wanna dance!"

college roommate!vi who is just drunk enough to let herself dance with you, to let herself lean in to the way you're twisting your body, fingers in your hair, your eyes closed, an indulgent smile on your lips, who let's herself imagine (just for a second), pulling you in to kiss you, how soft your lips might feel on hers, how silken your skin might be beneath her hands, who tries not to groan when you lean in closer, link your arms behind her neck, press your whole body against her's, who grips your hips just a little too tight, grinds you against her, sees the way you gasp, your eyelids fluttering as you eyes glaze out --

college roommate!vi who can't help how she groans at the sight, tugs you in by the back of your neck to mash her lips to yours, crushing you to her as she kisses you (finally, finally) and you let yourself he kissed -- your fingers tangle in her choppy pink hair, and she swears you make this sweet, mind-bending whimpering noise in the back of your throat that drives her up the wall and right over it --

but when she pulls back, she sees the look on your face -- shocked and little confused, but you're drunk, and she doesn't wanna do this with you -- at least, not like this.

college roommate!vi who pulls away, only to have you follow her all the way out the club, into this small dark alley, her shaking her head, feeling a strange, saltwater prickle at the back of her throat as she says --

"shit -- sorry. i didn't mean to -- i just -- you were just so -- and i -- fuck, i didn't --"

"vi -- vi -- no, violet, listen to me --"

it's her full name on your lips that makes her pause, makes her turn to find you walking towards her. your lipstick is smeared, your hair a waterfall mess around your shoulders as you corner her against the rough brick of the club's exterior. faintly, she can still feel the pulse of music reverberating from inside the club, but out here, the air is damp and cold and quiet.

"i -- i'm sorry i kissed you," she says, her voice cracking over the syllables. she bites her lips as you frown up at her, your eyes searching her's before you let out a soft sigh and a scoff.

"well. i'm sorry you feel that way. cause..." you take half a step back, your arms curling around yourself before you glance back at her with a hard, determined light to your eyes as you press back into her space, your cheeks bright with color.

"i was really kinda hoping you'd do it again."

vi's breath punches out of her chest; it takes a few seconds of sputtering before she gathers herself enough to speak.

"wait -- what? you..."

you crinkle your nose, rolling your eyes, "i -- i thought i was making it obvious -- i mean, with the whole necklace thing -- it doesn't take a genius to figure how i feel about --"

you squeak as she pins you against the opposite wall, her lips seeking yours out, her fingers rucking up the material of your top, making you hiccup as they tease under the wire-rim of your bra.

college roommate!vi who can barely control herself when you sink your fingers into her hair, tugging lightly as you gasp out a breath, her lips tracking fire along the side of your neck, intent on making you whimper again, just the way she likes, grazing her teeth along your collarbone even as you jerk at her hair --

"vi -- fuck -- vi, not here --" you swallow around the burgeoning desire, and when you glance down to find her looking up at you, her eyes so dark they're almost black, you fight back a groan, cup your palms around her cheeks and pull her up for a long kiss.

"let's --" you suck in a breath even as vi whines at the loss your lips, "let's go home --"

"holy fuck," vi swears, somehow managing to pull herself back just far enough to taste the misty night air. she stares at you, your chest heaving, a daisy-chain of hickeys blossoming along the long expanse of your neck, your makeup good and smeared, your hair a mess, your eyes bright and so full of love as they flicker over her face.

vi smiles, helpless to the loud, uncertain drumming of her heart as she says, "y-yeah -- let's get you home, princess."

college roommate!vi who barely waits for the elevator door to close in your building before she's got you shoved up against the wall, hoisting you up, her fingers seeking out the softness of your skin, tugging up your shirt, her other hand dipping into the waistband of your skirt, her mouth open and hungry as she kisses your neck, bites down at the junction of your shoulder just to hear you moan.

college roommate!vi who's way too good at undoing your bra with one hand the second you get back to your apartment (if you were more coherent, you might've thought it hot), the door slamming closed, the pair of you toppling onto the room, breathy laughs and panting whines as she hoists you into her arms and carries you to your bedroom, laying you down so gently, kissing up your stomach till you're whimpering, your own hands pulling your top off your body, leaving you in an undone-bra and a miniskirt, your cheeks flushed. you push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as vi peaks up at you from between your legs, shooting you a wink before she's tugging down your skirt and panties all in one, an eyebrow ticking up at the lil lacey thing you had on beneath the skirt all along.

"all this for me, pretty?"

you press your lips, eyes cutting away as she looks between the bra dangling off your shoulders and the panties caught round your ankles. her lashes flutter.

"oh, a matching set," she cocks her head, running her palms up your thighs, pinning them open again as you try to press them closed, feeling suddenly much too seen (bc you'd be straight up lying if you hadn't put it on in the vague hope that the night might evolve into something like this).

she clicks her tongue, shaking her head with a cocky, shit-eating grin that makes your heart skitter in your chest. her drops a light kiss to your inner thigh, savoring in the way you whine again.

"nope, keep 'em open princess."

college roommate!vi who takes her time with you, bc rly she's been waiting way too long for this, has imagined it one too many times, but nothing can compare to the way your hips jerk up against her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair every time she licks up the seam of your cunt, the way your breath catches on her name over and over again, like you can't quite get the word out even though it's just a single syllable. she groans against you, too lost in the taste of you to care about what a mess she must look like, with her tongue fucking into your desperate hole, her nose nudging your clit, her fingers digging crescent moon marks into your hipbones.

she's sure that if this were an old-fashioned cartoon, there'd be big, balloon hearts popping out of her eyes. she can't get enough of you like this -- moaning her name, your legs on either side of her face, your skin littered with the remnants of her. she has the eye-rolling thought of you the next morning, of how all these marks will still be there to remind you of her every single time you see one of them.

college roommate!vi who doesn't expect you to flip over after she's literally eaten you out seven ways to sunday, to tug her in for a soft kiss (though she really does like pressing your own taste back into your mouth with her tongue), before your fingers are inching down the length of her body to tease at her hips, trailing circles down the lines of her abs, toying with the thin line of hair that leads into her black boxer briefs.

"what are you --"

you shoot her a look that has her mouth going dry.

"what? didn't think i can give as good as i get?"

college roommate!vi who's literally going to lose her mind with the way you're fingers (at first sight so thin and delicate, but gods are they stronger than they look) are pressing into her, curling up with the kind of precision usually only associated with doctors, and then a voice in the back of her head reminds her -- oh, right, you are a doctor now. but logical thought dies after that, bc you've somehow worked your way between her legs and are looking up at her with those big dark eyes of yours, smiling sunshine bright before you drop a kitten-lick against her clit and she's twitching, keening as she cums all over your fingers.

"jesus fuckin' christ, doll -- is that what you're learning in those engineering classes?"

she's breathless, cheeks flushed, and honestly just a little embarrassed at how quickly she came, but she has to bite back another groan as she watches you lick your fingers clean, grinning sweetly up at her as if you didn't just get her off in record time.

"no, but i did do my dissertation on human-based robotics, which included a lot of late nights memorizing anatomical models so..."

vi pulls you in for a kiss, laughing against your lips.

"you're amazing, y'know that?"

college roommate!vi who can't really believe how much she's lucked out, sharing an apartment with her girlfriend, who literally cannot shut up about you, but the rugby team all agree that they'd rather have this than the months of endless pining. who brags about her genius gf to anyone who'll listen, and looks for you in the stands of all her practice matches when you can make it, who kisses you in front of everyone even when you make a show of trying to wiggle away bc she's sweaty (you don't really care).

who loves telling the story of how you guys met bc she still can't quite believe it herself, and the story always starts with --

"well, actually -- we started off as roommates."

[joshuhaos]

making hickeys. on vi’s abs. thats all.

send me vi thirsts and i'll give u my hand in marriage

kissing down her abs till she's gasping, and she'd make the prettiest noises, wouldn't she? little pitched whines and bitten-off keens at the back of her throat, her fingers spearing through your hair, her hands uncertain of what to do -- whether to press you closer or to pull you away; there's a gasp stuck in her throat, heat coiling in her stomach, a disparate, untamed hunger licking up the length of her spine, tingling down her arms as she does her damned-well best not to flip you both and pin you beneath her.

but a part of her wants this too, yearns for the softness with which you treat her, the back-arching sweetness that collects beneath your tongue as you press kiss after kiss along the defined lines of her abs.

at first, to tease her, to watch them flex and relax, the lines carving into her skin like footprints on a tide-strewn beach. but then, after a while, you'd fallen into the well of her hitching breaths, the darling little moans she tries to tuck into the sides of her cheeks, no matter how often you tell her that you love her noises.

"p-princess -- please --"

her voice is ragged, though you've not moved an inch below her belly button, she already sounds debauched.

"but i'm not doing anything," you tease, grinning as you pillow your cheek against her now hickey-marked abs. she puffs out a breath, carding her fingers through your hair to stroke at your neck.

"if people knew how mean you really were --"

you lean down to nip at the line just above the waistband of her pants, making her hips jump up, her head tipping back as she gasps.

"i'm not mean." though you can't help the smirk that twists your lips as you catch her looking back down at you with those dark, blown-out pupils, her lashes fluttering, gaze half-lidded with want.

"such a pretty little liar," she says, with no malice at all, rubbing a thumb along your cheek. you crinkle your nose at her words, sighing as you finally relent and sit back up, letting her pull you across the length of her body for a long, heart-settling kiss.

"its your fault, you know," you murmur, after she lets you pull away, her hand still at the back of your neck, holding you close. she chuckles, her voice low.

"my fault?"

"yeah. for having such kiss-able abs."

she laughs then, the sound bright as windchimes, and just as sweet.

"right, right," she says, tucking you more comfortably into her side, "it's all my fault, and you're just a sad slave of consequence to my extremely kiss-able abs, right?"

you grin, nuzzling deeper into her embrace, "right. as long as you know it."

vi laughs again, dropping a kiss into the seam of your hair.

"yeah. trust me, pretty girl. i do."

[joshuhaos]

the first time college roommate!vi sees you in one of her shirts, she loses her mind just a little bit, bc it's a sunday morning, and she walks into the living room to find you there, one of her big graphic shirts hanging off your shoulders, a book perched against an empty bottle of peach svedka from god knows when, munching through a bowl of overnight oats.

"is... that mine?"

you jump to your feet, blushing something fierce as you tug at the hem of the shirt, pursing your lips; vi's stomach flips; there's a flake of oatmeal at the corner of your lip that she wants so badly to reach out and wipe for you --

"sorry! it's just -- i forgot to do laundry yesterday, and i think one of your shirts got mixed up with my clothes in the last batch so i just --" you fidget with your own fingers, cheeks blazing as you stare down at her shirt hanging off your frame.

"no, no!" vi says, clearing her throat as she tries to focus on anything other than the way your thighs peak out from beneath the hem of the shirt. how she can catch a glimpse of your collarbone when the wide necklines shifts this way and that. "it's fine! you -- it looks good on you, cupcake."

you chew on your lips, tugging at the hem. "t-thanks but -- i'll wash it again before giving it back --"

"you don't have to --" vi says, a bit too quickly, and you look up, your eyes wide. she swears inwardly, clenching her fists. "i mean -- i've got a million shirts like it so you -- you keep that one."

she makes a brave attempt at her usual, easy smirk, shrugging up a shoulder as she looks you over one more time.

"it looks good on you."

and she thinks she's got it -- thinks she's finally gotten back to ground zero, maybe even gotten a bit of the upper hand here. it used to be so easy to make you blush, back when you both first moved in, just a few carefully aimed words here or there, a teasing smirk, and you'd be turning pink enough to match her hair. but it's been harder lately, and vi doesn't really know why (or rather, she doesn't want to think about it too hard, lest she really drive herself crazy with the thought of you), but she's glad that she's still got it in her.

even if it does take everything inside her not to be blushing herself.

"thanks..." you swallow, rubbing your fingers into the soft, worn in material, "i like it cause... it kinda smells like you."

vi thanks every single deity she can think of the name for that she's leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom because if she hadn't, she's sure you would've just taken her out.

and later, after she's made up some ass excuse and said that she's gotta go to the gym for a mid-morning workout (she doesn't actually, but the thought of spending more time with you in that apartment with you prancing around in one of her shirts had her nearly catatonic), she buries her face in her hands, sitting in the gym lockers, her heart thumping a mile a minute, your voice caught like a record on loop in her head as she feels her entire body flush a deep, prickling crimson --

i like it cause... it kinda smells like you.

sweet lord she is so, so fucked.

[joshuhaos]

okay I'm not sure I'd you're still doing the uh. thing where you write a scene from a different pov but if you are and have time/interest, would you feel like doing poe pov with that part in directions where he asks how many other guys she's been with? I love love love that fic so much btw and I'm gonna go through your masterlist when I get off work <3

Hello! ✨ A little confession: some of these have been sitting in my inbox for months. I secretly didn't plan on fulfilling this request because it meant that I'd need to go re-read Directions, and I very rarely read my own writing again once it's been posted. But I was in the mood for something fun and easy, and then I actually had a great time revisiting this story! So thank you so so much @buckyisdisabled, @lostinwonderland314, @mandaloriandin and sweet Yearning Human anon for asking for this and for your lovely messages. I really hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it x

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: PIV, creampie, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, squirting, feelings, implied cum eating, overstimulation, masturbation, friends to lovers

This is reworking of a scene from this fic, told from Poe’s POV.

from a certain point of view ask game ✨

———

———

Poe sucks his slick fingers into his mouth, and her taste hits his head like spice; sharp and sweet.

She pants up at him from his pillow (his pillow) her eyes wide as a nervous animal’s, her hands curled into fists. It takes everything he has not to blow his load in his pants right then and there.

He feels a little drunk. He needs to course-correct.

Drastically.

He’d meant it when he told her he thought this would be fun. Because everything is, with her. He thought she’d be giving him shit the whole time. He’d expected her to be unimpressed with him in the way only she ever is; doing what she does best and keeping his feet nailed to solid ground even while his head did tailspins around the sound of her laughing at him. 

But she’s not laughing at him. The way she’s looking up at him…

This, right here, is extremely fucking serious for her.

Maybe he should’ve tried to make this nicer. Maybe he should’ve lit candles.

For reasons that are not entirely clear, he catches himself remembering a particularly fucked up day from several months back. His comms and tracking had both shorted out after a hit in the middle of an above-planet dogfight with no visual, and for about two hours, the Resistance network listed him PKIA. 

When he’d eventually landed back in the hanger, it was chaotic with smoking, twisted astromech parts. Unbeknownst to him, Black One was a ghost ship. 

Mechanics and pilots alike had turned and gaped in silent shock as he’d climbed out of his cockpit, and he’d only had a moment to wonder whether there was something growing out of the top of his head before he’d been knocked off his feet by a sobbing projectile stinking of sweat and smoke in an oil-stained flightsuit.

She’d only stopped crying after socking him in the chest, her voice hoarse as she told him how much of an idiot he was for not switching over to his backup signal.

He’d never wanted to see that look on her face ever again, and if he hadn’t pushed her into verbalising the source of her terror here, he’d be too turned off to go any further. He doesn’t go in for that shit; he wants his partners relaxed and comfortable and enthusiastically willing.

But it’s knowing what she’s actually worrying about—stuck in her head as always, thinking about everyone else; what he thinks of her, rather than focusing on how she feels—that makes him determined to stick with her, as long as she says. 

He’s staggered by the amount of trust she’s putting in him. Shit, he doesn’t know whether it makes his heart ache more, or his dick. Like she has anything to be nervous about. Like she isn’t the prettiest fucking girl he knows. Like making her smile isn’t the single greatest source of pride he gets to hold over himself. 

Doesn’t she know? Can’t she already fucking tell? He’d worship the ground she walks on if he knew she wouldn’t laugh herself sick at him if he tried. 

It would be funny, if it weren’t so painful. That for all of her quick, sharp perception, she’d miss this, so entirely.

“Perfect. You’re perfect,” he says softly, and he can see how little she believes him. “Told you. Nothing wrong with you. I wanna try something,” he continues, before she can say anything to piss him off. He can handle her putting shit on him. He isn’t letting her do it to herself. “You’ll like it, I promise. And if you don’t just tell me and we’ll stop. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, nodding, her eyes still huge. A sudden throb of affection makes his head feel like it’s filled with tibanna gas. 

“I’m gonna take your pants off,” he tells her, grasping each of her ankles to do exactly this.

She lifts her ass toward him as he wriggles her underwear and pants over her legs, giving him a brief glimpse of the most beautiful view he’s ever seen in his life.

His brain’s still catching up when he sees the furtive way her eyes keep flicking down toward where it feels like his dick’s trying to bust through his fly.

“Don’t you want…?” 

“It’s not about me,” he cuts her off. And if you touch me right now I won’t make it, and I’ll ruin my reputation, and kill any chance of living any of this shit down with you ever again, he decides not to add.

He bends, spreading her legs with both hands. Her clit’s so swollen her labia are parted around it, the soft skin inside her thighs smeared with her first orgasm. 

Her first orgasm—the first one another person’s given her, anyway—and it’s his.

And, oh, it had been so easy.

His ego is not immune to this.

But, nice as it is, it doesn’t quite feel like a boost in the traditional sense. It feels something more like a twinge, hard and new, right under his ribcage. Like vindication, maybe, or—and he feels like a fucking moron for even thinking it—fate.

He bows from the waist and nudges into her with his nose, his tongue laving a stripe up the entire length of her pussy. 

Her skin tastes like soap. Somewhere in the dimmest corners of his head he’s annoyed at this; imagines her scouring every inch of herself raw in the showers before coming to him, filled with nerves and doubt under the spray. He presses the muscle of his tongue into her opening in search of more of the her he’d found on his fingers.

The sound she makes zips lightning-hot straight to his guts. 

His eyes roll briefly closed, and he sinks down onto his elbows, the twisted line of the sheets digging into his skin under his weight.

She shifts her thighs together, her fingers twitching at her side. He steals a glance up and finds her watching him, her lips parted, her eyes too-bright.

“Open your legs,” he encourages, his lips barely lifting from her skin. She sinks her teeth into her lip as she lets her knees fall flat to the bed. 

She’s spread out open in front of him, and he dips his head to continue. 

She flinches and tenses and exhales in turn, reacting to every touch of his mouth as though speaking aloud. It makes him feel violently impatient, and so he moves slower, trying to temper himself. 

He wants to be inside her. 

He wants to swallow her, and to be swallowed by her. Fuck, he’s never wanted anything more in his life.

He’s pretty sure he’s leaking precum into his pants; all the blood having long vacated his brain to swell bruise-achingly hard in his cock. He tries to stay focused, but the reality is that Poe’s thoughts ran away from him the second she set foot in his room. The challenge now is to just try not to do something stupid.

Something stupider than fucking his best friend.

She hisses, tossing her head back, her legs twitching so hard his tongue nearly loses its place against the hot nub of her clit. 

He slides both hands beneath her thighs to lift her hips to his face in an attempt to keep her still, barely managing to tamp down the urge to rut helplessly against the mattress in search of relief.

The smell of her, the taste, fills his senses. But it’s still not enough. He wants to bring her to insensibility; to work that softness into the bed, glutting himself until her whimpers turn to those of overstimulation.

He’d never really considered himself a possessive person, but as she quietly sucks in a sharp, shallow breath, he realises he wants that sound all to himself.

He pulls it out of her with his tongue again, and again, his attention unwavering.

He wants her thinking of this, of him, from now on. Every single time she comes, alone or otherwise. He wants her to dream about him inside her; tongue, fingers, cock, he doesn’t give a fuck. At briefings. At meals. Waiting around bored for launch clearance in her fighter, standing alone in the showers, when someone else presses their hands to her skin, and lifts her chin to meet her lips (and fuck, that hurts to think about, like hitting realspace at-speed, hard enough to grind his bones together). 

She comes with a pained-sounding cry, her pubic bone bumping into his nose and pushing his face away. He drags himself up and finds her reaching her hands out as though to stop him. 

“You okay?” he manages.

“Poe, I want…please…”

“What, baby? Talk to me.” He leans up, bracing himself over her. Maybe she’s changed her mind. Maybe she’s had enough and she’s going to tell him to stop, to give her back her pants, to never mention any of this again.

It’s still more than he’d ever imagined he’d get.

Her eyes stay on his and she blinks slowly at him, as though trying to remember who he is. His heart thunks hollowly in his chest, and he waits.

“Fuck me.”

He pauses. It wasn��t what he’d expected her to say. His already-painful cock jumps in his pants at the demand. “You need a break first?”

She answers by trying to drag him down toward her, her hips lifting to press against him, ankles hooked around the backs of his legs. 

He doesn’t wait to be told twice. He shifts his weight, kicking his pants down, settling himself between her legs. 

She ducks her chin and kisses his shoulder.

His head swims. He barely feels the touch of her lips through the material of his shirt, but it hardly matters. The gesture is so small, so careful, so quick, as though she couldn’t help herself.

As though it’s something she’s thought of before.

Which is when it hits him: the one thing he’s never seriously let himself entertain. Does he…actually have a chance? 

Without undue vanity, Poe knows that his looks are the one area, at least, that he can afford not to worry about. He’s not an idiot. He knows exactly how people respond when he flashes his teeth at them, or holds their eyes with his own for a protracted moment from beneath a quirked eyebrow. 

But never her. She’s somehow always been frustratingly, crushingly immune to every single weapon in his arsenal. It had been a source of ire in the early days, while he was still learning the colour of her voice, and the shape of her mind. 

The sadder, slower ache of acceptance had come later; gathering like thunderheads, lingering long.

She wasn’t for him. She didn’t want to be. Letting himself pretend otherwise would have only ever been an exercise in masochism. 

Despite all of this, Poe’s still human. And, as he had come to realise, knowing something intellectually is very different to knowing it physically.

Whenever she smiles at him, and bumps into him, and rolls her eyes at him. Whenever he’s inside somebody else, tasting the sweat on their skin, or stretched out around their pleasure. Whenever he jerks his cock alone in his bunk late at night, ashamed and furious at himself for such a disgraceful breach of their friendship, for the things he’s imagined.

Everything he’s ever done with anybody else; every filthy, beautiful fucking thing, he’d turn himself inside out and crawl over hot coals to do again with her, to her, for her, if she wanted.

And now, here she is.

He might not ever get another shot at this.

He needs to make it count.

“How many other guys’ve you been with?” he says, his voice coming out rough. She looks mortified, but he doesn’t care. “How many?”

“S-six,” she says. 

He nods. He’d already known about Kip and Terrett, and he’d had his suspicions about Rau and Valen. He’s a little disappointed at the knowledge that Rau had let her down with all the others; he wouldn’t have expected it. 

“Then that’s six other times we gotta make up for,” he says, distractedly. 

He presses forward, and the first millimetre he sinks inside her already has him panicking. 

She immediately feels far too hot and close, but the hardest part, the part threatening to undo everything, is the way she’s looking up at him, as though silently pleading with him, and Gods, how she doesn’t need to.

“Oh, sh...shit. You good? I’m good. That’s…ungh, so fucking good.” He’s aware he’s making no sense, but that’s the only thing left in his head, probably the only thing he’ll ever know again: good, good, good.

Her fingers are clenched tight around his forearm, and he thinks she might be holding her breath, but then she lets it go, and the wet bloom of her cunt swallows him fractionally deeper.

“You’re doing so good baby, you’re taking me so well, you feel perfect,” he groans, hoping he doesn’t sound as wrecked as he feels, his guts on fire with need.

She squirms under him, and fuck, she feels incredible. After coming twice he can feel the evidence of how wet she is, the smooth glide of her body gripping close around him, giving way slowly. 

It’s suddenly too fucking hot in his room. He can feel his hair sticking to the back of his neck and around his ears, and it’s vaguely annoying, but he couldn’t give a shit. 

Her warm breath meets his chin, and he follows the line of her attention down the length of his own body, to the place where his hips are flush against hers. Between her parted legs he can see his cock half-sunk inside her, and his face presses to her damp, salty skin as he murmurs to her, pressing forward, enveloped entirely by her.

He has no idea what he’s saying. It just feels important for her to know. 

Whatever it is, he never gets the chance to find out.

Because then she’s kissing him, and her mouth is on his and her lips are parting and they’re soft and her teeth are catching at the dry ege of his lower lip and her breath is hot and it’s hers and it’s in his mouth and it’s in his lungs and it’s oxygenating his fucking blood and pumping through his heart and his brain and searing through every single part of him until she’s all that’s left.

He’s pretty sure he’s dying.

“Holy fuck,” he thinks he’s trying to say, and he feels her smiling, gently biting into his lip, keeping him quiet. 

She rolls her hips up against his, pushing herself off the bed. He can feel himself rapidly losing control as she throws her head back, her brows drawn, teeth cutting into her own lip.

“Baby, wait, wait a sec,” he pants.

“What’s wrong?” she gasps, and of course she doesn’t listen; she never fucking listens to him, rocking up toward him, making him see stars. 

“Just…fuck, hang on.” Cold showers, he thinks, grimly. Freezing cold showers, and depressurised-cockpit earaches. Nine hour-long diplomatic debriefs. The rancid-smelling mucus trail Klaud leaves behind everywhere he goes.

“Is this…not good?” she says, low and weak. “Poe?”

His eyes nearly roll back in his head as she whispers his name, and the sound jolts through him—her voice, the one he knows so well—like this, with him.

Whatever pitiful electricity’s still left in the meat of his brain fizzles out. “Oh shit, say my name again,” he begs, not even waiting for her to do so. 

He’s already moving, needing to feel the walls of her cunt stroking and sucking at his cock. “D’you know how many times I’ve thought about this? About being inside you like this? And I never, ever thought you’d wanna…” 

He shouldn’t be saying this. He’s gotta be real fucking careful, if he doesn’t want to accidentally tell her every shameful daydream he’s ever had about her and disintegrate what’s left of their friendship into dust. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he tells her instead. “Your pussy is perfect.” 

She recoils, and it’s equal parts adorable and infuriating that even now she’d be embarrassed to hear him say this.

He almost laughs. “Why’s that make you shy? You don’t like me talking about your pussy? You wanna know how good you taste, baby? You’re sweet, so sweet and tight and—” and fuck, he can still taste her on his lips, and he watches her carefully, finding the place that makes her fall boneless and focusing there, right there, until the viselike grip on his arms weakens and she’s coming again.

Her voice breaks, but he doesn’t slow. She can take it. 

He pushes her hips down, fucking her into the mattress, skin clapping on skin. She’s yanking at his hair hard enough to hurt, but he relishes the pain because it keeps his vision clear; exactly where he wants to be. 

Her orgasm tumbles into another, and he seizes her knees, lifting her toward him as he picks up his pace. She moans, belatedly trying to cover the sound with her hand, and it’s the sweetest music he’s ever heard. He is never, ever going to be able to get that sound out of his head again.

“Hey, hey. Let me hear that,” he says, leaning closer, dragging her hand away. “Don’t you cover that up. Come on, baby, I wanna hear you.” She presses her lips together, and he huffs, driving himself into her just a little harder than strictly necessary.

He’s rewarded with a weak, throaty whimper, and he grins at her. “That’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” he confesses.

Her nipples stand through the thin, sweat-sheer fabric of her tank top, her softness rippling upwards with every stroke. He watches her body greedily, wanting more, wanting everything all at once. 

He wants, very badly, to lick her again, all the way from her neck to her sweet, trembling cunt. He can still taste her on his tongue as he presses his fingers down to her clit, just above the place where he’s still pumping in and out of her.

She cries out, coming again until she’s melting wet into the bed. 

He still doesn’t slow, but his thoughts have run away from him and all of a sudden he realises it’s too late, far too late to stop himself.

He wants her full of his cum, until he’s emptied out all of the ache of himself into her, and her pretty, swollen cunt’s overfull with him until he dribbles out from between her lips and onto his fingers, making a mess of the sheets so he can start all over again.

Right at the precipice of his climax, she opens her eyes and looks up at him. There are tears of overstimulation clinging to her eyelashes, and her fingers are clutching gently at the back of his shirt. 

Nobody has ever laid me down as low as you, he thinks, surprised at the strength of his emotion, willing her to understand.

But then he’s coming so hard his limbs go numb, and he isn’t thinking anything anymore. 

He presses himself deep, deep inside, shaking violently as she swallows every pulse of his orgasm. His heart is thunderous in his ears, his muscles liquefied. He slumps, panting.

If she objects to the deadweight of his body over hers, she doesn’t say anything. He stays there, smothering her, trying to regain his breath, until he can feel her beginning to shift uncomfortably beneath him.

“Was that…okay?” she says, ridiculously, like his soul didn’t just leave his body.

He doesn’t even bother responding to the question. “You’re crazy,” he muses instead. “She’s crazy.”

He’s lifting himself off her when his chain swings from the neck of his shirt, clocking her between the eyes. “Oh, shit,” he says, as she gasps in pain. “Sorry, baby.” He presses his fingers to the spot, feeling guilty. “Normally I’d’ve taken that off.”

He’s usually far more thoughtful than this when he has company, but this time he hadn’t unclipped his necklace, or changed his clothes or sheets. The thought simply hadn’t occurred to him. Because she doesn't feel like—has never felt like—a guest in his bed. In fact, her absences have only ever felt like temporary discomforts to be endured until her return.

She’s scowling at him, her nose wrinkled up like a Weequay’s, and it’s so fucking cute he wants to kiss her again. “Why didn’t you?” she says.

She needs to ask? “Because it’s you.”

As he crawls back down between her legs, he finds a spectacular mess of cum and sweat and the evidence of her orgasms on the sheets, and fuck, it’s soaking down here. He wonders whether she even realises what she’s done.

He’s disappointed he didn’t get to watch. He’s sure he can get her to do it again, though.

She blinks down at him, her eyes glassy. “What are you doing?”

His mouth waters watching the way her wet skin shines and he feels an answering twitch in his recently-softened cock. “Cleaning you up. We’re not done yet.”

Her eyes widen, but whatever she does next, he misses it.

He’s preoccupied.

Just tagging a couple of the lovely people who commented on the original and might be interested in this, absolutely no pressure of course! x

@saradika @oscarseyebrow @the-little-ewok @bacarasbabe @writeforfandoms @hardc0rehaylz @moonlight-prose @lcvenderblues @onfiretakemehigher @littlemousedroid @viceofdionysus @grufflepuff-writes-stuff @ifimayhaveaword @millllenniawrites @liamakorn @lilhawkeye3 @grumpymuffinmama @dailyreverie @mandelirious

[joshuhaos]

Sam, you know who I'm gonna ask for lol

✨Can I please request Poe Dameron when he's convincing the reader to let him help the reader "practice" 😏 In Directions?✨

I'm so curious as to what was running through his head during that conversation.

Hi Tess, thank you so much for playing! I really loved hanging out in Poe's head for a little bit x

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader Word Count: 1.7k Rating: Explicit 18+ Warnings: Indirect mentions of vaginal fingering and squirting

This is reworking of a scene from this fic, told from Poe's POV.

from a certain point of view ask game ✨

He can’t think of a single word to say, the inside of his mouth as flat as the warm, slightly bitter-tasting ardees sitting on his tongue. He watches, struck absolutely dumb as she frowns and shifts uncomfortably. Her lower lip sticks out; an expression he’s positive she has no idea is as adorable as it is, and he fights the urge to reach out and press his thumb to the middle of her pout.

“What?” Her eyes skate his face nervously, a tiny muscle beside her mouth twitching downward. He forces himself to swallow before he answers, not wanting his voice to crack under his incredulity.

“You think that’s normal?”

She’s joking, he thinks. She has to be; there’s no way in hell—

She glances down at her hands, that familiar little line of consternation appearing between her brows, and the realisation feels like getting shot in the guts. She isn’t joking. She looks anything but amused. If he had to try to identify the expression on her face, he’d be leaning towards mortification.

He can’t keep the horror out of his voice. “Wait, wait, wait. Baby. Are you saying you’ve never had an orgasm?” He briefly entertains a vivid fantasy of standing up, strolling down to the mess and smacking Kip clean across the back of the head.

She drops onto the flat of her back with a quiet little huff. The warm rose light of dusk bathes her upturned face in warmth, and he tries very hard not to stare at the way her skin glows in this lighting, all the way down to the yanked-open neckline of her flightsuit, showing a sliver of her loose flight tank. “Of course I have. All the time. Just… y’know, on my own.”

Several things fight for dominance in his mind at once. First is an image of her doing precisely as she’d said, on her own. She’s in her starbird-stamped flightsuit, but it’s rolled down to her thighs, the orange sleeves hanging empty as she rocks up into the feeling of her fingers between her legs. He shoves the thought away, but not before he has time to register the fact that his brain has conveniently conjured her laying in his bunk for this undertaking.

“How is that even possible?” he manages. “Who’ve you been hooking up with?”

More pressing than the intrusive thought of her stretching out and sighing in pleasure is an odd, prickling compulsion that he can’t put his finger on. It’s not just built from indignation on her behalf; he already knew Kip wasn’t the most considerate sexual partner in the galaxy. Poe remembers all too well from his own experience with him, even though it hadn’t felt like a total catastrophe at the time. Poe’s used to people leaning on him; relying on him to take care of them. It works most of the time, because—and he’d never say this out loud—he likes feeling needed.

No, the gathering sense of wild, panicked frustration he feels has more to do with the thought that other people have been given the chance to see her—to touch her, and taste her, and make her thighs shake so hard she can’t even think of a wiseass comment to throw back at them, and they’ve fucking squandered it. That’s the conclusion he reaches: Assholes. What a terrible waste.

She’s still talking, oblivious to his silent meltdown. “Does it make any difference? If I get blown into space dust tomorrow, it’s not like it will’ve mattered. And anyway, maybe it’s just me, maybe there’s something wrong with me.”

“Nope.” The word’s out faster than he can temper the fervour of his response. “That’s a lie. Not even a good one. Trust me, there’s nothing wrong with you. Drink.”

He props his arms under his head, his mind racing. Shitty sex is one thing. He should know; he’d had plenty before he realised that his talent for taking the lead extended to all facets of life. It’s another thing entirely to have had such consistently inconsiderate, unappreciative partners that she’s now doubting herself. It’s bullshit. Unacceptable.

What in the fuck have they been doing to her? How could anyone fail to see the way she should be touched? Isn’t it obvious? Every expression in her face, every movement of her hands when she’s speaking, the way she flexes and points her toes when she crosses her legs… the language of her body couldn’t be clearer to him. He knows it intimately, almost better than he knows himself. Even the parts he knows he probably shouldn’t, like the soft parts that she’s pressed unconsciously against him every time she’d fallen asleep after some dumb ‘vid, eyelids flickering, hands curled against her face.

After years of closeness and comfortable, unfiltered trust, there’s nobody else in the galaxy he can imagine wanting to spend his nights off with. He can’t even remember how many times he’s been hanging out with her and she’s said something seemingly plucked clean from his own thoughts, somehow articulated better than he could have managed himself. She now seems more like another part of him than anything else… albeit a part he occasionally finds himself daydreaming about while sitting for long hours on arduous recon assignments. He realises uncomfortably that maybe, just maybe part of the reason he’s so pissed off at the thought of someone else taking her for granted is because he’s begun to worry that he’s doing the very same thing.

The sound of her voice doesn’t quite pierce the bubble of his thoughts, and he’s distantly aware she’s asked about his briefing, and then of his mouth unconsciously offering some kind of response. He realises belatedly that he wasn’t supposed to repeat a single detail of his meeting with the General, but somehow he’s too distracted to care.

Poe’s been accused of impulsivity plenty of times. And sure, he’ll unthinkingly throw his X-wing into the kind of spin that’d scramble a greener pilot without waiting to consider the consquences, but he’s never had the urge to actually hit someone as badly as he does right now.

“You gonna see Kip again?” Not that he fucking deserves it.

“Hard not to, considering we’re both in the next rotation.”

“Not like that. You know what I meant.”

She wrinkles her nose, and he watches as the light from the rings above softly outlines every single one of her eyelashes. “Probably not. It’s... embarrassing, you know? Getting dressed up, trying to be witty and cool and sexy.” You don’t have to try, he silently interjects. “It’s so much stress for so little payoff. And I’m tired of being left so… ugh, frustrated.”

She wouldn’t be worried about any of this if somebody made her come hard enough to have her nearly biting through her own lip. If her eyes were rolled so far back in her head that she’d forgotten her own name. If her legs were too weak to do so much as twitch. She wouldn’t be worried about anything at all. Somehow, his next thought grows air and climbs out into the space between his body and hers.

“I can help you with that.”

Her reaction would be funny under any other circumstances, but he doesn’t even feel a twinge of humour as he waits for her to stop choking for breath, clutching dramatically at the grass beneath her.

“Wow. That’s not funny, you blurrg.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” Something in the back of his brain is yelling at him to shut up, despite the fact that he feels absolutely calm. What is he doing?

“It wasn’t a challenge for you, Poe. I know your ego can’t resist the chance to prove that you’re somehow better than every other man on base, but I’m not here for that. Sorry.”

Well that hurts. Surely she knows him better than that. “That’s not fair—and what do you mean, every man on base?”

“It’s a figure of speech. Like you can talk; you probably got to them all before I did!”

The yelling in his head is growing louder, and he can’t ignore it any longer. He sits up, gaze fixed distractedly to a turned-over clod of earth next to his feet. This is fine. Of course it is; what’s the big deal? Since when does it matter to him who he hooks up with? It’s just sex. It’s fun, and easy, and he’s really fucking good at it.

He can already see it. He can practically taste it. The way she’ll look down at him when he curls his fingers inside her; those eyes he’s used to seeing flashing with amusement instead blown wide with desire. She’ll probably be shy; trying to close her legs even as he has her cunt gushing over his hand. And he will. He knows for a fact that he will.

He’s still thinking about it as his mouth starts moving again, not totally sure he knows what he’s saying. This’ll be good, he rationalises. It’s just a confidence booster. It’s for her benefit only��just something to help her adjust her fucked-up concept of what sex should be like. A favour between friends.

Even after she cautiously, skeptically agrees, he continues to reaffirm it to himself.

It’s for her. It’s just for her. He doesn’t want her ever questioning whether there’s something wrong with her again. Not after he’s taken care of her the way she deserves. Whatever she asks from him tonight, he’ll do his best to give it to her. It’s not about him. No ulterior motives; none at all. Doesn’t matter how he feels. He’s never had a problem keeping things in clean, unproblematic, emotionally neutral territory with sex and he’s not about to change that now.

And as he starts the walk back to the barracks, he almost manages to convince himself. Even as an extremely quiet voice in the back of his mind produces this singular, selfish truth: he's going to make sure nobody else ever compares to what he’s about to do to her.

[joshuhaos]

Directions

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader Rating: Explicit 18+ Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: Experience vs. inexperience, descriptions of sex-related anxiety and insecurity, praise kink, encouragement kink, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV, overstimulation, implied cum eating. Anything you think I’ve forgotten that needs to be flagged, please let me know.

A/N -  This is just a messy little oneshot I’ve needed to get out of my system for a long time.

“I’ve never hooked up with a Twi’lek girl.”

“Really? Poe, I saw you running off with Buul like, less than two weeks ago. Drink.”

“Oh—yeah,” he grins, ducking his head and taking a swig. “Alright smartass, you’re up.”

You think for a minute. “I actually really like that polystarch bread they give us in the ration packs. It tastes way better than it smells.”

He gives you a withering look. “Who cares? That’s a shitty secret, whether it’s true or not. For that, you drink twice.”

You groan at him. “I don’t have any secrets. You know everything about me anyway.”

Keep reading

[joshuhaos]

"You want to be pliable beneath his warm hands like clay, because at least being molded leaves an imprint" ?! I'm fine i just have to put my heart back where you ripped it from my chest🫠

pillars. / viktor x gn!reader, fluff and angst, lots of angst actually, implied childhood friends, confession kisses, mentions of death, one singular czech pet name, kissing viktor's moles, takes place during s1 act 2, so technically no s2 spoilers but some things are implied. word count: 7.9k

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"You look exhausted," You hum, your voice thick with fatigue in unison, "Don't you think you should rest?" 

Viktor takes a breath deep and slow enough to hear, his hands briefly faltering as he twirls a small, bronze magnifying glass with his fingers, but he doesn't reply, nor does he turn away from his notes. 

The lab is cool, quiet — aside from the distant hum of various pressure valves and idle machinery. The Hexcore thrums. Runic engravings litter each complex, geometric surface. Viktor rests his balled-up hand on his face, bony knuckles pressing into his cheek. With his inkpen, he messily scrawls something into his notebook. Low, blue light illuminates the cluttered room and his workspace. Each side of the Hexcore pulses when you approach behind him, twirling to its own complex, ominous rhythm. Acknowledging you, somewhat. 

Viktor inhales sharply, and shakes his head frustratedly, crossing out what he'd just written with jittery, forceful motions. 

It wouldn't be the first time you've found him here, like this, mulling over some sort of invention or idea when most of the city is already asleep. Falling into a focused routine is merely second nature. And normally, you wouldn't protest. 

When you were much, much younger, staying awake as long as you could felt fun. Helping Viktor cram studying for exams in between finishing an invention the night before Progress Day became a yearly occurrence. In the weeks before finalizing blueprints for the Hexgates, you'd almost forgotten when either of you had last seen the sun. It's just that this routine has been far more absorbing, far more taxing — and the repercussions are painted clearly on Viktor's shadowed face. 

He looks drained. Worn. Like if he tried to stand, if he wasn't leaning against his desk and absorbed in his research, the weight of his own exhaustion might make him crumble and collapse. The ends of his hair stick out in messy, curled strands, from where he's anxiously twirled them around his fingers. 

You hate the dark bags that have made their home under his eyes. You feel a knot in your gut as you watch Viktor's hands; shaky, and imprecise. Flipping through the pages of his notebook to search for something. Tracing a sentence with the end of his inkpen, only for his gaze to flicker back to the start when the words failed to register. 

You sigh. Forcing a smile, even though he can't see it, you take another stumbling step forwards. Your arms wrap around his thin figure loosely, and your weight settles gently yet firmly against his hunched back, in something of a tender, evocative hug. 

Viktor shifts, his grip tightens on his pen when it almost slips. You nuzzle into the perfect, head-shaped space at the crook of his neck, breathing him in — flooding your senses with a coffee-warm richness, with the scent of ash and sweat and lingering sparks. 

His gaze softens like melted honey. As if the simple press of your body to his returned pieces to himself he'd thought he lost. Brows unpinching, your heat at his neck spreads across him in waves, contradicting the collected edge kept in his tone. 

"I'm not yet tired," Viktor lies, trying his hardest not to lean into your embrace. "I'd like to analyze this for a few moments longer. This page is," He shakes his head. "Incomplete. If I could find the key to what induces some form of response, then-" 

As if on queue, the Hexcore sparks with energy, twirling faster, glowing with luminous constellations. Viktor swiftly moves to jot something down, but as fast as the Hexcore reacted, it's just as quick to return to normalcy. 

He mutters something under his breath, slightly jostling you from his shoulders when he leans forwards in focus. 

"I swear," You're grumbling; you rest your chin on the hard edge of his shoulder, glancing between the Hexcore and his notes with passive interest. "You've always been like this." 

"Like what?" Viktor flips through his notebook once more. "Stubborn, I'm assuming?" 

"Stubborn, yes. Smart. Terribly ambitious." You reach up, until you're able to place a few taps onto his forehead with the end of your finger. Viktor barely seems to notice. He adds onto an almost-full page by messily writing in the margins. 

"I know how hard it is for you to stop those gears in that brain of yours. Once they're going, it's impossible to get them to stop." 

"Mm. And you know how important this pursuit is in particular, yes?" 

He reaches for a notched turn dial on the opposite side of his desk, connected to the Hexcore by a series of braided wires and support poles. Your gaze follows his hands — gripping carefully, with delicate, calloused fingers. There's a distinct pause. A moment of palpable tension, as you both instinctively hold your breath. 

Viktor twists the dial. Once, twice. 

The Hexcore gives off a few miniscule, pitiful sparks, like a God's first attempt at a lightning storm. And he expels a long, drowsy, disappointed sigh. 

"I do," You murmur, sympathetic. 

Viktor grinds his jaw, hard enough to feel it aching, but even through his fierce familiarity with self-induced destruction, even though he isn't deserving of this, he can't hope to hold onto the ragged bites of stress in his veins. Not when you're so warm, when the feeling you ignite in his chest with your voice alone is so terribly soft. He has missed this. 

"But I also know," You're continuing, "Every time you get close to a breakthrough, once you let yourself rest," Viktor's head nods sleepily, struggling not to fall, and you playfully tap your index finger to the end of his nose. 

"That's when you find it." 

Part of him wishes he could keep himself from listening. Of course, as strongly as he wants to be better and more efficient, because taking a break is like admitting defeat, and defeat is worse than accepting he might've reached the end of his line — he knows you're right. 

Placing the cap on his pen, he leaves it in the middle of his notebook, closes the pages to save his spot before hastily, reluctantly pushing it aside. 

You grin. You slowly shift up, and Viktor feels your arms sliding from his shoulders, your weight leaving his body. For a second, he thinks you might move, believes you'll leave and feels a sharp grind between his ribs at the thought. Instead, you place your palms on his rigid shoulders, and you squeeze. 

His lashes flutter, eyes partially rolling into his skull. His head grows dizzy, like he'd been spun. Frustration melts out of him as warmth and light take its place, shining from your touch like the kiss of stars and the rays of the sun. Bright and lovely; galaxies weaving themselves into his tired muscles. 

Relaxing, he can't help but lean back, dropping his head against your waiting chest. 

"I saw Jayce before I left this morning," You're murmuring. It's in one ear, and out the other at first. You lean in, speaking close to him this time, to make sure you've been heard. Your voice shudders through him, warm like candle wax. "Says he hasn't seen you sleep in days." 

"In one day," Viktor corrects, rather matter-of-fact for someone who's busy melting into you like his limbs are boneless. "Technically, about twenty- no, twenty two hours. More or less. Honestly… hardly worth the over-exaggeration." 

"Vik," You scoff playfully, breath fanning warmly on his skin. "You're doing it again." 

Your palms move. They drift from his shoulders to his arms, fingertips gently toying with his sleeves in a foolish attempt to touch his skin. He tilts his head all the way back, and cracks his weary eyes open to look at you. 

"And what is it I'm doing?" 

"Saying things that make me worry about you. And then expecting me not to." 

"I am not-" 

Right then, before he can speak, your hands return to his now-tensed shoulders; they combat the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat when they roll his muscles. His chest thrums with a soothing gentleness, rich and saccharine, difficult to swallow down. 

"You are worried about me?" Viktor questions, sighing slightly when your hands work out a particularly old, tightened knot. "I have not seen you in… who knows how many days. I have lost count." 

Your mouth forms a hard line. 

"I- I know," You're answering, hands drifting down smoothly, as if they're carried on waves. They find where his tie is neatly fastened around his collar, grasping the diamond and pulling to loosen it. "I've been trying not to get in your way. Everything is just- Jayce is a counselor now, and you're busy with a thousand different things. I'm not going to interrupt your work with my stupid-" 

"Our work." Viktor's tone is resolute. It holds you, grounds you against the raging winds in your mind that threaten to pull at your pieces. "Hextech was furthered by your contributions. Do not forget that." 

You swallow, but it does little to chase away the dryness in your throat. In a hasty, abrupt motion, your palm grasps Viktor's shoulder, this time twisting his chair to make him face you. He eyes you with surprise for a moment, his tired gaze tender and weak enough to light the shrapnel in your stomach. 

"Viktor." Your head tilts, affectionate. You reach up, and brush away the messy strands of hair that cover his pretty face and tickle his forehead. "This research, this dream of yours, it's-" 

"It is a necessary risk." 

Gaze wide, you freeze up. Viktor exhales sharply, glances away from you to focus on something in the distance instead — messy shelves of discarded machinery, inventions you once worked on together, etched with your signature and his — because the way you're looking at him has an ache prodding at his heart, sharp and thorned.  

"Finalizing this thesis would simply be the beginning," Viktor continues, passionate, gradually starting to talk with his hands. "Think of the lives we could save, of the good we could prosper from this sort of technology. Enough to improve the Undercity for the better, to provide rationale for the potential dangers. I understand you are worried- but this is our life's work we are talking about. If we were to determine the true limits of Hextech, it would make our efforts worth it, in spite of… even if…" 

He stops, trails off. Glances up, and decides he might've said too much. You understand. You have always understood where all of this is going. 

The lives he could change would be worth the price, even if he was to throw away his. 

Tattered threads tear from within you — unspoken, buried deep. You've become well acquainted with the taste of denial. Sharp on your tongue, thick in your throat to meld with the bile. It sits on your lips as words better left unspoken. Eats away at your skin and your flesh and your core, settles in your limbs and at the tips of your useless fingers. Reverberates, until the ringing in your ears begins to sound like him. 

Piltover feels so distant, with the idle noise of the lab filling the room. Miles away, even though you're right in its heart. Nothing has ever been fair. It cast you aside, it was never your home. He was. 

All you've received for ages now are fake sentiments, vague reassurances. Reminders of how terribly futile your ambitions have proven to be. Every sun has to set, every star will burn out — but fuck, you don't want him to burn. 

Your mind is dizzy. Each thought spins, tipped faster and faster. Light pounds from behind your eyelids, and your stomach churns, making you nauseous. The lines blur between Viktor's figure, the floor, and the dull aura of the Hexcore, beginning to overlap everything together. 

You aren't present, or perhaps you're wishing to be anywhere but here. Curled beneath the covers, hiding under your bed like you did when you were a child, running to the furthest, broken edge of the universe so you wouldn't have to imagine him slipping through your fingertips; Viktor draws you back, grasping your chin oh-so gently. He tilts you towards him, puts your focus on him to push the rest of the world into the background. 

"Though, I suppose there is no harm in stopping for the night," Viktor reasons, his tone a soft murmur, devastatingly gentle. "I have missed you. I believe I may have neglected to make myself clear." 

And for a brief reprieve, there isn't anything sweeter. Nothing this fatal. 

His arm braces behind him, elbow resting on the edge of the desk. You follow through when he gently keeps you in place, steady on his direction; you're a compass, and he's Polaris. Your gazes don't separate, magnetized together like a hex crystal to iron. 

For a moment, he forms a small pout, in a way that would have you grinning if the circumstances were different. His expression ripens, becomes soft. Almost guilty. A plea and an apology and some form of a confession, muddled into one dangerous, indecipherable nebula. 

"You sure?" You're muttering, trying to keep your tone upbeat, regardless. "Your project looks like it's itching to fly away." 

"Eh," Viktor shrugs, he allows his thumb to brush over your cheek. "I'm sure it can wait. It understands I have more important things to focus on." 

His touch makes you ache. Guides your sorrow to entwine with his, digs in deep to grasp at your chest with such devastating familiarity. 

It's an excruciating reminder of how much you have craved this. How badly it hurts, to feel Viktor's hand tremble as he touches you, slightly unsure, when you wish he wouldn't be. Exhaustion is wound so deeply into his system, you'd think he was born with it. He brushes his palm from your cheek to your jaw, caressing idly, in an absent, lazy motion. And it frustrates you, because you know you'll soon be lost, wishing you could feel his touch again. 

Every pound of your heart reminds you of everything — of the brushes of fingers, when passing tools and pens at the work table. Hands solidly grabbing one another to steady anxieties, to offer familiar reminders. Nights spent categorizing constellations, while in your eyes, Viktor's radiance burned brighter than any distant galaxy. 

Gentle touches pressed to weary limbs. Tightening machinery, releasing the gears on a brace. An arm offered to help him stand. Instinctually standing beside him, at the side that might need you. Fingertips exploring the notches of a spine, traveling rivers of veins, mapping out star-shaped clusters of freckles. 

Tired moments much like this, but instead of protests and strives against fate, there were lovely brushes of whispers. Twin dips in the same bed, murmurs of, I'm here, you can go back to sleep. Touches that wished for themselves to be something more, something lasting. Though they knew they'd evaporate by morning. 

It's far too late to still rely on daydreams. 

You let the haze die out, tracing the edges of his hard knuckles as an apology before you clumsily push his hand from your cheek. Standing up straight, the lab seeming more cold and quiet and empty than ever, you choose to put distance in between yourself, and your lost love. 

"Sorry. I shouldn't-" Breathe, you've got to remind yourself to breathe. Air catches in your lungs, sharp and dizzy, and you quickly shake your head. "Viktor, I-" 

Gods, Viktor shouldn't have to choose between you and his ambition. He shouldn't need to place his own body in the middle of making a difference, and saving himself. There's still so much you haven't done, haven't said. The life you both dreamed of and fought for is crumbling, he still has so much he was meant to accomplish, and yet — 

A hand grabs your wrist with surprising force, to keep you from taking another step back. 

Viktor's brows pinch. "Do not tell me you're thinking of leaving." 

Oh. Your gaze finally travels up from your feet, and he looks hurt; his voice barely manages to avoid cracking around the edges. His fingers dig into your wrist sharply, desperately. 

Viktor's jaw tightens, his firm grip causing veins to show in his wrist. Your shoulders slump, and you exhale. 

"I'll walk home with you. You shouldn't sleep here, it's bad for your-" 

"No, no you will not," Viktor interrupts, exasperation echoed through his tone, pain and worry laced through the lines of his palms to compel them to shake. "Tell me why you are refusing to stay. It's been weeks without change, why must you run off the moment I attempt to make time for you? I doubt you have any idea how much this torments me." 

Weeks of avoidance, days upon days where he'd watch you disappear too soon. Viktor would turn, he'd say something to the empty air because he expected you to be there, but you would be gone, absent from the lab or the hallways or the dorm you once shared. Bitter sentimentality, the hurt you forgot to take with you, is all that would linger in his bones. 

Just how far are you willing to run — in vain, until your legs might snap — to pretend you won't lose the only thing you have left, your friend, your partner, to imagine you might escape the certainty of his conclusion? 

Your gaze is flighty. It carries raindrops, flutters on soft wings, between him and the intricate, statuette angles of his face. Between the ground and the desk, and the glowing Hexcore. He has rarely seen you so unsettled. When your emotions run high, you hide them from him; unsuccessfully, he might add. Your wrist flexes beneath his palm as he feels your hand clench, and unclench. 

Little by little, you're tugging his heart from between his ribs. Tearing it apart like petals pulled, like the games you used to get lost in when you both were kids; you love him, you love him not —

"I can't stay. I wasn't- I shouldn't have tried to come back to the lab in the first place," You answer, dejected. His grip only tightens on your wrist when you pull. "Viktor, please." 

"Answer me. I need you to say something," Viktor grits out, voice getting louder, his shoulders tensed with frustration. "What is the cause of this- this fracture in between us?" 

Your arm drops. Your bottom lip quivers, and your breath gets caught in your lungs. The expression on your face is more sore than he's ever seen it, painful enough to kill, bordering on bursting into tears. 

And then, your voice quiets. "I don't want to watch you die." 

The Hexcore gives off a low, rumbling sound. The lab becomes quiet enough to hear the individual ticks of machinery gears. 

Viktor's grip loosens on your wrist, only slightly. He doesn't speak, he can't listen to his heart or his head when he's placed between the persistent thrumming of both. You aren't looking at him. Regret dawns on your face, then sadness, then something he can't recognize when you turn your head away. Fatigue curls into his system, and settles amongst everything else: the guilt, the anticipation. The raw, forceful tenderness. 

It's a reminder that you're right. 

The passing of each slow second seems to exist for just the two of you. Dragging on and on. Barely helping him to find any answers. If only there was more time. 

Words could never be enough, burying your emotions like lodging a knife way deep in your chest isn't working. Your partner was made to burn bright, to exist as an act of defiance itself. To dedicate his mind and his body and his bruised hands to progress, no matter the obstacles or limitations, the past grievances or untold emotions. 

So many moments were never adequately spent. Days and weeks across years taunted you, moments spent as friends and colleagues, despite half of you belonging to him. 

You just needed one push, one thrust into the light to stop you from holding back, because you knew you risked ruining everything. But if Viktor continues, if the Hexcore grows more and more dangerous, if the council continues to require more of him, and what you haven't spoken about becomes true — there won't be anything left to ruin.

And as he watches you collapse, firm on the outside but weak on the inside, turning back to him because you have to, not because you want to, Viktor finally understands. 

He knows this body is… wilting. 

Decaying; he can feel every ounce of newfound weakness in his limbs, knows he's a servant to his own existence as it waits for him to waste away. Many from the Undercity are much less fortunate. He is grateful you are stronger than him. 

More pressingly, he is acutely, abruptly aware of how little time he's spent with you — it runs as fierce in his chest as the hourglass-shaped reminders of the short span he has left. You used to be inseparable, you shared the same dreams. Your talks weren't limited to melancholy utterances of, Have you eaten yet? and, Is your leg okay? and, I never see you anymore, will this time be the last? 

How he's chosen to treat himself are small deaths, in a way. Promises to join you later that led to nothing, nights of exhaustion framed by mornings of fading in and out. He's followed his own guide to avoidance, the steps were simply laid out differently. He's grown sick of it, truly. And deep down, or perhaps on the surface, he is so, terribly exhausted. 

Swallowing thickly, you remain frozen in place, waiting for him to give up, for his hand to slip from your wrist. When it does, you continue to linger. Your heart pounds loud in your ears. Little glances at him greet you with his face downcast, his shoulders slumped. 

You sigh — and you decide this can't be it, or perhaps you're just not ready. You draw yourself dangerously close, to trail your knuckles down Viktor's sharp jaw as a weak apology. 

If there's one thing he isn't accustomed to, it's throwing logic to the wind. Viktor tries to think of this like his notes, attempts to categorize and interpret these emotions. He imagines there's diagrams and logs in his own swirly handwriting, outlines that would guide him to precisely what he needs to do. 

None of it works, of course. It's a terribly juvenile line of thinking. And he's rarely one to give into impulsivity, but you make it so difficult to think, to focus. 

His breathing is already quickening and sharpening, creating pockets of light in his weak lungs, even through the reminders of his own mortality's shadow. Nothing is more important than the feeling you cradle in his chest, bright and fate-defying. 

It would not be like him to accept this. To fade out with a hundred contributions unfinished, a thousand words unspoken. Confessions meant to fall from his voice like meteor showers, fears and regrets with no way to form on his tongue. The thought alone leaves him troubled, choked. His jaw tightens in frustration, only relaxing when the ghost of your fingertips guides him to. 

Low light frames you, the features of your face troubled; oh, he can hardly remember the last time he's seen your smile. But he remembers, knows it to be beautiful. The slight softening his gaze undergoes as it flickers across you is utterly familiar — you pointed it out, once. 

Your eyes overfill with warmth, they melt like amber. Your pupils widen like big, lovesick moons. His head can't help but spin; there's so much he never realized, when you did.

His hands like to absently search for something to fiddle with when he needs to think. His fingers have a habit of tapping against something methodically: his desk, the spine of his notebook, his own forehead. The mark above his mouth follows his lips, when they tip into a smile. He's doing it now, surely. Softening in your afterimage. Gaze warm, honeyed, hopeful. 

No, he isn't sure if his fate can be changed; he's treading close, but he isn't dying yet. The Hexcore is unresponsive to every stimulus he's attempted, but his research is far from complete. There are mountains of quandaries he isn't sure he can fix, pitfalls remaining just out of his control. All but one, all but this. This is something he could do, something he can change. 

You almost speak. Almost give some useless, parting words when his tired, gentle eyes drift back to yours, two ships on the same sea. He's inquisitive, hesitant, his brows creased together in thought and with conviction. The mere sight of him — hair a mess, skin pallid, ignites a thousand feelings and worries in your gut; a lighter tossed to a puddle of gasoline. 

It's something Viktor picks up on. 

You look pained. Unsure of yourself, from the way your eyes can't quite meet his own, from how your hand slips away from his cheek, as everything in you threatens to disappear. Weary, as you gaze at him like you've already lost him. 

You've forgotten how to read him, he realizes. Caught up on what you might lose, the both of you have forgotten what you could have. Viktor's heart feels like it might burst, with enough force to make the sun's implosion look weak, and you don't understand, he'd have to show you. 

He takes it as a sign. Grasps the last chance you've extended to him, and runs with it as fast as he can. 

His name dies on your mouth, before you have the chance to speak it. Echoes haunt your soul when his palm finds your cheek, solid, sure; Viktor pulls you in hard, threads of distance easily closed, and he presses his lips to yours with an intensity that feels vividly visceral. 

It won't fix what's already been done. This isn't a promise, falling short between being reassurance and becoming a goodbye. It isn't the way he would want to confess, if fate was kind enough to give him a choice. 

But Gods, logic and reason, worry and mortality are all melting into nothing. Fading and fizzing into the sky, budding and beginning anew in his lungs — because for so long, he has needed this, needed you. As fiercely as dead parchment longs to be burned. 

Your body immediately goes tense in surprise. Your arms awkwardly hover in place, until Viktor's head tilts, following the gentle aria, his palm brushing from your jaw to your cheek to hold you close — as though you're still prone to vanishing, if he were to let go. Like this is the beginning of too many firsts, and even more lasts. This kiss is worthy of savoring. 

So, you do. You let your eyes flutter closed. You shift forwards with a shaky step, practically stumbling into him. 

It's sweeter than you ever could have pictured. The subtle roughness to his chapped lips. The slight tickle of his breath, when you pull apart for long enough to hesitate, but not enough to gain the wisdom to stop. 

Soft kisses draw you further, closer. A hand holds his cheek, a palm braces to his shoulder. Careful to use little force, to avoid any accidental hurt. 

Viktor follows, leans back, has you bending closer as you get caught in his butterfly effect; blue light bathes you, and the Hexcore shifts, utterly radiant. There's a moment of separation, a brief second where your eyes barely get to flutter open. A pause that promises to be your last opportunity for regret. Greedy and urgent, brutally eager, Viktor drags you back in, keeping you caught in his penumbra. Coaxing you to cage him in — to kiss him like you mean it. 

The taste of you is vivid, perfect, intense, rich; you make charged electricity glitter down his spine when your fingers curl into the soft, chestnut tresses of his hair. Grasping, pulling, leaving it even messier than it already was before. 

Your lips part, your breath forms an intoxicating meld with his. And he is only foolishly, stupidly human. Made of flesh and bright dreams, etched with soft skin and fervent desires. Too weak, desperate, and caught in your echo to contemplate anything but the way his own name sounds — the V is a soft vibration, the completion of the consonants makes it sound like reverence — when it's breathed into his mouth. 

Hazily, he feels your palm press, shoving gently to his chest, pushing his back against the desk in a clumsy effort to bring yourself closer. His chair shifts slightly from the movement, rusted wheels grating the tile. Your palm finds its place between his lower back and the desk's firm edge, bracing some of his weight, and acting as a buffer, keeping him from pressing against it. 

Viktor melts underneath you, breathes a soft noise into your mouth that begs you not to stop — as if you could. As if you haven't wanted this in an unquantifiable amount of ways, across an infinitum of discarded daydreams. You're left to steal gasps in between, clinging onto quickened sighs that rival the struggle of keeping your head above water, as wild waves crash over your skull. 

Out of breath, he blindly fumbles to find your shoulder; pushes gently, silently asks you for a moment of reprieve. 

You draw back immediately. You're unable to stop yourself from shuddering when he softly breathes your name. Familiar accent curling around the syllables, giving them life and importance like your name was made for him to say. To whisper, to covet, to plead. 

"Lásko," Viktor coos, as his eyes grow heavy. Glinting, with a spark of zeal that tells you to stop holding back. 

You're well acquainted with the warm, softhearted nickname. You know it to be something Viktor taught you himself, between gentle explorations of the few things you didn't already know about one another, when your late-night curiosity and desire to learn led you to, Oh, and what name would you use for someone special? 

His jaw grits; his next words, murmured in his mother tongue, resemble a sharp, possessive swear. His head tilts with yours when you lean closer — but you shift, falling in to let your lips find his neck. 

The kisses you place there are hurried, desperate; like rays of light, as if you don't have time. Obediently, he stifles a whimper, and allows his head to fall back. It leaves plenty of room for your wandering hands to crinkle and press aside his shirt collar, and you place your lips on the firm, jutting curve of his collarbone. 

You find the twin moles on his neck tendon, blessing a kiss there, near desperate enough to bruise. You follow them like a treasure map, to kiss the perfectly-placed mole above his mouth. Your palms cup his face faintly. Then, you sweetly kiss the mark on his opposite cheek, your lips warm, laced with fervent sparks. 

Viktor shudders, he feels lighting race up his spine and split him open like a scythe. He's been avoiding his own declining reflection for weeks upon months now, but he doesn't need to remember much of himself to still know exactly where you're kissing, like the back of his hand. 

The ghost of your lips just above his mouth, and then to the apple of his cheek send a thick, syrup-sweet realization reeling through him. His moles. It reminds him of fingertips playfully tapping his face. Of soft comments and pretty compliments, portraits of his own image that he'd never forgotten because they were from you. 

When you hear the hitch in his breath, he swears he feels you smile against him. He's certain, once you shift back down to his neck, to repeat the process all over again. Placing messy kisses onto his soft skin, worshiping the intricacies he would've never thought were admirable. Memorizing each placement as though it's deliberate, like making a map of the night sky's constellations. And Viktor swallows, shakes, softens. 

Blindly, you search for where his hand has been kept at your side. You grasp it, and pursue the natural interlacing of fingers: yours fitting perfectly between the gaps of his. 

Trying not to shudder, failing when your breath fans against the right-angle corner of his jaw, he guides his free hand to trace the small of your back. His fingertips are gentle, hesitant. Careful brushes akin to a study, an exploration. 

With a dizzy mind and even more muddled thoughts, he doesn't expect when you support your weight by placing your knee on his stool, between his legs — when you lean in close and fast and hard, crashing your lips against his once more. One kiss isn't enough, so you kiss him again; you let yourself be pulled in on his current, and he forgoes breathing to drink you in instead. 

Your body arches into his touch, curves when his palm presses flat to your back, attempting to feel as much of you as possible. You want to be pliable beneath his warm hands like clay, because at least being molded would leave an imprint. You'd have something to remember what this meant, what his touch felt like. 

Seconds and minutes bleed into one another. You can barely tell where he begins, and you end. Two halves of the same anatomy, you can feel the thrum of his inherent light beneath your breastbone. 

The Hexcore watches. Pulses, hard enough to make pens begin to roll across the desk. To topple a precarious stack of diagrams, which sends a few papers fluttering to the ground, to make the steel marbles of a Newton's cradle clumsily clink together. 

Neither of you notice. The response Viktor's been searching for spikes just beyond his reach. You make him feel weightless, as though the fragility of his own vessel is more of an afterthought, until he could be ripped into fragments and you would be there to put him back together. Viktor's palm holds the back of your neck, his head tilts with yours, and you kiss. Falling into one another, only unfalling to breathe. Your atoms melt into his particles, blossoming a blur between your two shapes. Your heart pounds with his, to a rhythm so exact they could be mistaken for the same singular beat. 

Finally pulling away requires a mountain's worth of strength and effort. You only do so because you've got Viktor's back pressed hard against the desk, and he's practically about to fall off his chair. 

You both needed to breathe. It takes several moments for your head to stop spinning. You can barely focus on anything, but the bruising of your lips and the skip of your heartbeat. Stumbling back, sliding from his chair to offer him more room, you cup his jaw in both palms. Soft and blissfully tender, as though this is what they were made to hold. 

Viktor sighs hard, gasping heavily. His skin is slightly flushed, still warm to the touch. His gaze stays on you, basking in your afterglow. You're used to him flinching away. A slight hesitation always laces through his fingers when you try to grab his hand. His muscles tense on instinct whenever your arm wraps around him, braced to help support his weight. 

But this time, your palms hold his face, your thumbs brush his skin, and he melts into your touch, unburdened. Gaze fluttery, expression relaxed. Giving in at last, after countless ages of starvation. 

The low light of the lab, and the soft glow of the Hexcore's rune matrix — quiet, now — frame his face in outlines of shadow and hues of cerulean. Shades of blue meld with the honeycomb of his eyes, dulling the color. Clouds over a fading sun. 

He hears the slight shake in your breath first, before he feels a tiny droplet hit his cheek; and you're leaning forward, trying to hide. Eyes shut tight, as you rest your forehead against his. 

"Sorry, I-" Viktor murmurs, weak and faint. So quiet, you almost fail to hear. "I know this does not… fix things." 

Oh. He hasn't seen you cry since you were both kids. 

Viktor remembers clumsily trying to comfort you, making a crude somewhat-flower-pinwheel out of scrap metal as a gift, because he thought it wouldn't fix everything, but it might make things a little bit easier. For a time, anyway. 

Reality is often a cold, cruel overseer. Remembering how to breathe again brings sharp pain into his lungs, it returns an ache to his tired shoulders and his strained leg. His vision comes back into focus, his future returns to taunt him but this time, something is different. 

He feels a spark. A newfound wave of ambition. The radiant golden hour, before a bright, final breakthrough. 

"It's fine," You breathe, weak and fragile, with a meager shrug of your shoulders that says you are anything but. "I didn't expect it to." 

Viktor grasps your chin, gently shifting you back to give him space to look at you. His thumb brushes a stray droplet from your cheek. He tuts: a soft, teasing, tch sound. "Ah, but for a time, the world nearly felt miles away. Did it not?" 

His gaze is hopeful, almost nervous. Trying to gauge any slight shift in your reaction. Thankfully, his voice seems to swiftly bring you back to life. You laugh a bit, wiping the remainder of tears away with the back of your hand; there's the smile he's always admired. 

"Like we were melting into each other," You admit, a little shy, tenderly wistful. Your heart unfurls in your chest like a bright, pretty blossom. It's fitting for the both of you to recollect, to try and analyze the intricacies of every situation. "It was…" 

You're pausing, trying to find the right description, as you rest your arms around his shoulders in something of a half-hug. It was lovely? Captivating? Addicting? 

You shake your head. You're glancing away, because even remembering kissing him is enough to make your heart pound, enough to tempt you to pull him in again. Viktor tilts you back towards him, his finger lightly tapping your jaw. 

"Hm- Breathtaking?" He muses, "Better than you could have dreamed?" 

The brief lilt of confidence he embodies, words smooth as they're carried on his accent, pleasantly reminds you of when he was younger. Far too composed, and eager to prove himself. He follows it through, coaxing you forwards with a palm to your side. You're gentle; most of your weight, you support yourself, until Viktor pulls you down, patiently and decidedly guiding you to settle against his lap. 

"You know," You're cooing, head tilted, "That sounds an awful lot like a confession." 

You can see each subtle heave of Viktor's chest, expanding with every long breath he takes in. It's a tight fit. His stool is barely wide enough to accommodate himself, let alone you. His brace presses into the back of your leg just slightly: jutting metal, protruding bolts. The spread of his thighs leaves you with a small amount of space, but still forces your body to press awfully close to his. 

You're in the perfect position to witness every detail of his face. His tired eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slant of his nose. His thick brows pinch slightly, forming a faux pout, and you reach up. You brush your thumb from his temple to his brow, relishing in the instant softening of his expression. 

"Perhaps it is one. Or, actually-" Viktor hums, inquisitive. "It contains the potential to be one, if I decided to elaborate." 

"Oh? Enlighten me." 

A pause. Viktor bites the inside of his cheek as he ruminates, and your fingertips push fluffy strands of hair from his face to tuck behind his ears. 

"For so long, I… ached to be close to you." His tone is calm, temperate. It twists a shiver up your spine, cool and heaven-sent. His palm trails and caresses your face; a lesson in restraint, as he tries to stop himself from pulling you in once more. "It was a pipe dream. I assumed I was… too late." 

"I thought- I was sure you didn't-" Your shoulders grow tense and the bridge of your nose knots up, you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger and pull it away to admire the resounding curl. "Since when?" 

Viktor exhales. "We have been effectively inseparable since the day we met, I am certain you still remember when the Undercity kids would laugh and- and make jabs at my obvious crush. But, you are searching for something specific. In that case, there is one instance." 

This time, you don't have to ask him to elaborate. 

A palm tracing down the column of your neck, idle yet admiring, Viktor takes one more steady, deep breath. "It was the Progress Day after we had finalized the Hexgates. The council's afterparty was… stifling. I was fortunate to have convinced you to attend. You wore such gorgeous attire. Jayce commented, stated I was unable to take my eyes off of you. I denied it. In hindsight, it was more than obvious." 

The party was hardly your usual scene. Viktor was always the one who wound up convincing you to attend every Progress Day. 

He'd mention you should vouch for your contributions, try to mingle. You were fine with dressing up for an hour or two, but all of the drinking and fraternizing — you found the presentations about new technology to be interesting, but everything to happen afterwards was tiring, to put it bluntly. 

The occasion then was more special than most, though. There was a difference in the way Viktor asked you, sounding hopeful and stress-bound. It seemed important to him, and so it was doubly precious to you. 

"I joined you on the balcony, once I was able to shake the flocks of investors." Viktor continues, thinking, thumbing through all of the details, "You'd been saving a cocktail for me all night, if you remember. Something made with rum- apple cider, I believe." 

Viktor recalls overhearing several of your conversations. Your excitement to show off what you invented together was palpable. You made the room shine, he thinks. He watched you go on and on, when you thought he wasn't listening, assuming he was busy with his own consultations. Viktor zoned out of them, truly. Once the day's festivities are over, the rich folk of Piltover are more interested in finances than progress. 

Your words were so kind. Viktor is amazing, have you met him yet? Every sponsor and socialite would know your partner to be intelligent, inventive, incredible. He doesn't compare. It's funny, how Viktor saw the same qualities in you. 

For most of the night, you were separated; Viktor was busy with the swarm of fancy patrons, all of Piltover's finest hoping to get the latest gossip on what the partner to the Man of Progress would come up with next. Luckily, the both of you chose the same hideaway to try and escape the crowd. 

"I had been waiting for such a moment- to speak with you. You offered me your congratulations. Complimented me, on my performance of the short speech you helped me to memorize. And… so clearly, I remember you said, 'I'm so proud, Viktor. But I knew you could do this.'" 

I knew you could. No underestimations, never a doubt in his potential. You believed in him, even when no-one else did. When there weren't eager investors and a fawning council, just you and him, the suffocating smog of the Undercity, and his foolish dreams. Within the gaps in between, your praises sung as loud, unbidden, echoing strums. 

He supposes he's going to have to ask again for your faith, just one more time. 

Viktor's gaze stays focused down, for a moment. Contemplative, emotional. 

"I almost kissed you right then." He glances up to you, finally. "But-" He hums, then sighs, "There were benefactors still lingering just beyond the balcony, some of which already decided to inquire extensively about my personal life. I would have hated for our first kiss to incite such a scene." 

Viktor admires the tender kindling of gentleness on your face. Slightly pained, despite the hints of softness. It's his cue to find your cheek, to hold you close and oh-so softly like he did from the start; the cliff before the waterfall, his first step in to drown with you. 

Nothing will ever return to simplicity. But Viktor refuses to regret this, decides he should face it head on. Every building conflict, these budding emotions, the remnants of how your lips felt on his; tenderly unforgettable, a crucial step that he refuses to forget. 

You can feel the slight tremble to his fingers, the calluses on his palm — 

"Vik-" 

"I need to have your trust." 

Your eyes widen. 

"Viktor," You're starting again, "You already do- you always have. I don't want you to hesitate, you can-" 

"No, no, the Hexcore," Viktor corrects. He takes a quick glance between you, and the shifting runes of his project's surface. Glowing and fluctuating, a marvel even when it is dormant. "There is much I have not yet told the council. Nor Jayce, nor you." 

A newfound flicker of conviction blazes behind his sun-bound eyes. A brightened enthusiasm to solve any puzzle he's presented with, a key twisted into a door that he never thought would open. 

Your gaze is curious, attentive, then clearly conflicted, and he feels his jaw start to tighten. In spite, he continues, speaks with his entire chest, even though his hands tremor at the thought, and his voice is much too soft and broken and he hates the sound it makes when it's breaking — 

"You are the one thing I cannot lose." Viktor holds your face lovingly, captures you in a statue-like state of devotion, as he fights against the gnawing roughness at the back of his throat. "I believe I can solve this, but I need to know that to any end, you will follow. Please." 

It's something he's already sure of, against the faint threads of doubt in his mind. Of course you would, if he was the one to ask. The both of you are knit together as endlessly as the lines that connect the constellations, he just needs to hear you say it. 

You offer him a weakened smile, your touch brushing the curve of his face like fingertips would caress the arch of a flower's petal. "Do what you think is right. I trust you." 

Viktor softens. 

There's bittersweet catharsis in finally admitting the truth, along with an endless chasm threatening to swallow him whole — and for now, for the rest of the night, at least, he wants nothing more than to fall in with you. 

"My love," He murmurs; he draws you close, with the pull of the sea to the moon. He dares to press one more faint kiss to your cheek, despite knowing how infinitely difficult it will be to pull away. "My inspiration," A kiss to the opposite cheek, then. "My little spark." 

The lab remains quiet, dark, save for the low hum, and the glowing orbit of the Hexcore. Viktor leans his head against your chest, relaxes further once you begin gently toying with his hair. And finally, fully, he allows his heavy eyes to close. 

[joshuhaos]

Maybe a part 2 of the arcane characters saying things they regret, but they're apologizing because I can't live after reading a angst 🫠

Making up with Arcane characters after a bad argument. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

(Previous part)

Fine, fine, here is a happy part two guys. Take it as an apology for the tears and pain I've caused.✨️

Content: Swearing, accusations of cheating, slight angst, making up, fluff, potential spoilers for season 2, established romantic relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》VI

She knew that she had fucked up. There was no way to deny or refute it either. And your absence was further proof of that.

You were always there for her, even when things got bad and she became even worse. No matter how much she yelled or drank, you were there afterward to nurture her back to health. It was so unfair of her to expect it still, after all she had said to you. She hated herself. She hated how weak and pathetic she had become. How she can't even stand straight anymore from the alcohol and couldn't win a single game since she had lost you.

And instead of Caitlyn haunting her like she used to, it was only you now. But you were crying every time. Asking her why she hated you so much. Why she couldn't care for you the way you cared for her. Why you were always the second choice despite having been there since the start.

Why, why, why.

Gritting her teeth against the headache, she made her way through the dark, familiar lanes to your small home that you once shared together. She had to talk to you. She really, really had to. Even if it's far too late now after a week of silence in-between the two of you. She had taken the time to reflect and think about everything, especially about your relationship. And it made her realise that nothing in this world was losing you too.

Knocking on your door, she nervously waited as she heard your footsteps quickly approaching her from inside. You opened the door carefully, ironically just how she had taught you, before freezing at the sight of her. She gave you a weak smile, attempting to look calm and friendly, but it still scared you off. "Hey cupca-" You tried slamming the door into her face mid greeting, but her foot was faster to jam itself in the way.

"H-Hey! Wait, please hear me out!" "Fuck off, Vi. I'm not in the mood to hear more of your bullshit. Go back to Caitlyn since I know how badly you want that!" You never cursed, and every word you spoke made her flinch. She, for some reason, didn't expect you to be this mad. But it hurt, and she deserved it. Another thing she underestimated was, unfortunately, your strength since you somehow managed to push her away and shut the door again. "Come on! Please! I... I didn't mean what I said. I just... have been losing my shit ever since what happened. The guilt is killing me, and I know it's not an excuse! You're right, I have to stop this shit! You're right, I need to stop treating your love for granted!"

She didn't know if you were even listening to her anymore, but it didn't stop the tears that burned in her eyes. "I don't give a damn about Caitlyn like that! I never did! It always you for me. You... you cared for me when no one else ever wanted to, and I was such an idiot for not appreciating it more." Her hand slammed against the wood in defeat, her head coming to rest against it as her body trembled. She was so scared of losing you. This can't be the end. "Please. Please just give me another chance to prove myself. I know I'm a fuck up but I swear I'll do better now."

Vi nearly fell right through your house entrance when you opened the door wide with a teary huff. "God, you're such an idiot... get in already before the neighbors complain." You didn't let her reply as you simply dragged her inside and locked the door again. The pitfighter watched you do so with a gentle gaze, one that felt so familiar to you. "... Fine, I'll give you another chance... but no drinking or fighting anymore. Please." You whisper to her, and she nods quickly before engulfing you in a warm hug.

She knows that she isn't fully forgiven yet, but she'll do everything in her power to prove herself worthy of your love again.

》CAITLYN

"You're still up." Caitlyn's voice was calm and gentle now, so different from the stern and cold tone it had before. You ignored her, however, knowing better than to fall for this again. She always got like this when she knew she had screwed up and was trying to crawl back into your good graces. But this time around, you didn't allow it that easily. You refused to speak to her if she hadn't come back to apologize. And yet... you couldn't help but allow yourself at least one sharp dig at her. "And you're late to bed once again. But I suppose Officer Nolan's 'report' was just that interesting, no?" You were perhaps the only person in all auf Pultover that could ever accuse her of something so scandalous as adultery and get away with it.

It certainly would have been amusing if Caitlyn didn't feel so sick at the thought of you believing that.

Sighing, she placed her hat onto a clothing hanger, her jacket following suit. You were facing away from her on the bed, trying to read a book and rest, despite the pain in your heart. It was hard being angry at her when you loved her so deeply. But her insults had struck much deeper than that.

The bed dipped behind you, and soon enough, you felt her strong arms surrounding your body and her nose tickling your cheek. "I'm sorry, my love. I really am. I... have lost my cool, and that was wrong of me." You scoffed at her words, finding them too shallow for the pain she had caused earlier. Yet you struggled to get out of her strong grasp on you. It felt desperate. And you hated the warmth and security that it made you feel. "If that is all you have to say, then you can leave." You hissed out weakly but couldn't find any malice in it. Just heartbreak, that solidified in more tears burning in your eyes. "Because how... how could you ever say that I could betray you? Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you care?"

Caitlyn hummed against the nape of your neck soothingly, a way to acknowledge the plight she had caused you without revealing her own tears. The grief had made her into a monster. A monster that hurt its friends, family, and most importantly, you. It was unforgivable, and yet she wanted to prove herself worthy of you anyway. She wanted to show you that she hadn't changed deep down like everyone claimed. She was still yours.

"... I will find a way to end this war and resolve it peacefully as soon as I can. I swear it to you." She began, her voice low and gentle, as she listened to the sound of your hiccups and sniffling. This wasn't what she wanted. "And I apologize, truly, for what I called you... I know that you are loyal and trustworthy. Much more than I ever could be... I'm still your Caitlyn." The last part was whispered quietly, as she tried everyone in her power to not break down in front of you like this.

She hated what she had become deep down. She knew it was wrong and that her mother must've been turning in her grave at the sight of what she had done. But what she couldn't handle at all was you hating and leaving her.

There was a moment of silence before you turned to face her and immideatly hugged her impossibly close as you cried into her arms. She rubbed your back lovingly, understanding that this was your way of accepting her apology. But forgiveness will still be a long journey she was willing to take.

For now, she'd rest in your embrace thankfully.

》JINX

Deep down, you knew that she didn't mean what she said. She never would do anything to hurt you. Silco's death was just killing her more than anyone could have expected, and it was hard for everyone to deal with. But you just couldn't take the pain and hurt she caused you anymore. You've been there since day one. You were always at her side. You always took care of her when no one else wanted to. And you understood her better than she did herself. But it was ultimately just not enough. Or so you thought.

The young girl that was now dragging you through the lanes reminded you of her too. She didn't speak a word to you, and for some reason, you didn't have it in you to protest against her odd actions either. She somehow seemed to recognize you the second you bumped into her. And that was enough for her to take your hand and lead you to a very familiar hideout. Perhaps it was fate that brought you here again when you needed Jinx the most.

"Hey kid, who's our little guest-?" The rest of the young woman's words died on her tongue, and it left you simply staring at each other. There was a familiar haze in her eyes, one that you often saw when the voices were taking over. She once mentioned that you sometimes became a part of her hallucinations during longer absences, and that reminder alone made your heart ache. You shouldn't have run away that day. But what other choice did you have? She didn't trust you anymore. She didn't think you should be together anymore. Why were you even here?

"S-sorry... I'm just going to leave..." You muttered as your ears rung and that familiar burning in your eyes made your sight blurry. You felt suffocated and somehow also angry, wishing she could just see how much you loved and cared for her. But just as you were turning away to run again, her strong hand was quicker and held you back by your arm. "Wait. Let's just... talk, alright? Like we always do?" That was your thing. Whenever things got bad, you'd sit down and talk calmly to her about it. She used to scoff at it every time... yet she was the one who suggested now for once. Something about it shook you so hard that it made the first tears finally spill at the recognition she had given you for all the work you've put into her.

Jinx panicked a little at that, unsure of how to comfort you, yet at Isha's stern frown and cross of her small arms, she just hugged you for the first time in a while. And god, did she miss it.

Perhaps it was good to show the little girl a picture of you after all.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I swear, sweetie! I... I won't ever say stuff like that again. Just don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I just, I was just-" You hushed her by just hugging her tighter and shaking your head. "It's okay... just hold me for a while. We can talk later... I missed you so much." You whispered, voice breaking into sobs. Jinx hummed weakly and sighed against your hair, the familiar scent making her relax and feel better at last.

Isha grinned to herself behind you before quickly sneaking off to let you talk things out.

》EKKO

To say that the entire firelight hideout was pissed at him would be an understatement. Absolutely everyone disagreed with the way he treated you, and the side eyes he got very much confirmed this. But the worst part of it all was definitely you avoiding him like the plague.

Every time he entered a room, you were the first one to leave in a hurry. Every time he tried speaking to you, you either ignored him or found an excuse to get away. Every time someone even mentioned his name to you, your mood seemed to dampen. And that hurt so much that it killed him. This isn't how he wanted you to feel about him. He was your boyfriend, damnit it. Yet he acknowledged that he was failing at his job way more than he should've allowed himself to. He had to fix this somehow.

Ekko couldn't just lose you over his own foolishness. You were the one person who motivated him to keep going even on his worst days. You were the light he fought for. The person he battled to come home to every day. He couldn't handle your absence any longer, especially at night when he laid wide awake in your empty bed without you.

And so, he finally had enough and cornered you one night up in the tree during a patrol you had together. One, he definitely didn't pull the strings for to happen. And ever the one to abide by his orders despite your current dismay, you were now avoiding his gaze whilst you watched your sleeping home below. It was peaceful and calm, but the pain lingered between you two too much to enjoy the moment. He didn't know how to break the deafening silence, and it made him think of backing out on his initial plan... until you surprised him by speaking up first.

"I'm... sorry for avoiding you. I didn't mean for this to become your last resort. I just... didn't want to be a burden anymore." "Wait, wait, wait... who said that you were a burden, I... I should be the one apologizing right now. Because I was wrong about every fucking thing I said to you." The words spilled out in panic at the mere thought of you blaming yourself. He never wanted you to feel like this. It made him feel even worse about himself. This wasn't right. "You're not useless. You do so much for us, for me, and I take it all for granted like the asshole I am! And I fully acknowledge that now... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. There is no excuse for it." He shook his head in disappointment at himself, wondering if this was it now. He'd understand if you broke up with him now... but instead, you seemed to be in the mood to surprise him alot today.

"Did you... like the food I made you?" He blinked at your question in confusion, yet answered honestly. "Best thing I had all week." "Then I guess I'll forgive you... just don't do that again." Ekko chuckled weakly at your words, relief filling his senses whilst he pulled you close to press a kiss to your head. "Would never dream of it... wanna ditch patrol and fly around town?" You mirrored his sly smile, glad he had the same thing on his mind as you did. "Sure thing. But let's make it a race."

He let you win.

》SEVIKA

She took some time to cool off after your argument and returned later into the night with a clearer mind. Sevika had actually reflected on what you had said to her, and she knew you were ultimately right. She was extremely overprotective and stubborn, two things that didn't mesh well and often ended in her thinking you couldn't take care of yourself. Even if she knew better than to actually believe that.

You were strong, especially mentally. It's what drew her into you to begin with. But with the fall of Silco and a war being on the verge of breaking out against Piltover, she had no choice but to make sure that you never left her sight. And if you did, then you had to be somewhere she knew was safe and away from all the chaos she dealt with daily. It helped her focus and stay calm to know that you're okay. Yet despite how much she cared, she still fucked it all up for herself again.

And now she had to fix it, something she was never good at.

She felt awfully guilty at the sight of the things you've lovingly prepared for her, now laying forgotten and cold on the kitchen counter. She truly didn't deserve someone as kind as you. And yet she considered herself too selfish to let you go.

Slowly approaching the bedroom door, she paused to hear if you were awake or not. Unfortunately, you were, but she only knew this from the faintest sound of your sniffling and sobbing that drifted through the wooden door. Sighing to herself, she knocked once, deciding to just rake things slow and as calmly as possible. You had sustained an injury after all, and her mind was reeling at the thought of it getting worse without any proper care. "What do you want?!" Your weak voice yelled at her, and it made her frown. Yeah, you were definitely beyond pissed.

"I want to talk." Her gruff voice said, and it may have sounded like a demand if the underlying care and worry didn't overshadow it so clearly. Your silence made her initially think you were ignoring her until the door slowly opened and revealed your disheveled form. "... well, go ahead." You muttered, one hand cradling the side of your hip that was clumsily bandaged up by you. You were never good at stuff like that.

"Let me take care of the wound whilst we're at it. Can't have ya dying on me because of an infection." She sighed out before simply dragging you to your shared bed and pulling out your medkit. You didn't protest or complain and let her do as she pleased, whilst you carefully listened to her speak with an unreadable expression.

"Listen. I... get it. I really do. The way I treat you isn't right, and I know you're grown enough to take care of yourself, but... I can't risk losing you too now. It drives me crazy to think about. Even if that ain't much of an excuse, and I get that too." She was never this honest before. Usually, she simply deflected or blamed someone else. But here she was, for once admitting openly to being the problem. "Just... be more careful out there. That's all I ask of you. I won't comment on it otherwise anymore though, unless you're in serious danger. I promise." Finishing the last of her bandaging, she hummed at it now looking much securer. This way, you are sure to recover much faster.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded your head at her words, deciding to give her another chance to prove herself. You understood where she was coming from after all. "Okay, fine. I'll accept your apology... if you help me cook." She grinned at that slightly with a casual shrug. "Fine by me, if I get a taste of your heavenly cooking, sweetheart."