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bi-writes · 2 months ago

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anatomy of us (3) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

type: limited series, part 3 (9.8k), AO3 in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence (this part contains graphic depictions of gore + murder + minor character death), military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

PART 1 ⏤ PART 2

The mirror betrays you. There’s someone staring back, but it isn’t you. You don’t recognize her. Whoever is there, she’s a traitor. A liar. She stole what used to be your body, and now you can only stare back as she lifts her hands to your face and touches your skin.

It’s warm. Your cheeks are warm to the touch, skin bouncy and firm. When you pull on the apples of your cheeks, they bounce right back, elastic almost. You’re glowing, too. Your skin has never looked so soft, so smooth.

Something’s different.

You bring your hands up and cup your own breasts. When you squeeze, you shudder, realizing how sensitive you are. They ache a little, feel heavier than normal. Your bra feels a little tight, too. Your hands drop and grip the sink firm, and you swallow hard before turning to face the door.

Your body is telling you something. It’s trying to talk to you. It’s natural, you know it is, and it is inevitable, and you shouldn’t hate your omega for it because she can’t help it, but you do. It’s what’s happening to you because you’re off your meds. Your hormones are firing like they never have before, and the voice in your head is starting to talk to you in a way that sounds way too appealing. She’s starting to sound right. You like the way she’s talking to you, especially after…

You haven’t spoken to him yet. You haven’t talked about it. It’s only been a few days, but you don’t think you can sleep next to him for one more night and pretend like you don’t know what it’s like for him to be dick-deep inside of you and satiating the shrill insanity that lives under your skin.

So big. So capable. Isn’t he so strong? I bet he tastes good. Let’s find out.

You open the bathroom door slowly. Simon is sitting there on the bed, phone in his hand. He’s typing, eyes narrowed in thought, and you make the door creak so he knows you’ve come out.

“Everythin’ olright in there?” Simon asks. He doesn’t look up from his phone. You decide to be mean, because you can be. You want to be.

Fuck off, you tell her, try to. All she wants to do is get Simon on his back on that bed.

Can we just suck his dick already? It’s right there.

“What do you care?” You mumble. You go to the closet to pick out something to wear. It’s a Sunday, which means there won’t be much to do today besides relax and eat. Johnny invited you to Mass, which you promptly declined, and you didn’t much feel like spending time with Captain Price or finding out which beta would be underneath Gaz tonight (more than one, would be your guess, but it could’ve been another alpha, too, he doesn’t seem to care as long as he can devour something whole).

You don’t turn around to see Simon’s reaction. Maybe he doesn’t react at all. You grab a pair of jeans and drop your sleep shorts. Ever since Simon had taken you on a roof, you decided it was no use trying to change in the bathroom anymore–he’d seen everything, anyways. You step into the jeans and pull them up, jumping a little to get them over your hips, and just as you’re about to adjust the waist, you feel him come up behind you.

Simon grips both sides of your jeans and hikes them up around your middle. You suck in a breath as he slides his hands around, zipping them up, deft fingers finding the button and fastening them. You huff as he keeps walking, forcing your front flat against the closet doors until he can press his chest up against you from behind.

Remember how good he felt? Let’s do it again. Take them off.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss. Your omega purrs. She softens your insides. You grip the closet, irritated, but you can’t help the way you bend at the hip and push back into him. He snarls as he puts his hands on your hips, holding you there. You can feel her, pushing against you. It’s getting harder every day to shove her backwards–there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to.

Is that part me? Or are we drifting together?

“Wot does it look like?” Simon murmurs. “I smell you.”

Yes, yes, yes, let him. Take it off. Take them off. Let him have it.

“What did I say before?” You let your arms fall, and you smack his hands off of you. You turn around to glare up at him, grinding your teeth. “Boundaries, Simon. You need to ask for permission.”

“I don’t have to do anythin’,” Simon bites back. “I said some things before, too, didn’t I? Y’r mine.”

Oh, that’s how he wants it to be. You can see it in his eyes, the way his alpha is feeding him lies. Feeding into his ego. He’s got tendrils that are choking him from the inside-out, trying to tell him to be the bigger species, the more dominant figure. Your omega wants to let him, but that isn’t you. Fuck submission–it’s just not your style. You’re a taker, not a giver, and your omega will need to learn that the hard way.

You lean up on your toes, pressing your forehead to his. You meet his alpha in the middle, not backing down. You can be nasty, too. You can be dangerous. You might not have his build nor his strength, but omegas have teeth, and they are sharp.

“Then you better sleep with one fucking eye open, Simon. Cause I’ll kill you if you put your hands on me without asking.”

You make sure you hit him on your way around him. You open the drawers of the dresser angrily, ripping a shirt out. You slip your pajama shirt off, tossing it onto the floor, and you fit your bra straps over your shoulder before turning around. Simon is still staring like a dog–eyes watery and intense, staring right at your tits, and you grab a pillow off the bed and throw it at him.

“Oh my god!” You cry, and he sucks on his teeth under the mask.

“Mmm…” He puts a hand over his chest, rubbing there. If he didn’t have it on, you have a feeling he’d a smug grin on his stupid face. “My mate is fuckin’ naked, wot you want me to do, look away?”

“Yes, exactly, you pig,” you mumble, clasping your bra and fixing it to cover yourself before slipping your t-shirt on. You frown as you pick up a clip to tie up your hair. “And we’re not mates.”

“Tha’ right?”

“That’s right,” you say curtly. You turn to give him a hard stare as you slip your boots on. “As far as anyone else can tell, I’m not claimed.” You run a few fingers over your scent gland. Soft. Unmarked. Pulsing.

It’s like you’re taunting him. He snarls a little at that, something low and territorial under the mask.

“Tha’ wot you want? Me to claim you?”

“No,” you stand on your toes, faces barely touching. The air in the room is humid and thick, curling, competing scents making you a little dizzy. “I want you to drop dead.”

It’s half of a lie. It would be funny, you think, to see Simon eat a bullet or catch on fire and perish in a frenzy of equal pain and misery, but you know Kate would just do it all over again to you. There are no shortage of alphas at her disposal. With a swipe of her signature, she can have you moved halfway across the world again, and you’d like to not end up on the CIA’s bad side because you keep spending all their money on flights and bribes to get you some kind of mate that will tolerate an indifferent omega such as yourself.

An unruly one. A terrible one. A decisive one.

You don’t really want Simon dead. Better the beast you know than the one you don’t, and from the time you’ve spent with Simon, he is all bark, no bite.

For now.

Meals are always awkward. You feel like all you and Simon do is snap at each other lately. Call each other names. Spit nasty insults. Maybe it isn’t fair to be angry with Simon; you have a feeling he didn’t have much of a choice, same as you, but it doesn’t matter, because nothing really changes in his life the way it changes in yours.

Simon isn’t the one that loses himself. Simon isn’t the one that has to wear a brand on himself, a permanent reminder of his submission. Simon isn’t the one that has to succumb to things he can’t control about himself–the heats that last for days, the ones that will burn you from the inside out until it gets that nasty fill that your omega was born for.

Ruts just aren’t the same, you don’t believe it. They can swallow them down. Save them for later. It isn’t a comfortable thing to do, but if an alpha is missing their omega, they can satiate themselves with a lazy hand or a soft mouth until they get what they’re searching for.

Omegas aren’t offered the same luxury. If you don’t get what your omega feeds off of, she might kill you–and you don’t need to be reminded that you and your omega aren’t exactly on great terms.

The boys are quiet at breakfast. John has secluded himself in his office for the day, but Simon’s sergeants are pretty quiet for how much they usually babble. They are, however, shoving their faces in with food in a matter that makes you scowl.

They’re dogs, really. Johnny looks positively famished. He’s got his cheeks pillowed with eggs and toast, and you look away from Gaz as he tips his head back to wash down a mouthful of ham with coffee.

You jump when you feel a fist hit the table. It rattles the trays, and Johnny’s orange juice splatters a little outside of the cup. Simon is back from the kitchen, sliding your own tray in front of you. Your mouth waters a little at the smell of the freshly baked croissant and moka pot of coffee that waits for you, and the sergeants grumble a little as they look up at their lieutenant.

“Would you both fuckin’ eat with y’r fuckin’ mouths closed?” Simon snaps. “Bloody rats eat more proper than you lot.”

“What’s the matter, LT?” Johnny gulps down his food, wiping his mouth with a wet thumb. He smiles at you with teeth, and you pick up your fork to busy yourself. You can see feel his crazy eyes on you, trained on your face. He licks over his teeth as he does. “Want us to be proper gentlemen around yer bonnie girl?” He wiggles his tongue at you. “What’s proper about knotting a pretty little omega like tha’, aye? Can smell ‘er from ‘ere…Smell like taffy.”

Simon takes a seat on the bench next to Johnny. You stare wide-eyed as Simon cocks his head to the side. Your eyes water a little as you see Simon slide a big hand up Johnny’s neck. He leans into it, clearly comfortable (you’re going to try and forget this observation), but his face contorts from contentment to sheer pain as Simon wraps his gloved fingers into the curls of his mohawk and pulls. Johnny’s neck snaps back at a hard angle, making him hiss and kick his legs out. They bang against the table, shaking it, and Gaz looks down at his plate as Simon tugs Johnny close to him.

“You listen ‘ere, Sergeant. I’ll say this once, and I won’t repeat it,” Simon growls. “If I hear you say one more word about my mate’s cunt, I’ll rip your throat out with my own teeth. Don’t care ‘ow many times you’ve covered me or saved my arse on the field. My rank is her rank, so from now on, I want you to drop y’r eyes when she looks at you, and I want you to say, yes, ma’am, and nothin’ else, you ‘ear that?” Johnny grits his teeth as Simon shakes his head violently, holding him firm. “And if I hear about it when I’m not around, I’ll let her cut y’r dick off, yeah? Or maybe I’ll let her shoot you in the head again. And trust me, mate, she won’t miss–”

“Simon,” you interrupt gently. Simon’s face turns, and you meet his eyes. You shake your head a little. “It’s…it’s okay. Johnny’s just a huge flirt, and it came out wrong. Didn’t it, Johnny?”

Simon closes his fist, letting out a sharp breath. His eyes are a little darker than you’re used to. You’re not sure he’ll listen to you, but when you see his fingers start to loosen, you relax a little. You don’t understand why he’s defending you, anyways, but maybe Simon has some twisted moral code when it comes to insulting his mate.

That only he gets to, and no one else.

“Yeah–” Johnny spits, and when Simon lets him go roughly, Johnny just laughs a little. His cheeks are rosy, and he tries to shake it off, but you can tell by the way he averts his eyes and the smell that wafts from him–Johnny is terrified of his lieutenant.

Simon stands, making the table rattle again. Johnny’s cup spills over the edge, and your cutlery falls to the floor as he makes his way out of the mess hall, throwing the doors open and letting them slam shut behind him. You scoff, rolling your eyes, and you swipe Gaz’s fork from his tray before continuing to eat.

“What the fuck is his problem?” You stab your sausage with the fork, cutting it angrily, and Johnny clears his throat. His rubs the back of his neck, rolling it out carefully.

“Yer serious?” Johnny scoffs. “Fuckin’ big man is in love with ye.”

Not me. He’s in love with…her.

“He’s just mad because he thinks he’s the only one entitled to say anything derogatory to me,” you explain. “He’s such an asshole, I swear. So are you, Johnny, by the way–I’m not gonna wet your dick for you, go flirt with someone else.”

Gaz snorts, shaking his head, and you pour him a little more coffee from the pot Simon left for you and some for yourself.

“Kind of sweet, innit?” Gaz murmurs. “He cares about you, you know.”

“Yeah?” You raise a brow. “Has a real funny way of showing it. You don’t see him when we’re alone. He’s mean. I don’t know what goes on in your heads, but your kind jump to conclusions. And you assume. And you’re too aggressive.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Gaz asks. He turns to look at you, shrugging. “That’s how we’re made.”

“I try everyday to be anything but how I’m made,” you say lowly.

It’s a lousy excuse, especially for an operative like him. Kyle and Johnny are no strangers to aversion or high-stakes. There is combat, and then there is what this team does. You’ve peeked at the papers on Simon’s desk. You’ve read the files you have no clearance to read. For the air-headedness that Simon radiates, he’s excellent at writing post-op reports, with fine detail. He doesn’t miss anything. This team isn’t something like SWAT–they don’t carry big guns for show and break down suburban houses. They hit foreign targets without a trace and eliminate threats before they blink. They are in and out of a building in thirty minutes, and they leave no man behind and no target alive. Each of them are experts in their own subject, and even with Johnny’s big, disgusting mouth, you cannot deny what makes him special.

He could make an explosive out of regular kitchen supplies; maybe even out of the toiletries you keep in a go-bag. His affection for chemistry is as equal to that of a good, protein-rich meal. Kyle is no different–you’ve seen him just for fun program an auto-correct feature into John’s laptop that replaced every word that he typed that started with a vowel to shitfucker. You saw him do it remotely. Over Bluetooth. With a Blackberry.

These aren’t just operators. These aren’t just idiot, self-engorged, misogynistic and animalistic men that panted and waited for orders like lovesick puppies, they are much too intelligent and way too self-aware. You won’t take that’s how we’re made as an excuse–it’s beneath them, if you’re being honest, and it’s infuriating. They aren’t a normal pack, and they never will be, and so you need them to stop using stereotypical excuses as reason for them being just like the rest.

It is conscious. It’s disgusting. It’s exactly as you thought it would be.

“Well maybe if ye tried that less, tried just being what ye are…things would be easier for ye,” Johnny mutters, picking up his overturned cup and sighing sharply through his nose. You drop your fork and lean forward on your elbows.

Oh, alright. If Johnny wants to play rank, then you can play rank.

“You know, you both have a lot of nerve,” you say lowly. “I would start being very fucking nice to me from now on. Simon and I may not get along, and maybe we never will. But he sure as shit won’t stand aside if tuck my tail between my legs and blame one of you for something you didn’t do.”

“Thought you said he hated you?” Gaz mocks. “Thought you said he was mean?”

You stand up and shove your tray towards them, starting to walk. You lean over to murmur in Gaz’s ear.

“He is,” you threaten. “But he’s still an alpha, my alpha, and pussy talks, Gaz. You’d know. You’ve been drooling for it since I sat down. I can smell you, too.”

You pat Gaz’s cheek a bit too roughly, and he snarls a little. You smile to yourself as you make your way out, and down the hall, you see a familiar shadow disappear around the corner into the darkness. You cross your arms over your chest, sighing, and then you start towards it.

When you round the corner, he’s standing right there. Leaned against the wall, big arms crossed over his chest. His face twitches under the mask. You move to stand in front of him so you can get his eyes.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t want to babysit me, you can’t seem to leave me alone.”

“I have others to answer to if something happens to you.”

“Don’t act like you care what other people think. Especially your superiors.” You roll your eyes. You don’t have much more time to talk to him. Or berate him, you were still deciding. A shadow comes up next to you, and when you turn, Captain Price is staring at you both, nodding his head behind him.

“I need to have a word. With both of you.”

You give Simon a look, but he doesn’t give one back. He merely slips a hand down your back and puts you in front of him, ushering you to walk. You’ve never been reprimanded by a superior, not because of a mission or anything of stake, so you can’t help the feeling that overcomes you–something of failure.

Had you done something wrong? Surely you had.

John’s office is bigger than Simon’s, but just as messy. Messier. There’s a pretty beta secretary out in front of it, and she smiles at you and waves. She’s too cute–too sweet. She probably puts sugar in John’s tea to make him smile or draws little smiley faces on messages from missed calls. You pity her and wish you were her all the same. When she notices your solemn face, she shrinks and dips her head, picking up her pen and continuing to fill out some forms.

John waits for both you and Simon to sit before shutting his office door behind him. He sucks on his teeth before tossing his hat onto his desk, nodding towards the two creaky seats in front of him.

“Sit.”

“Rather stand,” Simon counters, but one hard look from his captain, and Simon is begrudgingly taking a seat. The metal creaks under his weight, and you take a seat next to him. John sits on his desk in front of you both, and he looks at Simon before ending on you.

The scents in the air are driving you insane. You take a breath to try and keep your eyes from watering, but it’s difficult.

“You know, Kit, our team isn’t known for…following the rules,” John begins. “But I was assured that…if anything went wrong, that my lieutenant here would be responsible. He vouched for you.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You prepare yourself for the beratement. You sit up a little straighter, squaring your shoulders. The neutral expression your face falls into seems to irk your captain. He scrunches his nose a bit, smoothing a palm over the papers in front of him. He’s trying to establish his air of dominance, but it’s increasingly easy to stare him back down when your alpha sits right beside you.

There’s comfort in his presence, and your omega feeds on it.

“I saw you shoot. Got a good eye for those kinds of things, I’ll admit,” John nods. “And you did well in training. Followed Simon. His orders. Saw you clearin’ rooms like you’ve been on this team for years.” He grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Blue, but empty. “He was right. Fast learner. You know your place.” You narrow your eyes at that, and he hums. “But it doesn’t change what this is. What you are.”

You’re surprised at the way your omega curls in your gut. Angry. There’s an alpha insulting you, but this one isn’t yours. She warms your hands, and you dig your nails into your chair to keep her calm. She wants to bite, and she’s confident with Simon at her side.

“An asset?” You try talking instead.

“A liability.” John leans forward. “You put my men in danger. Going into heat like that.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. It’s alienation. You are an outsider. Not part of his pack. John draws a circle around himself, and you are not included in it, and the sentiment leaks into his words like a flood, and it hits you through the chest. Your lip trembles just slightly, but you swallow down the rejection, keeping it close. Your omega whimpers–an alpha, though it is not your own, is isolating you, and it hurts her.

“She didn’t–” Simon is interrupted by John’s laughter.

“You were off comms for 15 minutes and 37 seconds, an amount of time that during an op is fucking critical and could’ve blown the entire operation!” John snaps. “I told you to be fucking careful, I told you both to take precautions, and you failed me. I can understand you–” He points at you, and omega lingers unsaid, “but you, Simon? You–”

“It wasn’t his fault, it was mine,” you interrupt. “I should’ve known.”

“He’s your alpha, it’s his fuckin’ job,” John clarifies. “But Simon has more than one job, and on that day, it was keeping the target in his sight and waiting for my fuckin’ say.”

“Don’t reprimand him for making the call,” you tell him. “I’m the one who misread what I was feeling. I’m the one who distracted him from what he was doing. I’m the one who was projecting so badly, he had to help. It’s me. I screwed up. I’m just as much of your team as they are, so hold me accountable, not Simon.”

“You are not on my team, you are my problem.”

She wails. She grips your heart in both hands and hangs on, crying, wailing, begging you to say something to make him approve of you. She so desperately wants to be included in Simon’s pack, and it aches inside to be pushed away. You dig your nails in further, and you don’t realize how much your scent is flaring. Simon gets one whiff of it and snarls. His hands close into fists.

You goin’ to let tha’ wanker talk to your mate tha’ way? You goin’ to let another alpha walk all over her? He’s challenging you, tha’s wot this is, innit?

“Choose y’r next words wisely, Captain.” Simon finally speaks, and his tone rattles you. His voice dips low, and you can hear his alpha soaking into his words, and the bitterness in the air has to be him deciding whether or not today would be a good day to stand up to his captain.

“Tha’ right, Simon?” John murmurs. “Is that an order?”

Simon stands. Immediately, the humidity in the room expands, and you nearly choke from the sting of their scents in the air. Simon is much larger than John. He’s so much bigger, so much wider. You stand, too, and when Simon feels your hand along his bicep, his shoulders loosen just an inch.

Your omega may beg for approval and inclusion, but even she stands down when you remind her of the importance of pack bonds. You are not mated, and Simon has his own to keep, so you must appease. It hurts to do it, but you know you will thank yourself later.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” you say softly. “I-It won’t happen again. I swear…I promise.” Your eyes water, and you try to hold in the cough you’re holding. “First time…and the last time.”

Simon’s task force is a unique group. Four alphas–a lot of ego and fighting dominance in one bunch. It’s normally not done. They like to have a nice mix of betas and alphas to keep groups balanced, but Kate needed an exceptional group, so she built one. Four alphas in one pack is not common, but it works–and she has the stats to prove it.

You wonder if she knew what would happen when she threw you into the mix. How each of them might react when an omega tried to slip in between them. If Kyle would try to sink his teeth in. If Johnny would pass out from panting so fucking hard. If John would let his resolve slip for just long enough to blur the lines between a commanding officer and his subordinate.

Maybe Simon reacted just as she expected. That he would see what was meant just for him and pull her apart so he could slip under her ribs and stay right there. You have not been claimed, and yet–it is truth. They know it, Simon knows it, you know it, and so does your omega.

Simon paces in his room. A slow pace, but paces, and you observe him from your place on the bed as he breathes deeply. His alpha is leaking through the cracks, and you can smell his anger. It fumes, makes your nose curl. It’s a bitter scent. Your omega purrs in your chest–she wants to soothe him.

We will do no such thing. Shut the fuck up.

“You need to let me handle things when we get cornered like tha’.”

“I’m a big girl, Simon,” you say softly. “And it was my mistake.”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” Simon explains. “I’m your alpha.”

“I don’t care,” you shake your head. “You don’t speak for me.”

“No, I speak for us both,” Simon points a finger at you, coming closer. “For you and for me, and you need to understand tha’.”

You glare up at him. In all the time you’ve spent with him, he’s still letting his alpha bleed when he’s angry. You need to understand nothing–Simon needs to learn. He needs to learn that the omega they write about in textbooks isn’t reality. You fight your omega tooth and nail for control, and you are still on top for now. Simon needs to learn this. He needs to learn that you are not easily influenced by command. You may smell like an omega. You may keen like an omega.

But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I submit like an omega.

“Fuck you.”

Don’t talk like that…you know you want to.

“Ya already ‘ave, kitty,” Simon spits. “Would you like to go again?”

“I know this is hard for you to get through your thick head,” you whisper. “But just because I fucked you doesn’t mean anything. What happened between us was clinical. Your dick is medicine, and there was nothing I could do, and that is where this ends. You can tell yourself over and over again that you are my mate…that you’re my hero, that you saved me, but maybe next time, I’ll just let my omega kill me. The thought of you inside of me ever again makes me physically fucking sick.”

You’re a bad liar.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say lowly. He leans closer, until his face is nearly against yours. “You’re a pathetic, insecure, waste of space. I will never be your mate, and I pity every omega that might come after me, that has the unfortunate mistake of thinking you could claim them with any sense at all. You use and you abuse, and you have your head so far up your ass, I don’t think you know what’s real and what isn’t.”

Simon stares. You stare back. Your chest heaves, and so does his, and you keep your eyes on each other as you stare back and forth. His eyes are so dark. Beautiful, but so dark, it’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking. It’s not long that you notice his lashes fade to blonde at the end of them. His skin, where it bleeds from the eye-black he wears to the pale color of his face, has freckles scattered around the eyes. You can see the raised, white line of a scar that is just peeking from under the mask.

Isn’t he so pretty?

“On your knees,” Simon murmurs.

It’s whiplash. One moment, your entire body is buzzing. Angry, fiery–you can feel it shaking you. You hate him with ever fiber, want to smack the smug look you know he wears under that mask. You hate the power that he has over you and how much he relishes in it. The next moment, in a few slow words, it vanishes.

Like it was never even there at all.

“Excuse me?” You breathe.

“On your knees. Lose the pants. ‘n y’r knickers.”

“What makes you–”

“Won’t ask again.”

We need this. We need this. We need this.

It’s just that easy. For all the resolve that it feels like you have, maybe you really have none. You blink, but then he hears the sound of you toeing off your boots. They hit the floor, and then your cargos are falling on top of them, and then you’re turning over, sliding along the warm sheets of his bed until you’re lying on your tummy, ass up, and you’re closing your eyes as his gloved hands push your panties down your thighs until they’re around your knees.

You don’t really know who’s doing it. You’re afraid to think about it too hard, because you know that it just might be you.

He eats nasty. All tongue. He spreads your ass with big palms, and you gurgle when he kisses your folds with tongue. Your brain starts to fog, and you relax easily. He kisses soft and slow, but wet. You fist the blankets, pushing back, and he slides a thumb down to smooth over your puffy clit very gently. He hisses when he sees your hole flex in response, a drop of slick falling onto his palm.

“Kitty, why didn’t ya just say so?” Simon asks, stupid and fascinated by you. “Why didn’t you just say you wanted y’r pretty pussy kissed, hmm?”

“Because I hate you–” You whine, and Simon slips his tongue inside of you. You babble, your mouth dropping open, and he hums as he gets a taste of you before pulling back, smacking his lips. The taste of you spreads across his tongue, and his alpha howls. He’s never spoken to him this way, not really. The only time his alpha has ever really come to the forefront like this was the times he thought he was close to death; but Simon’s never been this close to life, either.

“I know,” he coos. “I know ya do. But this isn’t personal, is it?” He uses his thumbs to open you up, growling when he sees your hole pucker a little. A dribble of slick falls, and he catches it with his tongue, swallowing it down. “How’d ya put it, luv? ‘s medicine?”

“Your dick is medicine.”

“My mouth, too, I reckon.”

“Shut the fuck up, and eat me, baby,” you whimper, and he opens his mouth wide and licks with a thick tongue. He presses his mouth to your cunt and eats, bobbing his head as he alternates between slobbering licks and eager sucking. His tongue slides between your folds occasionally before slipping into you, and you curl your toes every time he brushes against your clit. His thumb will sometimes circle it, or his tongue will suck softly, but he never stays there too long. Simon likes to tease. He likes to make you a little desperate, likes to get you soft and drippy and dizzy, and then he gives in a little. He gives you two fingers, gloved still, and you push back against his face with gentle grinds as he fucks you softly with his hand. It’s agony and relief all at once.

“Like tha’?” He asks. He sounds amused. You hope his hard cock gets pinched by his zipper.

“Mmm–” You try. You arch your back, getting up onto your elbows, and Simon uses his free hand to give one side of your ass a nice smack, jiggling it gently before kissing where he hit. You giggle at that, soft and airy.

“Answer me, omega.”

“Fucking love it,” you gasp. “Big fingers–”

Simon laughs at that. You can smell his ego, but you don’t have it in you to say something smart. It’s true. Even with his hand, he fucks good, hitting deep. His mouth did wonders, and you’re dripping along his hand. His glove is soaked, and his forearm is wet, and when you glance down at the sheets, they are damp and dark with the mess you made. Simon doesn’t seem to mind. He leans in to eat more, pulling his fingers out so he can use his mouth again, tongue deep as he sucks and hinges that big jaw to get a mouthful of you and groan. You taste good–nice and sweet, thick juices wetting his chin, and he squeezes your ass in appreciation when you throw it back and smother him. He likes this. Likes the lack of air, the wet pussy, the soft whines. He’s content here, and he doesn’t seem like he wants to move anytime soon, and he doesn’t complain. He just opens his mouth and swirls and tongue and fuck–your clit is in his mouth, and you’re crying.

It’s too kind. An alpha kneeling for their mate. Taking pleasure in their pleasure. It’s not unheard of, but it’s…unorthodox. It confuses you. Your omega cries with happiness, but she’s confused, too. She doesn’t expect pleasure just for pleasure–but she wants it, she wants more of it, she’s digging her nails into your skin to try and get you to convince Simon to give you more, more, more.

“Give it to me,” Simon murmurs. “‘s olright. Give it to me.”

“Simon–”

“Mhm,” he nods, cocking his head and taking your clit into his mouth again. “Give it ‘ere.”

Your orgasm hits hard, but it’s nice and slow. Your thighs shake, but Simon sinks into you, breathing out through his nose as he delicately laps at your clit. He doesn’t stop, swallowing as you come into his mouth, keeping the pace to make sure your orgasm fizzles just as good as it hit you.

You sink to your tummy when he pulls away. Your knees give out, and he slips your panties completely off, and you flop onto the dry side of the bed. You start to cry. Not tears of relief, but tears of pain. Of what is inevitable. Of the hard truth that you loathe more than anything.

Simon can never force you. You will always want him, you think. There will always be something in the back of your mind that aches for him, and you try and you try and you try to fight it off, but you want him so viscerally, it cuts you deep where you’ll never notice it.

“Say wotever you want about me,” Simon mutters. “Tell yourself wotever you want that helps you sleep at night, hate me oll you want. But I take care of wot’s mine.” He strokes your hair out of your eyes, leaning down, and you cry harder. You clutch a pillow, hug it tight, and your eyes flutter open as you look at him. His mask is still hiked up just under his nose, and you can see half his face. Scars that cut across him like paintbrush strokes, adding texture and depth where there shouldn’t be.

“You have no idea what it’s like,” you whisper. “You have no idea what it’s like for every single part of yourself to betray what you want. You don’t get it. Y-You don’t understand, you never will. You will always have the upper hand, and y-you will never know what it’s like to not have a choice.”

Simon continues to brush through your hair with his fingers. Soothing you gently, coaxing you into a headspace that feels like white noise. You whine, and Simon comes closer. He presses his mouth to your forehead, soft, gentle, his scent close enough that your beating heart slows down considerably just in response.

“No, I won’t,” Simon agrees. “But that’s what you are. You’re an omega.”

He says it like it’s so simple. Like it explains everything in the entire world. Being an omega is the simplest answer he could ever give, and it explains every variable, every nuance, every quirk that makes you you. It explains every time you sink to your knees for him. It explains how easily you let him fuck you on a rooftop in a foreign country. It explains how even though you hate him with every fiber of your being, there is somehow no one else you want standing over you now.

“I’m still me.”

“No,” Simon shakes his head. “You cannot change wot you are. You’re fighting her, and you will lose.”

You wonder, for just a second, if Simon is speaking from experience. Have there been times when his alpha takes over? Does it take control? Are there times when he looks in the mirror, too, and doesn’t know who is staring back?

“I hate her, too,” you spit. “I hate her, and I hate you.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his terrible face. The first one you’ve ever seen. You hate the urge you have to lean forward and kiss it.

“She is you.”

“Then I hate me. I hate myself.”

Simon changes the sheets silently. He picks you up and moves you when he has to–two big, burly arms picking you up like you’re a feather. You cling to his neck, studying him, and you find yourself not being able to look away. He’s so capable. He’s so independent. He’s so reactive to your needs, it infuriates you, how could one man be so in tune with you, more than yourself?

He drapes all new blankets over you. He turns out most of the lights, except for the low glow of the yellow lamp on his desk. He tucks you in, making sure you’re warm, and then he bends down to say something to you, in your ear.

“Dunno wot you think,” he tells you, “but there will be no omega after you.” His voice drops low, and when you close your eyes, you hear his alpha. Threatening, affirmative, exact. “You are mine. I’ll not ‘ave another. The sooner you accept tha’, the easier things’ll be for you.”

Mine, mine, mine–

“Eat a dick.”

Mine, mine, mine–

“Much prefer y’r cunt, kitty.”

Simon’s protection is instinctual. It’s not really a choice, it’s subconscious. He watches you braid your hair in your room, observes as you tuck it behind your ears and tie it off your face. He hovers as you gear up. Watches you buckle your belt, strap your tact vest, adjust your helmet. He comes over after you’ve laced your boots, tugging on your vest to make sure it’s secure and fastening your helmet for you. You let him as you clip your watch on, closing your eyes as he smooths a thumb across your cheek and turns you towards the door.

It’s a long flight. You fall asleep, your face smushed against his arm, and when you wake up, Simon is still sitting there, hands on his knees, staring straight ahead. John smokes, Gaz has a folded up little book in his hand with what seems like sudoku pages, and Johnny is twirling what looks like a fidget spinner in one hand. You blink awake, but it’s dark out, pitch-black.

That’s the job. Dark, where you can use night as cover. Stealth. You and Simon have been tasked with clearing out one building on your own. Several stories, possible targets inside, presumed armed and dangerous. You were given the clear to eliminate any threats on sight–the op is capture or kill, and John made that very clear in a small room that reeked of his authority.

The bird drops you a few kilometers from where your target building lies. You flip the night-vision down, flicking it on, and you stick to Simon like glue as you follow him silently through empty streets. You’re somewhere in Eastern Europe, somewhere cold and unfeeling and just on the border of Russia. You aren’t privy to any more details; all you know is that your mission is to be Simon’s cover, and you have the face of your target memorized and burned into the back of your eyes.

You spot your target building at the end of the block. The streetlight flickers, and it looks like a low-income apartment building. It’s very small, dilapidated, with a peeling entrance door that has the window broken, hastily patched up with duct tape. It’s no trouble for Simon to stick the scope of his rifle through the duct table and shred the remaining glass to pieces, putting his hand through the window and unlocking the door easily.

The first few floors are clear. Simon always enters a room first, with you in quick succession. You are silent, touch and go, soft taps on shoulders that the both of you can read immediately. You’re in tune with him. When he steps left, so do you. When he turns, you cover, when he sweeps up, you sweep down. It’s a dance, a very well coordinated one, and it lets Simon breathe easier when he realizes how well you’ve adapted to each other over a short period of time.

Just a few weeks, and you are two sides of each other.

Simon swallows down the prideful purr in his chest. Now isn’t the time to get distracted.

When you make your way to the top floor, just below the roof, your chest starts to feel warm. You pause at the top of the stairs as Simon keeps his rifle trained at the first door in front of him. You swallow hard, widening your stance to keep yourself upright. You shake your head, trying to toss the jitters off of you. Your throat hurts as the saliva goes down.

Simon clears the room with you shuffling close behind. You blink rapidly when you see two of Simon, and he whips around suddenly. You can see him through your night vision stiffening in front of you. Shoulders tensing, fingers gripping his rifle tighter. You pause as he comes close to you, and your eyes water when he lifts one hand from his gun to cup your face gently.

You know what he’s asking. You nod shakily, and he taps his wrist with two fingers.

Give me two minutes, is what he’s saying to you.

You don’t get two minutes.

The door behind you slams open. Two men breach inside, and they come at you with a force too strong, and you go flying towards the far wall. Your back hits it hard, and you collapse onto the ground. Your whole body aches, and you know there will an array of nasty bruises under the skin. Your helmet took the brunt of the hit, but you still feel dizzy as it falls off your head, clattering to the ground. You cough, scrambling for your rifle that is a few feet away from you now, and Simon drops one of them with a few easy bullets, but the second man uses his dead companion as cover, throwing the body at Simon until he can lunge at him.

Simon swipes the blade out of his boot and goes for his weak spots. He manages to get him under the arm, across his thigh, but Simon is wearing a lot of gear, and with the weight of a dead alpha getting tossed at him again, he gets moved backwards enough to lose his footing, and then it happens.

The man’s gun fires, and it goes straight for Simon’s head. A flash of light that seals some sick sort of fate that you know can’t be yours. It’s not you that screams in response.

It is your omega.

You launch yourself at him. In your daze, your omega finds clarity, and she seizes her moment. You slip the blade out of its place in your thigh holster, and you toss a nearby chair at him to incapacitate his gun. It gets trapped underneath it, enough time for you to jump and land on him from behind.

He’s an alpha. Physically, you should be no match for him given your size differences, but something else is taking over. Your nails don’t just grab, they pierce his skin. Digging it, shredding flesh, and you bring your blade down over and over again against his chest. He screams in pain, trying to wriggle you off. You lock your ankles around his middle, keeping your hand coming, tearing with your nails and slicing with your knife, but he manages to get an arm underneath you and throw you off.

You hit the ground again roughly, but it doesn’t stop your omega. She gets right back up, but he tackles you. He uses his weight to pin you down, and the knife rings as it slides across the room, but your omega doesn’t let it stop her. He got too close, and she will make sure he regrets it.

He went for your mate, and she cannot have that. She won’t survive without him. Unclaimed, but she doesn’t care–Simon is hers, and she won’t let him go without something all-encompassing and violent. He’ll have to pry Simon out of her dead hands. You feel like you’re watching from the sidelines. You’re not yourself. It’s the first time that you don’t really care.

You scream, leaning up, and he doesn’t get a moment to think before you sink your teeth into the plush of his scent gland and rip it clean out.

Fuck. There’s blood gushing everywhere, spurting from where you’ve severed the gland. The gland is precious, anatomically–it provides most of the oxygen to the brain, and it’s what seals the bond. While it can’t be marked the same way an omega’s can, an alpha can’t survive without it. You’re finding out just how precious it is as you watch an alpha cough and sputter once he realizes what’s happening to him.

He crawls off of you, trying to use his hand to put pressure to his neck, but it’s no use. He leans against the wall and chokes, blood filling his mouth, and you spit out the flesh from between your teeth as you watch him gurgle and kick his feet out. He reaches out for you, pleading in his eyes, but you feel no mercy. There’s tears coming down his face now, and you watch with a scowl as the blood spills between his fingers instead of bringing his brain precious life.

Good fucking riddance.

You turn over once you’re satisfied he won’t get up. You see Simon still sprawled on his back behind you, and you scramble to get to him. You grab his helmet and throw it off, and you start to cry, feeling around and realizing there’s something sticky oozing and pooling onto your fingers. You can’t see very well in the dark, but you put pressure anyways, unsure of what you’re dealing with. Your heartbeat is loud, and it echoes in your ears.

“No–No!” You gasp. You grab Simon’s radio, hands shaking as you press down onto the button.

“Bravo-6, d-do you c-copy?” You cry. “Bravo-6, answer–please–”

“Kit?” John’s voice comes out surprised, low. “What happened?”

“Si–Ghost–” You sob, “W-We need a medevac! Medevac–top floor–”

Your hands continue to shake as you reach for the bottom of his mask and rip it off. It’s the first time you’ve seen him without the mask, but you need to know. You need to know.

His face–it is a little ugly. The eye-black is smeared across his freckles, bleeding across his face from the sweat. He has scars everywhere; they criss-cross along his cheek, cut his lips, but you ignore that as you lean down and put your ear to his mouth.

His breaths come shallow and slow.

You cry with relief, feeling around with your fingers. When all you feel is blood, you pick up his helmet and cry harder when you notice the side of the helmet has been grazed, and the bullet casing lies near his head.

He had missed.

He missed.

You cup his face, tapping his cheeks gently, trying to wake him up.

“Simon?” You whisper, sniffling. “Simon, wake up. Please wake up. Please–”

You can’t carry him. Even if you tried to get your omega to help you, you aren’t physically strong enough to pick him up and carry him out. He’s too big and too heavy, and you wouldn’t be useful anyways; you’d be without cover trying to haul his ass to a bird that’s just too far away.

“Simon–”

He coughs. You gasp, wrapping an arm under him and trying to sit him up. He’s so much heavier with all of his gear on, but you do it anyways, lifting him up and laying his head in your lap. You lean down, pressing your forehead to his, and you cup the back of his neck.

“I thought he killed you–” You sob. Simon hums, his eyes opening and closing, and you smooth a few fingers down his cheek, relieved to hear him breathe. In and out, in and out, low and slow as he blinks away the spots in his vision.

Your eyes meet. It’s not a look you were expecting. You expected him to be angry, but he’s not. He’s looking at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. You must look a sight, you think. There must be blood on your face, staining your teeth, but all of your senses are dulled as you try and read him.

Your hands shake as you brush a bit of dust off his face. Your fingers are trembling, but it’s grounding to touch him and see him blink those dark eyes up at you. God, he’s not ugly, no, he’s gorgeous. He’s so beautiful. He’ll never be prettier than the way he is now. Raw and vulnerable–Simon is most himself here, you think, stuck in the in-between of an operation. This is where he must feel everything the most. You open your mouth to say something else, to ask him if he’s okay, but then his face scrunches when he finally realizes where you are.

“On the door,” Simon mutters. “Get y’r gun on the fuckin’ door.”

“Simon–”

“Now!”

You scramble to reach for the handgun in your thigh holster, turning to get up on your knees and cover the door. You will your hands to stop shaking, gripping the handle of the gun tight to keep them steady. You can hear Simon getting himself together behind you. Shuffling onto his feet, picking up his rifle and his helmet. When you look over your shoulder for just a second, you notice his mask is back on.

“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, east building clear,” Simon rasps. He shoves his way past you, rattling you a little, and you stare at his back, defeated, as he clears the rest of the floor before making his way up the last flight of stairs. You hear your captain responding on comms, but you’re not paying enough attention. Simon slams the roof door shut once its behind you, and you wipe your eyes as Simon gets situated for overwatch as you cover the door.

“Simon, are you–”

“I don’t want to hear another word outta you unless we got contact on this fuckin’ roof,” Simon interrupts.

“I saved your ass!” You cry. “I did that! He would’ve killed you, you fucking asshole, so for once in your life, can you just look at me and say a fucking thank you?!”

Maybe Simon’s right. If you fight your omega, maybe you will lose. She might just kill you. You know she can. You’ve seen it happen before. Omegas that didn’t listen, losing themselves to the insanity of their inner struggle. It’s a violent end. It’s like they electrocute from the inside-out. Their minds betray them, and they let it take over, and with no alpha to soothe them, they’re just gone. If they drift too far, you can’t get yourself back.

Use me. I know what to do. I can get him back.

You do the only other thing you can try; you let your omega do the talking. The sweet, syrupy voice. The soft lilt. The edge that glides, doesn’t cut, the one that will hit his ear just right and hopefully get his alpha tick-tick-ticking inside of his head. The one that didn’t work on Kate–but Kate was not your mate. Kate never responded to you at all, not the way Simon does, and Kate has never tasted your cunt. Her alpha doesn’t know what she’s missing.

I can do it. Let me in.

“Please, Simon,” you beg. You see his fingers twitch as he adjusts the scope on his rifle. They falter, adjusting it just a few degrees too far. Simon doesn’t make mistakes, but then again he’s never had his omega purring in his ear like that. “Please.”

You make your way to him, curling a hand around his bicep. You tug him closer, trying to get him to look at you. He resists, but it’s a pathetic kind of resistance. The kind that you can overpower with just another firm tug. You can sense it, his hesitance, and your omega giggles in your head.

I have him. I can do it. Don’t worry.

“John was right,” Simon breathes. “You’re a problem. A liability.”

A liability because he doesn’t belong to anyone but you, maybe. He’s John’s liability. Not yours. Simon may be a part of their pack, but they should’ve picked up a fucking book when they knew you were coming. Submissiveness might be an inherent “trait” of your kind, but you realize now that is just a lie that alphas tell omegas to keep them quiet.

To keep them soft. To keep them begging. It’s probably something that your kind have learned over time, so distinct that you inherit it from someone that came before you, but you’re convinced that this kind of obedience and docility can be unlearned. It can be used.

If an omega cries, it would be stupid for an alpha to ignore it. It’s in their DNA–with just a soft whine, you can make Simon drop that rifle and bend you over any surface. They say it is for your sake. They say it is because omegas must be serviced or else they will succumb to themselves, but that isn’t what this is, and that’s not why omegas aren’t allowed in the field.

They’re not allowed because you can make Simon defy orders; because John can tell Simon something, and you can tell him something else, and you’re almost certain you know which way Simon will lean.

“Please just look at me, Simon,” you whisper. “Please.”

You cradle his face when he finally does. Your palms touch his wet mask, likely soaked with his own blood. You stand on your toes and draw his face closer to yours.

Fuck them for making you feel small. Fuck them for making you feel less than. Fuck anyone that ever made you feel like you were anything but in control, including her. If she just explained what she could do, this could’ve been a lot easier. If she just told you what she was capable of, you could’ve worked together. You could’ve given her what she wanted, and she could’ve given you what you wanted, and it could’ve been so much simpler.

“Gonna get me fuckin’ killed,” Simon growls. You start to cry again. Not because what he’s saying hurts you, but because he’s still bleeding, and all you can see when you close your eyes is that gun firing right at his head.

This is your ticket. This is your way out. Fuck Kate for making you believe that all you were meant for was being in his bed. You’re so close–aren’t you? You didn’t realize how close you were, but now you do, and you know exactly what to do.

You’re going to make them very, very sorry. You’re going to make them regret ever letting you inside. Your divisive, spitfire nature was not your line of defense. It was the indication of the future you always dreamed of, the future that is one bite-mark away from being tangible. You can taste it, like you taste what Simon wants in the air.

I can do it. I can help you. Let me in.

There was never a reason to be afraid. If anything, they should’ve been afraid of you.

You kiss him. It’s not a proper kiss, because his face is still covered, but you kiss Simon anyways. His cheeks warm, and his lips part, and you kiss him softly over and over as you take his face into your hands. When his arm slides around your waist, your omega is comfortable letting your knees buckle.

She knows already that Simon will catch you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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fluoneia · 2 months ago

Text

further continuation of pitfighter!vi | part 1 | part 2

sypnosis. vi left an impression on you more then you thought she did. but, you left even more of an impression on her. and you can’t control a feeling like that, can you?

warnings. dom!vi, lowkey hate sex, use of a strap on, lots o angst !! (in the beginning), uhh i tweaked the timeline a lot so this doesn’t exactly follow everything going on. bear w me!

damn.

you were surprised vi stayed true to her word. it was two months since she initially left. you tried to move on with your life, forget her, and try to remember that she was with that someone that she mentioned.

if she stayed, that means she’s happy. right?

right?

stupid feelings. truth was, you wanted her to come back. she wasn’t just any other client to you at this point.

god, how did you get yourself into this mess? you vowed to not get involved with a client. yet, here you were.

“you seem distracted.” your friend, and co-worker says while she combs through your hair. you’d gotten close to her over the past two months, her being your only viable source of comfort in the moment.

you frown as you look into the mirror.

“it’s nothing.” you shake your hand, glancing down to your hands.

“are you sure?” asta cocked a brow as she placed the comb down. “come on. you’re acting so weird lately.”

you run your thumb over the indents of your palm, following your fingers.

“well..” you start, “i.. there was a client. around two months ago. she was..” you snort, “different, that’s for sure.”

“.. okay..” asta looks into space as she thought.

“she told me she wasn’t coming back— that she couldn’t. her heart was taken by this enforcer girl. said she couldn’t give her up.”

asta is quiet for a second. you turn to look at her. “.. so, what i’m getting from this, is you’re getting your heart involved in a client you took twice.”

“what?” your back straightens. “no! no, my heart isn’t involved, i’m just.. curious. that’s all.”

“uh-huh, okay.” asta snorts with a roll of her eye. “who is this, anyway?”

“oh, uh.. her name is vi.”

asta’s eyes widen so far her eyebrows shoot up. “the fucking vi? as in the vi everyone here hates?”

“i guess so.” you frown.

“hah! no way you’re falling for that little sadistic fuck.”

“asta!” i cry.

“i mean, seriously, y/n! she’s no good, especially for you.”

“i’m a whore in the undercity. i’m not exactly amazing.”

“still, though. i can’t believe you wound up having to take her as a client twice, i mean, are you alright after that?”

you glare. then, you smile at the memory. “actually..” you feel a blush creep on your cheeks. “you’d be surprised. it’s not just her that got to take control.”

“you.. vi? being submissive? oh, you’re crazy.”

“crazy good.” you snort, pushing off your chair. “besides, i’m not falling for her.”

“yeah. sure you aren’t.”

“i mean, i can’t, anyways. i’ve already made that mistake before and i’m not about to make it again. my heart is never being involved with my clients ever again.”

asta takes a second to respond. then, she says, “you know, sometimes it isn’t all that bad.” she shrugs. “i met my husband through this business.”

“it does more harm then good. plus, aren’t you two having problems because of the job that you met in?”

“well.. kind of. but still.” she places a hand on my shoulder, “not everything in your life has to be dictated because of what you do as a job to survive. it’s rare you feel a connection with your clients, right? especially you.”

“i don’t have a connection with her.”

“you keep telling yourself that.” asta chuckles, “that’s what i said about my husband before he started courting me.”

“whatever!” i cry, pushing her hand off me. “i have a client.”

“don’t go imaging it’s vi!”

“ugh, shut up asta!”

a week later, you’d made up your mind. obviously, vi wasn’t going to come back. it’d be best for you to just move on.

your hands tighten around eachother.

so damn stupid. you were so damn stupid. your feelings were so damn stupid— she went to you out of convenience, nothing more.

she was under the influence, on a sex drug nonetheless. you went too far with her. you never should have given in to her pleads in the first place.

“come on, slow-poke.”

you still.

“slow-poke is a bit cocky for you to say. i recall you saying i was moving too fast, when i tried to—“

“okay, are we seriously talking about that right now?”

you’d recognize that voice anywhere. it was haunting your thoughts for the past two months.

and you don’t dare lift your head. you feel your breath pick up as you glance forward.

your breath catches in your throat as your eyes land on her. on vi. what the hell was she doing here?

without another thought, you flick your hood over your head. your body curls in on yourself, staring at your feet as you walk forward, moving past her.

“you used to be all over me,” a posh, matter-of-fact voice says. “now, you can barely even look at me.”

“we’re on a mission, caitlyn. we’re not talking about our relationship right now.”

her voice becomes louder as you grow near.

“when will we?”

“soon! just.. just not now.” vi grumbled.

you try to ignore the warmth in your skin as you knock shoulders with her as you pass.

“hey! watch where you’re going—“

vi stops herself as you glance over your shoulder.

you watch as her eyes flicker, the redness seeping into her skin as she flushed.

“wha.. y/n?” she says in almost a whisper.

your eyes glide toward the girl beside her. a pretty woman, with sharp features and rich, navy hair, tied into a ponytail. she held herself so well.

no wonder vi was so enveloped in her.

vi feels like her heart is about to burst out of her chest. she glances toward caitlyn, who gives you a weird look as you stare at her.

what. the. fuck.

that’s all vi can think.

her eyes flicker between you and caitlyn.

vi watched as you slip the hood off your head. you bring your head up with an inhale, forcing a strong front.

“.. hey, vi. funny seeing you here.” you say in that soft tone that’s been haunting her thoughts and her dreams for months since you’ve been apart.

“you know this girl?” caitlyn says as she stares at you. you glance toward caitlyn, brows furrowing. she stared at you like you were filth— and you probably were, body being tainted by the hundreds of hands that have touched the most vulnerable of all— your body.

vi swallows. “yea.. yes, um—“ she closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “old friend.”

old friend? really?

you glare at her.

“can i, um.. can i have a second to talk to her? alone?”

vi’s hand rests on caitlyns shoulder. her skin looked so soft— so clean.

you try to ignore the flame of jealousy in your chest as caitlyn’s hand rests atop of vi’s, before nodding her head once.

“don’t take long.” caitlyn lets her hands drop to her sides. vi gives a small nod, shoulders relaxing as caitlyn steps back, moving out of earshot.

and then she turns to you.

“i thought you said you were never coming back.” you frown as your arms cross on your chest.

“this isn’t me coming back.” vi says curtly. “we’re on a mission.”

“a mission? are you some sort of enforcer now?”

vi says nothing.

you freeze.

“you.. you’re an enforcer.”

“temporarily.” vi raises a hand, “it’s not anything to do with—“

“just go.” you spit. “an enforcer from zaun. it’s not an honour to be labelled that, violet. you’re a pawn in whatever plan they’ve conjured up.”

“it’s a plan to help zaun.” vi says in a whisper as she glances at someone passing. she winced. “can we talk about this elsewhere? preferably not in an open alleyway?”

your eyes shift to the caitlyn girl she treasures so much. she’s staring at the two of you.

“or we could just not talk.” you push off the wall you’d been resting on, “continue on with your mission. you have no use of me, by the looks of it.”

“actually, i do. someone we’re looking for passed through babettes brothel, and we need a—“

“i’m not helping you with this.” you shake your head. “find another worker there to interrogate.”

“y/n.” vi says firmly.

“stop saying my name like that.” you narrow your eyes. “just because you were my client doesn’t entitle me to help you with your stupid investigation. you were a client to many there— ask them.”

“i was more then just a client and you know it.”

her face tightens with anger.

“not really,” you tut your tongue, “you paid, and i gave. nothing more.”

“you can’t be serious.” her hand finds your arm, and she leans closer, glancing around. “you took my virginity. that’s not nothing.”

“you were hardly a virgin when we first met.”

“yeah, not in.. that sense, i wasn’t.”

you hated that she was right. virginity was a prized thing for most people— hell, you used to hold principles like saving your virginity for marriage. and now, look where you were.

but, much like other people, you never forgot your first. a boy from piltover— you were young and naive, much like violet.

“i should have never done that.” you shake your head, “that was too far of me.”

vi’s eyes soften. she glances back at caitlyn, before looking to you. she steers you away, moving out of eyeshot.

“it’s not that i.. regret it. if that makes any difference.”

you huff.

“you said you weren’t coming back. yet, here you are.” you gesture.

“for a different reason.” she tightens her grip on my arm, “come on. help me with this investigation and i’ll leave you alone. for good.”

but that isn’t what you wanted. you didn’t want her to leave— you didn’t want her to be her right now, with her new prized girlfriend, but she was still here. you hated how your heart jumped with glee at that fact.

you inhale a deep breath, clenching your jaw.

“fine. i’ll help you.”

vi exhaled in relief. “thank you.” she whispers. her hand loosens on your shoulder, before slowly slipping off, her fingers trailing over your skin.

“what’s the big deal, anyways?” you furrow my brows.

“cait will tell you everything.” she cocks her head behind her. you nod your head, and follow her as you walk back to caitlyn. it hit you that she was tall, and it made her even more menacing— towering over you with a mean look on her face. you couldn’t tell if that was just her face, or she just didn’t like you. probably both.

“so she’ll help, then?” caitlyn says, turning to vi.

vi nods. “yeah.”

“i can’t promise i’ll actually be of help to you.” you cross my arms on your chest. “just because i agreed to tell you what i know doesn’t mean it’ll be any use.”

“worth a shot, right?” vi shrugs. i give her a brief nod.

“we can’t talk about this here.” caitlyn says.

you sigh. “we can go back to my house. it’s just ‘round the block. but again— i only have an hour.”

they give a nod of agreement. you inhale a deep breath, before paving a way back toward your house.

suddenly, you felt unconscious about your living space. you hadn’t cleaned it, and there was no doubt clothes left on the floor, leaving it a mess. you mentally curse yourself as you unlock the door, pushing it open.

“make yourselves comfortable.” you mumble, kicking some clothes out the way.

vi doesn’t take another glance at the house as she walks inside, following behind you. caitlyn hesitates, looking around the messy room, before following suit.

i grab a glass of water, jumping up onto my counter.

“alright. so, what did you need me for, exactly?” i look to caitlyn.

caitlyn slowly turns her head toward you. “oh— yes, um..” she clears her throat, obviously distracted. “a few days ago, someone passed through the brothel you work at.”

she fumbles through her bag. your eyes glance toward vi, who leans against the counter parallel to you, crossing her arms on her chest. the blue outfit just looked so.. off on her, yet, she still held herself the same.

she didn’t seem that bothered by the mess— partly because she’s seen it before, and partly because she’d already been in your house, in your bed—

stop it.

caitlyn places a sheet of paper on the island. i pick it up.

“have you seen this girl?”

your eyes move around the paper. you had seen this girl before— quite an oddball, but she was funny. blue hair, tied into long braids. your eyes train on the JINX — PILTOVER, WANTED.

“uh.. yeah.” you nod. you’d never expect her to be a wanted criminal, but who wasn’t down in the lanes?

“how? where did you see her last?” caitlyn says. there’s a gleam in her eyes as she leans closer.

“well.. maybe two or three days ago she came around the brothel during my shift. she was a client.”

vi pushes off the table abruptly. “you took my sister as a client?!” she stalks toward you.

“well, yeah.” you shrug. your eyes widen as you realize. “we.. no, she didn’t want anything.” uou chuckle at the memory, “she just wanted to talk.”

vi seems to calm down, her shoulders slouching. you give her a brief look, before turning to caitlyn.

“she.. i don’t know why she came to a brothel to just have a chat, but she isn’t the first one to do that. it’s honestly not that weird for clients to just want to talk like normal people when they have no one else.”

“i didn’t give it that much thought. i don’t remember much about her.”

you glare at vi. “not that it’d be any of your business what happens with my clients.”

vi puffs a breath of air through her nose, ripping her gaze away from you. she didn’t understand why she was so.. so jealous, so riled up over the memory that you still worked at the brothel, that you still took clients, that other people were touching you.

she had no right to be possessive, yet, here she was.

“.. anyway.” caitlyn clears her throat, brows furrowing as she senses the tension between you and vi, “what can you tell me about her? did she say anything about where she was going?”

you shake your head. “we talked for the hour she paid for, then she left. that was it. i didn’t see where she went.”

caitlyn sighs in frustration. vi looks to her, “this was a big waste of time.”

“it was the only lead we had.” caitlyn pushes off the wall. “if we ask some of the other workers, they’ll probably have seen the direction she went.”

“at this point we’ll miss the last departure. it’s too long of a walk back to piltover if we want to be safe.”

“we can’t leave while the trail is hot! if we wait another day, it’s just another night wasted.”

you h ump off the counter. “just stay here.” you place your glass in the sink, “i have a guest bedroom.”

that was a horrible idea.

it was like your mouth was on autopilot as you say this— stuck on the fact that if vi left now, you’d never see her again. it was stupid if you to offer, yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it.

caitlyn glances toward you. then to vi. she raises her eyebrows as if to say, “well?”

oh, and vi was even more stuck. seeing you again drove her crazy— much less sleeping in the same house again. no doubt it’d grab at her head, keeping her awake at the last memory in this very house.

her chest puffed as she tried to regulate her breath. she wasn’t sure if she could handle herself in such close proximity to you again. it’d surely drive her mad.

but, she too was stuck on the fact that this might be the last time she saw you.

so, vi nods. “sure.” she chokes. her voice is tight as she avoids her eyes, glancing down at her feet.

you huff at the memory of your shift.

“the guest bedroom is just down the hall. make yourselves comfortable.” you move past them, shoulder grazing with vi’s— on purpose, on accident, you couldn’t tell. “i’ll be back soon.”

you still as you see caitlyn move out of the kitchen, glancing around. once she was out of earshot, you back up a few steps.

“oh, and, vi?” you lean closer to her, moving to her ear. “try to control yourself. i can sense your tension from a mile away.” you rest your hand on vi’s shoulder. “if you want me to take care of that.. another time, yeah?”

you pull away without another word, giggling under your breath. you pat vi’s shoulder as you slip away, grabbing your coat and bringing it around your shoulders.

and as you close the door, you leave vi’s head in utter shambles again.

she stands in the same spot, mind processing your words.

try to control herself? after you’ve just said that, and you’re looking like the most beautiful women she’s laid her eyes on?

fat chance.

she’ll get you eventually.

you were released early from your shift, as the night was slow. you kind of dreaded getting back to your apartment, knowing both vi and caitlyn were there.

you wanted to help them. honestly. but you werent sure what would.

your mind recalled the memory of that jinx girl.

you remembered you tried to advance on her— assuming that’s what she wanted, like many other clients. but she stopped you.

she surely wasn’t well. rambling on about life and death, about family, and about how no one can be trusted, and all that.

and after that, she disappeared as soon as she payed. you turned to say goodbye, but she was already gone.

you huff as you open your apartment door, slipping your coat off your shoulders. you hear laughing from your living room, and walk toward it.

as you turn the corner, you see caitlyn and vi laughing together.

“vi, i’m serious!”

you linger in the background as you watch them.

“i mean, the look on my fathers face. he couldn’t believe it at first.”

“well, you won’t be able to get rid of me, anyway.”

your face tightens as you watch her place her head on caitlyns shoulder. she spins a pen in her hand.

“i’m the dirt under your nails, cupcake.”

you decide to leave it alone there.

you step back, running a hand over your neck. so she was happy. you grimace as you walk down the hall, entering your bathroom.

“stupid.” you’d whisper to yourself.

here you thought you had vi wrapped around your finger. but really, you were wrapped around hers.

asta was right, anyway. she was no good for you, and you were no good for her. she was right in the fact that your heart was involved. it was involved tenfold.

you were stupid to ever think that you and vi had a chance.

you were a whore from the undercity. she’s an enforcer now.

nonetheless, she was still from the undercity. she was still a zaunite, just like you.

you strip yourself of your clothes. you step into your steaming shower, and let the water run over your body, your hair.

you close your eyes as you try to drown out your thoughts.

it wasn’t until midnight you left your bathroom.

the house was quiet. you deemed that they had gone to sleep, and move toward your room.

you throw on one of your favourite sets— a gift from a reoccurring piltover client from when you used to work there. you loved the silk texture, the white pearly fabric.

and since you hadn’t eaten much today, you move toward your kitchen.

you huff as you walk down the hallway, quiet against the hardwood floor. you grab your glass from the sink, turning on the tap.

“y/n.” a voice says behind you. you jump, spinning around.

“oh. it’s just you.” you sigh in relief as your eyes land on the familiar black of her hair. vi sauntered toward you, leaning against the counter.

“i.. i had a question.” vi whispers. her voice is laced with sleep— she had stayed up to talk to you. alone, finally.

you stare at your hands as you pour the water down the sink, picking up a bag of pretzels. “and what’s that?”

vi bit her tongue. then, she spoke. “what did you mean, before?”

you furrow your brows.

“when you said.. if you want me to take care of that.” vi shuffles. “you said, another time.”

you still. youd forgotten youd said that— mostly to test the waters around her.

“what did you think i meant?” you hum, placing a pretzel on your tongue. you lean your hip against the counter parallel to her.

vi says nothing.

“look— if you’re gonna act clueless, whatever.” you scoff. “but don’t rope me into something that’ll just cause a mess.”

you turn away from her.

as you move, your stopped by a hand on your wrist. she yanks you backward, your back landing harshly on her chest.

you gasp.

“i don’t really care if it causes a mess.”

you feel her breath on your shoulder. her hand smooths over your hip, pulling you against her.

“you’ve been messing with me ever since we bumped into eachother in that alleyway.”

you stare harshly at the wall in front of you. her thumb dips into the fabric of your shorts, resting it there.

“and you show up in these little shorts and expect me to contain myself?”

you feel her lips against your ear.

“what’s with the sudden switch up?” you say breathily, head leaning against her shoulder.

“you know what you’re doing.” violet scoffs against your ear. you feel your skin blaze alight as she presses her lips to your neck. you feel her tongue glide across your skin.

“violet.” you say harshly. you’re not sure how you feel about the sudden change in the air— vi wasn’t the girl she was last time she was here, no, she was how she was in the brothel the first night you met.

this girl really did give you whiplash.

“this is wrong.” you say, hand placing over the hand on your hip. despite your words, you lean into her touch. “aren’t you with caitlyn?”

vi stills for a second at caitlyn’s name. “one more night can’t hurt.”

“that’s what i thought the last time we met.” you hum, leaning into her touch. “one more night.”

vi spun you around, stalking forward, pushing you back until your back hit the counter. her arms caged around you, her eyes so dark, so unrecognizable.

all night, vi had been thinking about how you’re working your shift, having other people touch you. all night, she thought about you.

all she wanted right now was to distinguish herself from the others— to prove to you that unlike all the others, she cared. she cared for your pleasure, she cared for you, despite her mind screaming at her that she shouldn’t.

another wave of jealousy washes over her. she leans closer, hands gliding over your stomach, pushing up the silk shirt.

“you remember how you said to stop thinking so much around you?” vi says with a smirk, nose touching eachothers, her lips parted. you feel her breath on your skin, her hands on your stomach. they truly did feel warm, so calming, so right, unlike the others who have touched you there. you didn’t feel violated under vi’s touch, you felt.. comforted. it gave you a chance to actually feel the pleasure of another persons hand, rather then focusing on giving pleasure.

her hand splays against your back. her lips were so close to yours, merely one movement away. you wanted nothing more then to feel them again.

“that’s what i’m doing.” vi says, voice husky. “cmon.” she gives a toothy smile. “don’t leave me hanging here, cupcake.”

and it’s like everything changed.

your face closes to a deadpan. you push her off, slamming your fists on her chest.

“wha..” vi gives you a look of confusion.

“you’re so.. arrogant!” you lower your voice as you remember caitlyn is still there— the same caitlyn that vi had said that same nickname too a mere few hours ago. “and stupid!”

“what the hell are you talking about?” vi’s brows furrow.

“that nickname.” you spit. “you’d dare to call me that after using it on caitlyn?”

her mind recalls the memory.

i’m the dirt under your nails, cupcake.

her eyes widen. truth was, she was thinking about you when she said that. she said it because she’s your dirt underneath your nails. she came, and now she’s never going to leave, like a thorn in your side.

“really?” vi deadpans. “that’s what you’re worked up about?”

you purse your lips.

she lets out a chuckle that only fuels your anger. she takes a step toward you, before lowering her voice.

“i knew you were listening.” vi explained, “i was saying that to you.”

you still.

“though, this jealous side of you is kind of cute.”

“shut up.”

“just saying. now, can you stop throwing a fit? kind of holding myself back here.”

“ugh, shut up!” you cry before you grab her face, crashing your lips against hers. vi stilled for a second, taken aback, but she feels a rush of passion flow through her body.

her hands are on you in an instant— clawing, grabbing at your clothes so roughly. her lips are just as you remembered; soft. yet this time, they held a sense of dominance unlike the last time you kissed her.

she hummed against you. and you feel so much.. anger, hatred, jealousy, desire. vi was enjoying this way too much, and you hated that.

you feel her hands on your hips once more, her tongue gliding against your bottom lip, as if asking for permission. you give it by pushing your tongue past her lips, her own finding yours as they tangle and dance for a sense of dominance— to see which way will overtake.

but vi leaves no room for argument. her fingers dig into the skin on your thighs. you squeal as your brought from the floor, her hands holding you up as she picks you up.

your legs dangle loosely around her torso, hand smoothing into her hair, pulling, tugging, holding on so she’s forced to never leave.

you didn’t really know where you were going, but now, you were moving. her tongue glided through your mouth, running along your teeth, your tongue, your gums, everywhere, forcing herself through every part of your mouth until there was nothing left.

and oh, did you miss this feeling.

this feeling of passion, of lust, of desire. this feeling of recklessness. you both know you shouldn’t be doing this— but who can stop desire?

you realize she had guided you to your room when you feel your back hit the fur of your bedspread. she pressed herself between your legs, pulling away from you.

“fuck..” she whispered under her breath, hands smoothing up your stomach, cupping your barely clothed breasts.

“don’t talk.” you loose out, grabbing her face again and pulling her lips back onto yours. she takes that as an understanding, fingers unhooking every button oh so slowly.

you lift yourself off the bed to tear the shirt off your shoulders, throwing it to the side.

vi’s eyes flicker as she pulls away, looking at your body. her eyes land on your budding breasts. just so fucking beautiful. every bit and piece of you was perfect in violets eyes, and she hated how she felt that way.

“i missed you.” she whispers, both forgetting and ignoring your demand of silence. she pulls away, taking her jacket off of her shoulders. clothes fly in a haste, leaving you both naked in mere minutes— well, you naked. she kept her bandages on.

you can’t help the next thing you say. “missed me or missed my body?” you huff, sitting up on your elbows.

vi’s brows furrow. her nose twitches, before she crashed her lips back against yours without a word.

ah. got it. you’d think.

whatever. you shouldn’t have expected much with a hookup.

truth was, vi didn’t know. she didn’t know if her actions were based off purely lust, or something else. she tried not to think about it much— she couldn’t think much, anyways. you were just so soft, so beautiful.

her hands smooth over your body, and you were so drunk on her touch you decided not to care about anything else. her hands, touching you, possessing every part of you.

vi’s lips leave yours, trailing kisses down your jaw, onto your neck. you relish in the feel of her tongue, of her teeth scraping against your skin. her hands, smoothing over your thigh, toying with the strand of your panties. you feel your mouth go agape as her tongue glides over your neck, leaving red splotches, marking you.

you gasp as you feel her hands quiver over your clothed core, pressing so gently it made you whine. she was toying you, being so gentle when she knew you wanted her to be rough.

“don’t think i’ve forgotten.”

you couldn’t process her words— not when her fingers slipped underneath the cloth and dipped into your slick. your head throws back, a jolt of pleasure ripping all throughout your body. a shock to your nerves— finally, a touch that was pleasurable.

“oh, you’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

your brows furrowed. what the hell was she talking about?

you let your mind fog again when her fingers dip inside of you, pressing so deep. you gasp, feeling your skin grow ablaze, the ache in your stomach only growing. you grasp onto the bedsheets, shocked at how fast this was moving— ten minutes ago, you were accepting the loss of whatever this relationship was. now you were thinking, what the fuck is wrong with me?

“you’re gonna feel everything i felt that night.”

she says this so close to your ear. you feel her breath on the shell of your ear, her teeth nipping at your skin.

“though, you won’t be under a drug like i was. i’ll just have to make up for that.”

her fingers press up as if to further move her point. you let your eyes close, body leaning toward her, hips pressing against her wrist.

“where do you keep those things, hm?”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you huff, eyes slowly opening to look at her.

“you know,” she leaned closer. oh god, her eyes. that smirk. you were done for.

your brows furrow as you thought. her fingers slipped out of you, causing you to frown at the loss of her touch.

she ran a hand through her hair as she looked around, before reaching over you to open a drawer. your eyes catch on the glimpse of her bicep, a glimpse of the tattoo that ran down her back. gods, it only turned you on further.

“ah.” she says. you’d hear her fumble with something before moving back to you.

and your eyes shift to the thing in her hand.

one of the strap ons you owned— and never used, just by the sheer size of it. black, girthy, and big.

“nonono, violet—“you back away from her. she could not use that one, not now.

“oh, yes.”

there’s a certain gleam in her eyes as her hand grabs your hip, pulling you closer to you.

“told you.” she says as she leans back, fumbling with the straps. “i’m gonna get you back.”

you were in for it now.

for someone who’d never used a strap on before, you were pleasantly shocked.

you’d moan into your pillow as her hips slam against yours, over and over and over again. her hand smoothed over your back, pressing it down so your hips pushed up.

you’d never felt this.. this good, this full.

your entire body shook, every bone weak and practically useless. it took everything in you to hold yourself up, to not pull away from her, from her hips.

“oh—“ you groan, “vi!” you’d lost yourself, suddenly not caring about your voice. once vi realized that, she dragged her hand under to your chest, pulling you flush against her.

her hand moved over your mouth, silencing your cries.

at the new angle, she only pushed deeper.

your eyes widen, every nerve, every muscle twitching and shaking with pleasure. you couldn’t handle it, you simply couldn’t.

“not so tough now, huh?” she huffed, her voice out of breath and tight. you feel her being her hips back, just barely, before pushing back into you with such force you felt tears well into your eyes.

how could one woman have this much stamina?

you’d lost count at the amount of climax’s she’s brought you to.

she abruptly pulled out of you, flipping you over, pressing your back against the bed. it was like your body was drained of any sort of will— her strength easily able to manhandle you in every way she could, every position she wanted you in.

she placed herself back inbetween your legs. you saw that smirk on her face, so cocky and confident.

you couldn’t form words to comment something about it.

she brushed her hand over her forehead, inhaling a deep breath of air.

“i kind of like this.” she said breathily as she lowered her hand, aligning the tip of the silicone cock to your hole. as you feel her push back inside you, you let out a damned scream.

she’s quick to cover it, lips pressing against yours to silence your cries.

your legs touched either side of the bed, her hands pinning them down. your hips ached at the stretch— your core ached at the raw stretch the strap-on gave you, and as she pressed further deep inside of you, you swore you saw stars.

“god, oh, i— fuck!” you cry against her lips, hands gripping so hard on her back, nails digging into her skin, leaving crescent marks on her shoulders.

“shh, shh..” she hushed, hand smoothing across your thigh as a sense of comfort, yet, it only riled you up more.

she was so deep, so insanely deep— somewhere surely no one’s ever touched before.

“wouldn’t want anyone to hear you, would you?” she’d taunt, “see you in this position..”

her hips pull back, before bullying her way back into you, at such a slowed, tedious pace— to mess with you, no doubt.

you didn’t care. you didn’t care for anything— you couldn’t, not after this. you were sure you’d never felt anything like it— it was even better then the first night at the brothel.

“i— i can’t—“ you’d cry, head pushing into the pillow to hide your face. you just.. felt so fulfilled.

“oh yes, you can.” she mumbles, eyes flickering over every expression you’d made, engraving it in her mind.

her hips were flush against yours, filling you to the brim. her body pressed against your chest, her hands moving to grip onto the pillow on either side of your head.

“oh, fuck.” she said so softly, wincing as she felt the pressure against her own clit. then, her hips pulled back, and slammed right back into you. she found out, in this new position, it also gave her pleasure.

with how sensitive she was, even the short amount of pressure could help the ache between her legs.

a gleam found her eyes.

her pace became faster, harder, like a damned piston jolting inside of you.

you bite hard into your lip, hands falling limp and falling on either side of you.

“a little longer, princess..” she huffed into your ear. “come on, you can take it.”

“no, i—!” you cry, legs clamping around her torso. “mmmph—“

“just..” she let out a sharp exhale, adjusting her hips so the base hit her clit just right. she moaned into your ear, eyes rolling back, and the sight was just so damn beautiful.

you feel the cord in your stomach grow hot, your body shaking with every thrust she made.

at this rate, you weren’t sure how much you could handle— it was too much vi, so much vi, you were going to go mad. vi, vi, vi.

“oh, vivivi—“ you whined, your body riling itself up, again and again, over and over, each thrust bringing you closer to the familiar taste of an orgasm.

you were scared. scared of the feeling, of the pure pleasure that coursed through your body each and every time. scared of that feeling, of that blinding— oh, god!

your eyes shut closed, your legs clamped around her as that familiar snap of your orgasm flooded through you.

“say my name.”

“v..” you attempted. and then, you deflate against the matress. “vio..”

“come on, you can do it.”

her hips were relentless, forcing you through your orgasm. your body aches with overstimulation, threatening to burst with each and every second.

“say my name.” she says it more directly, nearly damn demanding you to. her voice is a growl against your ear, her hips picking up in pace.

“oh, violet!” you cry, voice cracking.

vi let out a loud moan, her head pressing against your neck, whining against your skin.

and then, she deflated above you.

your body jolts and shakes with every flow of energy, every flow of pleasure. you were so fulfilled, so full, finally getting what your body had been aching for, begging for.

a proper fuck.

a proper fuck from vi.

you had vi. and that was all you needed, even if it was only for the times being.

you yelp as she flips you over, resting you on her chest. she pressed her hips deeper inside of you, and you gasp.

“n.. no! no, no more.” you cry, your head falling against her chest.

“don’t worry.” she says as she caged her arms around you, hands resting tightly on your waist. her hands run up your back. “i won’t push you.”

you let out a sigh of relief.

you fell into a silence.

it was hard for your body to recover from your orgasms when the strap-on was still inside you, pressing into that spot. with every shift she made, you felt your body rile up again.

a beat of silence.

another.

you hear your click tick. you feel her chest go up and down with her breath. you hear her heart beat.

“i missed you.”

she says this so softly. her arms tighten around your torso, her nose nuzzling into your hair.

“not your body.”

a/n. uh.. hey.. sorry this took so long LOL anyway this kid kind of rushed i apologize and it kind of sucks but blushes thank u for all the support on this little mini saga that stemmed off a one shot 🤗

taglist. @just-levyy @princesssmars @thesevi0lentdelights @kissyslut @devotedlyelectronicartisan @cheyisagirlkisser @maracujais @n1shuu @vivispace @elliecoochieeater @izu-lu @wanna1be0 @honeybunbunnie @yariany02 @dumblilb @lalalalal16 @vyvvycg @ayooooohush @slvtformilfs @the-disaster-in-waiting (some of ur tags didn’t work im sorry :( )

#fanfiction #writing #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane season 2 #vi x reader #arcane x reader #vi arcane #pit fighter vi

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