#Idk I got like two hours of sleep last night | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pupyuj · 11 hours ago

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→ “favorite pastime.” || ahn yujin x jang wonyoung fic.

— despite being in the same group, it was hard for yujin and wonyoung to find time to be normal girlfriends in the middle of a world tour, so when they are finally granted a break, they decide to make the most of it...

word count: 4.7k.

dynamic: dom!vers!ahn yujin x sub!vers!jang wonyoung.

warnings: established relationship, fingering, clit play, scissoring, body worship, ya'll why is there like no other tags here hello, this fic is EMPTYYYY, this actually started out with more tags AND IT WAS GONNA BE FREAKYYYY, but it just got soft LMAO.

requested?: nope.

a/n: a little treat before the long trek that is the witch liz fic💕 i made this doc around the time they were still on the swih tour so that's why the setting is the way it is 😭 and i've been kind of writing it in the background while i worked on other, bigger stuff so no, i didn't take this long to create something so short! 😤 personally, this is like my one of the favorite things i've written 🥺 idk why i cooked so hard for annyeongz out of all things but ykw i'll take it! enough yapping, I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS 💖💖

1:37 am.

jang wonyoung had no business being up this late when she, as well as her group members, finally had the luxury to sleep to her heart’s content and not worry about being late to rehearsals and soundchecks. today’s show was the last one until a long while, which means the members of ive have the time to explore the current city they’re visiting or relax in their lavish hotel rooms for the next few days before they fly back to south korea and do some real relaxing there. wonyoung already had her next day planned out, as she always does, and thus had nothing much to think about in her mind.

except the fact that she was up at an ungodly hour brushing through her beautiful locks with her favored hairbrush in front of a vanity mirror. her doe eyes glancing at the clock each minute, getting increasingly impatient and disappointed whenever her gaze turns to the empty and cold queen-sized bed behind her. wonyoung had already done all of her post-concert routines and was more than ready to hit the sheets and sleep until nine in the morning, maybe even ten! but what was the point of resting if she didn’t rest well?

to put it simply, jang wonyoung needs only one important thing to complete her night, and that came in the form of ahn yujin, who was currently not in their shared hotel room.

pouting, wonyoung took a glance at her phone. no recent calls or texts from her dear girlfriend. before leaving the room in a hurry, yujin informed wonyoung that the managers needed to have a talk with her ‘for a bit’, but exactly three hours had passed since! it worried wonyoung, to be frank. why weren’t the other members talked to? was yujin in trouble? were they all in trouble and it was so serious that the managers needed to talk to only the leader about it? wonyoung knew in the back of her head that it was probably just company gibberish that even yujin doesn’t have all the energy to actually talk about, but wonyoung being wonyoung—being yujin’s girlfriend—she still can’t help but be concerned!

now don’t get her wrong! most of the time, wonyoung can sleep without cuddling with or even when she’s not with yujin! it’s just… she thought tonight was going to be special for the two of them. maybe they were going to spend the entire night talking about the show, how fun it was, how great they all did, and how they can’t wait for the next ones. maybe they were going to bundle up in the blankets and cuddle each other to keep warm while watching movies until they fell asleep. maybe they were going to share small and funny anecdotes about their own personal adventures in every city they’ve been in! whatever it may have been, wonyoung would’ve loved it.

she missed yujin, so much. yes, they’re together for literally every second they’re alive because duh, they’re in the same group, but wonyoung misses her in a… girlfriend kind of way. she misses their talks, their jokes, their staring competitions, their hands holding, their lips locking—she misses everything about her relationship. truthfully, wonyoung might just be a little bit dramatic because it’s not like yujin went to war or something but can anyone really blame a girl in love!?

wonyoung sighs, putting down her hairbrush and fixing her bangs with her hands. she felt (and is!!) so pretty but yujin wasn’t even around to ogle at her! she stands up, grabs her phone and pulls up yujin’s contact from her long list. she was about to press the ‘call’ button until the hotel door clicked and swung open, and entered a very smiley ahn yujin in her charming oversized flannel shirt, thick-framed glasses, and her favorite bottoms to wear lately, some… jorts.

yup, this is the girl jang wonyoung is down terrible for. a loser.

“honey, i’m home—oof!” yujin nearly gets knocked back out of the door after wonyoung tackled her for a hug. in a fit of laughter, yujin embraces her girlfriend tightly, giving her quick kisses on the side of her head in the process. yujin uses her leg to close the door shut behind the two of them before awkwardly shuffling further inside the room while still hugging wonyoung, who just refused to remove her head from the crook of yujin’s neck. the older girl wasn’t about to start complaining though—wonyoung was usually so reserved and, well, classy. only behind doors does wonyoung become this clingy, adorable creature that is always seemingly shooting hearts from her eyes while looking at yujin.

lately, they haven’t been given a lot of privacy so yujin missed her cute, loving girlfriend too! the two of them collapse slowly on the bed, where yujin immediately peppers wonyoung’s face with kisses while the younger girl laughs at the way it all tickles. eventually, yujin’s lips landed on wonyoung’s own and the latter made sure it stays there! taking yujin’s face in her hands and keeping her still, gently locking their lips in a soft, warm kiss that even makes yujin melt so quickly that she kisses back earnestly.

it was pretty easy to get lost in a searing kiss for the two of them. eventually only the smacks of their lips and their hums were heard in the room, with the occasional shuffling of the mattress underneath wonyoung and the sweet sounds that left her mouth. with the younger girl’s top slightly lifted, yujin had no problems putting her hand on wonyoung’s toned stomach and slowly dragging it upward to where wonyoung obviously wanted to touch her the second most.

“hmn.. ah, yujinnie…” how cute. yujin already had her moaning like that. yujin slides both of her hands further up until she was cupping wonyoung’s soft breasts and at the same time, she slots a knee in between the younger girl’s legs and pressed it lightly against her clothed pussy. wonyoung, being so desperate to feel yujin, starts to grind on the older girl’s knee, moaning softly at the added sensation of yujin toying with her nipples underneath her shirt.

wonyoung allows yujin to slip her tongue inside her mouth—an act that was always messy but did wonyoung ever care? of course not, not even when there was drool running down the side of her mouth. the messier the better, and wonyoung hoped that it gets worse from here because they both deserve this.

it wasn’t long before wonyoung was practically humping on her girlfriend’s thigh. her needy moans only intensified the longer yujin took to just rip her clothes off and make her see the stars. the older girl was adamant on keeping their clothes on, only merely pulling up wonyoung’s top to expose her pretty tits but never actually taking it off. and at this point, wonyoung had successfully popped open four of the buttons on yujin’s flannel shirt and was only slightly disappointed to see that yujin had been wearing a tank top and a bra underneath. but that still didn’t stop wonyoung from trying to feel yujin’s skin on her own.

“someone really missed me, huh?” yujin chuckles, watching as wonyoung struggled to open the rest of the buttons on her shirt. wonyoung ignores her teasing, however, and tugs impatiently on yujin’s shirt. and if yujin wasn’t completely smitten and head-over-heels for her girlfriend, she wouldn’t be yujin at all! so, yujin slips out of her shirt, as well as her tank top like wonyoung whined to her about, and smirks at how the younger girl seemed to be at a loss for words. still though, wonyoung finds enough control in herself to carefully and gently run her hands all over yujin’s chiseled features. everybody knows yujin works hard to shape her body to perfection, but wonyoung still finds herself in sheer awe every time she sees the results.

yujin working out was always a sight that wonyoung constantly looked back to and secretly admired. and even though they’re dating, wonyoung is still a bit too bashful to admit that even just the slightest glimpse of yujin’s muscles can make her crumble as her members always teased her about it to the point it would reach yujin’s ears, and then yujin would tease her and it would just be a lovely mess wonyoung would rather avoid. but at least right now they were in their own world, wonyoung has nothing to be ashamed about here. delicately, wonyoung pushed yujin back until the latter was standing up properly and wonyoung herself was sitting up on the bed.

wonyoung, looking up at her girlfriend whose eyes were riddled with curiosity, places her hands on yujin’s hips and pulls her closer and closer until her lips were touching yujin’s abdomen. for the next few minutes, ahn yujin finds herself feeling… shy as she watches her girlfriend leave soft, loving kisses all over the exposed skin on her stomach. why, wonyoung had to appreciate all the effort yujin puts into working out! what better way than this? kissing her firm abs, feeling and making random shapes on the other well-defined muscles on her back… hearing yujin’s soft laughs was a bonus, too.

“hey… i’m supposed to take care of you.” yujin runs her fingers through wonyoung’s hair, taking note of how smooth and soft it was and noticing that the chair in front of the vanity mirror was in slight disarray. now she knows wonyoung had been patiently—well, impatiently—waiting for her to finally join her in the night while looking all pretty for her.

“we can take turns.” wonyoung whispers softly. her kisses continued on rising and soon enough, her lips were on yujin’s chest. it was hard for the older girl to not melt on the spot when wonyoung looks up at her with pleading eyes—sure, there has never been a moment where yujin was able to resist those eyes, but something about this night was making her just a tad bit more vulnerable to them than usual. or perhaps it was just her immense love for wonyoung that made her so freaking soft. reaching behind, yujin unclasps her bra and allows it to fall to the ground, smirking slightly at the way wonyoung blushes at the sight of her bare breasts.

wonyoung leaned back, propping her hands up behind her to get a good look at her girlfriend who was now completely topless. “you’re so pretty, unnie…” she said, and even in the softness of her voice, yujin could hear her desire and it only adds up to the excitement of it all. wonyoung watches with anticipation as yujin takes off her shorts, failing to fight back the urge to bite her lip because good god did her girlfriend look amazing wearing only a pair of dark blue-colored panties, and how could she even pretend to not notice that wet spot on the fabric? wonyoung was delighted to know that she has such an effect, it makes her heart swell with pride… and she could tease yujin about it, see that deep blush on the older girl’s face that always looked so cute on her, but the only thing wonyoung wanted to do right now was feel her.

but wonyoung has been disciplined well enough to know she can’t do that until she has yujin’s permission, and so she watches as the older girl lays down on the bed. it wasn’t until yujin beckoned wonyoung over that the latter finally moved, crawling over on top of yujin quite eagerly.

“you want to take care of me, hm?” yujin tucks a strand of hair behind wonyoung’s ear.

jang wonyoung—the idol that everyone knows to be perfect, reserved, and elegant beyond comprehension. who would have thought that she would have such an astonishingly different side to her behind closed doors? in the outside world, wonyoung would not be caught having an expression that did not scream her genuine compassion and kindness but here she was on top of her group leader, her best friend, the love of her life, looking like she wanted to eat her whole. yujin wasn’t shy to admit that the way wonyoung carried herself right now only made that pool in between her legs get worse, but at least she had the fastest way to relieve herself of that ache right in front of her.

“go on then.”

ahn yujin—ive’s strong-willed leader that can do anything and everything except one: give up control. even right now, when her girlfriend is right on top of her, giving her neck spine-chilling open-mouthed kisses and sucking on her skin enough to leave a trail of quickly-blooming marks from her jawline down to her collarbone, she refuses to relax and actually allow wonyoung to take care of her. she keeps her hand buried on wonyoung’s beautiful locks, tugging slightly every time she feels something that makes her thighs twitch and her core beg for much-needed attention. but that was all okay to wonyoung; there was nothing more she loved than being bossed around and told what to do by her leader.

finally, after what seemed like forever, yujin feels wonyoung’s tongue on her hard nipple before she feels her warm mouth wrap around it, eliciting a beautiful moan that stirs something inside wonyoung. the latter reaches down and slides her hand inside yujin’s panties, palming her wet cunt and pressing her thumb against her clit.

again, yujin moans loudly and struggles to keep her composure. but still, she finds her ways. “g-good girl… oh, fuck… you always know know how to make me… f-feel good, hm?” she knew that the smallest of praises was enough to dumb wonyoung down into her personal pleasure toy that she can play with to do whatever she wants her to do—and her praises were not short of effect, as usual. wonyoung’s whines are muffled with her mouth around yujin’s nipple, her tongue too busy swirling and playing with the hardened bud to push out some words. she feels her own pussy creating a mess in her underwear, but yujin’s voice silences her needs.

“hmmn.. ngh… ahh—” every gasp, every hiss, and every little sound yujin made as wonyoung pinched, pressed on, and toyed with her clit reverberates through the younger girl’s fogged up brain and feeds her all the energy she needs to make her lover feel even better. “god… just fill me up, princess…” and that pet name was the icing on the cake.

impatiently, wonyoung rips off yujin’s panties with haste and throws it off to the side. her mouth finally leaves yujin’s nipple, which allows yujin to easily pull her back up and kiss her, hungrily and possessively. completely different from the sweet kisses they usually shared in secret rooms, behind the privacy of some curtains, in the dark corners of a set, and amidst unsuspecting eyes. and thank god for the kiss, because the room next to them surely would have heard the sound yujin made upon getting stuffed full with two fingers if her mouth hadn’t been busy being on wonyoung’s.

a loud whine from wonyoung manages to escape their locked lips when yujin pulls on her hair harshly, controlling the kiss as she pleases while simultaneously bucking her hips up to meet wonyoung’s thrusts. god knows how much she needed this. months long of touring, rehearsing, endless vocal warmups, and being on-the-go for hours on end… ahn yujin deserved the utmost care right now, and luckily for her wonyoung was more than willing to give her just that.

wonyoung’s pace increases, making yujin throw her head back in pleasure as her hips struggle to keep up. her moans were now loud and free with only wonyoung’s lips silencing her every now and again but even then, the latter was too busy leaving more marks on her leader’s neck. mine, she wants everyone to know even when they shouldn’t. wonyoung bites on yujin’s collarbone, and the older girl’s free hand clutches her shoulder, nearly piercing her skin. mine, she wants everyone who thinks they can win over yujin’s heart to know that she belongs with someone else already. her.

but now that yujin thought about it… wonyoung herself worked hard all tour long too, and what kind of girlfriend would yujin be if she didn’t make her feel good in return?

yujin tugs on the waistband of wonyoung’s shorts, “i wanna.. hah… feel you too, baby… take this off.” of course, wonyoung obeys her almost immediately. it was something about her that yujin always loved: whether she’s talking to her as her group leader or as her girlfriend, wonyoung will always listen to her and do what needs to be done at the drop of a hat. and before yujin could even think to open her eyes and take her mind off of the sensation of wonyoung’s fingers inside her, the younger girl has already taken off her shorts as well as her underwear.

wonyoung stares at yujin for a good minute—taking in every single one of her facial features as if she doesn’t already do just that every night they’re together. she then decided that her lips were feeling a bit too cold, so she paused her actions and leaned down to kiss yujin. the latter didn’t seem to mind prolonging her climax. even going as far as to allow wonyoung to pull her fingers out of the older girl’s cunt just so she can hold her face as they kissed. yujin could feel her cheek getting wet with her own slick but she didn’t exactly care when her heart felt like it was going to explode with the sheer amount of affection she was feeling for her lover.

and for a while, they got lost in each other’s lips and even forgot that they were in the middle of something. yujin holds wonyoung softly, both hands firmly but gently holding the latter’s waist as she takes control of the kiss. with their lips still locked, yujin flips their position and now that she was on top, she can truly show wonyoung how much she missed her. especially during these last few hours that she had to endure listening to her managers talk on and on about the precautions the girls should take before walking around the city and whatnot.

all yujin wanted to do at that time was to melt in her girlfriend’s arms and hold each other until the next afternoon. but unfortunately, a few minutes became a few hours. frankly, yujin felt bad that wonyoung had to stay up so late waiting for her. she should have been sleeping considering that it was quite the long and tiring show that they had that day, but she really waited for her. it was impossible for yujin to express her appreciation with just words… and actions, really, but she’ll for sure try her damn best.

“you can relax now, princess… it’s my turn to take care of you.” yujin says, giving the younger girl a last peck on the lips before leaning back. while she got herself situated, yujin smiles briefly at wonyoung, who blushed as she just sat there watching her girlfriend. it was stupid how she still sometimes felt like she was crushing on this ‘cool, funny unnie’ because for the longest time, that was really the farthest wonyoung got with her feelings.

some people like to tell her that it was actually quite cute how wonyoung still behaves like a high school girl who was in love for the first time and to that she thinks: sure, it could be cute… if it wasn’t so embarrassing at the same time! because come on, she was swooning over her girlfriend looking so handsome on top of her!

upon the realization that she looked quite stupid being flustered over literally nothing, wonyoung covers up her warm face with her hands, opting to only look at the older girl from behind the gaps between her fingers. yujin, unfazed, grins at her cute girlfriend, taking a mental note to tease her all about it tomorrow. it’s what she always does the morning after having sex! wonyoung has gotten used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t get embarrassed whenever yujin starts to lay out whatever details she remembers from the night before.

“let me see you, wonyoung-ah,” yujin takes her girlfriend’s hands and holds onto them tightly. she laughs seeing wonyoung’s tomato-colored cheeks and ears. “you’re so red! are you okay?” adorable. wonyoung was never not going to be the cutest thing in yujin’s eyes, that’s for sure.

suddenly, those three simple words that she has gotten used to saying all these years have become so difficult to push out of her mouth. not because wonyoung didn’t want to say them, but because even she herself could make fun of just how much she means them. “i love you, yujin-unnie…” wonyoung managed to blurt out. her eyes were everywhere except on yujin’s own, afraid of getting teased to hell by the older girl and wonyoung always knew exactly when the teasing would come. yujin would usually slowly start giggling before she was full-on throwing her head back from laughter, and then she would pinch wonyoung’s cheeks and fawn over how adorable she was.

wonyoung was waiting for it. she was waiting for yujin’s soft laughs, waiting until her face was being peppered with kisses once again, and until the leader completely disregarded the situation the two of them were in and just flatter her until dawn… but strangely enough, none of it ever came. so, wonyoung finally looked yujin in the eyes and found her girlfriend blushing just as wildly as she had been.

well, that was certainly a brand new sight.

“i love you too… so much.” yujin replied rather breathlessly. it might be cheesy as fuck, but she feels her heart growing twice its size the longer she stared at wonyoung, who smiled so adoringly at her that she thought she would melt. it was at this moment that yujin decided she was willing to endure all the exhaustion that came with being on tour for almost an entire year four times over if at the end of everything, she would come home to wonyoung’s warmth.

she realizes now that that was made the long, long nights of working so worth it to put up with. she was never going to take fleeting moments such as this, where they are able to just be them, for granted ever again.

yujin leans forward, slowly, and holds back a chuckle upon seeing wonyoung close her eyes immediately, knowing full well what was coming. god, yujin could swoon. she technically was! deep inside! but she had to pull herself together—wonyoung had needs too and it was about damn time yujin fulfilled one of her many duties as her loving girlfriend. yujin puts one leg over wonyoung’s and gets real close until she able to catch her lover’s lips with her own, and simultaneously, she rocks her hips forward, giving both herself and wonyoung the absolute pleasure that was the feeling of their clits clashing against one another.

“oh…! gosh—” wonyoung takes a hold of yujin’s arm with one hand and a fistful of the white sheets below with the other hand, clutching both with an iron grip as the older girl continues on. her whines were muffled by yujin’s lips, the very same trick that she had pulled on her earlier when their positions were switched. yujin puts her hand on the back of wonyoung’s thigh, pushing her leg upwards slightly to give herself more room as her thrusts get faster.

wonyoung starts doing her own work as well, using her hips accordingly and still taking such good care of yujin even though it was ‘her turn’ to be coddled. wonyoung just couldn’t help it. every time there was a surge of love coursing through her veins, she just had to pour it all over yujin. and this was only one of her many methods of doing so.

“good… yes…!” yujin cries out. her eyes were shut tight, one hand almost piercing through her lover’s skin and the other practically nearly tearing the sheets off the bed. wonyoung, despite her hazed mind, takes yujin’s free hand in hers and holds it tight. it helps both of them a lot. that, they know.

“god… if only… we had a strap, huh?” yujin says with a big, stupid grin. wonyoung must not reveal to yujin that she had intended to bring one but ended up forgetting due to the million other problems she had to sort out. she would never hear the end of it… and yujin might just end up visiting a sex store in the city the next morning!

the younger girl fought the greatest urge to break into a smile, but ultimately failed. “s-stop joking around… just fuck me… p-please, unnie…!” wonyoung pleaded. and she didn’t have to tell yujin twice. the older girl decided to shut up then, and pins wonyoung’s hand above her hand, thrusting faster than ever with only one objective in mind.

now they were really going to get complaints from the next couple of rooms. poor gaeul, who had actually been staying in the room directly next to theirs, probably won’t be able to even stand next to them tomorrow! neither of them could suppress their sounds—merely a chorus of whines and each other’s names left their mouths until finally, yujin’s hips come to a stutter as she came. wonyoung followed soon after, with a single tear rolling down her cheek as a mere proof of yujin’s very successful efforts.

the exhausted older girl collapses on wonyoung’s chest, gathering the very little strength left in her body to stay awake. wonyoung held her girlfriend tenderly, fixing the mess that was her hair while simultaneously getting themselves into a more comfortable position on the bed. yujin laid somewhat on top of wonyoung still, but a lot of her weight rested on the soft mattress of the bed as well.

not a lot of words were shared between the two of them as they laid there catching their breath. in fact, wonyoung thought that yujin had fallen asleep until she felt the hem of her shirt being tugged. the leader raises her head and stares at the oddly familiar graphic tee wonyoung was wearing, and then she smirks.

“my love… is this the shirt that has gone missing from my luggage for the past two weeks?” yujin asked, stifling a giggle.

“i-i didn’t think it was a big deal—i mean, you have so many shirts! a-and… i really like this one,” wonyoung, cheeks as red as a blood moon, takes the collar of ‘her’ shirt and sniffs. “it smells a lot like you too. i just… miss you a lot these days.”

yujin takes wonyoung’s hand and plants a kiss on her knuckles, “i don’t mind, baby. and i miss you too.” and every time those exact words are said, wonyoung will never not feel giddy.

the younger girl manages to compose her heart and says, “we’re lucky we get to be normal people for a while then! i have a lot planned for us, and the girls too.” wonyoung exclaims rather excitedly. while yujin had been busy being held up by the managers a few hours before, wonyoung spent all of that time making a list of all the worthwhile things they could do in this foreign city once the sun comes up. she had been wanting a chance to feel like a group of friends with her members as well, and now that she was able to be lovers with yujin for a night, who’s to say she won’t have just as much of a fun time being normal with her members too?

yujin lays there, utterly speechless at how she was actively still falling in love with wonyoung’s smile after all these years. still, she gets a hold of herself and kisses the younger girl’s hand again, “really? tell me all about it! but um… do make room for another night like this, hm?” she joked.

wonyoung pinches the bridge of yujin’s nose, laughing when the latter whines about it. she quickly kisses her forehead as compensation, “don’t worry, unnie. we have lots and lots of time just for the two of us.”

“good,” yujin hums. she places her head on her girlfriend’s chest, listening to her heart. it was the most comforting sound in the world, even more so when she knows that it beats solely for her. “you and me—my favorite pastime.”

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dazevi · 28 days ago

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CHAPTER FOUR: APOCALYPSE

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: vi keeps coming back. and each time you give in, each time you let her into your apartment, it gets harder and harder to ignore the feelings between you.

content warnings: MDNI. nsfw (18+ content), more angst, fluff if you squint, rockstar!vi, bookshop owner/writer!reader, exes to lovers, friends with benefits dynamic (kinda), smut; more needy sex, pussydrunk!vi, switch!vi but top!leaning, tiniest hint of power bottom!reader, oral (vi and r rec.), face-sitting (r rec.), fingering (vi and r rec.), strap-on sex (r rec.), strap is referred to as a cock occasionally, and idk what else lmk !!!

wc: 15,642

notes: sorry for the long wait on this one! have been having a rough week! anyway this is bit of a long chapter lol. there’s two smut scenes in this btw and it’s barely proofread but i hope everyone enjoys the chapter!! feedback is always appreciated yell at me !!!!!!!!! (also the text messages are now in dark mode since light mode hurts me eyes lmao)

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Vi stirs slowly, the early morning light filtering in through the curtains. Her body feels heavy, muscles sore in that way that only comes from an exhausting night—the good kind of sore, reminding her of everything that happened just hours ago. There’s a dull throbbing at the back of her head at the spot where she’d stupidly hit it against the door last night in her rush to catch you but it barely registers, a minor inconvenience compared to everything else she’s feeling.

She groans softly, shifting onto her side, stretching lazily before sighing against the pillow. But then, its hits her.

Her arm slides over the sheets beside her, searching instinctively for warmth, for you. Her brows knit together in confusion as her hand finds only cool sheets. Vi frowns slightly, blinking away the last traces of sleep as she pushes herself up onto her elbows, glancing around the room.

Empty.

You must’ve gone to work—at the shop. You get there at nine in the morning and open shop at ten, she remembers.

But, fuck, she really wanted to wake up next to you.

She thought—hoped—that maybe she’d wake up to you still pressed against her, still warm and soft and sleepy, still hers, even if only for a few more minutes. She wanted to roll over to reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, maybe press lazy kisses to your shoulder, feel you sigh into her touch before the rest of the world even had a chance to wake up.

But instead, she’s alone.

You’re gone.

And god, she misses you.

It’s stupid, really. She spent the whole night with you. She touched you, kissed you, held you, had you in ways she’s been aching for since the moment you broke up with her all those years ago.

And yet, even after all of that, the absence of you even now still hurts the same way it did before. Probably more.

Vi drags a hand down her face, sighing heavily, trying to push away the sinking feeling in her chest. She doesn’t know what she expected—if she even had the right to expect anything at all.

You had been clear last night.

No commitment.

And yet, here she is, lying in your empty bed, feeling like a fool for wanting something more.

She turns her head slightly, staring at the spot where you had been, at the way the sheets are still slightly rumpled from where you slept. She reaches out without thinking, fingertips grazing the fabric, but the warmth is already gone.

She should be happy. Fuck, she is happy—happy that she got to have you, to hold you, even if only for a night.

But it’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough, not when she knows what it felt like to have everything with you.

She doesn’t want something casual.

She doesn’t want to wake up alone.

She doesn’t want to pretend that it doesn’t mean anything, that it isn’t everything.

She wants you.

All of you.

Vi exhales slowly, dragging a hand down her face as she forces herself to move, to shake off the heavy feeling settling deep in her chest. Lying in your empty bed, wrapped in the lingering scent of you, isn’t going to make this any easier.

If anything, it only makes it worse.

She pushes herself up, the sheets slipping from her bare skin as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed. For a moment, she just sits there, staring down at her hands, as she could still feel you on her fingers.

Fuck. Get up, Vi.

She finds her clothes scattered across the room, her jeans kicked halfway under the bed, her shirt draped over the chair in the corner, her jacket tossed near the doorway. She takes her time dressing, moving slower than necessary, not because she needs to—but because she wants to.

She smooths out the sheets, pulling the blankets back into place, running her hand over the fabric like it’ll somehow make up for the fact that she’s leaving before she even got to say good morning. It’s almost laughable—how she never used to care about things like this, how she never used to be the type to tidy up after herself after a one-night stand.

But this isn’t just anyone.

This is you.

After the bed is made, Vi takes her time slipping her shoes on, letting her gaze wander around your room.

She stands beside your bed, staring down at the neatly made sheets, her fingers absently smoothing out a wrinkle that doesn’t really need fixing. She’s already done enough to stall—already taken her time getting dressed, already let her hands linger too long on your things, already memorized every little detail.

But now she just stands there, her gaze moving toward your nightstand.

It’s simple, uncluttered. A lamp, a half-read book with a slip of paper tucked between the pages, a small dish with a few rings and hair ties, a glass of water gone untouched.

Vi exhales slowly.

She wishes she could stay—wants to crawl back into your bed and pull the blankets over her, wants to press her face into the pillow and drown in the scent of you.

Instead, she reaches into her pocket, her fingers brushing against cool metal, and pulls out her favorite lighter.

A Zippo—well-worn, the silver casing slightly scratched from years of use, a small emblem on the front that’s barely visible anymore from the way she’s fidgeted with it over time. It’s the one she always carries, the one she flips open and shut whenever she’s deep in thought, the one she’s had for years.

And she leaves it there.

She sets it down on your nightstand without hesitation, placing it next to your book, her fingers lingering against the cool surface for just asecond.

It feels desperate—leaving this here in your apartment—but she doesn’t really care. She doesn’t know if you’ll even notice it right away, if you’ll recognize it for what it is. Maybe you’ll just brush past it, thinking it’s something that was always there. Maybe you’ll pick it up and scoff, knowing exactly who left it behind.

But either way, it’s something hers. A piece of her, sitting there, waiting. A reason for you to reach out.

She pulls her hand away, staring at it for a moment longer, then sighs, running a hand through her hair.

Maybe it’s stupid, she thinks.

But she forces herself to move, to step away from the bed and into the living room.

Her fingers brush over the back of the couch as she walks through the living room, her eyes catching on the shelves filled with books, the neatly stacked notebooks on the coffee table, the soft throw blanket tossed over the armrest.

And then, as her gaze drifts, she sees tokens of your life in different parts of the room. Little trinkets. Small, seemingly insignificant things to anyone else—but to her, they are everything.

Her breath catches as she reaches out, fingers tracing over a tiny, worn keychain that she knows was once attached to her old truck keys. A small ceramic fox she remembers you winning at a carnival back in high school. A faded concert ticket stub—one of her concerts.

Her stomach twists again.

You kept these.

Vi swallows hard, her fingers curling slightly before she pulls her hand away. She doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know what it means. But she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she’s not the only one holding on.

With one last glance around, Vi exhales and forces herself toward the door, her heart feeling heavier with every step.

She steps out into the cool morning air, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders as she makes her way to her truck. The sun is barely rising, the city still quiet, save for the occasional distant hum of traffic.

She slides into the driver’s seat, the door shutting with a heavy thud. For a moment, she just sits there, gripping the steering wheel, staring at nothing in particular, her mind still back in your apartment, still in your bed, still pressed against your warm skin. She can still smell you on her clothes, still feel your touch lingering along her body like an imprint she never wants to fade.

Vi exhales sharply, leaning back against the headrest, her fingers flexing against the leather wheel as she lets it all settle in.

She thought she could, thought she could take whatever you were willing to give her and be satisfied with it, but fuck—she isn’t.

She doesn’t want this to be the last time.

Vi rubs at her face, dragging a hand through her hair, before reaching into her pocket and pulling out her keys. She turns them over, staring at them, before slipping them into the ignition and bringing the old truck to life.

She pulls out of the parking lot, glancing up briefly at your apartment building in the rearview mirror as she drives away. The thought of leaving you behind, even just for now, feels wrong.

But she knows one thing for certain—

She can’t let this be the last time she’s with you.

She’s already lost you once.

She’ll be damned if she lets it happen again.

“God, what was I thinking?”

The scent of chamomile drifts upward into your nose. You wrap your hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into your palms, but it does little to ease the frustration in your chest.

The shop is quiet today and day is slow, just a couple customers browsing the shelves of your tiny bookshop, but your mind is anywhere but here.

Your phone is pressed against your ear, Mel’s voice on the other end, half-listening, half-scolding, but you’re too wrapped up in your own spiraling thoughts to care. You sigh, tilting your head against your hand, fingers rubbing at your temple.

Mel hums knowingly on the other end.

“Well, you weren’t thinking,” she corrects, and you can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “That’s the whole problem.”

You groan, setting your tea down with a soft thud, resting your forehead in your palm.

“I know,” you mutter, closing your eyes.

The memories from last night are still so fresh—Vi’s hands on your skin, her lips against yours, the way she looked at you like she never stopped wanting you. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and for a few blissful hours, you let yourself fall back into her arms without hesitation, without logic, without fear.

But now, you can’t help but think about how stupid this all is.

You kissed Vi.

You slept with Vi.

You let her in again.

And worse—you wanted to.

You let out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You pressed your forehead against the cool wood of the counter, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to gather your thoughts.

“I’m so stupid, Mel,” you muttered. “I really thought I had a handle on everything. But then I… I kissed her and the next thing I knew was that she was in my bed. And, God, I don’t know what I was thinking—I don’t know what I was doing.”

“Okay, first of all, stop right there,” she interrupted firmly. “Don’t call yourself stupid. It’s not like you planned it, right? Things happen.”

“It’s just,” you admitted. “I shouldn’t have. I know shouldn’t have. I should have known better—”

You stopped, swallowing hard.

“She said she wanted to keep seeing me and I… I remembered what it felt like before everything got messy. I got distracted and I let it happen.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and you could almost hear Mel’s mind working, piecing things together in a way you couldn’t.

“Listen, okay?” Mel says, her voice taking on that no-nonsense edge you know so well. “You set a boundary, and Vi agreed to it. That’s important. What happened last night is something you two will have to figure out later. But for now, stop beating yourself up over it. You made a decision and you’ve been clear about that with her. She respects it, right?”

You take a deep breath, then sigh. “Yeah, she said she would. She agreed but… fuck, I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, babe,” Mel says with a soft laugh, but it’s filled with affection, like she’s talking to a stubborn child who just won’t see reason. “Trust me when I say, the fact that you set a boundary, that you had the strength to draw one, is huge. If you think you fucked up. So what? You’ll figure it out. You always have. Focus on something else. Your bookshop, for example. Try not to think about her. Besides, I don’t think Vi would push you too much right now. She may be impulsive, but she’s always been really good with that sort of thing, hasn’t she? Respecting you, I mean. From what I remember, that girl pretty much worshipped you.”

You stop to think.

“I guess…”

You sigh to yourself, letting her words sink in.

“You’re right,” you whisper softly. “I need to stop overthinking it. It just feels like I’m always just one step behind, now.”

Mel’s voice softens in response, “You’re exactly where you need to be, babe. Just take it slow.”

You smile, a small, bittersweet thing. It’s not exactly the answer you want, but it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, breathing slowly. When you open them again, you’re looking at the books surrounding you.

You lean back against the counter, the warmth of the tea still in your hands, but the comfort of it slips away as the conversation with Mel fades. She wrapped things up quickly, a light laugh in her voice as she mentioned something about Jayce needing her attention—probably a work thing, or one of his latest projects with his lab partner, Viktor, that she always described with a fond sigh.

You knew she was right. But no matter how many times you told yourself to focus, to push it aside, your mind kept drifting back to her.

You can’t help it.

But in this quiet morning, with the books and the soft light filtering through the windows, all you can do is wonder. Wonder if she’s still there, in your apartment, still curled up under the covers where you left her—or if she’s already gone, slipping quietly out the door as if nothing happened.

A part of you hopes she’s still there, that somehow, impossibly, you haven’t pushed her away with the same intensity you’ve been pulling yourself apart. You think about the way her skin had felt beneath your fingertips, the way her lips had tasted when you kissed her last night, the feeling of her in your arms.

But the other part of you wonders if that’s too much to hope for. Maybe it was just a moment. That maybe she’s already out of your life again, just like before.

You push away from the counter, walking slowly across the room as if putting some distance between you and the thoughts might make them stop. The tea is lukewarm now, forgotten in your hands. Your fingers brush the spines of a few books, but none of them seem to hold your attention.

The silence presses back in and you wonder all over again. What is she doing? What is she thinking?

You glance at the clock on the wall. It’s late enough that it feels like she would’ve left by now, if she was going to. You wonder if she’s even still awake.

But soon, the sun is setting just past the window, and you’re sure she’s not there anymore—not that she’d have a reason to stay anyway. You were clear from the beginning.

No commitment.

The bell above the bookshop door jingles softly as you lock up for the night, the key turning in the old brass lock with a quiet click. The streets outside are painted in the dim glow of streetlights, the sky a deep indigo, city lights flickering in the distance. You pull your coat tighter around yourself as you walk, but your mind is elsewhere.

It’s been elsewhere all day.

No matter how hard you tried to busy yourself, Vi had stayed lodged in the back of your thoughts.

The evening feels slower than it should. You walk the familiar route home, your mind circling back to last night.

You push open the door to your apartment, the silence greeting you. You leave your coat by the door, slipping off your shoes, feeling tired. Honestly, you expected to come home to the disarray of an unfinished night, but when you enter your bedroom, you pause.

The bed is made. The pillows are arranged neatly at the head, the blankets smoothed over the sheets, edges tucked in. For a moment, you just stand there, staring at it. It almost feels… wrong. It’s like Vi had been here, had left, and then carefully erased every trace of herself.

A sigh slips from your lips, and you move toward the bed, you body heavy as you slump onto the mattress, your limbs sinking into the sheets. Your fingers graze the smooth surface where Vi had slept, where you had slept together.

You don’t want to admit it. You don’t want to admit that you miss her.

Your breath hitches as you turn onto your side, the cool sheets brushing against your skin, but your mind is still caught up in the thought of her.

You try to push it all away, but your heart doesn’t listen.

You sigh as you close your eyes for moment. When you open them back up again, your gaze falls on the nightstand.

There, catching the light from the bedside lamp, is something shiny.

Vi’s lighter.

Your fingers hover over it, unsure if you should even touch it. You should put it away. You should leave it alone.

But instead, you let your fingers trace the cool metal, the edges of it smooth beneath your touch.

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You don’t know whether to throw it away or keep it as some strange token of a night you never meant to happen.

You pick up the lighter slowly, your fingers brushing against the cold metal. And for a second, you almost don’t know what to do with it. It feels heavier in your hand than it should and you turn it over, the tiny engravings catching the light.

Stupid, you think, but the word feels hollow. Vi is so stupid.

Her lighter sits in your hand, reminding you of everything you tried to bury, the boundary you tried to set, every reason you told yourself this was a bad idea.

And yet, even as your mind runs in circles, you can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

You don’t want to miss her. You really don’t.

But you can’t help it.

You set the lighter back down on the nightstand with a small clink.

And throughout the rest of the evening, you still can’t get Vi out of your head.

The room is quieter now, and the shadows stretch long against the walls, the night growing darker and darker out the window. You should be asleep, but instead, your mind keeps drifting back to her. You try not to think about her—about last night, the way she kissed you, the way everything felt like it was falling back into place, even though you know you shouldn’t let it.

And you shouldn’t text her. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

But you are.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you have your phone in your hand, unlocking it without a second thought. Your fingers hover over the screen.

It’s a bad idea. You know it’s a bad idea.

But your thumbs move anyway.

You immediately regret it, because you know where this will go, what will come next. You shouldn’t be texting her. You shouldn’t have said anything at all.

The phone buzzes in your hand a second later, and you almost hesitate before you look at the message. But when you do, you can feel your pulse pick up.

It’s too casual, too quick. She’s trying to play it off, like she didn’t just feel the same pull, like she didn’t want you to text her just as badly. You can almost hear the edge of her voice, trying to sound nonchalant, like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s no big deal.

But you know her better than that.

You should stop here. You should put your phone down, pretend you never sent a message, pretend nothing ever happened.

Then, she texts you again—

You stare at the screen, your heart beating a little faster, a little harder than it should. Something tightens in your chest, the reality of what’s happening sinking in with each second that ticks by.

You told yourself you wouldn’t do this. That you wouldn’t let this happen again.

You should stop her. Tell her no. Forget it.

You know that’s what you’re supposed to do, that’s what you want to do.

But you don’t.

And the knock on your door comes sooner than you expected. You glance at the clock, feeling a little jolt of surprise as you realize it’s only been a few minutes, not ten.

You look at the nightstand. The lighter. It catches your eye and pick it up without thinking, fingers wrapping around it. For a moment, you just stand there, turning the lighter over in your hand, staring at the metal as if it could answer the questions you’ve been asking yourself. Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just stop?

You don’t know the answers. You don’t even know what you’re hoping for, or why, after all this time, it still feels so impossible to let go.

The knock comes again, a little louder this time, and you move.

Your fingers tighten around the lighter as you hesitate, standing just behind the door. You consider turning around, locking it for good, pretending you never sent that text. Pretending you don’t feel the way your heart pounds faster with every second that passes.

But your body betrays you. Before you can think twice, you exhale and pull the door open.

Vi is there, standing in the hallway. She looks like she got here too fast, like she barely gave herself a chance to think before she was knocking. Her hoodie is slouched over her frame, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the ink curling around her forearms. Baggy jeans hang loose on her hips and her hair is a mess, sticking up in places like she’s been running her hands through it the whole way over, like maybe she’s just as unsettled by this as you are.

But then you look up at her eyes.

She looks at you like she’s starving. Like she’s been waiting for this moment longer than she’d ever admit.

But how could she be starving? You wonder. You were just with her last night.

Her gaze drags over you slowly, making your breath hitch. She shifts on her feet, hands stuffed into the front pocket of her hoodie, but you can tell she’s holding herself back. Like she wants to close the space between you, step inside before you change your mind. Like she’s afraid you’ll change your mind.

You swallow, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of the lighter in your palm. You glance down at it, fingers fidgeting with the cool metal, trying to focus on something other than the way Vi is looking at you.

It doesn’t help.

“Your lighter,” you murmur, lifting it slightly, as if that explains everything.

As if that’s why she’s here.

Vi’s lips twitch, like she might smirk, but it never fully forms.

She doesn’t look at the lighter. She just keeps looking at you.

“Right,” she breathes, but she doesn’t take the lighter from your hand.

She doesn’t even glance at it. She’s just looking at you.

You should probably say something. You should probably take a step back, put some kind of space between you before this becomes something you can’t take back.

But neither of you moves. Neither of you blinks. You can hear her breathing.

And then—

You don’t know who moves first, if it’s her hand brushing against yours as she finally reaches for the lighter, or if it’s you stepping just slightly closer, your body betraying you in the way it always does when it comes to her.

But suddenly, she’s inside, the door closing behind her, and you’re in each other’s space, too close. Way too close.

Her big hands find your face before you can think, rough and warm, fingers threading into your hair as her mouth crashes into yours. The lighter slips from your hand, hitting the floor with a soft thud, forgotten the moment her tongue slips past your lips and into your mouth.

Vi groans desperately, kissing you like she’s making up for lost time—even though it’s barely even been a full day since she had you—like she’s trying to carve herself back into the parts of you that have tried to forget her. And maybe that’s why you let her. Maybe that’s why you kiss her back just as hard, hands fisting in the fabric of her hoodie, pulling her closer, trying to drown in her.

You don’t stop to think.

You don’t stop at all.

Somehow, you’re moving, stumbling, your back hitting the bedroom door, then the wall, then the bed. Vi is all over you—her hands, her mouth, pushing you onto the bed she had made just this morning, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your clothes disappear in the haze of it, pulled and tugged and discarded without hesitation. She’s on top of you, her skin hot against yours, her breath shaky as she drags her lips down your throat, over your collarbone, leaving a path of hickeys as she goes.

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

“Need you,” Vi whimpers into your chest, hands kneading and groping your tits with a groan.

You moan as she takes a nipple into your mouth, your nails dragging across her bare back, leaving light scratches over her tattoos and Vi swears she’ll lose her mind if you stop doing that.

She hovers over you, her body caging you in, her hands gripping the sheets on either side of your head like she needs something to hold onto or she might fall apart. Her face is inches from yours, her breath warm against your lips, and when you look up at her, your eyes widen.

She looks wrecked. Desperate.

Her brows are drawn together, her lips parted, her eyes blown wide with something that looks dangerously close to pleading.

She needs you.

Not just your body. You.

And it’s terrifying, because you don’t know what to do with that. You don’t know how to take the way she’s looking at you. Her fingers twitch in the sheets, and she ducks her head, pressing her forehead against yours, like she needs to feel you just to convince herself you’re still here, still beneath her, still letting her have this.

But instead, you reach up, threading your fingers into her messy pink hair, tugging her down, pulling her mouth back to yours.

Vi barely has a second to react before you flip her over, pressing her into the mattress as you straddle her. Her breath catches and her hands immediately slide down to your hips, her fingers slightly slipping past the waistband of your panties. She looks up at you like she’s dazed, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

You don’t give her time to think. You press your mouth to her jaw, her neck, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down her throat. She shudders beneath you, her grip tightening, but she doesn’t stop you. She just watches, like she’s afraid to blink, like she doesn’t want to miss a single second of this.

So you keep going. Lower.

Your lips graze the sharp lines of her collarbone, the faint taste of salt and skin lingering on your tongue. You trace the outline of her tattoos with your fingertips, feeling the way her breath stutters, the way her strong muscles tense beneath your touches. Her abs are tight, perfectly sculpted, and when you press a kiss right at the center of them, she lets out a breathy, broken sound that only makes the fabric of your panties wetter.

“Ah, fuck,” Vi mutters, barely a whisper, barely there.

Your hands skim lower, your fingertips brushing against the soft trail of pink hair that leads beneath her waistband. Vi tenses, her stomach twitching under your touch, but she doesn’t stop you. If anything, she melts further into the bed, her fingers sliding from your waist to the soft flesh of your thighs, gripping them a little too tightly, you’re sure you’re bound to see later as faint bruises.

You undo her belt slowly, your fingers working at the buckle, teasing just enough to make her squirm beneath you. God, it’s getting harder and harder to breathe, Vi thinks, her head tipped back against your pillow, her knuckles white where they grip onto your legs.

“Please, baby,” she begs.

She looks ruined already, and you haven’t even touched her properly yet.

And maybe that’s what makes you slow down, what makes you savor this.

“What is it, Violet?” you murmur lowly, teasing, and just a little cruel.

Vi shudders beneath you, her grip on your thighs tightening, her body going tense for a split second before it completely melts back into the mattress.

And then, she whimpers.

It’s soft, barely there, but you hear it, wrecked and desperate, slipping past her lips before she can stop it. Her head tips back against the pillow, her chest rising and falling in shaky breaths, her hands twitching as your legs.

“What’s wrong, Vi?” you taunt softly, fingers slipping under the waistband of her jeans, tracing just beneath the fabric of her boxers. “You can use your words, can’t you?”

“I-I…”

You hum in response, looking up to meet her gaze as you begin to tug her jeans down her legs before throwing them onto the floor somewhere. Vi swears she could faint at the sight of you down between her legs, pulling at her boxers with that knowing look in your eyes, staring down at her like prey.

“Please, touch me,” she says finally, whining softly as she watches you pull her boxers down. “I don’t care what you do, just touch me.”

You can’t help but smile softly at her words. You were never one to deny her whenever she begged so prettily for you.

So, after short second, you finally drag a finger up her wet folds, brushing against her sensitive clit, before slipping two fingers inside her needy pussy with a squelch. So wet. Vi shudders, her biceps flexing as she pulls at the sheets, whimpering your name softly at the feeling of your fingers.

God, it’s been so long since she felt you inside her. Too long. And she needs more of it. More. Please.

You litter kisses along her inner thigh, curling your fingers over and over again. Her hips buck against your hand, craving for more and more friction as her velvety walls wrap around your digits, coating them with her slick.

“Ah, ngh, p-please—” Vi whines, her back arching slightly off the bed. “Please don’t stop—”

And you didn’t plan to.

Eventually, you speed up, pumping your fingers in and out of her, your teasing mouth inching closer and closer between her legs before wrapping your lips around her sensitive clit and sucking hard. Vi tenses immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the overwhelming pleasure, but you hold her in place as her hands thread through your hair and tugging softly.

You fuck your fingers in and out faster, her legs tensing beside you. She moaned loud, her walls clenching around your fingers as they curled inside of her more vigorously with each thrust. Beads of sweat roll down her temples, panting heavily as she looks down to see you fucking her diligently and fuck, it’s the second hottest thing she’s every seen—the first being you cumming because of her.

God, she was so close. You could feel her getting tighter.

She even swears she could cum from just the sight of you between her legs alone.

“You feel so good, Violet,” you mutter softly enough for her to hear as you press your face closer to her dripping pussy. “Are you gonna cum for me?”

Oh, fuck fuck fuck—

“Y-Yeah—Hah, yes—I’m—Fuck!”

You hum as she cums on your digits, your fingertips brushing that spongy spot deep in her cunt as her slick drips down your hand. You fuck her through her orgasm, letting her ride out her high, her legs trembling as she whines and whimpers, feeling sensitive under your touch.

Vi is sprawled out against your bed, breathing heavily, her skin flushed, her body still shivering. She feels weightless, like she’s floating, like her entire existence has been reduced to this—this hazy, breathless state of complete and utter bliss.

Her arms are slack against the sheets, fingers curling weakly into the fabric. She blinks up at the ceiling, dazed, her mind fuzzy, lips parted as she struggles to catch her breath. Every inch of her feels sensitive, like her body isn’t even her own anymore.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

She turns her head slightly, eyes heavy-lidded as they find you looking up at her from between her legs, you fingers and your lips glistening. You’re watching her, looking entirely too pleased with yourself, and Vi thinks—yeah, she probably looks pretty fucking ruined right now.

And she is.

Completely. Utterly. Happily.

She lets out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand down her face.

Vi barely gives herself a second to recover before she reaches for you, her movements still loose and lazy, but her grip—her grip is strong.

“Fuck,” she rasps, breath still uneven. Then her hands are on your thighs, firm and possessive. “Come here.”

Before you can process it, before you can even think, Vi hoists you up with that ridiculous, unfair strength of hers, flipping you with ease like you weigh nothing at all. A startled gasp escapes your lips, but she doesn’t give you time to protest—her hands slide down to your hips, fingers digging into your skin, manhandling you into place, and practically ripping your damp panties off of you.

And then—oh.

You realize exactly what she’s doing a second too late.

Your knees settle on either side of her head, your dripping cunt hovering just above her mouth, and Vi tilts her head back against the pillow, looking up at you with that look—hungry, dazed, smug as fuck.

“Better,” she mutters, hands squeezing at your thighs, pulling you just a little closer. “Stay right there, baby.”

She doesn’t give you time to hesitate.

She just pulls you down.

Oh. Oh.

Her grip tightens on your thighs, guiding your glistening cunt into her mouth. And the second you feel her tongue, hot and wet, a sharp gasp rips from your throat, breaking into a moan. Your hands move on instinct, tangling in her hair, fingers threading through her soft, messy strands as your legs squeeze around her head. And god, Vi fucking loves it. She groans the second you grab at her, the sound vibrating against your pussy. Her fingers dig in just enough to keep you from moving, just enough to make sure you don’t go anywhere—not that you could. Not with the way she’s holding you there, devouring you like she’s starving, even though she had her mouth on you just the night before.

Your breath is coming too fast, your body trembling with every teasing of her tongue, every deep, hungry groan she lets out when you tug at her hair just a little harder.

“S-Shit, Vi—”

Your body tenses, pleasure building low and hot in your stomach, and Vi knows. She can feel it in the way your thighs tremble, in the way your hands pull harder at her hair, in the way your moans get higher, louder, breathier, more desperate.

Vi doesn’t even care if your thighs are pressing down hard against her face, your body closing in around her. She doesn’t have to breathe, if it means keeping her face pressed against your delicious sopping pussy. It doesn’t matter. She welcomes it, leans into it, even.

Her hands stay locked on your thighs as she drinks you in, loud and messily. Her breathing is ragged, but she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t want to. The feeling of your thighs, smooth and so soft and plush, against her face, her cheeks, drives her absolutely insane. She can feel your pulse racing, your body trembling, and it only pushes her harder, makes her need you even more, makes her want to make you cum as many times as she can.

“M-Mmm—I–Fuck!”

The way you taste, the way you sound—it’s the most intoxicating thing she’s ever known. She loves it when you sound like this—dirty, loud, moaning—reminiscent of a pornstar, although she never reallyenjoyed that sort of thing when all she had was you to fantasize in about. She could never get enough of you, could never pull away, could never stop. Every part of you feels like it belongs to her, like she’s been waiting for this for so long, like it’s the only thing that matters.

She moans into you, the sound muffled under your legs, making you shudder above her. Her hands move to your thighs, pulling you even closer, urging you to keep going, to give her more. It’s all she wants.

“Mm—g-gonna cum,” you whine, pulling at her pink curls even harder, “Violet—I’m gonna cum!”

Your voice comes out broken, breathless, barely more than a whimper.

Vi only hums in response, sending another jolt of pleasure through your trembling body. She doesn’t slow down, doesn’t ease up—if anything, she doubles down, her grip tightening even more on your thighs, her tongue working you over ruthlessly.

Your fingers tighten in her hair, pulling, tugging, but it only makes her groan, only makes her hold you harder, keeping you exactly where she wants you—pressed against her hungry mouth. The tension coils impossibly tight in your stomach, every nerve set ablaze, and then—

It snaps.

“Nngh—ffffuck—”

Your body arches, a choked moan spilling from your lips as you cum all over Vi’s face.

Your thighs tremble around her, but Vi doesn’t stop. She holds you steady as your orgasm rolls through you, her mouth still working you over, her tongue dragging out every second of your orgasm until you’re shaking.

And still—she keeps going.

You whimper, overstimulated, your body jerking in her hands, but Vi doesn’t let up. She hums again and licks into you deeper, drinking in everything you have to give, like she could stay here forever. Because truthfully? She could.

“V-Vi, wait, I—”

The overstimulation feels like its too much, pleasure spilling into something overwhelming, making your thighs tremble around her head.

She hears you—of course, she does. But she doesn’t care.

Vi only groans, like she loves the feeling of your hands in her hair, loves the way you taste her tongue too much to even consider stopping. She wants this—needs this—like she can’t bring herself to pull away now that she has you exactly where she wants you.

Every flick of her tongue against your swollen clit sends another shiver rolling through you, your body twitching, oversensitive and helpless under her mouth.

The room is filled with the sounds of it—the slick, obscene noises of Vi’s mouth working against your dripping pussy. Every stroke of her tongue against your cunt is met with a sound so filthy it makes your face burn.

The wet, filthy noises fill your ears, mixing with your broken moans, with Vi’s low, satisfied groans as she pulls you closer, as she buries her face deeper, as she keeps pushing, keeps taking, keeps pulling you apart with her mouth until your body gives in again, pleasure crashing over you too fast, too hard.

It’s not long until you cum on her face again for the second time in a row.

Your thighs clamp around her head, your fingers twisting in her hair, but Vi still doesn’t stop.

You cum again just minutes later, too sensitive, an ns it gets to a point where you can’t even remember if it’s the fourth or the fifth time.

And god, she could do this forever.

Vi is completely gone.

Dazed, lost, utterly pussy drunk. She doesn’t even think about stopping, doesn’t even acknowledge the way your body shakes above her, too caught up in the taste of you, in the way you feel against her tongue. She moans softly, pressing her lips against your folds, leaving open-mouthed kisses between slow, teasing strokes of her tongue.

And then, barely above a whisper, she breathes out words meant more for you than for herself—but it doesn’t even feel like she’s talking to you. She’s talking to your pussy.

“Fuck, missed you,” she murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss against you, dragging her tongue through the slick mess she’s made. “Missed you so much.”

Her hands slide up your thighs, slow and possessive, like she’s trying to memorize the way your skin feels against her palms.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me,” she whispers against your slick cunt, pressing her lips to you again like she’s practically making out with your pussy. “So fuckin’ perfect. Can’t—”

She cuts herself off with another deep, slow drag of her tongue, her whole body shuddering.

“God, you’re so perfect.”

She sounds wrecked. Like she’s wanted this for so long that now that she has you, she never wants to come up for air. The wet, messy sounds fill the air, the lewd squelching mixing with her whispers and her low and needy groans as she buries herself in you again, licking into you like she’ll never get another chance.

She doesn’t care if she breathes. Doesn’t care if she suffocates beneath the softness of your thighs. It would be a fucking perfect way to go.

And soon, your body can’t take it anymore.

The pleasure crashes over you one last time, knocking the air from your lungs. Your legs tighten around Vi’s head again, a moan spilling from your lips as your body tenses, then shudder. Your fingers slip from her hair, your body slumping forward as the last tremors of your orgasm roll through your body.

But Vi catches you before you can collapse.

Strong arms wrap around you, carefully turning you over, her touches gentle as she lays you down on the bed, pressing you into the soft sheets. You barely register it, still floating, still reeling, your limbs loose and useless. Your eyes flutter, heavy with exhaustion, as you try breathe properly.

Vi hovers over you, arms braced on either side of your head, her face still flushed.

But she isn’t looking at your body—not anymore. She’s looking at you. And fuck, you’re beautiful.

Completely and utterly ruined beneath her, your skin still damp with sweat, your lips parted as you struggle to catch your breath. Your eyes, half-lidded, barely able to stay open, dazed and glassy with pleasure. She watches the slow rise and fall of your chest, the way your body still twitches slightly from the aftershocks, the way your fingers curl weakly against the sheets.

Vi swallows hard. Because right now, she feels like she’s falling in love with you all over again.

Like nothing has changed.

Like she never fucked up, never let you slip through her fingers, never gave you a reason to be afraid of her, of what she could do to your heart.

She wants to kiss you, wants to hold you, wants to pull you into her arms and tell you everything she never said before—how she never stopped loving you, how she never will.

But she can’t.

Because last night, you were clear.

No commitment.

And Vi knows why. She knows she hurt you. Knows you don’t trust her anymore. Knows that if she pushes, if she asks for more, you’ll pull away again—maybe for good.

“Are you okay?” she asks too softly.

Her fingers twitch where they rest beside your head, itching to touch you, to smooth back the damp strands of hair stuck to your forehead, to run her knuckles over your flushed cheek. But she doesn’t. She stays hovering over you, watching the way your lips part, your lashes fluttering as you try to keep your eyes open.

For a second, you don’t answer. Maybe you’re too far gone, still floating in the aftermath, your body too heavy to form words.

Vi waits. She just wants to hear your voice, wants to know that you’re still here, with her, even if only for a little while.

You manage a slow nod, your head barely moving against the pillow, eyes drooping.

“Yeah,” you murmur, voice soft, hazy. “I’m okay.”

Vi tells herself she should move. Should pull away, give you space, remind herself that this isn’t what it used to be. But fuck, it’s hard.

Carefully, she reaches out, brushing a strand of damp hair from your forehead, her fingers barely grazing your skin. It’s a small touch, barely anything at all, but her heart clenches.

Because this feels more dangerous than anything else.

Because it makes her want things she shouldn’t.

Vi watches as your eyes flutter shut, your body fully giving in to exhaustion, and she swallows the words she wants to say. The ones that would only ruin this.

Instead, she just stays like this for a little longer, hovering over you, letting herself pretend—just for a second—that she still gets to have you. She lets herself imagine what it would be like to have you completely, the way she used to, the way she’s always wanted to. She dreams of kissing you like this every morning, of holding you close, of being the one you run to when the world feels too heavy.

Vi’s fingers twitch again, aching with the need to touch you, to feel you even though you’re already here, already so close.

Her gaze softens, something tender in her eyes as she watches you sleep, and then, without thinking, she lowers herself, just a little, her lips brushing against your bare shoulder—once, twice, three times.

I love you. Again.

She pulls back, keeping her forehead pressed lightly against your shoulder for just a moment. She doesn’t expect you to feel it.

And when she breathes you in, pressing her face against your skin, she lets a tear slip from her eyes.

It trails down her cheek, disappearing into the sheets before anyone—not even herself—can pretend it was ever there. She doesn’t sob, doesn’t make a sound. Just breathes you in, feeling the way you breath beneath hers.

Because she knows, when you wake up, you’ll pull away.

And she’ll have to pretend that none of this ever meant anything at all.

Vi keeps coming back.

At night, always at night.

At least three times a week, sometimes more.

Sometimes so late that you’re already in bed, the city outside quiet. Sometimes earlier, when you’re still awake, still pretending you’re busy, pretending that your heart doesn’t stutter every time she knocks on your door.

And you don’t know if it’s a good thing.

It’s easy, too easy, to let her in. To watch her lean against the doorframe, waiting for you, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie, her hair messy. To pretend like you don’t already know how this night is going to end before she even steps inside.

She never stays past sunrise.

That’s the new rule, even though you haven’t really talked about it. No strings, no expectations, no commitment. Just hands on skin, lips crashing together, your bodies tangled in the sheets until you’re both too tired to think about anything else.

But in the morning, the bed is always empty.

She never asks for more, and you never offer it. She doesn’t press, doesn’t push. She gives you space, respects the boundaries you set, even though you can see the way it kills her sometimes.

Even though, you know it. Vi wants more.

So much more.

But she doesn’t ask.

And you don’t really do anything to stop her from coming back.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That you’re fine. That this arrangement, this thing you have, isn’t hurting anyone. But sometimes, when the door closes behind her and you’re left alone in your apartment, you wonder if you’re lying to yourself.

There’s not much talking either. As much as Vi wants there to be.

She wants to talk. She wants to ask things—how your day was, what book you were reading when she knocked on your door, what you had breakfast, if you were feeling tired, if you ever think about her when she’s not here. If you miss her.

But every time she tries, the words never make it out. Because the moment the door closes behind her, the moment her hands find your waist, your fingers slip beneath her shirt, or your mouth brushes against her jaw, she forgets how to speak. Each and every time.

And then there’s nothing but the heat and her hands and the sound of you falling apart beneath her.

She swallows her words and listens to your moans instead.

She listens to the way your breath catches when she drags her teeth down your throat. The way you gasp when her fingers press into your hips, when she pulls you closer, when she spreads you open and takes her time. She memorizes the sounds you make, the way they stutter when she moves just right, when she makes you come undone for her, again and again.

She wonders if you feel the same way as she does. She wants to know. She wants to ask you what you’re thinking, if you’re feeling the same ache in your chest when the door clicks shut behind her.

Does you miss her when she’s gone?

But Vi knows. She knows.

She knows by the way you kiss her, by the way you melt into her touch every time she pulls you closer. She knows by the way you whisper her name when she’s inside you, when she’s pressed up against you, moving in time with every breath you take, every kiss, every mark she leaves on your skin. You might not say it, but she can feel it in the way your hands never seem to want to leave her. In the way your body curves into hers, like it was meant to.

And Vi can’t lie to herself.

She’s addicted to it. To the sex. To you. To this.

And god, she missed it. She missed everything about you, every second, every touch, every kiss. She missed being inside you.bIt’s a selfish thing, she knows that. But she can’t help it. The way you fit around her, the way every inch of her sinks into you like she’s home—there’s nothing else like it. The way you pull her in deeper, the way your body trembles when you’re close, when you need her. The sound of your name on her lips, the feel of you under her, surrounding her. It’s addictive.

Vi doesn’t even stay in the mornings anymore.

On the first morning when you left her in your bed, the silence was unbearable. The way the bed was already cold when she woke up, the space beside her where you should have been. She hated it. She’d wake up, the daylight creeping through the blinds, and there you’d already be gone. She hated that. She hated the feeling of waking up alone.

But now, she leaves before you wake up.

She doesn’t want to.

But she does it anyway. She’s careful not to wake you, her hands sliding quietly over the sheets as she pushes herself up, slipping into her clothes in the half-light.

Even as she pulls on her boots, ties her laces, gathers the last of her things, she watches you for just a little longer. She watches you breathe, the soft curve of your back, the way your hair falls across your face, so peaceful, so unaware of her standing there. She watches your soft lips, the ones she loves kissing over and over, slightly parted, how the faint hint of a smile still playing at the edges, like you’re dreaming of something good. Something warm. Hopefully, it’s about her.

And she hates that she’s leaving. She hates that she’s not staying. She hates that this isn’t enough to keep her here, to keep her wrapped up in you.

But she knows if she stays any longer, if she lets herself sink back into the comfort of your body, she won’t be able to walk away.

So, she leaves.

And as the weeks pass, the more nights Vi spends with you, the more it begins to wear her down. It gets harder and harder every night.

At first, she told herself she wouldn’t ask for more. That she’d respect the boundaries you set, the ones that kept you both from falling into the mess of old habits, old wounds, old mistakes. She told herself that this was fine—that to have you like this, is better than not having you at all.

But the more she lies next to you, the more she holds you, the more it becomes clear that it isn’t enough. Not for herself. Not for you.

There are moments when she wakes up next to you, your body still pressed against hers, your breath soft and steady against her skin, and she feels like she’s drowning.

She wants to say it, needs to say it, but she swallows it every time. I want you back.

Instead, she keeps slipping in and out of your life like it’s all she’s allowed, like this is the way it has to be. And every time she walks away, it feels like a part of her is left behind—with you.

Vi wants more. She wants more of your laughter, the soft smiles you give when you think she’s not watching, the way your fingers curl into hers, the way you let her hold you when the night gets too quiet. She wants to feel your body against hers all the time, not just for short moments when she’s in your bed, not just when the lights are low and the world is far away. She wants to ask for more—wants to beg you to let her be a part of your life again, to let her fix the things you left her for.

She wants to fight for this.

But she doesn’t know how.

Vi knows she can’t keep pretending that this is all she wants.

She’s never stopped loving you. The part of her that’s still so in love with you, the part that never quite stopped hoping for the chance to make things right, even though she knows how much damage was done.

She just wants you back.

And one night, it slips.

It’s nearly 2AM when your phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling you from the haze of half-sleep. The glow of the screen illuminates your room, and for a moment, you lie there, staring at it in the silence. You blink, your mind still foggy, but the text is there, staring back at you.

You hesitate.

But tonight feels different. You’re not sure if this is a night you want to invite her in.

Still, your thumb hovers over the screen, heart pounding just a little faster than it should.

You hear a knock at your door barely a minute later.

Like she was waiting for you to respond, like Vi had been standing there, holding herself just outside your door, waiting for the green light.

She knocks again, louder this time.

You swing your legs out of bed, your pulse rushing in your ears as you step toward the door. You hesitate for just a second before wrapping your fingers around the doorknob. You sigh, then pull the door open softly.

Vi is standing there, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, shoulders slightly hunched. Her hair is messy, strands falling over her forehead and then—when she sees you—she lets out a breath, like she wasn’t sure you’d actually open the door.

And then she smiles, just barely before it disappears a second later.

“It’s late, you know,” you murmur tiredly.

“I know,” she says, “Couldn’t sleep.”

You step aside, just enough for her to slip past you, and she does—wordlessly, like she already knew you’d let her in.

The door clicks shut behind her.

You don’t look at her right away. Instead, you turn, your feet carrying you toward the kitchen, as if you need something to do with your hands.

“I’m gonna make some tea,” you whisper, more to yourself than to her.

Vi doesn’t answer.

You hear the faint scuff of her boots against the floor as she follows you, but she stays quiet, leaning against the frame of the kitchen. You don’t have to turn around to know she’s watching you.

You move through the small space, reaching for the electronic kettle, filling it and heating up the water. Your hands work methodically, pulling out two mugs, grabbing the tea bags from the cabinet.

Anything to keep yourself from looking at her.

But Vi doesn’t need distractions. She doesn’t need something to busy her hands.

She just stares. Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over her chest, she watches you move around the kitchen like you’re something fragile, something to be memorized.

She’s dazed, lovestruck.

You don’t even notice the way her lips part slightly, the way her fingers twitch like she wants to reach out, to pull you into her, to press her face into your neck and just breathe you in.

But Vi can tell something’s wrong. She can feel it in the way your shoulders tense as you stand by the counter, the way your fingers tremble slightly as you reach for the mugs.

You want to talk.

Vi’s chest tightens. She knows that look. She knows you, knows how your mind works, how you retreat when you’re about to say something you don’t want to say. And she knows what’s coming. You’re going to tell her this needs to stop. That whatever this is—these nights together—it can’t keep happening. That it doesn’t mean anything, even though you both know that’s a lie.

Vi doesn’t let you say it.

Before you can turn around, before you can even open your mouth, she steps closer, wrapping her arms around you from behind. You tense at first, caught off guard, but Vi doesn’t let go. She presses her face into your hair, inhaling softly, her grip tightening around your waist.

She holds you like she’s afraid. Like if she lets go, you’ll slip through her fingers for good.

She doesn’t want to lose this, to lose you—again. Even if it’s selfish, even if she knows she has no right to ask for more, even if she knows she’s the reason you don’t trust her enough to ask for more.

And for the first time in a long time, Vi is scared.

“Don’t,” she mutters, barely a whisper against your skin. “Just… not yet.”

You go still in her arms.

Vi shuts her eyes, breathing you in, feeling the way your body fits against hers, the way you’re warm, real. She needs this. Needs you.

And as her hands slide down to your hips, pressing you slightly into the counter, you freeze the moment you feel it—something hard, pressing right against the curve of your ass.

For a second, you think you’re imagining it. That maybe your exhausted mind is playing tricks on you, reading too much into the way Vi stepped closer, the way it suddenly feels like she’s swallowing up the small space of your kitchen.

You inhale slowly, setting a teaspoon down with more care than necessary, your fingers tightening around the counter’s edge.

“Violet.” You warn her.

Vi doesn’t move.

Doesn’t back off. Doesn’t even flinch at the sharp edge in your tone. If anything, she shifts just slightly, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she planned it. The warmth of her body radiates against your back, close enough to feel, close enough to make your pulse stutter—because of course she’d do this. Of course she’d try to derail whatever conversation she knows is coming before you can even begin.

“What?”

She’s playing dumb. Acting innocent, like she isn’t pressing up against you with a strap bulging in her jeans.

“Violet.” Your voice is sharper this time, firmer, but not as steady as before.

Vi doesn’t care.

She sighs slowly, pressing forward, letting you feel her. The firm, deliberate push of her strap against your ass makes your breath hitch, your fingers gripping the counter a little tighter. She’s testing you, pushing her luck, trying to slip past the walls you’ve been so careful to rebuild.

She sighs again—low, deep—before dropping her head against your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin. Her eyes flutter shut, and for a moment, she just stays there, pressed against you, holding onto something she knows she’s about to lose. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push any further.

She clenches her jaw, inhaling deeply, breathing you in like she’s trying to commit this moment to memory. Because she knows—fuck, she knows—that once you turn around, once you open your mouth, you’re going to say something that’s going to break her.

“I could take you right here,” Vi whispers, rough, almost pleading.

Her hands twitch at your hips, wanting to pull you back against her properly, to make you forget whatever you were about to say.

She presses against you harder, her strap firm against your ass, her breath hot against your neck. She knows what she’s doing. Knows how easy it would be to have you like this—to push the fabric of your sleep shorts down, to lift you onto the counter, to make you fall apart for her before you can even think about saying anything.

She swallows hard. “Please.”

You sigh, your resolve already slipping. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. But when you finally turn around, ready to face her, Vi doesn’t give you the chance to think.

She kisses you. Hard, desperate, like she’s been holding back for too long and can’t stand it anymore. Her hands move instantly, one gripping the counter beside you, the other finding your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make you feel the heat of her palm through the thin fabric of your shirt. She’s close, too close, her body pressing into yours, her strap still firm between you.

The moment your lips part beneath hers, the second she hears the soft, breathy sound that slips from your throat, she loses it.

Her hands move like they have a mind of their own, sliding down your waist, over the curve of your hips, until her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your thin shorts. She palms your ass, squeezing, pulling you flush against her, making sure you feel every inch of her, making sure you know exactly what she wants.

And then her mouth is on your neck. She trails kisses down the column of your throat, slow at first, like she’s savoring the way your body reacts to her. But the second you moan—soft, breathless, completely unfiltered—Vi needs more. Her lips press harder, open-mouthed and eager, her teeth grazing over your sensitive skin before she soothes it with her tongue. She groans against your neck, her breath warm, her grip tightening on you like she’s starving for this, for you. Like she could spend the rest of the night right here, buried in your skin, listening to the sounds you make just for her.

“Fuck,” she mutters against your throat. “Please.”

Her fingers flex against your ass, squeezing, kneading, owning. She pulls you closer, hips rolling against yours, letting you feel how hard her strap is, how badly she needs you.

“Please, let me,” she begs, her words barely more than a whisper.

Her breath is shallow, warm against your skin as her lips trail over your neck again, kissing, nipping, barely in control. Vi’s fingers tremble, just slightly, where they grip the soft fabric of your shorts, and she’s trying to be patient, trying to hold back—but you can feel the way her body betrays her, the way she’s aching, the way she’s needing you in a way it almost hurts.

“Please,” she repeats, her voice strained, pleading. “Let me… make you feel good. Let me show you.”

And slowly, you move your hands to gently cradle Vi’s face, and her breath hitches. She freezes, her eyes meeting yours, those soft, blue eyes full of everything she’s been trying to hide. Vi lets out a breath, shaky and soft, as you move a strand of hair from her face, your fingers brushing against her skin. It’s almost too much, the way you’re looking at her, the way you’re holding her face like she’s the most important thing in the world.

She melts into your touch. Completely.

She could say it right now. She could.

The words are there, right on the tip of her tongue, fighting to escape. She wants to say them, more than anything, wants to let you know exactly how she feels, how much she’s always felt for you.

But she’s scared—scared that you’ll pull away, scared that you’ll look at her and say you don’t want her.

Vi’s breath is shallow as she watches you, her heart pounding in her chest as she waits, her hands resting gently on your waist. She doesn’t need to say anything, though, because you feel it—the way your breath catches as your eyes search hers, the way your lips are so close to hers now, the tension so tight it feels like it’s about to snap.

And then, finally, you kiss her again. It’s hungry—ravenous, the kind of kiss that makes your head spin, that makes your body surge forward before either of you can think, your lips crashing together desperately. Vi groans into your mouth, like she’s been starving for it.

Without missing a beat, she lifts you up, her hands sliding down to grip your ass, holding you up as your legs instinctively wrap around her waist. You gasp against her mouth, the feeling of being held so tightly, so securely, Vi doesn’t break the kiss. She doesn’t let go, her hands strong, the muscles in her arm flexing under her hoodie, as she carries you toward the living room, only a few steps away. The room is dark, the soft glow of the hallway light along the walls, but none of that matters.

When she reaches the couch, she gently sets you down onto the cushions, her lips trailing down your neck, nipping at your skin. Her hands are everywhere—gripping, caressing, exploring like she can’t get enough of you. And all you can do is pull her closer, with everything fading away as she continues to kiss you, touch you, take you in.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” she whispers against your skin, her hands trembling just slightly as she pulls at your shorts, eager to see more of you, to feel more of you.

Her hands finally slip under your shorts, fingers tracing the outline of your panties, and her breath hitches as she feels you, the softness of your skin, the dampness of the fabric. She can’t stop herself—can’t stop the way her body reacts to the sight of you, the taste of you, the way you move against her.

Vi’s breath catches all over again when she slips past your underwear, the wetness against her fingers telling her everything she needs to know. You were so fucking wet already—she hadn’t even touched you yet. A groan escaped her lips as she shifts closer, her hand moving slowly, to rub her fingers through your slick folds.

“Fuck,” she breathes.

Her fingertips press more firmly against you, finding your sensitive clit, feeling the wetness beneath her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she whispers, barely keeping herself together, as she presses another soft kiss to your neck. “Wanna be good for you…”

Vi lifts her gaze, just enough to catch the look on your face—your eyes half-lidded, lips slightly parted. Her breath shudders as she draws her face closer, the heat of her skin brushing against yours, but her lips don’t quite touch yours. Her parted lips hover above yours, warm and so close you can feel her breath against your skin, a whisper of a kiss—just a breath away.

Vi’s gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes, her body so close that it feels impossible to think straight. She could kiss you right now, could close the distance and let the hunger between you take over completely, but she doesn’t.

Not yet.

Not until her fingers, down between your legs, playing with the softness of your skin, slide into you.

Her jaw slacks as you open your mouth to gasp against her lips, you eyes fluttering closed as you feel your walls wrap around two of her fingers. She goes in too smoothly, your cunt so fucking wet against her hand, and fuck, she thought she had to prepare you for her strap for a little bit, but with you so fucking wet like this—she’s sure she can slide the toy right in without any trouble.

You moan against her, your arms wrapping around her neck as she curls her fingers, the pads of her fingertips pressing against that spongy spot in your pussy repeatedly. A lazy smirk plays at her lips when you buck your hips against her palm, pushing your clit slightly against her skin.

She pumps her fingers in and out of your cunt, drinking your moans into her ears as she rolls her eyes back at the feeling of you, so warm against her.

It’s not long when she pulls her fingers out—just as your about to cum.

“V-Vi,” you whine, shaking your head in an attempt to ask her to keep her fingers inside. “M-More—”

She smiles and sits back on her knees, not giving into to your pleas too easily, although it was always hard for her to turn you down.

It only takes her a second to unbuttton her pants and pushing it downwards slightly along with her boxers, her strap springing out the lower she goes. She uses her hands to push your knees apart even further, her strap, long and black, resting against your lower stomach. You look up at her with pleading eyes, eyes begging her to keep going, with your pussy wet and glistening between your legs as she pulls you even closer, hands at the back of your thighs, pushing up your legs.

Vi swears she could pass out from the sight alone.

“You look so fucking beautiful right now,” she whispers.

You whine again and she only smirks.

“You want me inside, baby?” She asks, taking a hand to wrap around strap, moving the tip of it up and down against your wet heat. “Tell me.”

“Y-Yes, please—I-Inside—”

“Yeah?” She says, growing more arrogant by the second, slipping only a few teasing centimeters into your hole.

“Fuck—Violet, please!”

Vi rolls her eyes back again, lolling her head back and closing her eyes, reimagining the way you whine her name over and over.

She sighs and opens her eyes again to look down between your legs, watching the strap disappear into your cunt with a squelch as she slowly, slowly slides it in further and further, groaning at how tight you are around the dildo. One corner of her lips quirk up in a smirk only briefly, a breathy scoff falling from her lips as she buries it inside your pussy, down to the hilt, your skin pressing against her.

You feel your jaw drop at the stretch of her strap filling you, your hands gripping the cushions beneath your body as you gasp at the feeling of being so, so full. Your breath grows quick when Vi takes a few long seconds to pull back only slightly, the tip still inside of you, before slams her hips back into you, using your thighs as leverage to pull you closer, her strap hitting you deep inside your pussy.

She groans as you moan, watching you closely as you arch your back off of the couch in pleasure.

“Fuuuuck, yes,” Vi breathes, slamming her hips into you over and over. “You take me so well, baby.”

She gets high off of the sight of you, the sound of you. Using your hips to balance herself, she starts speeding up her thrusts, smiling lightly to herself. God, she loves watching your tits bounce as she fucks her strap into you.

“Shit—Uhngh, fuck, that’s it—”

Every time she thrusts her hips into you, the strap hits her just right, pressing against her clit—fuck. Her pace speeds up just at the thought of it, the feeling of it. Her hand pulls at the flesh of your thigh, watching the way her cock sinks into your pussy, the length of it glistening every time she pulled out, drunk off of the sound of your cunt squelching, the sound of your moans, showing her how good she’s making you feel.

More. More. More. Vi goes faster. She’s close, you can tell by the way her breath hitches, her mouth panting and whining, and her eyebrows furrowing and scrunching up. She feels it on her swollen sensitive clit. It feels so good, it’s so—

“I-I’m gonna cum, baby, I—” Vi whimpers.

You shift, pushing yourself up onto your elbows until you meet Vi with your chest, before pushing her down to sit on the cushions. With a groan, Vi leans back against the couch, watching in awe as you climb into her lap, straddling her hips and when you sink back onto her strap—fuck, she could’ve came right then.

“Keep going, Violet,” you whisper into her ear, before threading your fingers into her hair and pulling it hard so that she’s looking up at you.

Sweat rolls down Vi’s forehead as she shakes beneath you, trying to hold off her own orgasm to get more out of the way you ride her. Her hands rest at your hips, occasionally sliding down to grip your soft, plush thighs. You clit brushes against her happy trail as she bucks her hips up into you, her strap hitting deep, deep inside of you making you squirm above her.

Vi moans pathetically as you tug on her hair, her soft whimpers filling her ears. God, she was so fucking close!

“P-Please, fuck, I-I—” she whimpers into your mouth as you pull her in for a sloppy kiss.

“Gonna cum, Vi,” you moan against her lips.

“M-Me too—”

She looks up at you, eyes dazed and half lidded as she gasps, panting and trembling beneath you, her hands gripping your hips as you bounce on her strap. Bucking her hips up into you, Vi guides you into a quick rhythm, watching her strap disappear into your soaking cunt and each time you grind your hips down, she feels the end of it pressing against her sensitive clit, over and over and over and over… Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She doesn’t even realize how hard she’s gripping your hips, fingers dipping slightly into your skin as you ride her. She does know, however, that you’re probably just as close as her—so, so close—knows that it’s getting harder and harder for you to fuck yourself on her strap, especially when you start mindlessly babbling a stream of curses and moans. You’re pulling at her hair, jaw slacked, eyes rolling back, your tits bouncing in her face—she could cum at the sight.

“V-Vi—I-I’m—”

“F-Fuck, yes! Please, please, please—”

And with one last thrust of her hips, you sink onto the entire length of her cock, hitting that delicious, spongy spot in your soaking pussy. You tense above her, back arching, pressing your front against hers just as the strap presses against her clit.

Vi moans loudly, trying so very hard to keep her eyes open as she trembles beneath you, her hips stuttering violently as she cums at the sight of you, at the way the strap feels against her, at how she can feel your wet juices dripping onto her thighs. God, it feels so fucking good. Her hands make their way back to your waist, easing you slowly to ride out your high, even though her clit is already so fucking sensitivite. She enjoys the way you tremble in her lap, her head dropping to rest on your bare shoulder, panting and heaving against your skin.

You struggle for a couple minutes to catch your breath and a moment later, Vi whimpers pathetically when you shift slightly on her strap—she’s so sensitive.

“S-Sorry, one second,” you whisper, carefully moving to remove her strap from your heat.

Once you’re off, you help her out of the straps hurriedly, dropping them somewhere onto the carpet of your apartment and when you finish, Vi doesn’t waste another second until she pulls you back into her lap, closer against her. She closes her eyes, breathing in your scent as she nuzzles her face into your neck for just a moment before leaning her head back on the couch, lips parted, breathing heavily.

The room is quiet now, save for the lingering echoes of your ragged breaths. Your body is warm over Vi’s lap, your legs still trembling. Her hoodie is pushed up, bunched around her ribs, just past her toned abs, her skin hot beneath your fingertips. Her own fingers trail absently along your back in slow, lazy movements. You watch her, still catching your breath, your hands resting lightly against her chest.

She looks so pretty—lips slightly parted, a flush across her cheeks, her hair sticking to her damp forehead.

But then Vi’s fingers slip up your spine, and she hums, almost like a purr. She tilts her head slightly, opening her eyes just enough to look at you, her gaze heavy-lidded, still hazy with pleasure, dazed, distracted, her pupils blown wide. She’s looking at you like she always does—like you hung the moon, like she’s still yours.

And then, before she can stop herself, before she even registers the words spilling from her lips—

“I love you.”

Your whole body stiffens.

Vi freezes, her eyes going wide after realizing what she said. Fuck. She didn’t mean to say it—at least not now, not like this.

Her pulse hammers against her ribs, her mind racing through the damage she might’ve just done.

You don’t move. Don’t breathe. Your eyes lock onto hers, wide and startled, your lips parting slightly like you might say something, but nothing comes.

Panic flares in Vi’s chest. Shit. Shit. Say something, fix it, play it off—

“I—” Vi stammers, shaking her head, forcing out a short, nervous laugh. “I mean—shit, that was—I didn’t mean—”

The silence that follows is deafening.

You pull away slipping from Vi’s lap like the air between you has turned solid. Your shirt is the first thing you find, tossed carelessly to the floor, and you tug it over your head, not bothering to fix it properly. You don’t blink. You don’t look at Vi. Your eyes drift somewhere else—past the couch, past the walls—like if you stare hard enough, you can pretend you didn’t just hear those words.

Vi scrambles behind you, clumsy and rushed, trying to catch up to you.

“Just–Just let me explain—” her voice cracks, rough and unsteady, and she fumbles with the waistband of her jeans, pulling them up in a frantic mess, fingers shaking as she tugs her hoodie back into place.

But you don’t respond.

You don’t even look at her.

And fuck, Vi’s never looked smaller than she does right now—standing there in your apartment, jeans not even fully zipped, hoodie crooked on her shoulders, hair a mess, her heart bleeding out onto the floor between you both—but none of it matters. All she’s thinking about is you. The way your arms are wrapped tight around yourself, how your voice trembles, how you refuse to look at her.

You told her. You told her from the start. No commitment.

And she agreed. Because what choice did she have?

If the only way she could have you was like this, Vi would’ve taken it. She would’ve taken anything.

You already told her what this was. What it wasn’t. She knew. And yet, Vi looked you in the eye just now, and told you she loved you. As if the words weren’t a bomb going off between you.

You clench your jaw so tight it hurts, staring at the floor, at the wall—anywhere but her.

“You—” you start, swallowing hard. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

Vi pauses.

“Why not?” she blurts out, stepping forward instinctively—and you step back just as fast.

Her face crumbles.

“Why not?” she says again, quieter this time, more desperate.

“Because,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Because it’s not—that’s not what this is.”

Vi looks at you, looks to the wall on her right, then looks at you again, eyebrows knitting together before she laughs, sharp and bitter.

“Do you really believe that?” she asks quietly. “Do you really think I can keep doing this—and–and not feel anything for you?”

Your heart lurches.

“Violet.”

“No, tell me,” she cuts you off. “Tell me you don’t feel anything when I’m here. Tell me you don’t think about me when I’m gone.”

You shake your head again, “I told you what this is, Vi.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything at first.

“This isn’t what we’re doing,” you whisper, more to yourself than to her, “We’re not doing this.”

“I know, but—”

“No, you don’t,” you say, finally meeting her eyes, and Vi’s breath catches at the sight of the unshed tears threatening to spill over.

And it hurts. It hurts so much because you can still feel her everywhere—the heat of her hands on your skin, the rasp of her voice against your neck, her lips, her breath, her mouth, her skin…

“No, no, I think I do,” she shakes her head. “Do you think I came here every night for the sex? Is that what you think?”

Her breath hitches, and she stands there.

“I didn’t come here just to—just to fuck you. I came here because I miss you.” Her eyes lock on yours, searching, pleading.

“We said no commitment,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

“Fuck that,” she says. She’s upset, more than upset, her face twisted in frustration, her breath quick and shaky as she watches you. “Fuck that.”

“Vi—”

“I don’t want that,” she cuts you off. She steps closer, her hands twitching like she wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if she should. “I never fucking wanted that. I just… I want you.”

She stops herself, breathing hard, trying to collect her thoughts, but they’re scattered, all over the place, too many emotions crashing together.

“I’ve spent the last three years thinking about you,” Vi admits. “Wondering if I’d ever see you again, if I’d ever be able to fix things, if I could get you back—”

Her breath hitches, her jaw tight as she stands in front of you, desperate and angry and so fucking tired of pretending like this isn’t tearing her apart.

Vi scoffs, shaking her head, frustration and pain battling in her eyes. Her hand moves up to run through her messy hair, tugging at the strands as if she could pull out the emotions knotting in her chest.

“And—And you’ve been pretending that you don’t feel anything for me, but I know you do.”

“God, you’re so full of yourself,” you snap, feeling the anger rising in your chest, fueled by her accusations, by the way she’s completely ignoring everything you’ve been trying to avoid, trying to hide from. “You always think you know everything, don’t you? You think you know what I feel—what’s in my head—but you don’t. You don’t know a damn thing.”

Vi opens her mouth to respond, but the words catch in her throat as she watches you, and you’re not sure if it’s the frustration or the hurt in her eyes that’s making it all harder. You can feel yourself shaking, the tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want to cry in front of her, but it’s too much. Everything is too much.

“I’ve spent so much time pretending it didn’t hurt,” you choke out, the words coming in gasps. “—that it didn’t matter when you’d leave again, or when you’d go silent for days, weeks, at a time. I kept telling myself that I didn’t care, that I didn’t miss you. That you didn’t matter anymore—”

Vi furrows her brows and halts for a moment, realizing you’re not talking about this anymore… you’re talking about back then.

The tears start to fall, blurring your vision, and you swipe angrily at them, wiping them away, but they keep coming, as if they were waiting for permission to break free.

“But it still hurts, Vi. It fucking hurts. Every single day. And you—you just keep showing up, and I didn’t know how to deal with it anymore.”

Vi stands there, her hand trembling slightly at her side as she steps forward, but you back away again, not ready for her touch. Her heart breaks. Her jaw tightens, her hands clenching at her sides as her chest heaves, like there’s a chance she’ll fall apart right in front of you.

“I know I fucked up,” she says, like she’s trying to shove the truth out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “I know that I’m the reason we’re even in this mess in the first place but—”

You flinch at her words, at how easily she’s admitting it all, like she’s been rehearsing this moment in her head, waiting for the right time to spill everything. But she doesn’t stop—she can’t stop.

“Don’t stand there and tell me you don’t feel anything for me,” Vi pleads, stepping closer, her voice breaking, the desperation cracking through her tough exterior. “Don’t act like this doesn’t mean anything. Don’t act like you don’t love me. We wouldn’t be doing any of this in the first place if you didn’t.”

Your heart twists painfully, and you shake your head, blinking back the sting of tears. “Vi—”

“No,” she interrupts. “I love you. I never stopped loving you. I still love you now.”

You look away, your breathing shaky. But Vi keeps going, her voice trembling now, as if she’s afraid of what will happen if she stops.

“I can’t pretend this doesn’t kill me every time I come here,” she says softly. “I tell myself I’m fine with whatever this is, that I’ll take whatever pieces of you you’re willing to give me—but I’m not. I’m not fine”

She takes a step closer, and you don’t move away this time. You’re frozen, caught between wanting to hold her and wanting to push her away again.

Vi’s voice cracks completely when she says, “I want you back.”

Your breath is shaky, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it, but you don’t wipe it away.

“You don’t get to say that,” you whisper.

Vi’s shoulders slump, her eyes glistening as she watches you.

“You think this is easy for me?” Your voice rises. “You think I don’t want more? That I don’t think what it would be like if you had just—just tried harder? If you had picked up the damn phone, or come home, or given me one fucking reason to believe I was still important to you?”

Vi’s mouth opens, but you shake your head, blinking through the burn behind your eyes.

“I waited for you,” you say, your voice breaking on the word. “I already fucking tried, Violet. And when I finally saw you, you just kept pretending that we were okay—th-that our problems were just gonna magically disappear if you just stopped to fit me in your schedule for a couple of days—and now you think you can just waltz back into my life and tell me you love me like that’s enough?”

Vi’s breathing is ragged now, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy, but she doesn’t look away. She takes it—every word, every painful, bitter syllable—because she knows she deserves it.

“You don’t get to do that,” you whisper, your voice barely audible now, cracking under the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “You don’t get to tell me that you love me when it’s convenient for you.”

You watch as her jaw clenches, her hands shaking at her sides. “That’s not why I—”

“No, Vi,” you snap.

“I’m not trying to—”

You laugh, but it’s hollow, as the tears roll down your face. “You think because we’re sleeping together, that it means you get to tell me you love me and I’m just supposed to—what? Fall back into your arms?”

She takes a shaky step forward. “That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then, what are you saying?” you cut her off again, your chest heaving. “Because all I’m hearing is you trying to make yourself feel better.”

Vi flinches, her lips parting—but you’re already speaking again, the words pouring out faster than you can stop them.

“You didn’t fight for me then, so why the hell are you fighting for me now?” Your voice cracks, every word slicing through the air, right into her chest. “Why is it only when I let you fuck me that you suddenly remember how much you love me?”

Her face drops, “Baby, that’s not—”

“I’m not some backup option for when you get lonely, Violet. I’m not a fucking consolation prize.”

Vi stops.It feels like everything she thought she could build with you—everything she’d hoped for, everything she believed could happen—shatters instantly.

A tear slips down her cheek, her hand instinctively reaching up to wipe it away.

“You really think that?” she whispers, all too quietly.

It hurts so much. All these years, Vi had told herself that she would never be the one to hurt you again, that if you ever gave her another chance, she would do everything differently.

But now, standing in front of you, she realizes the damage she’s done. She can’t take back it all back. She can’t erase the time she let slip through her fingers when she should have been fighting for you.

“I never meant to make you feel that way,” she chokes out.

Her breath hitches, and she’s suddenly too aware of the space between you both. She wants to reach for you, to beg for your forgiveness, to pull you close and beg you to understand. But she doesn’t. Instead, she stands there, rooted to the spot, her heart in her throat.

Vi swallows hard, trying to keep the words from tumbling out, but she’s not sure what she’s even asking for anymore.

You watch her as she lets out a heavy breath, the sound shaky, her hands running through her hair in frustration. She tries to stop the tears that threaten to spill, but they still come, sliding down her cheeks as she scratches the back of her neck in an attempt to distract herself. Her eyes flicker between you and the floor, too afraid to look directly at your face for too long. She starts paces in short, restless steps, her mind racing with things she should’ve said—things she should’ve done differently.

You stand still, frozen in place, tears still streaming down your face as you watch her. It feels like an eternity passes.

And soon, you glance down at her neck. Your eyes catch the glint of her necklace, dangling just slightly under the hem of her hoodie.

Vi stops pacing when she sees you, her steps faltering as she realizes what you’re seeing.

But she only looks away.

“I should go,” sbe says too quietly.

Her voice trembles as she glances at you for just a moment, as if she’s waiting for you to stop her.

But she already knows. She already knows you won’t.

Vi steps back, her body tense, her eyes tracing every inch of you like she’s committing you to memory.

“Vi…” you sigh, watching her walk away towards your apartment door.

Her chest rises with a shaky breath, and she reaches for the handle, fingers brushing against it. She hesitates, just for a second, because she wants to look at you. Because maybe… she’s won’t get another chance to.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

She doesn’t wait for you to say anything else. Without looking back, she pulls the door open and steps out into the hallway.

It’s only when the door clicks shut behind her that you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

And when you look over towards the door, you see a glint of silver on the floor.

Vi’s lighter.

Stupid.

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#— heart to heart // series #b’s writings #vi x reader #arcane x reader #vi arcane #arcane #fanfic #violet arcane #vi x fem reader #violet x reader #vi smut #arcane fanfiction

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bi-writes · 1 year ago

Text

so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.

notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.

mercenary!ghost (part 1/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)

the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.

DEPOSITED.

when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.

it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.

the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.

he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.

he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.

there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.

he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.

he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.

he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.

there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.

the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.

he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.

the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.

he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.

"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.

"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."

the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.

ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.

he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.

his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.

the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.

you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.

"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"

your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.

"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.

"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."

you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.

"what did he do?"

"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.

"y'try to put your hands on'er?"

"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"

"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.

when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.

he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.

"let me look at ya, little rabbit."

you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.

so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.

his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.

you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.

then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.

filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.

but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.

"you olright, luv?"

you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.

he is a dog, and he is fond of you.

you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.

but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.

the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.

your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.

it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?

it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.

johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.

the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.

but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.

he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.

fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--

he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.

you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.

there is something wrong with you.

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