#wlw fanfics

[marilynthornhilllover]

When you call my name, do you think I’ll come running?

Chapter 8 : semi-final

A/n: Alright people it is exactly ( 21 ) days before Christmas, and as promised here is chp 8, 9 and the epilogue is in the works, i do wanna give my utmost appreciation again for everything who’s showed interest and love to this series, you guys are my world :) <3. { read chapter 7 here }

- “we’re all just walking each other home”

- “ I wasn’t afraid of death because she was all I ever wanted from life”

‘Although it’s a castle that’s had almost twenty generations live through it, for the first time in nearly a century castle Dimitrescu stood silently upon it’s hills. But it’s big stone brick structure masked the sadness, rage, divinity, despair, fear and mass destruction of those who laid within. The temperature is dropping, it’s getting colder. Winter is coming.’

‘It’s that time of the year again. On one side of the world families celebrated Christmas, opened presents, kiss under a thin piece of leaf they call a mistletoe, sing chorus’s of joy and dance with their partners and kiss their children with hope that the new year may be kind to them.’

‘I wished I was on that side of the world, where love bloomed. Instead I have to be caged within a stone castle and pray to the gods above that no one uses my weakness to their advantage — Ethan would be known for that. That stupid man thing ruined everything for mother. I wish to see her more vibrant, with natural light. That girl thing gave her light — made her…. Smile. I’ve never seen mother smile before, unless she's taking a life.’

‘She’s always so stern and utterly emotionless. No tears are ever evident in those bright yellow Romanian eyes. She hides her pain deep within, so deep it clawed it’s way in her and made her it’s host, she’s a home to her own pain. She drowns in it rather than lives with it.’

‘Even when life hurts mom still chooses to carry that heaviness for us, just so one sees her crumble from the weight of it all.’

‘I’ve once dreamt of a normal life before but never will it come so I find solace in killing those that have it all, but there is an ache in my heart for the imagined beauty of a life I haven't had the chance to have, to live, from which had been taken away, and the ache of it —it never goes away.’

“Cassandra!” The sound of Alcina’s voice thundered from downstairs startling Cassandra, her breath hitch and immediately she flew to her feet, sprinting across the room she dashed the small handheld notebook diary under her vanity before disappearing into flies.

Appearing downstairs she stood quietly before her mother. Even the weight of barring her presence alone was suffocating.

“ yes mother?” her voice cracked slightly as she greeted Alcina praying that the sound didn’t travel all the way to her mothers ears but Alcina was a sharp woman. Slightly turning her head, she studied the girl’s form from over her shoulder.

“ I’ll be in my chambers for the rest of the afternoon, I’m tired, ensure all the doors and windows are well boarded for your sisters, please when you’re finished you can probably go tend to the grape vines down in the cellar ,make sure they are at least the only healthy souls in this place…..” the raven haired woman whispered and before Cassandra knew it her mother had already disappeared from in front of her . Alcina knew that some brave soul would always sneak into the castle at this exact time when she prone to take an afternoon rest.

It’s like they knew of her daily schedule more than she even knew it, though she never noticed anything going missing she knew they had to be looking for something more important. The key…..

So she hid a fake duplicate under the lamp on the bedside table and pretended to be asleep. She waited for a while, and a while and a while more but eventually she ended up accidentally falling into deep slumber. She was tired — An old restless soul.

She was awaken by a soft thud and a quieted groan from across the room that she thought was a dream but then the sound of her balcony door clicking alerted every cell in her body that this was reality. She laid there as still as can be, listening to the shallow footsteps. There was a faint creaking in the floor boards that resulted in a sudden pause before they continued. As they got closer alcina prepared her attack. With the closest proximity of the last step towards the dresser she pulled out her claws.

“ wait! Wait! Wait! P-please don’t!” Alcina’s movement came to a quick halt when her eyes bared witness to a small fragile red haired and greened eyed girl. Alcina closed her eyes and sighed heavily. When she reopened them she swore she could see more clearly. Must be the fatigue. The girl that stood before her was shivering like a lost puppy left to a pack of wolves. Poor girl almost got shredded to pieces, but she wouldn’t have went to waste…. Alcina would have made sure of it. The young ones are always the sweetest.

But She’s not a monster.

The girl’s breathing got more shallow before she erupted into a fit of short hyperventilation and a limb shaking mess. Alcina quickly removed herself from the arms of her bed and wrapped the girl up in her embrace.

“ hush now child. What troubles you? What is your name?” She questioned and the girl replied with a faint “ Annie ”. Alcina nodded before she gently released the girl.

“ Annie ” she muttered to herself, She pondered a while before her gaze flicked up to Annie’s “what adventures include you being here, at this hour?” The girl bit her lips embarrassed and looked away, skeptical of her answer —choosing it wisely.

“ I’m apart of this survival winter club where we challenge our friends to do experimenting dares and last one to come back alive wins, mine was to steal one of your French red lipstick from your drawer” the girl whispered, looking everywhere but at the woman above her. Alcina’s eyebrow quirked before she released a small pathetic scoff.

“ so this…. Winter death club, it never occurred to you that maybe none of you would come back alive?, especially if you keep it up in this territory of mines?” Alcina asked slowly getting irritated. She looked down at the child and smirks before rising to her feet.

“ you are a lucky one dra—“ she immediately stops herself. Draga…. Such a small with a grand hidden meaning.

“ has it ever occurred to you that you’re tall as fuck lady?” Annie mutters to herself, maybe a little too loud. Breaking Alcina from her racing thoughts, her eyes snap downwards as her mouth opens in a small “o”.

“ young lady have you parents never thought you to have manners and respect for your elders!? or have you forgotten just who you stand before” Alcina says quietly but her tone doesn’t waver from it’s firmness.

“ no ma’am my parents are dead anyways, all i have is y/n” Annie states, sloughing her shoulders. Alcina’s body immediately tensed. Was she dreaming? Was she sleeping? Was she hallucinating? It’s almost been a year since you left her heart to go find wood for the fire that you ignited and never returned, she remembered and remembering was like an open wound. She wanted to go look for you like the last time when you had gone missing from her clasp but she found endless comfort in hiding.

Afraid of what she might find.

She wished you would return, even if it was as a shadow, even if it was as a dream. Alcina felt many different heartaches and lost throughout her lifetime but nothing compares to losing you and every night before she laid her head to rest the thought of you not being besides her, safe and happy tore her apart— it clung to her, it haunted her. But she knew you’d return, searching for the woman you loved, not the monster you saw.

Is there another life? Shall she awake and find all this a dream? There must be—she cannot be created for this sort of suffering but when can alcina ever say your name and have it mean only your name and not the catastrophe you cause in her weeping heart.

“ you ok?” Annie asked and alcina just nodded.

“ I’ve gotta get back before it gets dark” she spoke up again, this time louder because she saw the faraway look in Alcina’s eyes.

“ I shall accompany you back, my lycans don’t attack when I’m around because they know my scent, you can’t not die by my hands but die by my works” Alcina affirmed sarcastically, grabbing her coat from it’s rack before accompanying the girl out side and into the woods.

“ we actually don’t live far from here” Annie said breaking the silence, also hoping to lighten the mood. Alcina only nodded before she quickly drifted way in her thoughts again. Annie continued walking but kept glancing up at Alcina’s face now and then, studying her almost.

“ are you always this kind? I don’t mean it in a rude way but people talk…. They say things only imaginable in the movies…. You know the ones where there are monsters” Annie whispered almost to herself, but she quickly slapped her hand over her mouth after realizing that she let one of her deeper inner thoughts escape. Alcina’s feet stopped dead in their tracks, looking down at the girl before bending to her level. She wasn’t sure what to say…. If you were hear you’d had the right words prepared. That’s one thing alcina loved about you, your mind was a person if it’s own. She wondered for a moment if the person whose name you called was really you. Surely some people had similar names. What if it was someone else…. Maybe she was just being stupid. But you’d want her to try. To keep fighting. To keep looking within.

Alcina rose to her feet and sighed, looking ahead in the distance.

“ how much further?” She asked glancing down at Annie.

“ just a few more quarter trees” she answered. Alcina chuckled softly and shook her head looking at the girl in disbelief.

“ what?!” Annie asked pouting and subconsciously stomping her feet.

“ nothing my dear , it’s just rare to find cleaver girls like you in this……” Alcina paused, she didn’t know what anything was anymore, she was suddenly at a lost for words. she didn’t know if she should say world or lifetime or generation or earth. She just missed you. Half of her is missing, and what’s left is missing you. You were her other half.

Annie refrained from speaking and even looking at Alcina for the rest of the journey. Until the finally got to the house. It was a good size cottage. At the back was a little garden and at the front had porch chairs. The house looked modern and well kept. Alcina hummed in delight and followed the little girl inside. Upon entry Alcina noticed that it was even more spectacular. It was like those mini castles you saw in cartoons. And the aroma was majestic. The smell of plane citrus and lavender, mixed with something of olden spice.

“ she’ll probably be back later, I’m gonna go haunting for some fruits— I’m feeling berries but I’ll see, I’ll be back later, promise not to break anything?” Annie asked. And alcina just pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at the girl.

“ right…. Anyway I’m off!” She squeaked before disappearing out the door again.

“ promise not to break anything” Alcina repeated in a mocking tone, as she scoffed before getting up. Alcina couldn’t blame herself though, in the girl’s eyesight she probably had a pacifier and two ponytails, how ironic. Alcina looked around and a sign caught her eyes. It looked like Annie’s room, it was a light pink door decorated with stickers and hanged at the top was a dirty white piece of a paper that read.

‘it’s A-NEE not AN-EE, get it right bitches’

How old was this girl again? 10?, 12? Alcina thought to herself. She couldn’t help the smile that creeped up her face though. She reminded her of Daniela when she was younger. alcina sighed, she felt an familiar weight being placed on her shoulders once more, so she knew it was time for her to take her leave. on her way out she left Annie a lipstick stained napkin on the kitchen door post. the walk back to castle dimitrescu was silent, lyncans could be heard growling in the distance as the night sky grew colder.

For a moment alcina was drowning in her thoughts. Annie wasn’t a too bad of a kid. She was a brave one, she’ll give her that. But Annie’s break in was only today….. that meant that she’s not the culprit for the regular break in’s. And whoever was behind it was still searching for what ever they were looking for. Her thoughts raced and she could feel her heart beat kick out at the split thought of mother Miranda. She shook off the feeling of fear and doubt and decided to take the shorter root home.

“ Good afternoon my lady” Alcina was greeted at the door by her new head maid Fatimah, an old pridful lady who sevred almost 35 years in the military. she had a lighting like scar over her left eye and her skin was twice as pale as Alcina’s, her hair was as dark as midnight and her eyes twinkled with a shift of pure emptiness. At first glance it wasn't possible to know if she was alive or dead, for in her eyes stirred darkness and light, the contrast of both somehow always seemed to outweigh eachother, cutting her a victim of both.

“ the girls have eaten already…. without you” Fatimah spoke extending her hand out to give alcina a neat blue liquid pill and a small glass of water. alcina took the pill and placed it between her lips, pausing for a small moment before she silently agreed with herself to swallow it without the water. her body twitched as the pill pasted through her body and reacted aggressively with her cells in an instant. Inside was a raging war, the monster that laid within fought against it’s restraints every chance it got. It was clawing its way out, it was killing her slowly. Alcina’s hand flew to Fatimah’s wrist for stability, knocking the glass out of her hands causing it to crash loudly on the floor beneath them.

“ i’ll have the buttler prepare you a visit to get more pills from Madam Leila l'assistant first thing tomorrow. it’s either that or you pay….. the other one a visit, the choice is yours, time is of the essence and if wasted you will not be guaranteed a safe transfer of power between this thing inside you any longer” Fatimah whispered, now holding alcina with her last remaining ounce of strength. Alcina groans as her body faills her completely as she falls helplessly to the ground.

“my lady let me help you-” she reaches her hand out to help alcina but she swats her hand away, and stumbles to her feet by herself.

“ this is the price i must pay, it has no cure ,someone else has to pay the price for me, so I’m afraid you cannot help me” Alcina growls again before her neck tics, and her arm twitches as discolored veins can be seen quickly passing through the underneath of her thin pale skin. she whimpers before walking pass Fatimah to make her way upstairs to her chambers. But before she got far enough away Fatimah reached out and grabbed her upper arm.

“ it doesn't have to be this way, my lady” she uttered with a heavy heart, sighing softly.

“ I'm afraid that is the way it must be” were the last two sentences exchanged between the two women before alcina finally disappeared into the distance. when she got to her room she was about to turn the knob when she realized that the door was already slightly ajar. her face contorted into confusion and panic nestled inside her.

pushing the door open her heart dropped and she felt for the first time fear taking over her body, the fear she saw on her vicims face was now running through her veins and it’s been living inside her since you failed to return but now you were sitting on the edge of her bed. Dressed in all black, you had cut your hair and dyed it jet black, your skin was white with tiny evident scars on your neck, and oh how dead your eyes looked, they no longer held the spark that gave alcina the strength to go on even now.

“ we need to talk my love….” were the only words you trusted yourself to say because you felt as if you were to have said more you would fall apart before her and all of this trauma would be for nothing. Alcina felt sick, physically sick, maybe emotionally too. She didn’t want to believe that you were actually alive, at least part of her. Because forcing herself to believe that you were dead had already brought her a sense of comfort that she wanted to hold on to. But there was still a part of her that clung to the memories of you with all the remaining living cells and functioning cells she had left.

Even though your entire body was shaking with adrenaline you somehow managed to stand to your feet and you fought hard to keep your tears at bay.

“ aren’t you going say anything?” Your voice was barely above a whisper and you could feel the blood rushing to your veins as you heard the thudding of your heart beat in your ears. You saw the way her face scrunched up as her hand quickly made it’s way to her stomach as the other clutched the nearest surface for stability. The room fell silent for a while and the tension began to rise but before you could speak up again she beats you to it.

“ I didn’t kill her— y- your mother, I didn’t kill her draga” she muttered weakly before she slowly started approaching you. You didn’t know why you released a deep sigh, you knew that already— well you had a feeling but hearing her say it gave you the reassurance your soul needed.

“ but— I’m dying my love” what…. She’s what…. It— no it’s not possible It can’t be, hearing that was like a brutal kick to the gut. Alcina probably saw the pain of the realization slowly making it’s way to your brain so that’s when she held your face into the palm of her hands and whispered it again.

“ no. No!, no stop it, stop lying to me!” You grabbed her wrist and shoved her away but she didn’t move, she just stood there…. Clearly in pain from something internal, she was suffering…. Right in front of you too, alcina was known as a woman of hiding her pain but now….. You shook your head again in disbelief , you refused to believe that the love of your life was dying. Suddenly your whole world fell apart again. Your chest hurt and everytime you inhaled a sharp burning sensation took over your body and your vision went weak from the tears that began to flow from your eyes uncontrollably.

You felt alcina wrap her arms around you and cradled your head as she swayed your back and forth gently. You sobbed into her neck and held onto her for dear life, because who knows this might just be the last time you do. Alcina pulled back and pressed a gentle kiss against your lips and softly caressed your cheek.

“ we need to talk” she urged, but this time it’s she that’s saying it to you, and hers sounded more serious. She intertwined her hands in yours and quickly guided you out of the room and down through a hallway you’ve never seen before. She leads you to this big stone like sliver door and knocks three times, after a while the door opens by itself, she guides you through and you almost vomit at the stench that filled your nose. You pulled back a little bit Alcina gave you a firm tug that had you continuing to follow her down some narrow stairs and into a dungeon like room.

The room was barely lit with a dozen candles and in the center laid a big table. Around were tall shelves that reached all the way up to the ceiling sunlight window. It was old and Erie. You sneezed two times when alcina dusted off a big giant book and placed it on the table in front of the both of you . She gave you a weak smile before she then had the fire place roaring to life, adding some warmth to the room. And of course more light because two bats angrily flew pass the both of you and ventured to soar higher up into the ceiling.

Alcina patted the stool beside her and you immediately followed suit and sat beside her. You looked at the table to see little lines and mark engraved in it and the closer you looked the more you realized that it was a map of Romania and what looked like a big under tunnel leading to another big city that had it’s own map.

You were broken from your trance when you hear alcinas voice.

“ vremurile străvechi “ she croaked, it’s been a while since you heard her speak Romanian, and she’s still as good as you remembered.

“ what’s that?” you questioned, turning to face her. She gestured her head towards the book and you glanced at it. It was a huge book nonetheless, dusty, it was green but the color was faded to a light grayish green but then name “ the ancient times” was still written on it in gold.

“ it’s the name the black god gave to this book…. It has everything anyone ever needs to know about ancient Romania, before the Cold War, the Spanish flu, the blood wars, the red plague and the stone black ages.” You gasped clearly intrigued as she went on.

“ this book is our history. For what happened and for what is to come….” She mumbled, quickly glancing away before she cleared her throat.

“ I’m gonna say some stuff and I need you to pay close attention to every word that comes out of my mouth ok?” She pressed urgently and you nodded quickly in confirmation, searching her eyes for clarity. She sighed and sat up straight.

“ I got infected when the Cold War had broken out, the disease I suffer from is called mortem in Latin….. it means death, it’s in the ancient book it’s known as the Arachno-arthropod. I got infected from a lycan bite and was left to die, but Miranda had made a promise to my mother to protect me at all cost so she preserved my life and turned me into this….. thing that lives within the walls of me. Which causes me to have Porphyria.” She pauses a while and allows the information to register into your brain, she searches your eyes for comprehension and when she found a hint of it she continued.

“ this thing…. Doesn’t have a name, it was formed by the Cadou mold Miranda used on me as an experiment. All I know is that it’s a parasitic dragon that’s blood hungry and once out…. All of humanity will be lost. It kills everything in it’s path…. It’s been sleeping for as long as I’ve become immortal, Miranda made sure of that. But now it seeks something far more than I can provide, and I’m uncertain if this is Miranda’s doing to make me hurt you. it’s eating it’s way out of me, and soon—“ you close your eyes and bring one your hands to her chest in defense.

“ stop, please” you whispered and you hear her shuffle against you. She gently grabs hold of your hand and brings it to her lips, pressing her lips against them. You remove your hand from your face and sighed. You managed to recollect yourself then you gave her the permission to continue speaking.

“ this book, it’s Latin name is antiquis” she opens the book and flips through a couple pages before her action comes to a halt. She stops on page LXXVII, there’s a picture of a man with a black hawk like mask dressed in an enveloped slender black cloak. And beside him stood the most beautiful woman you’ve honestly ever seen. Alcina pauses for a moment to recollect her thoughts or to probably find the right words to explain all this catastrophe to you. While she’s doing this you read along— well try to at least because everything seems to be written in either what looks like Latin and Romanian.

But you did caught hold of some things like dates such as 1915 and some other stuff like names like Ayssane and Celiancis.

“ the black god was married to a common village woman who he held captive during the blood war, rumor had it they fell madly in love and got married at the black lake where she was bathed in half her family’s blood. To unite them— but before I get to that I’d like to start from the beginning”

“ before the black god was his mother, the power queen, she was multi called, Celiancis in Latin, she’s like those organisms who doesn’t needed the other sex to make offsprings. And had the black gods and sadly a sunset baby girl, the black god was unable to have children due to his mother being celiancis so he had an affair with mother Miranda….. who later killed his wife to become the final mistress— and there’s a rule in this book it goes, ‘if your mistress kills your pupa all power must be transferred to the mistress’, so that’s the backstory of mother Miranda’s powers, she’s always been the way she is now… destroying to achieve” she zones out for a split second before she flips a couple pages.

“ before he died though he used his sisters blood to procreate a son, king solem, who married many village women and had many children for, some he never knew and never claimed, his throne only had two heirs after his death— he didn’t rule for very long. Ethan winters is one of his sons…..” your eyes snap up to hers and you could see the pain and anger in her eyes. It all made sense now, that’s why she hated Ethan so much. And always protect the girls from him— that’s why he knows so much about the girls and his way around and in castle Dimitrescu, but things still don’t add up, why would Ethan want to kill the girls if they are distant relatives?. As if Alcina could read your thoughts she spoke up.

“ Ethan believes that because he’s related to the black god by probably 0.1% of dna because again the black god made his father using his sisters blood and some how changed his son solemns entire dna and made him reproductive, so he thinks he’s entitled to some claim and I’m what’s stopping him from achieving that— because I’m from the origin Cesare family of ancient Italy and if you walk far enough down my family tree I’m also connected with family ties leading to the black god” Alcina stops abruptly and chuckles when she sees your trained and judgy expression.

“ anyway, before he too died, he also used his aunts blood to create daughters….. Stefania and ellianja, but history remembers them as the blood sisters or the dark sisters works fine too” now it’s you that’s pausing to chuckle.

“ I guess that name was common in Ancient Romania then, isn’t that the girls nickname?” You ask and alcina nods in confirmation.

“ that’s because mother Miranda used their blood to create Bella, Daniella and Cassandra, and the reason they have that coldness weakness is because stefania and Ella originally died from being frozen in the black lake by their own father” she states, your eye brow quirked and you tilted your head in confusion.

“ so he created daughters just to kill them? That doesn’t make sense why did he do that?” You ask she she shrugged.

“ the book doesn’t say my dear, no one it history has an answer to that” she says and looks between you and the book.

“ this book has information no one should ever bare witness too, and if held captive in the wrong arms…. War will break out again.” Alcina shifts uncomfortably in her seat and clears her throat. You didn’t know why she was telling you all this now, but you were grateful it’s a sign of trust and she’s taking her time to be honest with you, you cherished that. But then something in you clicked.

“ wait… if there was two sisters how did Miranda make three duplicate organisms?” You ask, you watch as alcina sucks in a steady breath as if she needed to brace herself and broke eye contact with you for a moment before she returns your compelling stare. She suddenly looked so unbearable, uncomfortably and stiff, as if you had said something so terribly out of line. And to be honest it scared the shit out of you. She responded before you had the time to reask the question.

“ eventually it was just Stefania and Ella but then after centuries of having her blood used to procreate live offsprings— I don’t know how to explain this but her parasite form found a host and her name became eloane, eventually her soul was laid to rest but she had a daughter, by herself and her name was rata, but pronounced as Rafa. Rata had a daughter named Berlin….. the book says the fifth girl offspring created from an celiancis produce will bring the black goddess or rather the power queen back to life in the final village battle if she drank one of her relatives blood or the blood of the mortem beast, but that’s if the village is under attack by another entity, which only one stands and her name is mother Miranda…..”

“ y/n you are that fifth offspring, Berlin was your mother” you breathed in sharply as your hand flew to your chest, almost collapsing over the stool you felt your heart physically leap out of your chest in a high dive. What did she just say to you? For a moment you wanted it all to be a dream, this, her what she just said, you so badly wanted to wake the fuck up because for a moment you forgot how to breath, you were still alive but you heart had long stopped pumping.

Everything was crystal clear now, that’s why for every one of your birthdays when you asked your mother if your dad was ever going to come back home she made up some dumb excuse about him being in the military and why she always kept you from going too far up north, or why she even forbidded you from going even remotely near south boundaries of castle Dimitrescu in the first place. She lied to you…. Even when you asked her, even when you tried to understand her. She chose to continue to lie to your face, but maybe she didn’t know what to say because she probably didn’t understand it herself.

Alcina did say no one has ever been able to get information from the book so maybe she didn’t even have the correct information to tell you.

Maybe she found out just as how are now. Maybe she was just doing what’s best for you by protecting you. Because now you understood because now it tore you apart. Your ears were ringing and you could see little colorful lights swirling in your vision as your body fell limb against her. You could hear her muttering stuff to you and her hands in your hair but it didn’t register into your brain. You felt nothing but pain and agony.

—————-

After what felt like eternity alcina had finally managed to get you out of shock. She had you pressed up against the bed post with two pillows behind you and two under your body. She gently pressed a wet cloth on your forehead to keep down your fever.

“ people don’t hear news like this everyday” she whispered, Removing the cloth to damp it again before placing it back to your forehead. You peak one eye open then open up the both of them to look at her. You reached out and took her hand in yours and she gave it a firm reassuring squeeze. Your heart felt heavy, like the weight of the world rested upon it. And you desperately wanted to be free from all this misery.

“ thank you for being honest with me alcina” you spoke softly. She just sat there staring at you before her eyes landed on your lips and she caved. She leaned down and placed a kiss on your lips and when she pulled back you grabbed her head and pulled her back in, savoring the taste of her. She pulled away and removed the cloth from your forehead again.

“ sometimes i grieve the person I could be, i feel like I’m everything and everyone but myself and it hurts, loving everyone but myself hurts, loving y—you hurts” you gently whisper but your voice cracked at its exhaustion. for a moment the room fell silent as the both of you got lost in each others eyes. Where all the storms of pain, grief and betrayal laid.

“ sometimes we suffer because we were born too stuffer, Sometimes suffering is just suffering. It doesn't make you stronger. It doesn't build character. It only hurts” you could hear the pain in Alcinas voice and for some reason it doesn’t bother you anymore. It doesn’t break your heart anymore.

“ so how do you deal with it? The pain of knowing” you asked sitting up better against the cold wooden bed post.

“ you have to be able to find solace in it” she simply states and you give her a weak smile to which she mirrors, but deep down you could see that there something she was hiding something that still clung to her. But you chose to leave her alone, she had already shared enough and as much as knowing the truth hurts, knowing her and getting to meet her will never cause your heart to crumble to pieces — that your sure of.

“ I leave tomorrow at dawn to go into the town to get medicine” she states. You nodded in understandment. She disappeared into the bathroom and you were left to wonder in the haze your own thoughts. This all cannot be happening. It just can’t, ever since alcina came into your life you’ve be suffocated in some way, strangled and scared in more than one ways imaginable. Loving her hurts but you enjoyed the pain because she’s the only one who’s ever truly cared. You don’t know what tomorrow holds but for tonight you chose to sleep with simplicity, if anything were to happen, no grave would hold your body down, you’d always find your way back home to her.

TAGLIST

@willalovexx @ilovehugslikealotalot @milkiedimitrescu @willow-nox @enchantressb @trexsuit @vampire-s61914 @snkskyler15 @milkkyshakeez @luisa323 @moistblobfish

[waiting4winnie]

Welcome To My Sapphic Serenades.

All my work is 18+. You can make requests. I am a twenty-five year old black woman who is Hispanic. Who I write for is listed below.

Winnie • Miller's Girl

Gabi Mosely • Found

Olivia Benson • law & order svu

Casey Novak • law & order svu

Alexandra Cabot • law & order svu

Sarah Cameron • Outerbanks

Amy Dunne • Gone Girl

Bella Swan• Twilight

Rosalie Hale • Twilight

Clarice Starling • Hannibal

Dr Vera Gorski • Sucker Punch

Dani Nunez • The L Word: Generation Q

Shane • The L Word

Sabrina Carpenter

Meg thee stallion

Chloe Bailey Characters

[lightvixxen]

IT MAY BE 2AM BUT IDC IM IN A MOOD

its sapphic sunday! send me concepts/thots about Robin, Nancy, Chrissy and Ellie (TLOU2)! Smut and Fluff only!

[loaksky]

— come a little closer

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

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

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

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

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

main masterlist | arcane masterlist

VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it is.

It all starts at The Afterparty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you hum passively.

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

The step creaks under pure muscle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“________,” you offer.

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

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

You nod once.

“Neuroscience, fourth year.”

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

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

Vi’s floored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

Vi decides that she needs to see you again.

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

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

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

“So?”

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

Her teammate snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Violet,” you acknowledge.

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

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

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

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

You don’t even bat an eye.

“I did.”

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

“I am.”

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

Especially when you look up at her like that.

You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.

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

Vi could melt.

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

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

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

“So I can get paid?” you fill in.

“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”

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

“You’re fucking joking!”

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

“Maddie,” you whisper.

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

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

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

You look around in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”

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

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t start.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maddie,” you warn.

“Love you, see you at home!”

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

“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

“Am I going too fast?”

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

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

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

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

You decide to fold your cards first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You refresh for good measure.

“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.

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

“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”

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

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

“Violet.”

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

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

“V—”

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

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

Vi’s smile is crooked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”

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

“N-No,” you stammer.

“Great, see you tomorrow?“

You swallow.

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

Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.

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

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

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

“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”

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

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

“Jack shit,” she laughs.

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

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

“Sure, anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hungry?” you ask.

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

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

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

“Not since breakfast,” you admit.

“You like pizza?”

“Only the good kind,” you challenge.

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

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

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

You shake your head.

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

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

Vi’s desperate for more.

“As in?”

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

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

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

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

And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.

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

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

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

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

“God, marry me now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like cigarettes?

no, weed, dummy.

Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.

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

And then she gets the invite.

Ellie swears it’s her in.

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

“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi raises a brow.

“My cat,” you clarify.

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

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

Cute. So fucking cute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vi,” you whimper.

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

She resists a smile.

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

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

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

Test the waters, cop a feel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A small little laugh puffs from your lips.

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

Vi deflates in relief.

“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”

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

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

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

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

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

5—4.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe,” you whisper finally.

“Maybe what?” Vi teases.

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

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

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

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

You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.

“Puck off.”

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

“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.

You whine.

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

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

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

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

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

Violet only snorts a laugh.

“Whatever, good game,” she calls.

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

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

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

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

“Leave it.”

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

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

She winks.

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

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

You should come, I can pick you up.

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

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

“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You breath out a little laugh.

“Here I am.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”

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

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

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

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

I wanted you to want me.

“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” she hums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh.”

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

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

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

It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.

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

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

Ellie laughs benevolently.

“You have a cat?”

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

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

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

“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”

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

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

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

“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”

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

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

This is getting fucking ridiculous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.

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

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

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

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

A nervous giggle bubbles.

“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.

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

You bite.

“If you ask nicely.”

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

“Can I?” she husks.

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

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”

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

“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”

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

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

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

You’re staring, hard.

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

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

You relax a fraction.

“Everything okay?”

You smile, something small.

“Yeah, good,” you assure her.

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

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

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

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

“Like right now?”

You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.

“Like right now,” you confirm.

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

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

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

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

Your heartbeat skips.

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

Vi’s grinning wide.

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

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

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

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

You think for a moment before shaking your head.

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

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

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

She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re running.

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

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

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

Her expression screws up.

everything ok? can i do anything for you?

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

I’ll see you next week.

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

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

She sighs. Hard.

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

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

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

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

Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?

.

.

.

Then you add, We can smoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like?”

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

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

“Uh-huh?”

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

“But?”

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

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

“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.

“Violet,” you sigh.

“Abuse what?” she husks.

“I know you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She clambers back into the driver’s seat.

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

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

Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.

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

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

Your breath catches.

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

“Why?”

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

It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.

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

“You really believe that?”

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

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

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

Vi’s brows furrow.

“You’re what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.

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

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

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

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

violet <3: can i see you this week?

You open Instagram.

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

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

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

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

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

The bracelet.

Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.

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

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

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

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

Ellie’s face scrunches.

“Huh?”

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

Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxxx: i really miss you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.

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

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You humph.

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

“And that’s my problem because...?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Violet’s in love with you.”

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

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

Ellie’s brows shoot up.

“Whoa, what?”

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

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

“There’s a video.”

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

Her reaches a palm out.

Show me.

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

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

“She’s fucking dead.”

When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7—5.

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

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

Her bracelet.

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

The crowd cheers.

Fight, fight fight!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” you squeak.

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

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

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

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

You swallow.

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t,” you admit.

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

“We could start off with the obvious.”

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

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

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

“Vi.”

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

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

“Pl—ease.”

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

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

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”

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

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

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

“Maddie home?” she breathes.

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

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

“Oh–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Vi.”

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

“F...F—uck,” you sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cry out when her fingers slip out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nnngh, fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything except Vi.

Oh, you think to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

“Babe?”

Your gaze snaps up.

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

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

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

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

“Thought you left,��� you croak.

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

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

You whine.

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

Violet groans.

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.

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

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

neng © 2024

[hypnagogics]

You should definitely write for Vi bc oml she’s so fine 😮‍💨

DO U EVEN KNOW THE WAY IM TWEAKIN OVER HER like omfg. my poor moots getting bombarded with fucking piles of edits upon edits of her and my thirsty comments...yeah...i gotchu, you don't needa ask me twice ♡ tbh feel like this is one of the better short smutty thingies i've written, lol. it was really fun.

nsfw drabble—dom!vi + spit kink. originally i was gonna make this three smaller blurbs, but decided to just smash em all into one longer drabble situation. cw: praise, bossy vi, finger sucking (r! receiving), oral (v! receiving), vi bush mention RAHHHH, yapping... yk how it is by now. + 1.1k wc.

you were gazing up at her with watery eyes, kneeling by vi's seated form, trying your hardest to ignore the deafening ache between your thighs.

vi is loving, and she knows how to treat you well. she always provides you with tons of care and happiness, however—she also possesses a dirty side to her.

a bandaged hand swipes at the bottom of your chin, her thumb prodding at your pursed lips. there was a smirk playing on her scarred lips, her powder-blue eyes twinkling with pure lust at the scenario playing out before her.

“open.” she says roughly, and who are you to deny her? you were willing to take anything she'd give you, so you obediently part your lips, allowing her to fully push her digit inside your hot mouth.

almost instinctively, your puffy lips wrap around her thumb and you begin to suck, your eyes rolling ever so slightly at the taste of her salted skin. she hums, “atta girl—keep going. just like that, until i say you can stop, alright?” you open your eyes and nod in approval, wishing to commit her expression to memory.

see, vi wasn't one of those mean, degrading doms with an icy exterior who get off on hurting you an excessive amount, and in moments like this where she's got you in a position of submission under her, her natural “switchiness” peeks through. you see it in the way her throat bobs as she swallows, her unsteady, shallow breathing coming out in rasps, and the distinct furrow in her flaming brows while she struggles to maintain eye contact. regardless, you both enjoy toying around with various dynamics, she makes it fun.

you get lost in a daydream while staring into her eyes, but are startled out of it when she strongly presses down on your wet tongue, and pushes her thumb further inward until you gag.

it surprises you, but you know she would never overdo things. tears well up in your eyes, their presence only widening her voracious grin.

then she soothes, her now-soft voice caressing your ears, “exactly, just like that. good job, baby. you're so perfect f'me—yeahhh.” she continues rolling her thumb around your wet muscle, every so often dragging the pad of her finger over the ridges of your teeth, then pushing experimentally up against the roof of your mouth.

saliva has been gathering all this time, and she hasn't given you a moment to swallow it, so it dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin, decorating your chest as it slides down your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps along its path.

her face gets impossibly redder as she observes the sight, still while playing with—rather, using—your mouth. her movements speed up a touch, and she triggers your gag reflex once more before abruptly stopping. she pulls her hand out of your mouth with a pop, and throws her head back as she tries to steady her breathing. “you're so fuckin’ hot, god—i can't.”

you smile up at her, reveling in her break of character and being pleased with yourself. she's panting, and examines her hand; it's shiny and dripping with your spit, she's mesmerized by the sparkle it emits in the low light. her periwinkle eyes gloss over and suddenly there's a flash of fabric flying by, and you realize she has undressed herself in one fluid motion, throwing everything on her bottom half across the room. she’s so desperate, you can’t help but sneer at her horny distress, even though technically you were the one being overpowered.

your eyes drop, meeting a wild tangle of vermillion and crimson, her muscular thighs separating east and west to make space for you.

she leans back and gently nudges your head towards her tender, drooling core, her chest heaving at the way you're just melting under her touch. turning to jelly, you let her guide you where she wants. needs.

vi groans quietly, her breath hitching, “c'mon angel, you know what to do.” and you very much did. with her assistance, you advance and bury your face in her center, tongue finding her scarlet pearl—twitching and ready for you to obliterate.

you flick, you suck, and you moan at the heavenly taste of her essence, revel in the noises she's producing above you. she pulls you further in, bucking her hips frantically to chase your skilled mouth. you push your tongue inside her quivering hole as far as it'll go, taking as much of her in your mouth as you can, and ignoring the lack of oxygen you're experiencing—you would be more than pleased if you were lucky enough to die this way.

she's watching you intently through half-lidded eyes, chewing on her rosy lips. when you meet her gaze from in between her legs, her face contorts and she releases a guttural whine, more slick leaking from her and filling your hard-at-work mouth.

her grip on your hair tightens and her abs tense, providing you with an image that's worthy of a climax just on its own. her head falls back, her lips parting to allow for pretty, high pitched and pathetic pleas to grace your ears. “ple—please baby, just like that. you're so fuckin' good, don't you dare stop—ah!”

without any warning she makes a vulgar mess of your face, the vice grip on your crown causing you to wince, but just as she requests, you don't dare move.

you tilt your head to get a better angle, practically making out with her swollen pussy. you drink up her cum, the near-sickly sweetness clouding your mind, coating your thoughts in a drunken haze.

the high is rippling through her at such an intensity her loud moans are replaced with pornographic whimpers, the sensations utterly ruining her. she squirms and arches, caging your head between her thighs until she gasps.

"hah—okay, okay, oh—fuck.” she stutters while she pushes you away, the tremor in her body evident. you sit back and examine your work, feeling proud of yourself, her fucked-out condition proving you did a good job.

she's sprawled on the bed like a starfish, still trying to slow her racing heart but manages to chuckle, basking in the aftershocks of a mind-melting session.

her words are slurred, yet satisfied. “did so good, that was so good…love your mouth s'much babe.”

you guffaw, and throw at her through chuckles, “i know, i am the best.” that sends her into a fit of giggles as well, and once she's calmed down she confirms.

“yeah, you really are.”

thanks for reading! comments, reblogs, and asks are appreciated more than you know ♡ if you'd like to be tagged in future works, fill out the form here! until next time ;)

@andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ne @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @mascdom @ashaynep @angelynn-nicole @wilddrown @aylabv02108 @lonelyfooryouonly @melsmunch @e11williamsgf @spncrrdlvr @flowrmoth

[d-z20]

Neighbourly Care (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You come home from college for the weekend but your parents forgot and you are locked out of the house. Luckily your neighbour finds you and they let you stay at theirs

-OR-

You think the neighbours are MILFs and the evening is filled with flirting and then you get to be fucked by each of them and then by both of them.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, top Agatha, top Rio, small mention of Mommy kink, strap-on use, oral, there might be more idk it's very horny

Words: 4.6k of pure horniness

A/N: I think I blacked out while writing this, its so horny. It's inspired by this request and hasn't even been proofread yet so enjoy the horny mess of it

Tagging @aceday because I said I would

AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Master List

The rain falls in relentless sheets, soaking through your jacket, and the rest of your clothes, for that matter. Each step squelches as you trudge the familiar path from the train station to your parents’ house. By the time you reach the front door, your teeth are chattering, and your clothes cling damply to your skin. A sigh escapes your lips as you grasp the handle and pull—only to find it locked. Your heart sinks.

The memory hits you like a slap: the locks were changed after they had a break-in a few months ago. Of course, you’ve forgotten to get a new key. Fumbling through your bag, you pray for some miracle, some overlooked backdoor key, but your search turns up nothing except your phone. A quick glance at the screen confirms no messages from your parents and no backup plan. Frustration mingles with despair as you stand shivering, wondering what to do next.

Footsteps break through the downpour, and you turn to see Agatha, your parents’ neighbour, crossing her lawn towards you. You’ve exchanged pleasantries with her and her wife, Rio, a few times during your trips home from college. They’re always friendly, but you’ve never spoken beyond casual greetings. That hasn’t stopped you from admiring them, though—two stunning women, each with their own magnetic charm. And yes, you’ve labelled them MILFs in your mind more than once. Their son, Nicholas, is long gone from the nest, leaving the two women to embody a kind of confident, enviable domesticity.

Agatha snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts with a two short words. “Locked out?” Her voice is smooth, with a hint of amusement as she tilts her head and surveys you.

You open your mouth to respond, but your gaze catches on her appearance. She’s wearing tight black leggings that cling to her toned legs and a cropped gym shirt that reveals her navel, where a bead of rainwater trails tantalisingly down her skin. Her wavy brown hair is piled into a loose bun, though a few strands cling to her flushed neck. A sheen of sweat glistens on her skin—evidence of a workout she must have just finished. Your thoughts betray you as your eyes linger on the curve of her waist, imagining what it might feel like to touch her. A sudden heat rising to your cheeks.

Her blue eyes lock onto yours, a curious smile curving her lips. “Hey, you alright?” she asks, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You stammer an explanation about the locked door, your forgotten key, and your parents’ apparent absence. Agatha’s expression softens, and she motions towards her house with a nod. “Come on, you’re soaked to the bone. You’ll catch your death standing out here.”

For a moment, you hesitate. Accepting her offer feels… intimate somehow. But the alternative is staying in the cold rain, and the way her gaze lingers on you makes warmth crawl up your spine. You nod and follow her.

Agatha’s house is welcoming, with a faint scent of flowers mingling with something earthy and grounding. She grabs a towel from a nearby linen closet and tosses it to you with a playful grin. “Guest bathroom’s down here,” she says. “You’ve got two options: strip down and warm up, or stay wet and risk getting sick.”

Your eyes widen, startled by her bluntness. Agatha leans casually against the doorframe, smirking at your reaction. “Relax,” she teases. “I’ll get you something dry to wear.” And with that, she saunters away, not bothering to close the door fully behind her. Her confidence leaves you both flustered and intrigued.

Inside the bathroom, you peel off your soaked clothes, debating how much to remove. In the end, you leave your underwear on, wrapping yourself tightly in the towel. When Agatha returns, she hands you a pair of shorts and a blue plaid shirt. Her sharp eyes sweep over you, noting your wet underclothes with a tut. “All of it,” she says pointedly. “You’re dripping everywhere.” Before you can respond, she adds, “I’m off to shower. Rio should be back soon.” She turns and leaves, her movements fluid and deliberate, leaving the door ajar once more.

Feeling the weight of her words and gaze, you strip completely, your damp underwear joining the rest of your clothes in a soggy pile. You’re still mulling over what to do with them when the door opens suddenly. Rio steps in, her dark eyes widening as they land on you.

“Oh—sorry,” she says, though her gaze lingers a beat too long before she averts her eyes. “Didn’t know we had company. Agatha didn’t mention it.” Her tone is low and smooth, carrying a quiet amusement that makes your skin prickle.

You stammer an apology, clutching the towel back around you. Rio’s lips quirk upward in a faint smirk as she backs out of the bathroom, but not before you catch the way her gaze sweeps over you. Your heart pounds in your chest long after the door closes.

You quickly shower to warm up, but there’s no cleaning the thoughts inside your head. Memories of Rio’s lingering gaze replay in your mind, but they’re quickly overtaken by images of Agatha. You can’t help imagining what she looks like under the water, her skin glistening with steam, her hair sticking to her neck. The thought is startling, and you shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the fantasy.

After calming your racing mind, you dress in the clothes Agatha left and leave the guest bathroom to find the two women.

You find them both in the kitchen; the warmth a welcome contrast to the chill that had soaked through your bones earlier. Agatha moves fluidly between the stove and counter, stirring something fragrant in a pot that smells like tomatoes, garlic, and fresh herbs. Rio, meanwhile, arranges a bouquet of vibrant flowers in a vase with meticulous care, her strong hands working delicately to adjust the stems.

It’s domestic, serene even, but there’s an undeniable electricity in the air—one you can’t ignore under the weight of their lingering glances.

Agatha’s grin spreads when she notices you lingering awkwardly near the door. “Looking good,” she says, her eyes flickering over the borrowed clothes. The oversized plaid shirt hangs slightly off your shoulder, and her gaze lingers on the exposed line of your clavicle.

You fidget, tugging the fabric up, but Agatha only smirks, stirring the pot with a deliberate slowness.

Rio rolls her eyes, though there’s a faint curve to her lips. “Ignore her,” she says, her voice laced with playful exasperation. “She loves making people squirm.”

You manage a sheepish laugh, but it does little to quell the heat climbing up your neck. Agatha recounts your lockout predicament to Rio with the same teasing edge, her tone carrying just enough detail to make your situation sound both pitiful and amusing.

Rio hums in understanding, sliding the last flower into place and stepping back to admire her work. “Stay for dinner,” she offers, her dark eyes soft with genuine warmth. “It’s the least we can do.”

Agatha winks at you over her shoulder. “Yeah, we can’t have you heading back out into the rain getting all wet again—the downpour outside hasn’t let up.”

You nod, accepting their offer, though the way they exchange glances—subtle but charged—makes your stomach twist with something you can’t quite name.

As you sit at the dining table, Rio who is opposite you, starts pouring red wine into three glasses; her movements fluid and confident. Agatha joins you a moment later, setting down plates of steaming pasta and sitting next to her wife. “Hope you like red,” she says, her teasing smile returning.

The conversation flows easily over dinner; their attention split between each other and you. They ask about college life, your plans for the future, and your family; their questions laced with genuine interest and just enough flirtation to keep you on edge

When you have all finished, Rio stands to clear the plates, leaning close as she reaches for yours. The proximity is dizzying, her chest brushing your shoulder, and you catch a faint, earthy scent clinging to her skin.

Agatha doesn’t miss a beat, her eyes flickering between you and Rio, her expression smouldering. She doesn’t say a word, but the intensity in her gaze speaks volumes.

When you offer to help with the dishes, they wave you off with a chorus of “nonsense.” Agatha’s smile turns wicked. “Besides, we were supposed to have a movie date night tonight. You should join us—it’d be a shame to let all this wine go to waste.”

The phrasing makes you pause, but before you can think too much about it, Agatha ushers you into the living room. 

The room is cozy, bathed in the soft glow of lamps. Rio claims the armchair with an almost feline grace, crossing her legs and leaning back with a glass of wine in hand. Agatha sprawls on the couch, her posture open and inviting. She pats the seat beside her with an easy smile.

You hesitate for half a second before sitting on the far end of the couch, hyper-aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you.

The movie starts, but it’s impossible to focus. Agatha stretches her arm along the back of the couch, her fingers brushing your shoulder lightly. The touch is casual, almost innocent, but it sends your pulse racing.

She leans over at one point to refill your glass, her chest grazing your arm. The heat of her proximity is overwhelming, and you’re sure Rio notices the way you stiffen. There’s a flicker of amusement in her dark eyes as she takes a sip from her own glass, her lips quirking into a faint smirk.

As the movie progresses, the conversation becomes more pointed. They ask if you’re seeing anyone, and when you choke on your wine at the question, Agatha laughs—a low, throaty sound that makes your stomach flutter.

“No,” you mumble, setting your glass down a little too quickly.

“Well, that’s a shame,” she says, her hand brushing your knee lightly. The weight of her touch lingers, even as she pulls away. “I was sure a pretty little thing like you would get snapped up in a heartbeat.”

Rio arches a brow at her wife. “Don’t scare them off, Aggie.”

“What? I’m just being friendly,” Agatha replies, her tone innocent but her smirk anything but.

The conversation continues, peppered with light touches and teasing remarks that leave your heart racing.

By the time the credits roll, the tension in the room is palpable. Rio sets her glass down and stretches, her movements deliberate as she rises from the chair. “What do you think of married life, Aggie?” she asks, her voice light but carrying an edge. “Think we make a good team?”

Agatha’s gaze flicks to you, her lips curving into a smirk. “The best. But sometimes, it’s nice to mix things up.”

The comment hangs in the air, heavy with implication. Your heart pounds as you glance between them, unsure if you’re imagining the tension or if they’re deliberately baiting you—and each other.

You nervously check your phone, hoping for a message from your parents saying they’re home and wondering where you are. Instead, you find a single text: “Out of town for the weekend, hope you’re doing okay!”

You stare at the screen in disbelief, your stomach sinking.

“Everything alright?” Rio asks, noticing your expression.

"They… forgot I was coming,” you admit, feeling foolish. “They’re away for the weekend.”

Agatha clicks her tongue, feigning shock. “Terrible parenting, really. Lucky for you, we’re not going anywhere.”

Rio nods, her tone reassuring. “You can stay here. We’ll take good care of you.”

There’s something about the way she says it—gentle but with a sharp edge—that makes your breath hitch. You thank them profusely, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks as they show you to the guest room.

They leave you alone for a bit, both going to change. You sit on the bed, your thoughts racing. Their lingering glances replay in your mind, stirring something restless and uncertain. Without thinking, you pick up your phone and start searching their names on social media. Your heart beats faster as you hope for a bikini picture or something—anything—that might help you satisfy the growing ache of desire.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly set the phone aside. Rio steps in, holding a phone charger. “Thought you might need this,” she says, her voice soft and her gaze steady.

“Thanks,” you manage, taking it from her. Her fingers brush yours for a fleeting moment, and she lingers by the door before slipping away.

Did she know what you were about to do?

A short while later, there’s another knock. This time, it’s Agatha, holding a glass of water. “Thought you might be thirsty,” she says, her tone lighter, almost teasing.

Surely she hears how that sounds, right?

Her fingers graze yours as she hands it to you, and the warmth of her touch lingers long after she leaves. You sit on the edge of the bed, clutching the glass, your mind spinning with questions you can’t answer.

"Okay, it’s totally normal to be offered a glass of water before bed, and it does not mean they can read your mind,” you whisper to yourself, trying to curb your horniness.

—

Later that night, as you lie in bed, unable to sleep, the events of the evening are still playing over in your mind, especially the lingering touches and smirks. Suddenly, you remember the spare key your parents used to keep hidden under the plant pot by the front door. Without even thinking about how weird it was to up and leave in the middle of the night, you hop out of bed and tiptoe down the hallway, careful not to make a sound. But just as you reach the stairs, a voice stops you cold.

“Exactly where do you think you’re sneaking off to?”

Turning slowly, you see Agatha leaning against a doorway, her silhouette illuminated by the faint light from her bedroom. She is wearing a floral robe, and her hair is slightly mussed; her expression is both amused and predatory.

“I—I wasn’t sneaking,” you stammer, holding up your hands defensively. “I just remembered my parents used to keep a spare key under the plant pot. I thought I’d grab it and let myself in—”

“Without saying goodbye?” she interrupts, stepping closer. Her tone is teasing, but there’s a sharpness to her gaze that makes your pulse quicken.

Before you can respond, another figure appears behind her. It’s Rio, wearing nothing but her underwear and a top that reads: BOHNER FAMILY REUNION. PITCH A TENT. Her dark hair is messy, and you notice a small, mouth-shaped bruise blooming on her neck that definitely wasn’t there earlier.

“You were being so good for us before now,” Rio says softly, her voice carrying an edge that makes your knees weak. “We said we’d take care of you, didn’t we?”

The heat in your cheeks is unbearable now, and there is a familiar wetness pooling between your thighs. You stammer out an apology, but their combined presence is overwhelming.

“Relax,” Agatha purrs, her fingers grazing your arm. “We’re not upset, just disappointed you wouldn’t come see us before saying goodbye.”

Before you can process her words, Rio steps forward, her hand gently tilting your chin up to meet her gaze. “Where were you going to sleep after grabbing that key, hmm? Your parents’ dark, empty house? Sounds pretty lonely to me,” she murmurs, her lips curving into a faint smirk as Agatha’s hands slide around your waist.

Rio’s touch is featherlight yet commanding, her fingers tilting your chin just enough to keep your wide-eyed gaze locked with hers. Her dark eyes glimmer with something unreadable—intensity, curiosity, desire, maybe all three. 

You’re painfully aware of Agatha’s hands on your waist, her touch firm but teasing, fingers curling just slightly as if testing your reaction. “And what would you do when you found out that they no longer keep one there? They stopped doing it since the break-in, don’t you know? Would you come back over here and beg for us to take you back in and keep you warm?” Agatha says softly, her breath brushing against the back of your neck. 

You try to answer, but your words stick in your throat as Rio steps closer, her thumb brushing along your jawline.

“She’s right,” Rio adds softly, her voice low and velvety. “Why sneak off when you’re already here?”

Your heart is racing, your pulse pounding in your ears as you look between them. You want to say something—anything—but the weight of their combined attention renders you speechless.

Agatha chuckles, the sound rich and almost predatory. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” She presses closer, her front brushing against your back now, her lips grazing the shell of your ear.

Before you fully realise what’s happening, Agatha and Rio are guiding you away from the stairs. You’re caught between them, their touches subtle yet deliberate. They lead you down the hall, past the guest room, and into the master bedroom.

The room is large but intimate, the air carrying the faint scent of cedarwood. A soft glow from a bedside lamp casts warm shadows across the space. Agatha releases your waist to close the door behind you; the click of the lock is startlingly loud in the quiet.

Rio takes the lead now, her hands resting lightly on your arms as she guides you towards the bed. Her touch is warm and grounding, yet there’s a deliberate slowness to her movements, like she’s savouring the moment.

“You’ve had a long day,” she says, her voice soothing but laced with something deeper. “Let us take care of you.”

Agatha steps into view, her smirk as confident as ever. “Or, we can stop. If that’s what you want?” She asks, tilting her head as she studies you.

Your heart pounds as you shake your head, unable to trust your voice. 

Agatha’s smile widens, satisfaction gleaming in her bright blue eyes. “Be good and use your words for us, hun.”

“Please don’t stop,” you whimper.

At that, Agatha moves swiftly to your other side, her presence as bold as ever. Her fingers brush against your jaw, turning your head slightly so you’re looking directly at her. “You’re so tense,” she murmurs, her thumb grazing your cheek in a gesture that feels both comforting and intimate. “We’ll fix that.”

You barely have time to process her words before Rio steps closer, her body heat radiating against yours. Her hand trails down your arm, her touch featherlight but deliberate, as if she’s memorising every inch of you.

The room seems to shrink as the weight of their attention consumes you. 

Agatha’s thumb brushes against your bottom lip, and you feel a thrill shoot through you as her lips quirk into that teasing, predatory smile.

“See something you like?” she murmurs, her voice a low purr. “You weren’t careful enough not to like some of our pictures online, darling.”

Shit. So their coming into your room was not a coincidence.

Before you can stammer out an excuse, her lips capture yours—soft but demanding, her confidence evident in the way she takes control. Her hands slide up to cradle your face, her touch firm yet tender, while the kiss is a paradox of teasing and intensity.

Rio’s hands suddenly slide to your hips, pulling your attention. Agatha leans back just slightly, her breath fanning your face as her lips curve into a smirk.

“Your turn, my love,” she says, glancing at Rio with a playful challenge in her eyes.

Rio doesn’t hesitate. Her movements are firm as she tilts your chin towards her, her lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slower, softer, but no less consuming. Where Agatha is fire and fervour, Rio is water, her touch calm yet undeniably intoxicating. Her hand presses gently against the small of your back, holding you steady as she deepens the kiss.

When she finally pulls away, her lips linger close to yours, her breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the room. “You taste as good as I thought you would,” she murmurs, her voice low and laced with something that makes your knees weak.

Agatha laughs softly, stepping even closer so that you’re cocooned between them. Her fingers trail down your arm, igniting sparks along your skin. “I think they’re enjoying this, don’t you darling?” she teases, her gaze flicking between you and Rio.

Rio smirks, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “I’d say so.”

They exchange a knowing glance before Agatha’s hands firmly grip your shoulders, and with a playful yet commanding push, they guide you onto the bed, the softness of the sheets contrasting with the harsh intensity of their movements.

Agatha walks into what you presume is her closet, but you don’t think on it for long as Rio is straddling you in a matter of moments. She is kissing you with a deep need; meanwhile, her hand makes its way under the waistband of your shorts; she swipes two of her fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness, letting out a groan of pleasure at the feel of it and brings her fingers to your lips.

Just as you’re about to take her digits in your mouth, you hear Agatha’s voice full of desire call, "Off."

But Rio doesn’t move; instead, she pushes her fingers into your mouth, groaning at the feeling.

Agatha grabs the woman by the scruff of the neck and yanks her off of you.

“But Aggie, they’re so wet already,” Rio whines.

If your lips weren’t already parted from having sucked on Rio’s fingers, your mouth would have dropped open at the sight of Agatha; she had removed her robe, revealing the purple lace lingerie underneath.

She places something you can’t see at the foot of the bed and comes to stand next to you. “It seems like everything you wear ends up soaked,” she says, mock concern coating every word. 

Rio looks longingly at Agatha, a silent request on her face. With a single nod from Agatha, Rio starts undressing you hungrily. And as soon as you're bare, her mouth is on you again, exploring every inch of newly exposed skin.

“You know,” Agatha drawls, “Before your little stunt back there, my wife and I were finishing off our date with a wonderful night in bed.” She continued. “Both of us talked—or rather tried to talk between our moans—about how we’d get you to join us.” You feel Rio smirk against your skin at this last sentence.

You shudder under Rio’s relentless kisses and Agatha’s firm gaze. Your legs are forced apart with strong hands, and you feel the cool air hit your heat.

“You’re dripping everywhere,” Agatha states for the second time that evening. “Now let us take care of you.” Her voice is sure, leaving no room for arguments.

Rio’s makes her way down your body, nipping and sucking at your skin. When she reaches your thighs, her touch becomes lighter, stopping short of where you want her mouth most.

“Please.” You beg, back arching up into her.

The feeling of her lips on your clit is pure ecstasy. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation of Rio starting to suck lightly. Moaning, you grab a fistful of her hair and grind up into her face, seeking more. 

She hums in satisfaction, happy to fulfil your request. She nips gently and begins to tease your entrance with her tongue, dipping it in ever so slightly. It doesn’t take long before you’re cumming all over her face, her name falling repeatedly from your lips. It’s only when you start to come back down that you remember Agatha is still in the room. She is looking at you with sheer lust, clearly struggling to keep herself from interrupting Rio’s fun. 

As if they could read each other’s minds, Rio withdraws from between your legs and comes to sit behind you, pulling you up so your back is against her chest. She pinches one of your nipples, causing your head to drop back on to her shoulder. A firm hand grips your chin, forcing it back up, and you open your eyes to see Agatha kneeling between your legs, her hands rubbing up and down your thighs.

“You need to look at Mommy when she fucks you,” Rio whispers in your ear before playfully nibbling your earlobe.

Agatha’s arms snake under your legs, pulling your hips up and into her. It’s then that you feel something hard poke you, making your eyes go wide. At some point when Rio was fucking you, Agatha had slipped into a harness, a purple dildo secured firmly in the centre.

“Are you sure you want this?” She asks, bringing the tip to your entrance. “I’ll only continue with your enthusiastic consent.”

The fact that she cares enough to make sure you were definitely okay with this, only turns you on more. “Yes. Please, Agatha—" Rio's grip on your jaw tightens. “Mommy,” you correct yourself. “Please fuck me, Mommy.”

And with that, she slides into you, facing very little resistance with how wet you are. As she bottoms out, her hips pressing into yours, you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips.

“Kiss me,” you demand.

You hear Agatha chuckle when she leans into you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss while still continuing her thrusts. 

The sex is messy and loud, and you cum at least two more times before the couple shows any kind of stopping. You are left gasping, your body shaking; Rio’s firm hold on you is the only thing keeping you upright.

“Think you can go for one more round, sweetheart?” Agatha teases as Rio climbs out from behind you.

With the strap still inside you, Agatha rolls you over so she is lying on the bed and you are straddling her hips. The other woman settles her thighs on either side of Agatha’s head, facing you.

“Honey, you really have enjoyed having our guest round, haven’t you?”

Rio doesn’t reply, only winking at you before lowering herself onto Agatha’s face.

You start to grind your hips at the sight, the strap hitting the perfect spot inside you, Agatha begins to flick her tongue over Rio’s clit, and Rio pulls your face in to start making out with you. This change in position has the harness rubbing against Agatha’s clit, pulling the most gorgeous moans from her. All of you are lost in waves of pleasure; the sounds of grunting, moaning, and whining filling the room. 

You all cum at different times, but it doesn’t matter because nobody stops until the last of you is coaxed through the final aftershocks of your orgasms.

Untangling yourself from one another, you and Rio flop down beside Agatha, dumb smiles plastered across all of your faces. It’s a few minutes before they get up, but Agatha takes off the harness, giving it to her wife before coming back and drawing you into her arms. Rio wanders off to their bathroom to clean it off and returns with a wet cloth to clean you up as well.

She rejoins you after she's done and presses a soft kiss to your head, coming to lay down behind you, draping her arm across your body. With the three of you like that, it is not long before you fall into a deep sleep, a small smile still visible on your lips. 

You were going to ache in the morning, but right this second you couldn’t find a single fuck to give.

——

Please like&reblog if you enjoyed, I thrive off external validation and it motivates me to write more stuff like this 👀

read part 2 here :)

[angelsforthenight]

arcane women nsfw headcanons

(vi, caitlyn, sevika, ambessa)

cw: 18+, overstimulation, brief mention of bdsm, choking, spit, i talk about both topping and bottoming with each characters.

vi:

when topping: eats it for her own pleasure: meaning she can have her face buried in between your thighs for hours and hours on end, pushing you back down onto the bed whenever you’d try lift yourself up and get away from the onslaught of overwhelming pleasure. service top when she’s in a good mood, sure — she’d be obsessed with your sounds, the way your walls would flutter around her. it would be making love rather than sex: sweet and tender. but when she isn’t in a good mood? she’d be selfish and greedy. more focused on her own pleasure than yours. her stroke game would be Crazy… ?!?? fast and rough as fuck. like let us breathe, damn!

when bottoming: a shameless MOANER!!! vocal as fuck obviously. she drools, whining in frustration when she doesn’t get what she wants. loves to arch her back. she’d have sensitive ass nipple piercings that would drive her insane if you touched them, crying out if you’d flick your tongue against them. pants like a bitch and breathlessly begs to cum hehehehe

caitlyn:

when topping: would treat you as if you were a fucking science experiment, meaning she’d explore what would stimulate you the most and push you to extreme lengths to see what would truly break you. murmuring ‘ah…’s and humming to herself in fascination when she clocks your reactions, what would make you squirm and twitch like crazy. she’d be pretty cruel, not giving a fuck if you’d start crying. a little ‘poor baby’ would suffice. a freakaleek…. bdsm would go WILDDDD with her, and you wouldn’t expect it too; the way she carries herself so humbly in public.

when bottoming: heavy breather until you’re, like, three rounds in… that’s when the whining and the drawled moans and whimpers start to come out full throttle. power bottom, would communicate if she wanted you to keep doing what you’re doing. “just like that, don’t stop…” would lace her fingers through your hair if you were eating her out, gripping it tightly if the pleasure was truly messing her uppppp! not only your hair, her hands would find purchase in anything to hold on to if you were fucking her good, good.

sevika:

when topping: ohhh this bitch likes to taunt… i mean, taunt taunt you. she’s so teasing, laughing at the helpless look on your face. she’d force you to look up at her, make eye contact as she’s fucking you senseless. would play coy when she’d stop just as you were on the brink of releasing, “oh? is something wrong?” would gently yet patronisingly shush you if you started to cry. oh my fucking god and the smearing??? she would spit on your already weeping pussy and spread it with her fingers, mixing it with your arousal. shit, she’d make you suck her fingers before smearing it all over your face, especially if your face was already wet with tears. she’d love squishing your face, giving it a playful shake whilst knowing you were on the brink of passing out. PET NAMES!!!! bunny, baby, princess, sweetheart would not fail to leave her lips. good at hiding how pathetic she really is, except when she’s eating the fuck out of your pussy, being so driven by your sounds and the way you taste that she’d cum without even being touched.

when bottoming: professional hip buckler. so fucking stupid. you’d see a completely different side to the sevika she usually presents herself as, being a needy and whining mess instead: eyes rolling to the back of her head. loves being overstimulated, babbling words like ‘yesyesyes’ that slur together. if you’d choke her, you’d be able to visibly see her brain kick down a few gears; the foggy eyes, arched eyebrows and slack jaw combo would be sososo cute :(( would nod along like a bobble-head to anything you’d tell or ask her to do, with her lil puppy eyes too. maybe a little bit of a masochist,,,,, shhhhhh

ambessa:

when topping: oh ambessa would know how to FUCK. it would be so easy for her to find your sweet spots, and she’d be vigilant like a hawk about it. she’d hit your g-spot consistently, her movements precise and efficient. she’d enjoy your shyness, your struggle with looking at her in the eye: finding it adorable. would talk you through your orgasm. sweet voice whispering praises in your ear as you teetered on the edge of a searing climax. your waist would be her favourite thing to hold on to, especially if she’s giving you back-shots. her lips would be rested in a satisfied smile throughout the entire thing.

when bottoming: hmmmmm i feel like bottoming would kind of be an extension to her topping, meaning she wouldn’t be a bottom 😭 ambessa is such a dominant, powerful character that it’s quite hard to imagine her as submissive. so she’d just let you pleasure her once in a while, praising you as you’d lap up her juices like a dog, fuelling you to do more. her moans would come from her throat, face falling a little if it felt a little too good.

a/n: fofmfhskejfnsjwjdnnwjw something small whilst i cook up a long abby fic. (i miss writing long story fics🙁) lmk ur nsfw headcanons ab these characters >3<

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Taunting

|| Sevika x fem!reader

|| Warnings; rough smut, praise kink, size kink, brat & brat tamer dynamic, swearing, fingering, choking, use of 'pet' nickname, reader receiving, slapping, hair pulling, orgasm

|| Summary; when Sevika gets home, she reminds reader who's in charge.

Requests closed!

Started; November 12th

Finished; November 12th

Anon Request; brat tamer Sevika

~~~

When your girlfriend got home, it didn't take her long to have you on the bed. You easily complied, because your defiance would come later. And she knew that just as much as you did, so Sevika took the opportunity to tease you. A wolfish grin formed on her lips as she looked down at you. You who was between her legs as she hovered over your hips, her thighs squeezing against you to keep you put. Sevika knew you were a squirmer, so she kept you still.

"What? Not gonna run, pet?" The words fell from her lips like a spit. As if Sevika were taunting you. Taunting you into being a brat for her to tame. You grinned up at her, an almost sheepish smile. You made your first act of defiance. Escaping her thighs. Your legs moved so fast, it caught Sevika off guard for a moment. You scrambled away, only making it to the edge of the bed before her strong arms wrapped around your waist. Pulling you flush against her," no, you don't." She muttered, placing you back in the spot you'd been before. Only this time she sat right on your hips. Letting all of her weight hold your much smaller frame under her. While her hands pinned yours to the bed.

Sevika's hands were so much bigger than yours, that her palm could practically fit around your entire hand. Your cheeks turned bright red as you looked at her hand against yours. God, you just wanted Sevika's finger already. But you had to play with her a little more. Wanting her to just dominate you.

You tried to squirm and Sevika simply laughed, keeping you under her with ease as she leaned down. Her lips brushing against your ear," I got you. You're not strong enough to fight me," She murmured. The feeling of her breath sending vibrations through you. A small whimper left your lips when you nodded. Showing her that you would submit, but only long enough for her to let go of you and loosen herself up a bit. The moment Sevika did, you took advantage and got behind her. Shoving her down onto the bed with as much force as you could; little did you know she let you. Finding the whole thing incredibly amusing. She laughed. Adjusting herself under you so her back was to the bed. Her hands rested on your hips. Holding you in place again, only this time on top of her.

"Now what're you gonna do?" Sevika said with a grunt. Your hands came up to her throat and she looked a little surprised when you applied pressure.

"Taking back control," You smirked and she laughed. A full shoulder shaking laugh. Her hand wrapped around your wrist, easily getting you off her neck. Biting the inside of your palm in a way that made you whimper.

"That's cute, you think you can control me?" The words practically came out as a purr when she spoke and you shrugged. Grinning from ear to ear. "C'mere." She muttered, yanking you till you were flush against her again. A gasp left your lips when she pulled you. And your defiance melted when her lips latched onto yours. A kiss so searing you were sure your lips would be swollen. If not bruised. As Sevika kissed you, her prosthetic hand came down and slapped your ass. Making your whole body flinch and shudder. Your whimper being swallowed by her. Sevika broke the kiss before you could get your tongue in, biting your lip. Her eyes looked into yours. "You gonna be a good girl? Or do I have to slap you again?"

"I dunn-" It barely left your lips before she slapped your ass again. You whined and gripped her clothes until your knuckles turned white.

"What was that?" She muttered, you nodded. Trying to tell her that you'd listen this time. Only Sevika's hand gripped your chin, bringing you impossibly closer," words, pet."

"Y-yes-" You fumbled and she smirked. Seemingly satisfied enough with your response. She tossed you back down on the bed. Hands working to get all your clothes off. It didn't take her long, she practically ripped through them, murmuring some promise about getting you new clothes later. You just melted under her, letting her take full control. Besides, even you couldn't take the teasing anymore. Your pussy may as well have been dripping. And you could still feel the stings and tingles on your ass from where Sevika's hand met. You were sure there would be marks.

"P-please..." You begged, wanting to feel her fingers inside you. Your insides clenching around nothing. You gave her the most desperate look you could muster. Sevika smirked, more than enjoying the sight of you. Begging and pleading for her..

"Now you remember your manners, huh?" Sevika muttered, laying herself down on you. Her lips brushed your cheek this time when she whispered," I think I'll leave you to squirm a little longer. You know, punishment for earlier." You could feel her smirk against your skin. You couldn't help but whine in protest, reaching out to grab her clothes again and pull her against you. Kissing her in a desperate attempt to convince her. Convince her to let you have your way. Have her fingers. She let you kiss her, starting to give in to what you wanted. After all, Sevika wanted it too.

You kissed her and her fingers suddenly thrusted into you. Starting right off the bat with two fingers that she slipped into your wet folds. With surprising ease. She started slow, but that didn't last long. The moment Sevika hooked her fingers to reach your g spot, she pumped relentlessly. Never giving you a moment. This was part of your punishment for your earlier behaviour. She broke the kiss, hand coming down to grip your throat with her prosthetic. The cold metal sending shivers down your spine. Letting out series of moans that synced with her pumps. Every time Sevika hit your g spot, your moans got louder. More breathy. More whimpers.

"God, god- fuck-" You grunted, desperate pleas leaving your lips. Needing more. Which was exactly what she gave you. Sevika watched the way your body moved, how she practically had you bouncing from how hard her fingers went into you. The way your mouth was fixed open.. unable to anything but beg and plea for more through your moans. Sevika fucking loved it. Every single minute.

"Such a good pet, aren't you?" Sevika praised, her hand moving from your throat to your hair. Brushing it aside before she gripped it tight. Careful not to get it caught between the gears of her prosthetic. Your mouth hung open while you nodded. Desperate to please her. A total contrast from your earlier behaviour. In no time at all, you were cumming against her fingers. A scream leaving your mouth as the sensation flooded your body.

"Sevika-!" You screamed her name and her expression couldn't have been any more satisfied. Sevika's fingers slid out of you when you finished, panting for breath. Your eyes locked onto hers. She brought you into a gentle kiss, cold prosthetic fingers brushing your neck softly. Over the marks she had left there earlier.

"You did so good for me," Sevika muttered and you nodded. Completely spent. God, she really knew how to tire you out.

[elliezlils11utt]

sevika’s nose look so rideable omg I js wanna grind on it. ☹️

pairings: sevika x f!reader

~~~

I can js see sevika after coming home from a long day and all she wants to do it eat her girl out. she’ll walk through the door and js tell u to ‘ride her’. ofc you go to pull out the strap and she coos to you ‘no, no, no, baby, my face.’ she’d be laying on the bed as you climb on top of her face. your thighs trapping her head. you shimmy yourself over her mouth, hovering over her eager lips. her hands guide your hips onto her tongue. her mechanical hand leaving a cool touch on your waist. you wince at her cold feeling. you begin to grind into her face. her tongue pulling in and out of you. you find yourself rocking your body onto her face, fucking urself onto her. her nose bumps your clit as you grind onto her face.

‘fuck. ur- ur nose. Sevika. mhph~ ’ your slick runs down her lips, wetness leaking all over her. you let out little whimpers feeling her grunt into your cunt. her hands slide from your waist up to your chest, her digits playing with your nipples while your body made its way farther up her face. you subconsciously started grinding onto her nose. ‘mhhph- commnn sweet-hmph..heart~’ her words sending shivers up your body. feeling your high approaching quickly you grab the headboard in front of you. holding onto it as your body starts spazzing out. your stomach ties itself into knots. your thighs trapping her head, your clit rubs against the cartilage of her nose. the curve driving you crazy. one of ur arms holds onto her hands that were playing with your boobs. you grind faster while you cum. the bed frame creaking at your rapid pace. your hot cum slides over the bottom half of her face. your whines and moans fill the room full. your fucked out whimpering slowing down as does your pace. her hands roam your body. sliding over your curves as you fall back onto her. your body giving up after the best fucking orgasm in your life.

A/n: sevikas nose is so cute i wanna kiss the tip of it then ride it into the sunset !😖🤗

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

۶ৎ Bows and Blows ۶ৎ

Sevika x Female Reader

Contains: Sex: strap-on, deep throat, thumb sucking, hair pulling, rope play but with bows, and ass slapping.

A/N: Took sm pills, im NOT staying sick. This is the second time, all bc my fuckass friend took a sip of my drink. FUCK THISSSSSS!!! Also this isn’t proofread!!!

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

Her eyes stared down at your swollen lips as you sucked on her large thumb. Your tongue felt every curve of her finger as she, herself, felt around your pretty mouth. With her dark lips curled into a smirk, Sevika’s mech hand gripped tightly onto your hair as she slid further into your mouth. She made sure your eyes watered when she slid to the back of your mouth to feel around. You held back a gag before she pulled out.

You could barely take her thumb.

“Don’t think you can handle a strap, baby.” A soft scoff left her lips as your girlfriend brushed back your disheveled hair, she liked keeping you full; mouth or cunt, she had to have something in you. “I can handle it..” You, swallowing another gag, look up at her with teary eyes. Everything about her was pulling, especially the way she gently tugged onto your hair again. You would do anything she asked you to, even let her mouth fuck you.

“Can you now?”

You were sat on the edge of the bed, arms tightly tied behind you with the use of ribbons. Sevika had made sure to tie them into perfectly pretty bows as you demanded so. “We’ll see if you can, doll.” With a pull of your head, your girlfriend rested the tip of her strap on your lips before running it along your moistened skin. “Open wide for me, sweet thing.” And you obediently did as she said. Opening your mouth, you held back a gag as she immediately bucked her cock to the back of your your throat. A sinister smirk played on her lips as she watched you struggle with taking her thick strap.

“You got it, baby.” You did your best in letting her fuck your throat, each thrust was harder to swallow than the one that came before. Your eyes watering, you stay open for your girlfriend’s pleasure. Sevika was enjoying seeing your flushed face, it brought her a sense of thrill to the way you were so damn obedient. You did whatever she said, desperate for her approval or not it made her feel powerful.

All you could really do was take it. Hands curled into a fist, eyes tightly shut, and breathing heavy you patiently wait to actually be fucked. Sure, you liked the way your girlfriend looked down at you whenever you had her thumb in your mouth but you liked it so much more when she’d actually hit the spot that got you writhing. Your cunt was a pulsing mess, it was screaming to be acknowledged, to be touched.

After a few good thrusts, your girlfriend was satisfied with your wet and red cheeks. Sevika pulled out of your mouth and watched as you coughed, it was a sight she’d never get enough of. “You did good, baby..” with a deep breather you let your girlfriend shift you on the bed. She wasn’t done with you just yet. On your knees, with your ass up, and your face burried into the pillows, she couldn’t keep herself from spreading your folds apart to see just how slick you were; and of course she’d point it out. “All wet and ready for me, how cute.” She was growing cocky at how good of a listener you were, how you never complained and took her without a second thought.

With a press on your entrance, Sevika gave your ass a rough slap— which you whined at— before gripping onto your tied hands with her mech hand. “You gonna take it like a good girl?” Tone all playful, your girlfriend tilted her head to get a better look at the way your cunt fit perfectly around her tip. It was as if you were meant for it. “Mm-hm, I will, Vika.” Voice shaky, you prepare yourself for the night of your life. To be fucked for your good behavior.

With a gasp leaving your lips, you feel your insides squish against your girlfriend’s cock. She’d went hard and deep, and she wouldn’t stop. She gave no warning and pounded in and out, giving you no time to react. “Look at you, all pretty and tired up.” Her words were gruffed out from the excitement you gave her. The room was full of your moans, your girlfriend’s grunting, the contact between her cock and your pussy, and the squelching of your wetness. It was already too much to handle and it had only been a good minute. Your walls were closing and you were sure you couldn’t last long; even though you wanted to keep feeling the warmth pool in your core.

Sevika’s grip on the ribbon tied around your wrists was tight, it even helped keep her pace steady and strong. She was practically blowing her cock inside of you. With the view of your backside, your girlfriend silently admired you. Your hair, the way it sat perfectly on your back, and your moans that turned her on furthermore. They were sweet and damn hot. “You’re.. damn good for me.” Slapping your ass a few hard times, she increased her speed and fucked you until your moans were desperate pleads. “Vika! Shittt, I can’t— I can’t go on!..” it was hard to keep up with the overwhelming pleasure jolting around your body, from your pussy to your brain it was too good to be real. “Cum on it, doll.” Her smirked out demand, she wanted it messy.

And messy was what you gave her.

Head dropping, mind hazy, you let your orgasm come. Whimpering into the pillows, you cum all over her cock that was dug deep into your pussy. She didn’t pull out, nor did Sevika want to. Your cum was practically dripping off her strap, and she liked how slick it now looked. Your walls clenched around your girlfriend as you shuddered, feeling every bit of the orgasm Sevika had provided. The feeling was unbearably good, so much so that it could drive you wild.

Pulling out, your girlfriend ran her finger over your cunt before licking your cum off.

“Sweet as ever.”

[ashlynlovestlou]

winner winner (ellabs x reader)

꩜ synopsis: abby and ellie challenge each other to see who can make you squirt first.

꩜ cw: SQUIRTING!!!! , overstim , threesome , smut with absolutely no plot , dirty talk , pet names , spanking , poosay slapping , dom! abby , dom! ellie , sub! reader , tummy buldge , mention of masturbation , this is kinda short i'm sorry

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

the three of you had been at this for fifteen minutes already. it happened when you mentioned to them that you'd never squirted before. of course, being the two numbskulls that they are, they took that as a challenge.

so now you were laying on your back in bed, abby between your legs and ellie at your side.

ellie was holding your hand, rubbing your knuckles with one hand and rubbing your clit with her other. abby, of course, was wearing her biggest, longest strap she has, and she's pounding into you while she cradled your head.

pathetic little whimpers we're escaping your lips with each thrust, but all you could do was take it.

"shhh... sh sh sh." ellie coos, "come on baby, you can take more."

abby is too focused to speak, hitting that spot inside of you repeatedly. your insides were probably bruised now, and she could feel you clenching around her.

"she's gettin' tight, ellie." abby says. ellie snickers, pressing down and pinching your clit. you moan and your back arches off the bed.

you flail your legs, trying to close them in retaliation, but abby keeps them open. "uh-uh. keep 'em wide and spread for me, sweet girl. you close, huh? yeah, i can feel ya." her words send you over the edge and you're coming for the third time tonight. your entire body convulses with pleasure, and both girls marvel at the way your face contorts.

"no way in hell i'm letting you win." ellie mutters to abby under her breath, shooing her away from you once your high is over.

she gives your cunt a few firm slaps before impaling you with her silicon dick. she bottoms out in one go, the tip of her dick kissing your cervix sloppily. hers is much longer than abby's, making a little bump in your lower tummy.

"s' too big." you whine when ellie's hand meets your stomach, pressing down on the little bump she made.

"you've got it, sweet girl. come on, baby, come on." she whispers in your ear.

abby chuckles as she watches this all unfold. she let ellie go first to get you nice and stimulated, in hopes that she could be the one to make you squirt. but the way that ellie was slamming roughly into you made her believe that that wasn't going to happen.

"hurts." you groan, eyes closing.

"keep your eyes open. watch ellie fuck you." abby commands, so naturally you listen. you open your eyes to watch her slip in and out of you. your thighs were covered in slick, and your next orgasm was coming.

ellie's pants and heavy breaths only turned you on more, and it was getting harder to sit still. ellie had a shit-eating grin on her face, knowing what was about to happen.

"scream my name, honey. come on, let me hear you." she coaxes, and you gush at her words, doing exactly that. you yelled her name, in contrast to the little whimpers and quiet whines you were eliciting earlier. you'd never felt more euphoric in your entire life. sure, you'd come on your own hands, their hands, their straps, and even their mouths several times. but nothing compared to the tingles you felt on every inch of your body.

the sheets were wet.

ellie entire lower half was wet.

you were wet, laying in a puddle of your own substances.

ellie laughs and cheers, "you fucking squirted!"

abby groans in defeat after seeing the utter mess you made. her eyebrows were squeezed together, her bulky hand in a tense fist. she shook her head silently, as if contemplating punching ellie in the jaw.

but ellie was too busy celebrating to notice, "fuck yeah! i did it!" she says, pecking you in every little crease and corner her lips can reach.

you were too fucked-out to comment on her celebrating, or abby's defeat, for that matter.

"how d'you feel, sweet pea?" abby is first to check on you after ellie disappears to go fetch some towels.

"fucking amazing." you mumble, nestling comfortably into the crease between her shoulder and neck, "never knew it could feel like that."

she chuckles, kissing your hairline, "there's plenty more where that came from. next time, i'll be the one to make you squeal like that, hm?"

you laugh quietly at her words, nodding.

[marilynthornhilllover]

When you call my name, do you think I’ll come running?

Chapter 9: semi finale

A/n: I had an whole entire ending essay here for yall with shout outs and thanks💀 but I had to delete it because it’s not the final chapter, while writing I was like is this all gonna fit?😭 so I broke this chapter down into two parts so next chapter ( 10 ) will definitely be the final! Honestly did not intend on writing an extra chapter but that’s what happens when you don’t write in months and just one day decide to pick up that draft notebook and write ideas down. This is lengthy but trust it’s so worth it!.

Read chapter 8 here: Chapter 8

- “ My Love For You Sends Me Crazy”

Also don’t forget to listen to the playlist!!

You were only blessed with the privilege to shut your eyes and get some sleep when alcina had finally decided on which position was more comfortable for the night, her never ending continuous struggle to keep still had finally come to a halt. You sighed as the exhaustion of the previous day finally began to weigh down on your body as your heavy eyelids began to flutter shut. As your breathing had just started to slowed down to prepare your body for slumber, Alcina’s home phone began to ring. You heard her growl before the bed dipped with her weight as she moved to the noise of annoyance.

Her heavy footsteps stalked approached the phone with a sharp and quick deliberate pace. Once she reached the object she picked it up, her tone as sharp as she intended.

“WHAT?!” Her voice came through distinctly, tight with slight bitterness. The single word laced with frustration as she waited for the persons voice on the other end of the line to come through. Suddenly her entire demeanor changed and her body stiffened.

“ Donna? W—what slow down” you peaked your eyes open to look at her and for a moment the whole room went silent and you could feel the tension cutting through. Alcina’s face was stern and emotionless, you were totally unable to read what was running through her mind as she pulled her best poker face possible.

“ I’m on my way” she whispered, her voice flat and cold, devoid of any emotion as if the words were nothing more than an obligation. You didn’t miss the shiver that ran down your spine at this. Something was wrong and whatever it was it demanded Alcina’s attention and knowing her— it wasn’t going to end well.

“ what’s wrong?” Your voice came through soft and filled with concern and confusion as you sat up against the headboard and watched as she slipped out of her Chemise and into a sleek black dress and pulled her hat over her face.

Your question fell on deaf ears as Alcina proceeded towards her vanity were she painted her face lightly and added a touch of her red lipstick. She slipped her gloves on and rises to her feet where her bland eyes then met your gaze. She stopped for a moment before walking over to your side of the bed.

“ I must go now” were the only words she uttered to you before she placed a kiss on your forehead and exited the room. You huffed and rolled your eyes and when the door slammed shut and the lock turned you simply chose to go back to bed. At least now you could finally get some sleep — or so you thought. Because now you were the one twisting and turning. You almost forgot that you couldn’t sleep unless she was beside you. Groaning again you just decided to follow a sleeping guide that your mom had told you.

Inhale—hold, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale— hold, exhale. And soon enough your eyelids grew heavy and you quickly drifted off into deep slumber.

You gently stirred in your sleep before you woke. Stretching and rubbing the last bit of remaining tiredness from your eyes you got out of the bed, exiting the canopy you walked into the bathroom. After taking a shower you got dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast. Alcina was apparently still not back yet. Walking into the parlor and into the dinning area you saw Daniela and Cassandra already sitting at their seats.

“ Good morning girls” you chirped happily and they flashed you a tender smile in return as you too your seat at the table. A maid brought you a plate with your breakfast as if on que and you nodded in approval.

“ how have you guys been I’ve missed you guys so much!” You stated honestly, breaking a piece of your pancake to eat it.

“ i—I’ve b—been good—“ before Daniela could finish her sentence Cassandra swatted her arm and glared at her.

“ how many times does mom and I have to continuously repeat to you and your pig of a sister Bela to not speak with your mouths full?” Cassandra’s voice was leveled but she spoke with authority and determination. Shaking your head lightly, you chuckled softly at her actions. She reminded you so much of alcina. She looked so much like her in certain lights too.

You wish Alcina could see that. She was setting an example, she was leaving a mark. A legacy others could look back on. She wasn’t what others defined her as. Her definition is written in her family, her business, in Cassandra most definitely.

“ thank you for asking, I’ve been journaling” Cassandra responded politely, wiping away her stray food from her mouth. You glanced over at Daniela who was mocking Cassandra’s actions and rolling her eyes.

“ oh would you stop it!” Cassandra shouted, clearly getting irritated.

“ but you started it! Miss little goodie too-shoes” Daniela spat.

“ ok girls that’s enough, you both know you couldn’t be acting like this if alcina was here so please have some respect in and outside of her presence” you manage to cut in and they both sighed and sat back against their chairs. Though some unwavering tension glances were shared they spat quietly and said nothing to each other after that.

“ that’s good for you Cassandra, I like that, journaling can be a great way of releasing emotions” Cassandra smiled softly and nodded in agreement. You glanced over at Belas chair and noticed that she was absent. Your eyebrows quirked and as if reading your mind Daniela spoke up.

“ she doesn’t sit with us anymore…. Not sure why. Mom says she’s just going through a phase and to not worry about it” her voice came out grumbled and hoarsed to which she cleared before continuing to finish her meal. You looked over at Cassandra but she silently avoided your eyes and stayed quiet.

After you were all finished with your meals the girls disappeared to go venture off into their own aspects of their day,and you went your own way. deciding that the best way to silence your thoughts was to read you proceeded towards the library. It has always helped before and a good book could really help your racing mind and help calm some worked up nerves.

Your feet were a mind of it’s own as you made your way effortlessly up the stairs and down the hallway towards the library. Once inside you shut the door behind you and moved towards a random isle. You weren’t sure what exactly you were looking for so you just allowed yourself to wonder around, to see would your eyes would grab hold of.

Walking pass an empty isle you spotted a figure just down the end in it’s dimly lit corner. You jumped, pulling back slightly you realized that it was bela that was standing there with a huge brown dusty book in hand. Her head was titled to the side as her fingers gently escalated down the pages that were laid open. She looked so entrapped in whatever it had to say.

Sensing your presence her eyes snapped up in the direction of which you stood.

“ funny seeing you here….. alive at that” she whispered almost under her breath, so low that you almost didn’t hear.

“ good morning to you too bela, you weren’t at breakfast….. so I figured your weren’t hungry?” You questioned as you slowly approached her. You kept some distance between the two of you. She went back to ignoring your presence as she simply flipped through the pages more rapidly before groaning.

“ looking for something specific?” You asked her taking a step closer to get a look at the page but she only took a step back and again her eyes shot up at you. She had an animalistic look in her eyes that was contorted with anger. Now you were the one taking a step back. Her eyes lingered on you for a while before she slammed the book shut and disappeared into files in front of you.

You sighed heavily and looked around. Great— forget reading you were going to go back to bed and sleep off this entire day.

After you were sure that you slept long enough you decided to take a shower. You turned on the water heater to mild heat and took down your ponytail. Setting your hair tie aside you moaned softly at the ease of the release it provided.

You freed yourself from your clothes’ embrace and stepped under the running water. Your body shivered at the rush of heat and you did the butterfly hug on yourself, leaning back you allowed the water to travel into the depths of your hair, allowing it to be it’s own massage as your sighed, trying to release your stress.

You missed sound of your name being called and the abrupt sound of the bathroom door being swung open. With your eyes closed you didn’t even notice alcina removing her clothes before she joined you in the shower. You spun around swiftly at the touch of someone’s hand sliding around your waist as your breath hitched.

“ why are you so tense my love?” Alcina’s voice cut through your clouded mind as you melted into her embrace, returning her hug. You moaned softly as the feeling of her fingers combing through your wet hair to gently massaging your scalp.

“ relax, talk to me” she whispered softly against the skin of your ear, leaving trails of kisses in her downwards trail to your neck. You shivered in her hold and pulled away just enough to look up at her.

“ you need to stop leaving me alone in times where you know I desperately need you” you mumbled against her chest, leaving a small kiss between the valley of her breast which made her gasp before a small chuckle took her over.

“ I’m here now draga” she kissed your forehead and you were so lost in thought that you almost missed her asking you how your day went.

“ it was fine i guess, i think bela somehow hates me though” you said looking up at her with a pout. She smirked down at you and her lips connected with your in a slow passionate kiss before she pulled away.

“ bela hates everyone my dear” she mutters tiredly, as if talking about her own daughter’s abnormal behavior came with a weight of it’s own.

“ what was that last night? Running off in the dead of the night? Was Donna ok?” You asked, she sighed heavily with a silent plea in her eyes she wished you could somehow see pass and drop the question right away. You saw her hesitation but she eventually spoke up.

“ I met with Donna and a couple of old veteran friends….. Miranda is— she’s planning something big my love and right now I don’t want to talk about her, let me savor this moment with you, will you let me touch you?” She asked almost too desperately and you nodded because suddenly you didn’t trust your voice. For a moment you both reminded completely still, her hand on your back rubbing small reassuring circles as you got lost in her eyes.

Her fingers wonder up your shoulder blades before they found themselves wrapped around your neck, her other hand making it’s way down between your thighs towards your center. You released an audible whimper at her action as your head fell back against the shower caddy with a soft thud causing you to yelp. Alcina sucked in a breath as the both of you erupted into a fit of giggles.

“ careful sweet thing” she whispered as she kissed your cheek. She grabbed the bottle of soap from above and poured it onto your chest as she watched as it drizzled down your body. She took the wash cloth and started lathering it all over your stomach and arms watching as you squirmed against her.

“ please alcina, you need to make it up to me, please” maybe hearing you beg so angelic caught her off guard because some switch in her definitely flicked. She kneeled down and gently spreads your legs apart. She sneaks one last glance up at you before she envelopes her mouth around your clit. You back arches off the wall and you hand flew to her hair to ground yourself.

Her tongue flicked effortlessly against your small bud and eventually she sped up her pace. She flicked more erratically adding some twists and carful sucks through her actions and soon you felt as your thighs started to buck and tremble. Your grip in her hair tightened and your lucid moans filled the room.

She had you completely soaked and wet for her, with one final flick of her tongue your were already crumbling from your high. Once she felt you ride out your last wave of pleasure she pulled away and rised to her feet.

“ someone’s sleeping goodnight” she chuckled looking at your tired dazed form, you playfully swatted her across the arm and the both of you wrapped up your shower time and went to bed cuddling eachother tightly as if there was no tomorrow.

The next morning you woke up and immediately noticed the absence of alcina. You felt her side of the sheets but you were greeted with cold sheets and an untucked duvet. You sighed deeply and closed your eyes tightly. You tried not to think negatively about the situation because you were asleep so maybe she didn’t want to wake you— maybe she was just downstairs.

The door creaks open and you peer up to look at whoever is entering, to see a small fragile pale looking woman with maybe dear you say the most coolest looking eye scar you’ve probably ever seen. She holds your gaze for a long time and you could have swore she was calculating every stupid mistake and action you did back when you were younger. Her eye stern gaze kept you captive, and it was so intense that you refused to believe that this woman wasn’t some sort of witch.

With one final look she completely emerges herself into the room moving swiftly over across the room to open the drapes . Your nose caught a whiff of the smell of amazing pastries and you looked over at the tray of food she had brought and back at her. Still neither of you uttered a word to eachother, you didn’t know what to say to her either — not that you even knew her name anyway.

“ you plan on sitting in bed all day girl, ya’know that’s how people get arthritis right?” She finally spoke, her voice cutting through the growing tension in the room between you both. You gave her a warm smile— to which she didn’t return, before sitting up and crossing your legs. She looked at you skeptically before handing you the tray of food.

“ thank you……” you paused for a moment as you trailed off, your eyes desperately searching for a name tag but you remembered alcina does do name tags because she’s a hyperthymesia.

“ the names fatimah, and you are— lemme guess the lady’s mistress? The one who keeps her up at night?” Fatimah raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with both curiosity and challenge as she narrowed her eyes. You held eye contact with her for a while as you gathered your thoughts. Something about her perseverance and pressing authorive personality stirred on something in you.

You couldn’t help but smirk at her as you shook your head as if doing that would dismiss your thoughts. She seemed cool, reliable and most definitely funny but also someone who could stand tall and told their ground at any minute, someone who knows when and where to be serious.

“ it’s complicated fatimah, and quite frankly I don’t think alcina pays you well enough for me to tell you about our sex life” you muttered proudly , a half-smirk playing on your lips, you allowed your words to hang in the air for while as you watched her stunned face and leaned back expression. Fatimah chuckled at your reluctance, shaking her head slightly in awe.

“ well forgive me will you dear? I didn’t know the lady did complicated relationships I just thought she’d butcher them up and make her fine Romanian wine with their remains but here we are” The words hit harder than expected, the sharpness of her tone strangely catching you off guard. A brief, uncomfortable silence followed, and for a moment, you struggled to mask the flicker of fury rising in your chest. But your smile faded, replaced by a tightness you couldn’t shake. You swallowed thickly, your words of insult lodged in your throat, unsure of how to respond—knowing anything you said wouldn’t match up to her offensive words.

Fatimah’s scoff echoed in the room as she collected the dirty towels from the basket, her movements deliberate, and almost mockingly slow. The door clicked shut behind her when she took her leave with a finality that felt almost... too perfect. The tension lingered even long after she left, leaving you sitting there, feeling both disarmed and strangely defenseless.

You chose to ignore the odd encounter and to put it all behind you — the both of you just happened to get off on the wrong foot. You needed something to do though, sitting with your own thoughts for company was maddening. You decided to take a walk around the castle. Not only would it ease the thoughts that chose to stray but it would help keep the bad one’s tamed— at least until you could manage to control them. Eventually you ended up down the dark cold hallways of the west wing of the castle — the abandoned side that Alcina never fixed after the military war strike a couple years back.

As you walked down the hallway you felt like you were being watched. A cold shivery feeling just fell upon you out of nowhere and a couple times you had to swat flies away. You sighed heavily as you peered out the grand window looking far and beyond at the world that laid outside. There was hardly any view truly — just snow and grey clouds. The snow covered trees and dark clouds as the sun tried to make space for itself between the sinister light and the darkness that laid within the sky.

Your vision came into focus when you noticed a hazy small black figure in the reflection of the glass which caused you to jump as your breath hitch, turning around with immediate effect on your heels you were met with the dead eyes of bela standing half an inch down the hallway. Her head titled slightly and her arms clasped tightly together with each other as she emerged from the darkness, her face coming to light.

“ Jesus bela you almost damn near gave me a heart attack!” You shouted, your hand pressed to your chest as you tried to steady your breath. You could feel your heart running in circles and a little headache making way in your head. She gave you a warm yet cold smile to which you tried to return before she slowly started approaching you.

“ made it through another night?” she asked, her voice tinged with both mock and a hint of exhaustion as she looked you over but it didn’t quite sound like question. "Thought maybe you'd be gone by morning." You looked at her in confusion as you tried to comprehend what she meant ‘ gone by morning’. A tinge of fear washed over your limbs and you refused to move.

“ this one won’t end well for you y/n, but there’s still time to run” her steps towards you grew more in pace but she still kept them short and deliberate as her hands moved behind her back. You didn’t know how to react or what to say. You felt sick. You mind began to race and your breaths came out short and more rigid as the entire word around you started to get foggy. You blinked a few times to get rid of some of the haze that you hadn’t even noticed bela was now standing directly infront of your face.

So close you could feel her breath on your lips. You caught a whiff of the blood and dried up dirty and decomposed contents on her, scrunching up your nose you took a step back but your body came in contact with the coldness of the thin glass that stood behind you. And down below was a drop at least 200 meters down. Belas body barely pressed against yours and you swore you heard a faint crack in the glass. As if testing your limits and pushing your fear she leaned onto you more.

You held your breath for a moment before Turing your head to the side as you closed your eyes shut tight.

“ you should wash your hair, it smells weird” that was all she said before she removed her body weight from you entirely and pulled back. She smiled at you before she began to cackle, and in a swift turn she disappeared. You held out a long distressed breath gasping a few times before you could begin to breath normally again. Something was wrong with bela — not that anything about her was ever normal but for what it’s worth she’s wasn’t always like this. but you needed to have a talk with alcina either way. Whom you have not seen since the break of dawn.

Walking back down towards the grand entrance you couldn’t help but walk in your own thoughts, you drifted back to the two encounters you’ve had with bela thus far — none of which was remotely pleasant. And apparently she’s been like this ever since you left because Daniela and Cassandra are…. Well nonchalant about it and alcina seems to have nothing serious to say about it.

‘ Bela hates everyone ‘ oh please even a five year old wouldn’t buy that shit, so why should you. You knew something was wrong with this family from the moment you first became a maiden here but it’s like they’ve all gotten madder. Trying to stay sane in this place was impossible because everyone was insane, especially fatimah because she seems to have also gone mad although your not acquainted with her. You allowed your feet to lead you up the stairs and down the hallway of the east wing upstairs Alcina’s music room to check for her return.

How sick must these people really be. How sick must you be. You backtracked all the way back to the night when alcina told you everything about the great history of Romania and how you were somehow wrapped up in all this catastrophe. You didn’t believe it. Something wasn’t making any sense. At least not to you. You needed more clarity and you demanded more clarification. Suddenly you started hearing voices, they surely weren’t your thoughts because you’re not crazy enough to think your own thoughts were a person.

No these were human voices. Whispers. Your eyes snapped up towards the door ahead of you. You remembered Alcina mentioning something about the old lords meeting room but you hadn’t quite payed attention that day, all you knew was that it was an undercroft. Your feet came to a halt as your eyes snapped to the door that was slightly ajar. The mumbling of voices and the illuminated a dim candle light from inside announced that there were persons within.

Slowing your movements you quietly walked around the corners staying hidden in the shadows until you were behind of the door as the voices became more clear and audible.

“you do know that mother Miranda will not stop until she has the girls head right?” A strange deep and cracky old voice husked out. There can be sounds of shuffling heard from within before a much more familiar voice speaks up.

“ you speak as if I’m a incompetent human being Madam Leila“ you peaked through the door cracks to see Alcina seated on a dusty old couch beside this old witchful woman. She’s rather skinny and quite the pale one. She’s wearing this long sleeve purple gown that symbolizes royalty. Her eyes are sucked into their sockets a little but she dems to hide the rotting with eyeliner and glittery eyeshadow. Laid Beside her is a red Cain and squeezed tightly around it are slender veiny fingers with the most hideous claw shaped nails you’ve ever seen.

And perched quietly on her shoulder are two ravens. Alcina puffs smoke into the air before she extracts her cigarette holder and places it down on the counter before she moves to stand, you quickly shift back against the wall and try to make yourself as small as possible.

“ how much have you told her?” The woman asked slowly walking towards the window pillars.

“ as much as she needs to know” Alcina replied, taking another slow drag of her cigarette before she also moves into the light of the room, her bright yellow eyes coming into vision with the mirror infront of her, she pauses for a moment to stare back at her reflection before her gaze snaps back towards the woman far infront her at their sound of her voice.

“ oh Miranda will bathe in your blood” madam Leila whispers her tone dripping with mockery as her lips curl into a tight cruel smile, glancing over at the woman who stood before her. Alcina’s face scrunched up in slight irritation as she quickly snaps back in vexation.

“ I am no longer a slave to Miranda’s works you know this!” Madam Leila lips curl into a sly smirk, her eye brows quirked as she slowly began to take precautionary steps towards alcina.

You take a closer step towards the doors creek to peak, trying see more clearly and hear more of the lore hear evidently.

“ yet you covet my house for lámbrais pills?, to tame your raging beast? Say what you wish but Miranda still holds you captive and watching you suffer is truly pittyful, such a shame how you’ve fallen from your great height—“

“ have you forgotten who you sit before?!” Alcina’s voice rings out through the entire room leaving a faint echo to the far ends as she approaches madam Leila with a quick steady pace.

“ I am not obliged to respect you my lady, for I myself am a great lord of many nations, it’s out of the memory of your mother why I still uphold you with my right hand” madam Leila says, she speaks with her head held high, and with no empathy or even an ounce of regret or fear. It’s either she’s accustomed to it or she’s simple seen far worst.

But either way, her ability to utter words of hate so contumeliously to the countess Alcina Dimitrescu was truly remarkable. You wonder how Alcina never mentioned her. And now that she’s asking about the conversation she had with you had to mean something, she’s still hiding something from you.

“ I only want what’s best for you alcina, that girl is trouble” the woman says with a hint of warning in voice, her eyes quickly move over towards the door and for a moment you swore she had seen you. You quickly move back accidentally hitting the back of a nearby table with a vase on it but you were fast enough to have caught it mid air. You froze completely in your position slightly bent over as the women continued their conversation.

“ that girl!— has saved me, she is my life! “ you hear alcina shout.

“ will you tell that to Miranda if you were to stand before her with an ounce of your last breath?” You hear the madam mutter, in pure disbelief.

“ I have already defied her” Alcina simply says, moving across the room, leaning against the cold wooden pillar.

“ and you are soon to pay the price of it, they say love comes with a price alcina, the cost of which only fools should pay” madam Leila spat bitterly.

“ I am no fool” Alcina replies her tone sharp and snapping with building frustration and pure fury. You weren’t in the room but man could you feel the heat radiating from Alcina. She had to be boiling, because no one had ever challenged her the way this odd looking woman is.

“ no, you are certainly not, give the girl to me, i can have her beheaded by morning and we can put all this nonsense to an end and move pass it, a new dawn we shall call it” hearing this caused your heart to drop, you clung onto the vase more tightly as you waited for Alcina’s reply. She couldn’t possibly agree with that could she?…..

“ you must really take me for a fool, Miranda took the lives of your children and still you yearn for her acknowledgment try to see pass those rotting eyes madam ” Alcina spat, her tone calm yet cutting.

“ that is enough!” Madam Leila screamed followed by a loud crashing of glass.

“ you think?! I spent my entire life hiding behind her shadows afraid of her wrath what wrath has been afflicted on me? You people are blind to your own troubles, you dear sleep with a snake and call me a fool for loving the pain of being bitten?” You move with the vase on the other side of the corner, with precaution. You tip toe your way across and gently place the vase onto the other table as you hid behind a tall flower pot but now you were able to see into the room more clearly.

“ you will pay for this” the woman screeches loudly, with a loud sound a ravens cawing along.

“ as I’ve always done for the last 100 years of my never ending life” alcina responded her voice laced with pure hurt covered with bitterness.

“ but you’ve had it easy alcina! Special treatment that neither I nor that other lords have had! We’ve all been walking on eaggshells around you! You! She loved you!” The woman growled angrily, stomping her cain on the ground.

“ Miranda only favors what she has a chance with! And at that she’s ruined me completely! Nothing you and her has done out of the god fucking memory of my mother has not yet to benefit me!” Alcina’s words linger in the coldness of the air for a moment clearly filled with rage and hurt. She’s already been through enough and yet everyone fails to see that she too is made a flesh and blood. She’s already too has a heart that carries love and feelings built around emotions, she too had a childhood. A life that was robbed from her and her will.

“ you are no hero my dear, you’re not innocent, i do not know what that human girl sees in you, you are a monster, that’s what you’ve always been and that’s all you’ll continue to be” madam Leila says spitefully, she walks around to the wine cabinet and removes a bottle from the shelve, she grabs a goblet and pours herself a half cup. She slowly brings the glass to her lips, taking a sip before she gently places it down and continues to speak.

“ I almost pity her…. Truly it is a sad story that will not end well for her, just as Miranda uses you, you use her and that you cannot deny. But I don’t blame you, she should cut herself for being so badly naive. But guess what, should she smell out your lies tonight or Miranda finishes that base on time or your plan with your little plaything turns out to be on top, we all perish including her. Your mother would have—. “

“ leave my castle at this instant, i fear you have overstayed your welcome” Alcina’s voice suddenly interrupts her speech, her tone is cold and dull. Her eyes flicks up towards madam Leila and both their gaze connects in an instant. For a minute a moment of honesty is shared between both women.

But Alcina couldn’t fathom the hurt she felt deep within her heart. Her mother would always tell her “ my love, I don’t care who you love, I care if you are loved, and you my dear….. if you love someone you never let them go, you hear me? Fight for them until your breath gives out”. She was tired of people telling her what her mother would have wanted. Her mother would have wanted her daughter to be happy and healthy, kind too. And maybe alcina loved you because you looked at her with love, saw the better person in her, things her mother would.

People like Leila and Miranda only saw her for her potential, her knowledge, power and wealth. When truly she was so much more than that, but as simple as she came…. She was human.

“ I hope you can see beyond this before it’s too late….. this will not benefit you, and that thing inside you will soon eventually become—“

“ GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CASTLE!” Alcina shouts, her tone barely makes an audible crack as shallow tears floods her eyes but she resists them. As stern and maybe terrifying she may have sounded all you heard was hurt and pain, one that you couldn’t quite shake. One that didn’t settle too well. The woman sighs and you see for a small second her shoulders drop and she hesitates. But she takes up her Cain and snaps her fingers, her ravens immediately fleeing from the dark corners and perching themselves onto her shoulder.

She turns quickly on her heels and heads for the door and you immediately pull back and hide behind the tall flowers some more, slightly slouching down. The woman emerges from the room with the door quietly creaking. You hold your breath and press your back up against the wall as you watched her take slow steps down the hall. She stops dead in her tracks mid way she slightly turns her head to the side, she sniffs the air and her eyes narrow before she continues walking.

You’re startled when you hear the sound of multiple glass crashing in the room where alcina still was. You force yourself to move quickly back upstairs and into her chambers to wait for her while you got ready for the night ahead. As much as you wanted to go in and comfort her and ask questions you chose not too. You swallowed that urging feeling. If you wanted to find out more information you had to be smart. And that’s just what you plan on doing from now on until you can manage to wrap your head around enough information.

TAGLIST

@willalovexx @ilovehugslikealotalot @milkiedimitrescu @willow-nox @enchantressb @trexsuit @vampire-s61914 @snkskyler15 @milkkyshakeez @luisa323 @moistblobfish

[sunflowerwinds]

talking body | v.a

summary: when black haired hot head pitfigher vi catches your eye at a club, you’re determined to get your hands on her. taking her home with you reveals a side you never thought she had.

pairing: fem!reader x pitfighter!vi arcane

contains: mature language and content (18+), bratty!vi (if you squint), sub!vi (WE CHEER), soft!dom!reader, munch!vi, thigh riding, vi is going through it :/, light mommy kink (it’s mentioned a few times. if it’s not your thing, don’t read!)

word count: 3.8K

a/n: …. i’ve never written anyone but the reader being submissive so let me know if this satisfies everyone!also thank you to my love nat for opening my eyes to the mommy realm <3

The first time you saw Vi wasn’t at a pit fight.

No, it was at the club that was above the pit fighting arena. You and your small friend group would go often to said club, drinking to forget about the miserable lives you were living in Zaun. You saw her across the strobe-lit floor, weaving in between bodies with heavy feet dragging across the ground and a glass of who-knows-what in her bandaged hand.

Her oil black hair with matching eye makeup and wrapped chest that she wore as a shirt pulled you in.

You were… entranced by her.

But as soon as you had locked your eyes on her, your friend tapped your shoulder to hand you another drink for the night. When you looked back eagerly in hopes of finding her, she had disappeared in the sea of local Zaunites.

After that night, you never thought you would see the woman again. It was another night at the club when one of your friends informed you of the pit fight just a level down, asking if that was something you were down to go to.

Unfamiliar with the underground ring, you agreed to tag along. You were curious about what these pit fights entailed.

Your friend led you down a hidden passageway from behind the large bar area in the club, shouting to be careful with your steps. You nodded to show you heard her, glancing down at your heeled boot-covered feet to make sure you wouldn’t trip and bust your ass.

Rounding a few more corners, you were blinded by bright lights and a huge crowd. Before you could register where you were, your friend sped up her movements when she heard the cheering grow louder with excitement. You held up a hand to cover your sensitive eyes as you let her guide you to a seat.

As you peek through other sweaty bodies to see down into the round pit in the middle, you spot a familiar head of hair. Your eyes squint as you duck to try and get a better glimpse of that irritatingly attractive stranger. The large man in front of you, cursing at the fight below finally stepped to the side in frustration to leave his spot.

There circling her opponent with smudged black eye makeup and dried blood seeping in her bandages was that fleeting woman from that night. It was undeniably her.

Her movements were so similar to that night. There was no doubt in your mind that she was intoxicated. You couldn't blame her. Taking this many hits to the head had to mess with you.

“She’s so your type!” Your friend shouts over the crowd.

You watch her deliver a few more hard punches to her opponent, the body becoming unconscious and hitting the hard concrete ground. Her fist raises in the air to show her victory.

She absolutely was.

That night ignited a determination to get closer to the pit fighter in however many ways you could. You wondered what she sounded like, if she would flirt with you, and if she did, if you would seduce her into coming home with you to give her the time of her life.

Another week passed before you saw her again. Another club, another night to get fucking wasted and fuck some random girl. That is until you saw her sitting at the bar instead of messily dancing through the drunken bodies on the dance floor.

Her back was turned, her head slightly tilted down but you could tell it was her. She sported a heavy leather jacket with a hybrid wolf painted on the back of it.

You glance down at your own outfit, adjusting the way the top was fitting on your breasts. Your short-short’s hug your hips and plump thighs, the see-through fishnet tights underneath the shorts decorating your legs.

Before you walk over to her, you inform your friends of what you are going to accomplish: getting into the hot pit-fighters pants. They all wished you good luck and sent thumbs-ups before you went on your way.

Pushing your way through sweaty bodies, you find yourself sitting on the stool right next to her. You sneak a few glances at her hunched-over figure, admiring the slope of her nose and the smudged black makeup underneath her eyes.

Her long pointer finger was tracing the rim of the glass, the drink seeming to still be full. You wondered why she hadn’t drunk it yet.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Her voice was softer than you were expecting. Her words were somewhat slurred, revealing her clear intoxication. Her harsh words threw you off your game for a split second but you brushed it off.

“I’m just looking to get a drink,” you reply slyly, not fully facing her just yet. “You need a new one?”

You motion to her full drink, tilting your body towards her now. Her eyes flicker to said cup then to your frame right next to her. Her eyebrows rose for a moment as she checked you out. She tried to be discreet but her eyes were slower paced than she thought they were.

You had to hold back a triumphant grin when they lingered on your chest the longest.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she told you as her fingers wrapped around the glass to lift it to her lips.

You watched as her throat bobbed as she downed the hard liquor, tilting your head to now check her out herself. After setting her glass back down, she pinched the bridge of her bandaged nose.

“Are you alright? You look pretty beaten up there,” you hum, a frown on your face as you lean in a little closer.

She shook her head to try and wave off the obvious pain that was settling in her head.

“‘M fine. Can take a few hits, dollface.”

You couldn't help the satisfied grin that spread onto your face at the pet name.

“Never said you couldn’t,” you shrug your shoulders.

The bartender walked over to you two, jerking his head to you as a silent question. You ask him for a singular shot of tequila, needing some more confidence to get to relax. Once he sets the shot down on the slightly sticky counter, you down it immediately with a soft sigh.

“I think those hits to the head made you not good at taking hints though.” You hum as you set the shot glass aside.

Her head turns at your words, the subtle raise of her eyebrows making you tilt your head as a challenge.

“If you want, I could help ease that ache you have in that pretty head,” you hum as your finger raises delicately to trace her wrapped arms, watching her fingers twitch. “My place is not too far from here.”

You can see the gears in her head turning, contemplating your offer. The flashing lights from behind the two of you only increase her pounding headache.

“Do I get a name, dollface?” She hums, now fully turning her body towards you.

You hold back the moan in your throat now seeing her up close like this. The torn skinny jeans clinging onto her thighs delectably and her broad shoulders that you would want to sink your teeth into. You even noticed the scar on her lip, making her all the more beautiful.

You lean into her ear to tell her your name, pulling away to peer into her light blue eyes.

“And yours?”

Her eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment before pouring into your own: “Vi.”

The second your apartment door shut behind Vi, you practically shoved her into the small space to attack her hungrily. Vi released a soft noise at your lips attaching to hers, and her hands instantly found your waist.

Your hands slithered up the back of her head, fingers entangling with her oil-back hair. It was definitely dried out and damaged but hearing her moan soft against your lips as you tug at the strands made it an insignificant detail.

You pull away to ghost your mouth over her own, smirking to yourself at the way she tried to follow your addicting lips. That hair pull flipped a switch inside Vi, a shiver running down her spine.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you teasingly scold as you place a hand on her bandaged chest to keep her back. “So impatient, baby.”

Vi huffs out a flustered sigh at your words, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands were tightened in fists resting on your hips. You lean in ever so slightly to graze your lips over hers, listening to her breathing stutter. You mischievously smile as her eyes flutter shut, preparing for another kiss.

Oh, you were going to have fun with her.

Taking her chances, Vi leans forward to ghost her lips over yours still. Her breathy whine makes your knees buckle.

“Can I taste you?”

You preen at the question, a lightbulb going off in your head. If you were right about the woman, she would do pretty much whatever you asked. You test that by raising your hand up to her bottom lip, using your thumb to tug down the plump skin.

Vi’s once harsh blue eyes soften, rounding with submission as you release her lip with a satisfied smirk. Your eyes flicker to your couch that is a few feet away, jerking your head over to it.

“How about you go and sit on the couch for me, yeah?” You nod, placing a feather-soft kiss on the tattoo of her name on her cheek.

Vi opens her mouth but shuts it when you raise your brows to challenge her to test it. She made her way over to the couch, keeping her eyes on you as she slowly sat down on the cushion. You follow her in pursuit, standing in front of her awaiting figure. You notice her knee bouncing with impatience, raising your hands to rest on her leather-covered shoulders.

Your couch was low enough so her head was right in front of the zipper of your shorts but her eyes were only focused on your face awaiting instruction. Your hand cups her face, rubbing your thumb over her chin. Vi lifts her chin to lean into your touch as a shaky breath leaves her lips.

“Can you take off my shorts for me?” You run your thumb over her bottom lip, a sweet smile plastered on your face.

Vi nods as she raises her bandaged arms to the button of your shorts, unhooking it from the loop. She tugs the zipper down to expose the waistband of your fishnet tights and black lace panties. Vi sucked in a deep breath at the sight, looking up at you for another instruction.

“Keep going, baby,” you chuckle as you shift your hips back and forth so she can tug the shorts down your legs.

You raise your feet a bit to kick off the shorts, pushing them aside on the ground. Vi’s lengthy fingers hooked on the holes of the fishnets, tugging your hips closer to her face to place a few kisses right underneath your belly button. Your right-hand cradles the back of her head, sighing at the feeling.

Her lips hover right above your public bone, her impatient breathing causing your hips to buck forward.

“Can I? Please?”

Vi was begging now, her hands gripping onto the meat of your thighs. Her eyes were desperate as she placed more kisses through your panties.

“Please what?” You pant, biting your lip at her neediness.

“Please, mommy.”

Vi whines looking up at you with desperation, craving your taste. A shiver traces your spine at her words, never realizing how arousing it was to have someone be so desperate for you.

“So good for me,” you hum as you signal for her to go on. “Go ahead, baby.”

Eager to please, Vi’s fingers hook onto the fishnets where your opening was and stretch it so hard that the fabric rips. The tear causes you to jump but beam at her hunger for you. She pushes your panties to the side, placing soft kisses up your thighs before diving into your sopping cunt.

You gasp at her tongue sliding through your folds slowly, lifting one of your legs to rest on the couch to open up more for her. Vi’s arm hooks underneath your thigh to tug you closer, sloppily licking through your folds.

Your fingers run through her hair to push it out of her face to stare down at her beautiful face. Her eyes were shut, moaning against you to add extra stimulation. You hum as you roll your hips against her face, her nose brushing your sensitive clit.

“Fuck, Vi. Doing so good for me,” you praise her movements.

Vi whimpers at the encouraging words, not slowing down her relentless tongue.

“You taste so good,” the black-haired girl underneath you pulls away to whine for a moment to catch her breath.

You hold back your moan at the dim lighting of a lamp in your apartment highlighting the sight of your slick glistening on her lips and chin. It was simply one of the most erotic things you’d ever seen.

“How good?” You tease as she leans back in to wrap her lips around your throbbing clit.

Vi looks up at you through hooded eyes, eyes glimmering with submission. “So fucking good.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing as she whines into your folds. Her tongue laps with determination as she feels your thighs tense up as your orgasm rapidly approaches. Vi wanted, needed you to cum on her face and she wanted to do whatever it took to get you there. She wanted to lather her face in your arousal just to see your beautiful eyes roll back into your head.

“You look so pretty eating my pussy, baby,” you praise. “So pretty.”

Oh, how much Vi ached for the sweet words you were giving her. She was heavy breathing and whimpering against your drenched cunt as her arm grips onto your thighs so that you wouldn't dare pull away. Your lower abdomen tightened as she raised her fingers to your soaked folds, teasing your entrance with her middle and pointer fingers.

Your hips jerk forward as she carefully tests the waters, inching only her middle finger inside of you. You knew Vi’s fingers were lengthy but feeling them inside of you opened your eyes to how close you were getting to your orgasm.

“Oh my, fuck,” you nod as encouragement for her to continue her movements. “Vi.”

A moan releases from the depth of Vi’s throat at how you said her name, vibrating against your cunt. Your hands were gripping onto her hair as leverage. Your knees were becoming jelly as your stomach tightened, warning you that you were approaching your orgasm.

“‘M gonna cum. Fuck, I’m close. Just like that, baby.”

Vi kept her eager pace, finger-fucking you as her tongue attacked your sensitive clit. Heat settled in your back as your hips stuttered against her face. Her eyes were trained on your twisted features as you came against her mouth.

She lapped up the cum selfishly, now using her other hand to settle on your lower back to push your hips more onto her face if that was even possible. You shiver as you chase the orgasm, trying to catch your breath at the overstimulation.

You mutter curses to yourself, attempting to calm down. Vi’s tongue and fingers slow to help with coming down from the intensity.

“How many girls have you done that too, fuck?” You chuckle, seriously wondering where she learned to do that.

Vi merely blinked up at you, breathing heavily herself. Her eyes were wide with anticipation and lingering submission.

“Was I good?” She questions, her fingers stilled inside of you.

You almost laugh in her face at the question but nod with a bright grin.

“You were so good for mommy, baby,” you coo as you caress her face.

Vi leans into your touch, shutting her eyes. You were never so intimate with hookups. It was usually you ate them out, they ate you out, and/or they fucked you or you fucked them and they left with no more than a few degrading words and harsh kisses.

This was a nice change of pace as far as one-night stands go.

“But what about you, huh? I bet you're so wet down there, angel.”

Vi nods to confirm, a beautiful whine leaving her swollen lips. You beam at the sound, glancing down at her skinny jean-cladded thighs when an idea sparked in your brain.

“Get up and take off your pants and underwear for me, yeah?” You instruct as you remove your leg carefully as it is still a bit sensitive from the orgasm.

Vi stood up on her heavy booted feet, shrugging off her leather jacket that you hadn’t even realized she had kept on this whole time. She must’ve been sweating in that thing. Confirming your suspicions, you watch as beads of sweat trickle down her toned back and shoulders. You wanted to lick it off of her, your tongue tracing every line of ink that was etched onto her pale skin.

Maybe another time if she so chooses.

This time, you sat back on the couch with your legs spread. You suck in a deep breath as she tugs down her briefs, avoiding eye contact with you. You had a confidence boost at how timid she ended up being in the bedroom compared to when you first met. She was nothing but snippy towards you.

Now look at her. Her briefs had an obvious wet patch on them but you were too focused on how gorgeous her body is.

“Look at you,” you praise as you hold your hands out to invite her into your lap.

Vi sucks in a deep breath as she makes her way over to you, eyes trained on yours. You send a sweet grin as you mutter ‘good girl’ as she straddles your left thigh. The feeling of her drenched cunt against your fishnet-cladded thighs sends a shiver down your spine.

It’s like she had read your mind.

Her hips greedily ground down on your thigh, visibly shaking at the relief she was getting. Your hands hold at her toned waist, watching her abs contract and the goosebumps rise to her pale skin.

“Does it feel good, baby?” You hum, running your palms up her torso.

Vi nods with a whimper, her hair falling in front of her face.

“Need to cum,” she mutters.

Your eyebrows raise as an amused, almost taunting chuckle at how fast she needed to cum.

“Oh, baby, you were really aching, huh?” You tease as you lean forward to place a few kisses over her bandaged chest.

Through hooded eyes, she cranes her neck to capture your lips into a soft kiss. You hum against her mouth as you can still taste your arousal still lingering on her lips, swiping your tongue over her bottom.

She mutters as she pulls away for a moment to whisper: “Wanted you to cum first.”

You can’t help but smile so wide that your teeth clank against one another. You move on from her lips to mutter sweet nothings into the crook of her neck, licking over the gear tattoo on the side neck. The shivers and moans that follow only encourage your filthy motives.

As her hips pick up their movements, you pull away to look down at your thigh that was glistening from her slick. Vi’s strong hands were resting on your shoulders as she was craving her orgasm that was mocking her.

Her already smudged black eyeshadow was somehow even more messy at this point. The sounds of her begging and moaning to cum were addicting.

“‘M gonna cum. Can I?” She shivers as she places a weak kiss on your lips.

Her brows furrow and her mouth falls permanently open as her pathetic moans leave her throat.

“Cum for me. You’re so— fuck, Vi.” You nodded as you sat back to watch her movements pick up.

Her desperate ‘ah’s’ fill the small space of your living room, folding her body over to rest her head on your shoulder. Your hands were settled on her waist, encouraging her to keep going.

Vi’s orgasm tore through her body, her grip on you tightening for a few seconds to try and hold herself up. Her whole body shook, her shoulders heaving up and down rapidly.

“Just like that. Good girl, Vi. So good,” you praise as you run your hand up her back. “Did so good.”

Vi’s forehead was still resting on your shoulder as she tried to catch her breath now more tilted into the crook of your neck. She huffs as she carefully sits up, removing her hands from your shoulders.

“Hey, it’s okay. Be careful.”

Your hands moved back down from her mid-back to rest on her hips.

After a few more minutes of the two of you letting yourselves calm down, the two had peed and washed your hands after your orgasms. You were awaiting the woman to come from your bathroom as you had moved to your bedroom.

Vi immediately asked if she could sleep at yours for the night. You smile at her tired state, slow sighs leaving her lips as she crawls onto your bed with her briefs back on now.

Your whole body was light as you allowed yourself to relax on the mattress, slow breathing as you were fighting sleep. Vi’s head was resting on your chest, bandaged arms curled around your torso. You hesitantly raise your hand to run your fingers through her hair, watching her eyes flutter shut at the feeling. Her lips brush past your collarbone as you feel her open her mouth, thinking she is going to kiss you.

What happens next throws you off guard.

“Cait.”

You blink at the mutter of a name you swore wasn’t yours leaving Vi’s lips. You wait for a moment to see if she does it again but she seems to be only muttering nonsense to herself. Feeling like it was inappropriate, you don’t speak on the matter, watching her drift off into a deep slumber.

You couldn’t even be mad at the woman, assuming what she might be feeling at the moment. And you were just too tired to care that much.

Vi doesn’t seem to notice her slip-up and knocks out against your chest, body stilling. You stare down at the slope of her nose and the small of her eyelashes and wonder who the hell could she be heartbroken over.

And if you wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of soft sobbing, you won’t say anything either.

TAG-LIST: @tearouthearts @onyxherman @prwttiestbunny @pumpkin-eater28 @redheadsyd @cherry-n-cheeks @lunatakashi18 @caicreations @ayooooohush

[shouyuus]

vi who sleeps in nothing but a pair of boxers/plaid pants (coz she runs super hot)...good luck trying to get any sleeping done next to allat ( . 人 . )

right. we are so back (i say, as if i've fucking gone anywhere except or being chronically online here writing vi fics) but pls put ur hands together for the original shirtless sleeper vi anon; our one tru savior who spawned all those topless vi hcs

18+, nip mention, college roommate!vi cinematic universe

vi, who runs super fucking hot all the time, sleeps in nothing but boxers or boy shorts, always kicks the blankets off the bed. before you got together, you'd sometimes find her passed out on the couch in the living room, snoring, her shirt rucked all the way up, her abs out on full display, on hand thrown over her head, the other dangling off the edge of the couch.

you've had to wake her up more than once, tug her over your shoulders, and half-drag, half-walk her to her own bedroom, dumping her on the bed, coaxing her into a semi-normal sleeping position before tucking her in.

but the next morning, when you'd wake up to check on her, you'd always find her somehow with all the sheets thrown off her (even in the dead of winter), and her shirt magically discarded somewhere on her floor, her torso bare, her nipple rings glinting in the morning light seeping in from the cracks between her eternally closed blinds.

sometimes, you'd linger over the sleeping shape of her, a stupid little indulgent smile on your lips as you sigh and walk back out of the room.

now that you're together though, it's even worse (and by that i mean better) bc she's a cuddler, you know she is. and she loves wrapping herself around you when she sleeps, digging her nose into the nape of your neck if she's big spoon, or just curling herself over your body, her leg thrown over both of yours, one of her arms looped around your middle --

except she's a human furnace, and in the summers, you've already got the ac blasting, but somehow its still not enough, and you always wake up in the middle of the night, skin sticky with a thin layer of sweat, trying to get some air. but when you try to roll away from her, she'd always whine and chase you, pull you back tighter into her arms, nuzzle against your cheek and mumble something about not leaving her.

"vi -- i'm not going anywhere, i'm just sweating --"

"mm... turn the ac up more..."

"okay, but you have to let me go first."

"mmm.... don't wanna..."

but the fact that her tits are rubbing up against your arm, her nipple rings cool along your skin -- you shiver, and she chuckles.

"can't be that hot if you're shivering like that."

you groan; she sounds way more awake now than a second ago. fuck.

"j-just -- lemme go turn down the ac --"

"don't -- i'm comfy." she locks you into her chest, her nose pressing into your cheek as she ghosts her lips over your skin. you can't help the tiny whimper that squeezes out of your throat.

you've got a quiz tomorrow (technically, later on today since it's like 4am in the morning) in fluid mechanics and you really can't be losing sleep like this but --

vi's already shifting, twisting you towards her, cupping your cheek to turn your face. your lips meet and you know it's a lost cause to try and resist.

"c'mon pretty girl -- spread those legs for me -- gotta work up a sweat first if you wanna cool down after, right?" she says as she tugs your legs open with one of her ankles hooked over yours, keeping your leg pinned beneath hers as her free hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties.

needless to say, you don't get much sleep for the rest of the night. you still manage to make it to your fluid mechanics class the next day, and the quiz goes... okay. but your ac bill is really really way too high that month.

[gravegoer]

I saw a video of a guy blowing smoke into his gfs mouth when they kiss AHHHH THAT WITH SEVIKA HAS ME ROLLINGGGGGGG

Smokey kisses

i feel like I know exactly what video you're talking about, and 100% agree with you! i also have part 2 of the bodyguard fic coming out soon ! asks are still open, if i havent answered yours PLEASSEE resend, some get lost in the void.

masterlist

Whenever Sevika smoked cigarillos around you, she never blew the smoke in your face, assuming you never wanted to inhale the secondhand smoke.

When talking face to face with you, she blows the smoke out of the side of her thick lips (sometimes into someone else's face, not that she cares)

Even when you kiss, she feels a little self-conscious about her breath, knowing it probably tastes bitter. She tries to lessen the blow by using some cheap strawberry chapstick every so often.

Once you leaned in to kiss her while she was smoking and she pushed back on your chest with the hand that wasn't holding her cigarillo.

"Not right now sweetheart"

At first, you didn't realize why she did this, thinking maybe she was uncomfortable with your affection. But you started to realize the trend within a few months.

How she refused to smoke inside your house, and never purposely lit one up around you unless she was stressed or anxious. But not before muttering an apology.

Obviously, knowing this information you wanted to make her less insecure of her habits. If you couldn't get rid of the habit you might as well embrace it, right?

This is the part where you hatch your master plan.

When you two sat together in Sevika's private booth at the bar there was a cigarillo held between her lips as she was in the middle of a poker game. You sat on her leg, her mechanical arm holding you steady by the waist.

This was one of your guys' pastimes, she would show you off to the jealous men at the bar while you got to indulge in the warmth of her body and the heat of her touch.

Undoubtedly she was winning, a man huffed in disappointment from her left. This made her chuckle and smoke was blown out of her nostrils, she shifted her leg slightly, making you bounce in her lap.

You smiled at this, leaning back on her shoulder.

As the men shuffled out of the booth (not before handing over Sevika's winnings) you wrapped your arms around her shoulders.

"Good job baby," You kissed her on the cheek as a reward, a reward that she definetly valued more than the gold on the table infront of her.

"Dont you ever get tired of watching me win?" She said teasingly, running a hand up your thigh.

You inched closer to her face, "No, not even a little bit"

She backed up a bit as you got closer to her lips, raising an eyebrow at you. Before she could retaliate further you grabbed her face and pulled it towards yours

Your lips intertwined with hers, a gasp escaped her lips, causing smoke to be blown into your mouth. At that you inhaled, deepening the kiss.

Her eyes were open, pupils blown wide as she stared incrediously at you. This shock didnt last long as she started to kiss you back, grabbing the back of your head and running her fingers through your hair roughly.

"Fuck, that was so hot"

She muttered between heavy breaths and rough kisses.

Pulling away, she took another drag of her cigarillo and pushed her mouth back against yours, releasing a breath when you kissed her back.

She groaned at the feeling of you taking the smoke into your mouth and letting it linger, the fumes your senses as it escaped in small spurts through your lips.

Sevika smirked into the kiss, now moving her mouth down to your jaw. But you pushed her head away, giggling.

"You should have let me do that sooner." She rubs the back of your head where her hand sat.

"Yeah? Well, quit acting like I don't know you smoke when you're around me."

this was infact NOT proof read so dont come at me....

taglist: @thequeenreaders @hangezoes-wife @thesecondhandwoman @slut4sevika @kylorey25

[sunsburns]

wanna be yours — vi (league of legends) !

⟢ synopsis. in the gritty underbelly of zaun, you find yourself entangled in the life of a new pit fighter: vi, a hardened fighter who wears her pain like armour. as a medic working in the fighting pit, you are tasked with patching up her wounds after matches, and you realize that while you can heal vi’s injuries, you can’t mend the broken pieces of her heart that belong to someone else.

⟢ contains. afab!reader, arcane!vi, feminine characteristics, angst, lesbians, lots and lots of longing, kinda enemies to lovers (but worse), nsfw, fingering, 17+ kinda explicit.

⟢ word count. 15.2k+

⟢ authors note. i spent the last few weeks working on this fic and i am really happy with how it turned out!! eek!! happy reading!! <3 :)

You’ve grown used to the sight of blood.

It streaks across the tiled floor in dark smears, trails on the edge of your workbench, and stains the tattered cloths shoved into the waste bin. The scent of copper lingers in the air, mingling with the faint tang of disinfectant.

You’ve made it work, though. You have to.

Your bench is lined with the tools: sutures, gauze, tape, and a half-empty bottle of antiseptic you’ve been meaning to replace. You keep it organized, and meticulous because chaos out there demands control in here. The pit fighters appreciate it, and you, in their own way. There’s always a pep in their step when they leave your little corner, heading to the bar with fresh bandages and a story to tell.

Some linger longer than they need to, chatting while you clean up. The regulars know your rhythm—when to crack a joke to ease the tension or when to stay quiet and let you focus. The brawlers come to trust you, and trust is hard to come by lately.

Maybe it was because you weren’t trying to punch the lights out of their eyes.

The room itself is far from perfect. Cramped, poorly lit, and barely adequate, it feels more like a storage closet someone forgot to clear out than a proper medical station. You’ve done what you can to make it your own. A few paintings hang crookedly on the walls—cheap prints, but bright enough to cut through the gloom. Candles flicker in the corners of your desk, casting a soft glow that doesn’t do much for the lighting but makes the space feel warmer, more welcoming.

The pit fighters notice. They never say much about it, but you catch the way they relax when they sit down, their shoulders loosening just slightly as the room wraps them in its quiet. It’s your small rebellion against the harshness of Zaun, a reminder that even here, there’s room for gentleness.

Sometimes they repay that gentleness in their own way—a drink after a fight, a nod of thanks, or a protective presence when the streets get dangerous, walking you home. You’ve been here long enough to know that loyalty is rare in Zaun, but somehow, you’ve earned it.

The fighting arena roars with life, the crowd’s cheers rumbling through the walls like distant thunder. Tonight’s fights have been loud—louder than usual. People running around with their coloured tickets based on who they were betting on. You glance at the clock.

There’s been a buzz all week about a newcomer, someone fresh and untested.

Vi, they call her.

Scrappy and wild, with a chip on her shoulder and fists to match. The kind of fighter who comes in all swagger and leaves in pieces.

You haven’t met her yet, but the bookies’ chatter alone has you bracing yourself. First fights are always the worst—too much pride, not enough sense.

The door rattles, hard enough to make the jars on your shelf tremble and you can hear muffled shouting from the other side.

It slams open, rattling on its hinges, but you don’t look up right away. Your focus is on threading a needle carefully through the gash along the side of Ryker’s jaw—a nasty wound from an earlier fight. Ryker’s been coming here for years, but never with complaints. He’s one of the good ones, fighting not just for himself but for his daughter, scraping by on the cash these matches earn him. He sits hunched over, still radiating the heat of adrenaline.

“Don’t fucking shove me,” a voice grumbles from the doorway. “Fuck off, Loris!”

Your attention shifts to the two figures stumbling into the room. One of them—a broad-shouldered man with a face like he’s eaten rocks for breakfast—could easily pass for one of the fighters. But it’s the girl he’s dragging by the arm that catches your eye.

She’s all jagged lines and sharp edges, her messy, dark pink hair sticking up in uneven tufts. Blood drips lazily from her nose, smudging against the back of her hand when she wipes at it, and her scowl is carved so deep it feels like her only expression.

“I don’t need a medic,” the girl—Vi, you hear the man mutter—snaps, yanking her arm free. “I need a drink.”

“Protocol,” He replies flatly, giving her a shove that nearly sends her sprawling.

Vi catches herself with a stumble, shooting him a glare before surveying the room with obvious disdain. Her gaze lands on you, and her lip curls faintly. “This it? Cozy,” she mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

You ignore her, focusing on the final stitch on Ryker’s jaw. “You can take a seat,” you say evenly, nodding toward the empty couch by the far wall.

“No thanks,” Vi shoots back, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. She leans against the wall instead, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Too proud to sit down, blue belly?” Ryker mutters, casting a sharp glance from his seat. His voice is low, edged with a warning. “Or has the guilt of hunting your own finally caught up with you?”

“Ryker,” you say softly, your tone a quiet scold. The last thing you need is a fight breaking out here.

But his words make you look at Vi more closely. Her features are familiar, in a vague, nagging way. It clicks as you take in the hard set of her shoulders, the stubborn way she holds herself, and the bruises already blooming across her cheekbone. A new batch of enforcers had swept through Zaun a few weeks back, leaving havoc and clouds of Grey in their wake. They’d brought their brutality, painted their violence into the walls of the city, and then disappeared like ghosts, leaving Zaun more broken than before.

That’s how it usually went with them.

However, you had never heard of someone from the undercity becoming an Enforcer before.

Vi scoffs, slurring her words just slightly. “I don’t know—d’you wanna find out?”

You pause, needle halfway through a stitch, tension coiling tight in the air. “Don’t,” you warn softly, already sensing where this is headed.

Ryker shifts forward on the bench, his battered knuckles flexing. “You wanna go another round?”

Vi pushes off the wall, stepping closer. “You wanna lose again?” she challenges, her voice low and sharp.

“That’s enough,” you snap, moving quickly to step between them. Loris mirrors your movement, his larger frame serving as an immovable barrier.

“Sit. Down,” Loris growls at Vi, his glare enough to make her hesitate. With a huff, she leans back against the wall again, though her fists remain clenched in her jacket pockets.

You shake your head and turn back to Ryker, finishing the last stitch with practiced ease. “You’re done,” you tell him, rummaging through your cabinet and handing him a small bottle of pain meds. “Keep it clean, change the bandage twice a day, and stay out of trouble—for your sake and your daughter’s.”

Ryker stands slowly, still throwing a glare Vi’s way. But his expression softens when he looks at you. “Thanks,” when he says your name, his voice is warmer than before. “You’re too good for this place.”

You offer him a faint smile. “Take care, Ryker.”

He leaves, brushing past Vi with a grunt, and the room feels quieter—tense but quieter. You turn your attention to the newcomer, who’s leaning against the wall, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, tracking your every movement.

“Alright,” you say, already washing your hands and gathering fresh supplies. “Your turn.”

Vi doesn’t move from the wall. “I’m fine,” she insists, “patch up the ones who actually need it.”

Your gaze flicks over her—the bloody nose that’s started to run again, the gash seeping through her sleeve, and the raw swelling on her knuckles. “Sit,” you say, your voice firm.

She doesn’t budge.

You meet her gaze, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably long, a quiet standoff neither of you seems willing to break. Your fingers tap once against the counter, but your glare doesn’t waver. You won’t repeat yourself.

Loris, the man who dragged her in, steps forward with a roll of his eyes, giving her a nudge with his elbow. “Sit down, Vi.”

She winces at the pressure on her back, her bravado faltering for just a split second. With a low grumble, she finally drops onto the bench, slouching with exaggerated indifference, her arms crossing tight over her chest.

You grab a clipboard and step closer. She watches you like you’re some kind of nuisance.

“Name?” you ask, clicking your pen.

“Vi,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on the far wall.

“Vi what?”

“Just Vi.”

You suppress a sigh. “What’s your full name?”

“I said, just Vi.”

There’s an edge to her tone, enough to make you glance up. Her jaw is set, her expression daring you to press the issue. You don’t. Instead, you scrawl it down and move on. “Fine. Age?”

“Old enough to fight.”

Your pen stills mid-note, the corners of your mouth tightening as you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Of course, you are,” you say dryly, setting the clipboard aside with a little more force than necessary. “Alright, let’s start with the obvious,” you say, gesturing at her face. “Your nose is bleeding. Tilt your head back.”

Vi’s brow arches like you’ve just said something funny. “I said, I’m fine.”

“And I said, tilt your head back,” you reply, your voice steady but no less firm.

Her gaze sharpens, a flicker of defiance lighting in her eyes, but she tilts her head back with a dramatic huff. “Happy?”

You ignore her tone, stepping closer to inspect the injury. The faint scent of sweat and iron lingers between you, and for a moment, you notice the heat of her skin where your gloved fingers gently tilt her chin.

“Doesn’t feel broken,” you mutter, reaching for a clean cloth to dab away the blood. She flinches as the fabric touches her skin, her muscles twitching under your fingers. “Relax,” you say softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she mutters.

Your hand falters, just briefly. There’s a weight to her words, a sharpness you weren’t expecting, but you push past it. “Well, I mean it,” you reply quietly.

Her silence stretches as you work, less hostile but no less charged. The closer you look, the more details you notice: the faint scars lining her skin, the inked letters etched into her cheekbone, the edge of a tattoo just barely visible beneath her collar, and the faint shine of her silver nose ring.

“Jacket off,” you say, gesturing to the gash on her arm.

Her gaze snaps to yours, wary and sharp. “Why?”

You give her a flat look. “Because I can’t stitch it through fabric.”

For a second, she doesn’t move, her body tensing as if bracing for something. Then, with a muttered curse, she shrugs out of her jacket, tossing it onto the bench beside her.

Her arms are a mess—old fighting hand wraps soaked with blood and dirt wrapped tightly around her forearms. You offer to replace them, but she cuts you off. “I’ll do it myself.”

You let it go, focusing instead on cleaning the fresh wound. Her muscles tense every time you touch her, but she doesn’t flinch again. “You can relax, you know,” you say, trying to sound light. “I’m just trying to help.”

Vi lets out a bitter snort. “You’re not the first to say that.”

You pause, but you don’t press. She’s lashing out on you. That’s the most you can make of it.

The silence stretches again as you stitch the wound, her eyes watching you closely, unreadable. When you finally glance up, your movements stilling, she shrugs.

“What?” you ask, unable to help yourself.

“Nothing,” she says, leaning back.

You hold her gaze for a beat longer before shaking your head and returning to your work, wrapping the freshly stitched wound with clean bandages. She stays quiet, watching until the silence becomes heavy again.

Then, without warning, she speaks, her voice quieter but cutting. “You know, you’re wasting your time on these people. Half of them wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

The words hit like a punch, sharper than anything she’s said before. You freeze mid-motion, your fingers hovering over the bandage as you process her bluntness. Slowly, deliberately, you resume wrapping her arm, tucking the end of the bandage into place with more care than you think she deserves at that moment.

“Good thing I don’t do this for their gratitude,” you reply evenly, though the edge in your voice betrays a flicker of irritation. You’re trying not to let it get to you.

She’s new. Clearly, she’s fighting off some kind of pent-up frustration. She must have anger issues or something. You wonder how many hits Ryker got on her before she knocked him out.

Her chuckle is low and humourless, more of a scoff than anything else. “Right.”

You hope he got a solid six or seven punches in.

You step back, peeling off your gloves with a deliberate snap. There’s a moment where you consider saying something more, but you swallow the impulse. Professionalism, you remind yourself.

“You’re all set,” you say curtly, gathering up the soiled supplies. “I’d suggest taking tomorrow off. You know, to let the wound heal before you go back out there.”

Vi grabs her jacket, standing in a single fluid motion. She doesn’t look at you when she replies, her tone casual but dismissive. “I’ll live.”

You wish Ryker had broken her nose.

You shake your head, already turning back to tidy your workstation, unwilling to watch her saunter out.

Loris, standing by the door, offers you a small, almost apologetic smile. “Thanks,” he says, his voice warmer than hers ever was.

You manage a smile back, but it’s shallow, worn. The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone in the cramped room. The exasperation settles in like a weight, not heavy but persistent.

For a moment, you stand there in silence, staring at the supplies on your counter. You shake your head again, this time at yourself.

What the fuck is her problem?

You know you shouldn’t be surprised when Vi stumbles into the medic room again the very next day. The fights at Antis’s brawling ring are infamous for their relentless schedule, especially on weekends when the bets come pouring in before sundown. It’s barely dusk now, but the underground buzz is already unmistakable—the muffled cheers and jeers vibrating through the walls.

Vi comes alone this time—or at least she leaves Loris waiting outside the door. You catch a brief glimpse of him through the crack in the door, leaning against the wall with a drink at his lips, shaking his head like this is just another day for him.

The door slams shut as Vi shoulders her way in, her boots heavy against the floor. She’s holding one hand against her face, blood dripping sluggishly through her fingers and trailing down her arm.

You have to bite back a smile at the sight.

She’s ditched her jacket, and the sleeveless collared top she’s wearing looks like it’s seen more fights than she has—worn thin, patched up in places, and stained with a lifetime of blood and sweat. Her hand wraps are shredded and still filthy, hanging loosely around her forearms. The gash on her arm has reopened, the stitches torn apart as if they were never there to begin with.

You take all of this in within seconds, and something tightens in your chest—a mix of frustration and satisfaction. “You can’t fight back-to-back nights,” you say, your voice sharper than intended as you grab your gloves and a fresh set of supplies.

Vi grunts, brushing past you to sit on the bench. “I can do what I want,” she snaps, her words muffled by her hand still pressed to her face. Her defiance is unshaken, but the tremble in her shoulders gives her away. She’s hurting.

Now you start to feel bad. But just a little bit.

You’ve seen this before—new fighters crashing into the medic room with the same mix of bruised pride and bloodied skin. They fight like there’s no tomorrow, each punch is thrown carrying something more than just adrenaline. Some fight for money, some for escape, and others just because they don’t know how to stop. There’s always a reason. You can’t help but wonder what—or who—Vi is fighting for.

With a quiet exhale, you turn to the counter and grab your supplies. The clatter of tools fills the silence as you steel yourself for the inevitable pushback. “Let me guess,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at her. “Antis needed someone to keep the bets high, and you couldn’t say no.”

Vi drops her hand from her face, and for the first time, you see the full extent of the damage. A deep bruise blooms across the bridge of her nose, nearly swollen shut in one eye, while blood smears across her mouth and drips down her jaw.

She glares at you through the mess, her voice sharp. “It’s none of your business.”

“No,” you admit, stepping closer and gesturing for her to tilt her head back. “But I’m the one who has to patch you up. So humour me.”

She scoffs but tilts her head back, letting you inspect the damage. Up close, the bruise looks worse—angry and dark, already spreading across her pale skin. Her nose isn’t broken (unfortunately), but it’s close, and the blood smeared across her upper lip makes her look like it’s been bitten off. You grab a clean cloth and start wiping the blood away. Your movements are brisk but careful, and she winces slightly as you press the cloth to her skin. Still, she doesn’t pull away, just sits there stiff and unyielding.

“You’re going to tear open the stitches every time you fight like this,” you mutter, reaching for the antiseptic. “You’ve gotta take it easy. I know how these guys fight out there—”

“I don’t need your pity,” she cuts in, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Not pity,” you reply, keeping your tone even. “Just words of advice.”

“I don’t need that either,” she snaps, her jaw tightening as you dab antiseptic on the wound. “Just patch me up so I can go. I’m only here because Antis won’t clear me for my pay otherwise.”

“Yeah, it’s protocol,” you say, capping the bottle and setting it down beside you.

“It’s stupid.”

“It was my idea.”

Her head jerks slightly, her eyes flicking toward you for a beat. There’s something almost vulnerable in her expression before she quickly looks away. She doesn’t answer right away, her gaze fixed firmly on the far wall. When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter, almost bitter. “...Still stupid.”

You smile faintly as you reach for fresh bandages. “Yeah, well, stupid or not, it’s keeping people alive. Even stubborn ones like you.”

Stubborn is definitely a nicer word than what you really want to say.

She doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between you as you unwrap the old bandage around her arm. Her fingers twitch against her thigh, like she’s itching to leave, but she stays seated, her posture rigid. You can’t tell if it’s pride or exhaustion keeping her there—or maybe both.

For the rest of the session, Vi is quieter than usual. Her sharp retorts are replaced by a heavy silence that seems to weigh down the air in the room. Outside, the muffled roars of the crowd echo through the thin walls.

As you work to clean and re-stitch her arm, you glance at her every so often, noting the way her jaw tightens and her fingers tap restlessly against her thigh. It’s like she’s bracing for a blow that might never come, her body constantly coiled, ready to spring.

You take a step back, pulling off your gloves with a snap. “You’re good to go,” you say, your voice softer now. “But you need rest.”

She snorts, grabbing her jacket off the bench without looking at you. “Can’t rest. I’m on a winning streak.”

You arch a brow. “You’ve only been here two days. I wouldn’t count that as a streak.”

“Don’t really care what you think.”

“You should. You’re sleep-deprived, by the way. Your eyes barely focus. Get more sleep. And you need to drink more water.”

Vi huffs a dry, sarcastic laugh, “Sure, doc. Whatever you say.”

You want to argue, but she’s already out the door, leaving behind only the faint scent of iron and the lingering weight of words left unsaid. Loris nods at you through the open door as she stalks past him, his gaze flicking back to you briefly.

The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone with the distant hum of the crowd and the bloodstained bench. For a long moment, you just stand there, staring at the scraps of torn bandages scattered on the floor, the mess she left behind.

It’s not long after that you learn her name is Violet.

The knowledge of it nearly makes you laugh.

Violets. You’ve never actually seen them, but a friend of yours, a painter, once gifted you a piece featuring soft, delicate purple blooms. It hangs over your bedside table, a rare touch of beauty in an otherwise bleak city. You like to imagine those flowers are violets, though you’re not entirely sure. Flowers aren’t exactly a common sight in Zaun.

The irony of her name strikes you every time you think about it. Violet. There’s nothing soft or delicate about her—not the way she fights, nor the way she speaks to you.

She didn’t tell you her name herself, of course. That would require her to speak more than three sentences in your direction, which feels like an impossible feat. No, funnily enough, it was Loris who let it slip, though you suspect he knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t much of a ‘slip’ rather than straight-up telling you her name.

It happened a night at a bar near your work. You’d gone with some friends, seeking a much-needed reprieve. The bartender, a friend of yours, had slipped you a couple of free drinks, and in a haze of warmth and exhaustion, you noticed Loris at the bar. He looked out of place, all gruffness and silence amid the lively chatter, so you invited him to join your table.

Several drinks in, your curiosity got the better of you. You leaned closer to him, your voice barely cutting through the music and chatter as you asked him about his pink-haired friend.

Loris wasn’t much of a talker, you realized. He’d spur out a few words or two, maybe a grunt or nod.

Loris made a face, his usual stoic front slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of amusement. He leaned in, his breath heavy with the scent of cheap beer, and gave a rare grin. “Sleeping,” he said simply, before adding, almost as an afterthought, “Her name’s Violet, by the way.”

Violet. You didn’t expect that, and it must’ve shown on your face because Loris chuckled softly.

It doesn’t take long for her name to start climbing the ranks at Antis’s. Fighters and spectators alike talk about her with equal parts fear and admiration. “Antis’s money-maker,” they call her, and it’s not hard to see why. When word spread about the unbeatable pink-haired girl, business began booming. Crowds flooded in, the promise of blood and spectacle drawing them like moths to a flame.

At first, she was just another new fighter, opening matches against scrappy, overconfident rookies. But that changed quickly. Within weeks, she was headlining brawls, her name alone enough to pack the stands. She didn’t just win—she dominated, often taking on two, three, even four opponents in a single night. And you? You kept count. You had to.

She tore through supplies faster than you could restock them. Bandages, antiseptics, meds—all of it consumed at an alarming rate. You’ve patched her up more times than you can count. But what stands out most isn’t just the state of her after a fight—it’s what she leaves behind.

Her opponents don’t come to you for minor injuries. No, they stumble in half-broken, their faces smashed and unrecognizable. Each night growing worse for wear. She fights with a ruthlessness you’ve rarely seen, a fury that feels almost personal. You can’t help but wonder what drives her. Is she trying to make a point?

She’s changing, turning into something the crowd craves. Her old, worn clothes have been replaced—black jeans, already ripped at the knees, and a sleeveless black tank that clings to her frame. She’s losing pieces of herself, or maybe just hiding them.

You still can't believe that there's a girl named Violet out there beating the shit out of people for money.

One day, you accidentally walk into her in Antis’s office. You’re here to drop off some invoices for medical supplies, your mind preoccupied with balancing the clinic’s dwindling stock against the rising demand. But when you open the door, you find Vi and Antis inside, deep in conversation.

Antis looks up first, his sharp eyes narrowing at your intrusion. “You’re early,” he grunts, though there’s no real annoyance in his tone. If anything, he seems amused. “Perfect timing. We were just talking about her look. What do you think?”

Vi shifts uncomfortably, her arms crossed over her chest. She doesn’t meet your gaze, her expression unreadable. You glance between them, caught off guard. “Her… look?”

Antis gestures to Vi with a sweep of his hand, his grin wolfish. “Yeah. Gotta sell the whole package, y’know? The crowd loves her, but they’ll eat up a good aesthetic, too. We’re thinking something that screams ‘unbeatable.’ Right, Vi?”

Vi’s jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, you think she might snap at Antis. But she doesn’t. Instead, her gaze flicks to you, like she’s waiting for something—your reaction, maybe, though you can’t figure out why it matters.

You clear your throat, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “She doesn’t need to change anything. She’s already pretty... unforgettable.”

Antis’s booming laugh fills the room, but you barely hear it. Your focus is locked on her. Something flickers in her eyes—a fleeting softness, vulnerability, gratitude, maybe?—before she schools her expression and looks away. You tell yourself it’s nothing, just a trick of the dim light.

A few days later, she shows up in the medic room again. But this time, it's different—she’s not limping in, not dripping with sweat or covered in bruises. She’s just there, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual air that catches you off guard. Her knuckles brush the doorframe absentmindedly as if she’s unsure whether to knock or let herself in.

“Do you need something?” you ask, glancing up from where you’re restocking the shelves. “Are you hurt?”

She shrugs, pushing off the door and stepping inside. “No, just… it’s quiet in here.”

Your brows knit together. Quiet?

She didn’t seem like the kind of person to seek out quiet, especially not in a place like this. “You came all the way here because it’s quiet?”

“Yeah,” she says simply, her tone flat, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She grabs the chair from your desk, spins it around, and sits backward on it, resting her arms over the backrest. “Problem?”

“No... it’s just…” You trail off, unsure how to articulate the strangeness of it. Instead, you turn back to organizing supplies, aware of her eyes on you. “Never mind.”

These visits became more frequent whenever she didn’t fight. And she even stays back for a bit after you patch her up. Sometimes she speaks, but more often than not, she doesn’t—simply sitting in that chair, letting the distant noise of the arena, the cheers and shouts, fade into the background. She’ll stare at the walls or absentmindedly tap her fingers against the chair’s edge, lost in thought, but there’s a serenity about her, an unfamiliar stillness that you start to recognize.

She never tells you what brings her in—if something is weighing on her mind or if it’s just a need to escape the chaos. And you don’t ask. Instead, you begin to anticipate her visits, a strange comfort taking root in the space between you.

The conversations are sparse, but you begin to notice the small things: the way her body relaxes when she settles into the old couch, the weight lifting from her shoulders as she stretches out, the way she’ll let herself drift off into a light sleep. It’s almost like you’re giving her a moment of rest she didn’t know she needed.

Vi strides in, her steps heavier than usual, and tosses a small, overstuffed bag of coins onto your desk. You recognize it immediately—one of the payout sacks Antis gives to the fighters, filled with their share of the betting pool. This one looks heavier than most, jingling with an unmistakable weight as it lands right on top of your paperwork. You pause, your pen hovering midair, and stare at it.

Her grin spreads as she catches the look on your face—wide-eyed and mildly incredulous. “Don’t worry, it’s not for you,” she teases, her tone light and mocking.

You roll your eyes, setting the pen down with an exaggerated sigh. “This from your fight last night?”

Vi nods, her grin twisting into something sharper, a little more wicked. “Some of my best work,” she replies, her voice carrying the faintest edge of pride.

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as your gaze sharpens on her face. “I don’t know,” you counter dryly. “He broke your nose, and the whole side of your face is swollen. Doesn’t sound like your best to me.”

Standing up, you step closer, brows knitting together in concern as you get a better look at the mess of bruises she’s sporting. Without thinking, your hands lift, reaching toward her face to assess the damage.

Vi flinches. It’s quick, almost imperceptible, but enough to make you hesitate. Your hands hover in the air, faltering. “Sorry,” you murmur, your voice soft.

She coughs awkwardly, shifting her weight. “No, uh—no. It’s fine,” she says, a little too fast.

This time, when you move again, she doesn’t flinch. She lets you gently brush your fingers over the swollen, splotchy skin along her cheekbone and jaw, and you feel the heat radiating off the inflamed area. Your touch is careful, clinical, but you can’t help wincing at the sight. “You’re kidding yourself if you call this your best work, Vi” you mutter. “Did you even ice this like I told you?”

Her eyes roll so hard you’re almost worried she’ll sprain something. She grabs your wrist—not roughly, but enough to lower your hand—and shrugs. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

You give her a deadpan look. “I did.”

Her smirk returns, a little more genuine now, though she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sits on the edge of your desk and starts digging absently through the bag of coins, her fingers brushing over the shiny hexes and cogs. She doesn’t pull anything out, just lets her hand linger there.

“I brought you food,” she says suddenly, her voice casual.

You blink, momentarily thrown. “Food?”

She lifts a greasy paper bag into your line of sight, and you realize you hadn’t even noticed it when she walked in. “Yeah, you know. The stuff you eat when you’re hungry.”

“Okay, asshole,” you mutter, but the corner of your mouth quirks up despite yourself.

She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Got it for Loris and I, but he’s, uh… busy. Doing... someone else.” Her tone is flat, like she couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something there—an edge of amusement, maybe. “So, more for us.”

You watch her for a second. You like to think that you can see right through her sometimes, that you can read her, but as usual, she’s an enigma. There’s something in the way she said us that makes your chest feel a little lighter, but you don’t let it show. “Thanks,” you say simply.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” she shoots back. There is kindness she tries to hide, though it’s written all over her expression.

She settles onto the old medical bench, pulling out boxes of food from the bag. You wince internally at the sight, thinking about the number of people who’ve bled, puked, and worse on that very bench. Just hours ago, Vi had been sitting there herself, nose snapped out of place, grinning through bloody teeth and swollen lips and teary eyes. Now, she’s perched there like it’s nothing, tearing into her meal with that same reckless ease she carries into every fight.

“Is this where I’m supposed to remind you how unsanitary this is?”

She shrugs mid-bite, unbothered.

You don’t bother arguing. Instead, you take the box she pushes toward you and settle in. The two of you eat in silence.

The days begin to blur into one another as Vi’s visits grow more casual. At first, you barely tolerated her—a pit fighter like so many others, bruised and bloody and reckless, shuffling into your medic room with the same bravado they all wore like armour. But somewhere along the way, you start to realize you actually don’t hate her company.

And as Vi continues her rise with pit fighting, you realize you also like to take care of her afterwards, even if it is your job or not. Each fight ends quicker than the last, her victories coming faster and fiercer. With every knockout, her confidence blooms—bold, intoxicating.

You’ve always been able to tell why people fight. Some thrive on the violence, seeking it out like a drug, their eyes lit with a manic fire that never seems to dim. Others do it out of desperation: to keep a roof overhead, food on the table, some semblance of stability in their lives.

At first, you were certain Vi belonged in the first category. The way she took punches, how she barely flinched when you patched her up—she didn’t just endure the pain. She absorbed it. Relished it. She wore her scars like trophies, and it almost seemed like she was chasing something more with every bruise and break.

But then you started noticing other things. How her clothes, once old and frayed, began to look newer. The leather jacket she bought just last week, the new earrings glinting against her skin, the sturdy boots she’s traded her worn ones for. Loris mentioned she moved out of his apartment recently and got her own place, though most of her money seemed to go toward booze.

You realize that fighting for Vi isn’t just about survival or enjoyment. It’s an outlet—a way to lose herself in the chaos and the violence, to drown out whatever it is she doesn’t want to face.

One night, you do something you’ve never done before: you buy a ticket to one of her fights. You’ve seen enough carnage in the medic’s room to last a lifetime, but something about Vi pulls you in, like gravity. The crowd is as raucous as ever—cheers, boos, the metallic clang of Antis’s bell marking the start and end of each match. You don’t join in the noise. You just watch, feeling out of place among the spectators who are here for the bloodlust.

And then Vi steps into the ring.

It’s the first time you’ve seen her fight, and it’s nothing like you imagined. You’d seen the aftermath—the blood, the bruises, the broken bones—but witnessing her in action is something else entirely. She’s skilled, fast, brutally efficient, her punches calculated yet devastating.

The man she’s up against is nearly twice her size, but it doesn’t matter. She ducks under his swing with ease, her fist connecting with his jaw in a single, bone-crunching motion that sends him sprawling. The fight is over in less than a minute, and the crowd roars its approval.

Your eyes linger on her, unable to look away. Her back is to you, sweat gleaming on her exposed skin, highlighting the intricate tattoo that snakes across her shoulders. When she turns, she seems to know exactly where you are, her gaze locking onto yours even in the chaos of the crowd.

Your breath catches. The rise and fall of her chest, the bead of sweat tracing down her neck, the raw, undeniable power in her every movement—it’s overwhelming.

Something stirs deep inside you, hot and wanting.

You leave before her second fight starts, slipping through the crowd and into the tunnels. The line waiting for you in the medic room feels endless, yet the blur of bruised faces and bloody wounds can’t distract you. Vi’s image lingers—sweat on her skin, her breath heavy after the fight, and the way her eyes found yours in the crowd.

You never bring it up, and Vi doesn’t either.

But something changes.

That night, as you treat her wounds again, it feels different. She’s quieter than usual, her usual cocky smile missing. You notice how her eyes linger on your hands as you work, following the glide of your fingers over her skin.

Your gloves feel thinner tonight, or maybe it’s just your imagination. You’re hyperaware of every small movement—how her skin feels warm under your touch, the sharp contrast of the calluses on her knuckles against your palm when you steady her hand to examine it.

She doesn’t flinch when you press a damp cloth to the gash on her temple. Normally, she’d tease you, mutter something about your bedside manner, or complain about the sting even though the both of you know she can take it. Instead, she just watches you, her gaze unwavering.

It’s almost unbearable.

Sweat, blood, and alcohol. That is what she smells like. Thick and hanging on your tongue like smog.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you finally say, your voice softer than you intended.

Vi’s lips quirk, but it’s a faint ghost of her usual grin. “Just tired, I guess.”

It’s a lie, and you both know it.

You focus on cleaning the cut, trying to steady your hand. But her closeness throws you off. She’s sitting on the edge of the cot, her knees brushing against your thighs whenever she shifts. The room feels smaller.

“Almost done,” you murmur, though it feels like you’re saying it more to yourself than her.

Vi tilts her head slightly, giving you better access, and the movement draws your attention to the curve of her jaw. There’s a bead of sweat lingering there, catching the dim light, and you have to force yourself to look away.

“Take your time,” she says.

Your fingers pause for just a second before you continue cleaning the wound. Her words hang in the air, charged and heavy, and you wonder if she knows how they’ve started to affect you. You reach for the bandages, your hands brushing against her skin again. Her breath hitches—just barely—but it’s enough for you to notice.

“There,” you say, pulling back slightly. “Done.”

But your hands linger for a moment too long, your fingers still ghosting over her cheek. You’re not sure if it’s you or her that doesn’t pull away first.

Vi’s eyes are on you again, darker now, and the air between you crackles with something unspoken. You don’t know if it’s the proximity, the adrenaline still lingering from her fight, or the way her lips part slightly like she’s about to say something—but you can’t take it anymore.

“I should clean up,” you say abruptly, turning away to gather the used bandages and cloths.

For a moment, she doesn’t move, and you think she might say something to stop you. But then you hear the rustle of her leather jacket as she stands, the creak of the cot as her weight leaves it.

“Thanks,” she says.

You glance over your shoulder, just in time to see her slip through the door. She doesn’t look back.

Her visits dwindle after that night. Fewer and fewer until she stops coming altogether. She starts fighting nights back to back, ignoring protocol and refusing to see you after each one.

You try to shake it off.

To ignore it until you can't.

And then you visit her one day.

It’s not in the medic room or the fighting ring. It’s at her door, and it’s jarring, her address scribbled on a small piece of paper that Loris gave you.

You can’t tell if Antis is pushing Vi to fight more or if Vi willingly puts herself through it every day. She is always in rotation, more so than any other fighter. It’s gotten to the point where people are betting on how long Vi could remain undefeated.

You hate how you immediately perk up when her door opens.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice low and guarded.

Her hair is black, dripping wet and staining her pale shoulders with inky streaks. The change startles you, but what’s more disarming is the sight of her like this—stripped-down, raw. Bandages are wrapped haphazardly around her chest, serving as an impromptu shirt. Her arms, usually hidden beneath gauze and gloves, are bare, revealing the countless scars that crisscross her skin. You can kind of see where her tattoos start and end. You think they’re beautiful.

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come. Why are you here? For some reason, you hadn’t thought much about it before knocking. Now, standing here in her doorway, it feels like a mistake.

You’re not really friends.

“Uh,” you stammer, fumbling for an answer. Your gaze keeps straying to her hair, the stark black making it look longer, heavier. The pigment stains her hairline, dripping in uneven streaks along her temple. You notice how the damp strands cling to her neck, how the water pools in the hollow of her collarbone. It feels intrusive to look, but you can’t help it.

She’s staring at you, her shock quickly shifting to irritation. “You gonna stand there all day, or what?”

“I—your hair,” you blurt out. “It’s… different.”

She scoffs, brushing past you as if you’re not worth the effort of a proper reply. The door swings open wider, an unspoken invitation—or maybe just a lack of concern if you follow. You hesitate, then step inside.

Her apartment is small and dim, almost claustrophobic. The air is stale and thick with a faint tang of alcohol. The small bed in the corner is unmade, the sheets rumpled and half-pushed onto the floor. A punching bag hangs in the center of the room, its surface worn and cracked from overuse. There’s a stack of clothes shoved into the corner, and a few empty bottles litter the floor near the bed.

But it’s the quiet that hits you the hardest. It’s so different from the loud, chaotic energy she carries at the ring or the silence in the medic room. Here, everything feels muted, almost sad.

“You dye it yourself?” you ask, trying to fill the awkward silence as she settles onto the edge of the bed.

She glances at you, the bottle in her hand tipping slightly. “Yeah.”

“Antis didn’t make you do it?”

Vi snorts a small, humourless sound. “No. He suggested green.”

You try to picture her with green hair and fail. “Why black?”

“Needed a change,” she says simply, taking a swig from the bottle. The way she winces as she swallows tells you it’s not her first drink tonight. “Why are you here?”

The bluntness of the question knocks you off balance. For a moment, you forget. Then the weight of the box in your hands reminds you. “Oh, uh, I brought you some new hand wrappings. I saw them at the store and thought you could use them since yours are... shit. Yours are shit.”

Her eyes snap up to yours, something unreadable flickering in them before she looks away. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” you reply, though your voice feels stiff and awkward. You shift your weight, unsure whether to stay or leave. Her gaze returns to you, steady but unreadable, and you feel the strange urge to say something—something meaningful.

“You... you okay, Vi?” you ask softly, not even sure why the words come out. You immediately want to take it back.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You look at her, really look at her. Not in the way you do at work, but right now, as a friend(?), guest(?) in her space. The dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she grips the bottle of cheap beer as if it’s the only thing keeping her upright. She looks… tired. Beaten down, in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice quieter now, careful. “I guess you just… you haven’t come by in a while. It looks like you need a good patch up again, no? Don’t worry, I won’t charge.”

The words sound too casual, too light like you’re trying to make a joke—and you are, but you can see the way her face stiffens after you say it. The faint bruises on her face, the bandages on her arms and hands, they’re a clear sign of how badly she’s been pushing herself—she’s been taking supplies from you without checking in, and you’ve noticed. You know she hasn’t gotten her pay yet. You haven’t had the chance to clear her for it since she stopped coming by after fights. It’s a faint sore spot between you both, an unspoken thing she won’t acknowledge, but you know she’s not getting the care she needs.

For a moment, her face hardens, and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line, if she’s going to snap at you. Instead, she just stares at you, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure out what your angle is.

You feel her gaze like a weight pressing down on you, making your skin itch.

Then, she exhales slowly, the tension in her posture easing just a fraction.

“I’m fine,” she says finally, though the words lack conviction. She shifts, setting the bottle down on the floor. “You done?”

You’re about to say something else—maybe ask again, maybe push for more—but then you realize it’s not your place. You step back, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “Yeah.”

You place the box of hand wraps on the counter, but your hands feel clumsy as you do. You want to say something more, something comforting, but the words stick in your throat. “Good luck tonight, Vi.”

She doesn’t respond right away. You turn to leave, your feet dragging slightly, unsure if you should even be leaving at all. It feels like there’s something more to say.

Just as you reach the door, her voice stops you. It’s softer than you expect, quieter, almost hesitant.

“Thanks.”

As you walk down the hallway, the ache in your chest lingers, a nebulous knot of worry, pity, and something else you can’t quite pin down. It tightens with each step, and you wonder, not for the first time, what weight Vi carries with her—and why it feels like it’s starting to settle on you too.

You shake it off, reminding yourself that you're not working this weekend. A rare luxury. Vi doesn’t need to know, and honestly, you doubt she’d even care. If anything, she’d probably be glad to be rid of you for a few more days.

That’s what you tell yourself.

The next time you’re sitting in your cramped little medical room, fussing over how some of the things on your desk are now out of place, the door creaks open just a sliver. You pause, mid-motion, and glance at the shadow shifting on the other side. When whoever it is spots you, the door swings wide with an almost violent energy, smacking against the wall behind it.

“Hey,” Vi stumbles inside, the loud thud of her boots and the echoing cheers from the fighting pit outside spilling into the room with her.

You stand abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor as you take her in. “Vi?”

It takes you a second to recognize her. The black hair throws you off again, though the pink is already creeping back into the ends, the dye washing out like it’s given up trying to keep up with her. Paint smears her face—thick streaks running from her eyes down to her chin like some warped battle mask. She’s gripping a large bottle in one hand, cradling it as if it’s precious, her knuckles stained red.

Her smirk is crooked, her words slurred. “Won’t believe it,” she drawls, letting herself fall unceremoniously onto the old, battered couch in the corner. The springs squeak loudly in protest, and she almost knocks over one of your carefully hung paintings. “Hey.”

You frown, stepping closer. “Are you drunk?”

Her smirk widens, playful and defiant. “No.”

“No?”

“I just won,” she says, like that explains everything. “Again. Beat that big guy—metal jaw. You know the one. Knocked it clean off.”

She’s grinning like she just told a funny joke, but you don’t laugh. Fighters don’t go into the pit drunk, at least not that you’ve ever seen. They also don’t win, which is why Antis is strict about that; drunk fighters are bad fighters, and bad don’t bring in any money—he’ll kick anyone out who even smells like shimmer, let alone someone stumbling around with a bottle of booze.

You move closer cautiously, studying her.

She sits up straighter as you approach, her hair falling messily across her face. You catch a glint of her blue eyes through the strands—sharp, even with the haze of alcohol dulling the rest of her. Her gaze flickers down to her bloodied knuckles, and so does yours—red seeps through the white of her hand wraps, staining them in uneven patches.

She murmurs something, but it’s too soft to catch.

“What?”

“You weren’t here.”

Her words surprise you.

“Yeah,” you say, unsure how else to respond.

“Four days.”

“I know.”

“Why not?”

You hesitate, caught between wanting to downplay your absence and knowing she’ll see through it. “I’ve been busy. I have a life outside this place, you know that, right?”

“Right,” she mutters, though there’s something bitter in the way she says it.

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers gripping the bottle loosely. She stares ahead, her face unreadable, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly quiet despite the muffled roar of the crowd outside. You’re counting the seconds until someone from the pit shows up looking worse for wear, but she just sits there, unmoving.

Finally, she speaks. “Loris and I are going out for drinks at the bar next door.”

“More of them?”

She scoffs, but there’s a faint smile playing on her lips. “Fuck off. I was gonna invite you.”

“You want me there?”

“Sure,” she shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “Since you and Loris are so close.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing a plastic bag and filling it with ice. “Oh, yeah. Best friends. I thought you knew.”

She grins at that, her expression lazy but amused as you press the makeshift ice pack to her cheek. She winces, hissing under her breath, but doesn’t pull away. The familiarity of the moment settles between you, a rhythm you hadn’t realized you missed. You didn’t know how much you liked being around her, with all her flaws and quirks, until it was gone.

When she stands to leave, there’s a lightness to her movements. She pauses at the door, glancing back over her shoulder.

“But you’re coming, right?” she asks, her voice softer, less guarded.

You nod, tugging absently at the rings on your fingers. “Yeah. I’ll stop by after I finish up here.”

Her smile catches you off guard. It’s not the smirk or grin you’re used to—it’s warmer, something you’ve never seen before. “Good.”

And then she’s gone, leaving you alone in the stillness of the room. The ache in your chest hasn’t gone away, but it feels different now, lighter somehow, settling into the pit of your stomach like a flutter of butterflies.

You can’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried.

Your night stretches on, each task blending into the next. Stitches to pull, bruises to ice, concussions to monitor. This is your rhythm—calm, focused, efficient. You don’t dwell on the blood staining your gloves or the bruised faces looking back at you. Usually, there’s a detachment, a quiet understanding between you and the fighters. You help them, and they leave.

But tonight feels different. The weight of the work presses a little heavier, the hours crawling by as the thought of Vi’s smile keeps replaying in your head. You remind yourself to focus, to get through the line of battered fighters who rely on you, but every second drags, making your usual rhythm feel offbeat.

It’s not just Vi’s smile—it’s the invitation, her softer tone, the way she paused at the door like your answer mattered more than usual. You don’t let yourself overthink it, but you do catch yourself checking the time more often than you’d like.

When the last fighter leaves, mumbling a tired thank-you, you exhale in relief. The medic room is quiet now, the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air. You pack your supplies, stuffing gloves, gauze, and a few stray pins into your cabinets. The bathroom across the hall catches your eye as you pass, and for once, you pause.

The bathroom is dimly lit, the bulb above buzzing faintly as it flickers. The mirror is cracked in one corner, the surface smudged and grimy, but it still reflects more of you than you’re ready to see. Your sleeves are stained, and your hands are scrubbed raw but not clean enough. The uneven greenish light only makes you look worse, casting harsh shadows on your face.

You roll your sleeves up and run water into the sink, trying to scrub the splotches from your clothes. The water’s cold and your hands ache from the effort, but it feels worth it—like a small chance to put your best self forward. You straighten your shirt, brush off your jacket, and fix your hair as best as you can.

It’s not enough.

It’ll never be enough for a bar full of fighters, let alone for her. You think about going home to change, but it’s already late, and the idea of missing her is ridiculously unbearable.

Clutching your jacket tightly, you step into the downpour outside. The rain pelts against your skin, soaking through your boots as you jog the few steps to the bar. The hum of voices reaches you before the neon glow of the sign above the door does.

Inside, the place is alive.

Most of the crowd from the arena spills into the corners of the bar, still riding the high of the night’s fights. Tables are crammed with victorious fighters and their friends and sponsors, their voices rising above the heavy bassline of a song playing in the background. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, beer, and the faint tang of spilled liquor.

The dim lighting casts a warm, golden hue over the room, softening the rough edges of the crowd. People laugh, shout, and toast to victories. Some are already slumped over the bar, lost in exhaustion or celebration.

Your eyes scan the room, searching for her. Instead, you spot Loris first—his brick-like frame standing out even among the chaos. He’s leaning casually against the bar, arms crossed, but his face lights up when he sees you.

He waves you over, and you weave through the crowd, dodging dancing bodies and familiar faces who call out greetings as you pass. Your heart beats faster, a mix of nerves and anticipation, as you approach.

“You made it,” Loris says, his grin wide and genuine.

You huff, brushing a damp strand of hair out of your face, but you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Hi.”

Loris gives you a nod, his usual gruffness softened just a bit for you. He calls the bartender over, jerking his chin toward you to signal it’s your turn to order.

You glance at the menu briefly, though you already know what you want. After placing your order, the two of you settle into a quiet rhythm. Loris doesn’t seem like the type to fill silence for the sake of it, and you don’t mind. There’s a strange comfort in his presence.

You find yourself scanning the crowd without thinking, your eyes searching for pink hair at first, a flash of brightness that would stand out even in a place like this. Then you remember her hair is black now. Your eyes adjust, searching instead for the sleek leather of her jacket or the familiar glint of its spikes catching the dim, shifting light.

The bartender sets your drink down in front of you with a solid thud, breaking your focus. Your heart skips a beat, and you reach for the glass more out of reflex than thirst. The cool edge of it presses against your palm, grounding you.

“Happy you’re here.”

Loris’s voice cuts through the noise, low but steady. You look up at him, caught off guard. His eyes remain fixed on his drink, but there’s a weight to his words that makes your chest tighten.

“Maybe it’ll keep Vi from doing something stupid,” he adds after a beat, his tone rough but not unkind.

Your eyebrows knit together as you bring your glass to your lips. The liquor burns on the way down, but it’s nothing compared to the unease settling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Loris hesitates, his fingers drumming against the counter as he considers his words. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, almost reluctant. “She gets into fights sometimes.”

Your stomach sinks further. “Here?”

“Only happened twice,” he says quickly like it’s supposed to make you feel better.

“Oh.” You set your drink down, your fingers lingering on the glass. “Why?”

Loris exhales through his nose, his shoulders shifting as if the question itself is a burden. “Dunno. She won’t talk about it.”

You blink, caught off guard. “She doesn’t seem…” You trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.

“Like a drunk?” he finishes for you. “She’s good at hiding it, most of the time. But she’s been drinking more. Gets worse when she’s stressed.”

You bite your lip, your fingers tightening around your glass. “Stressed about what? Fighting?”

He shakes his head, never answering. “She’s stubborn as shit, you know that. But something’s been eating at her, and I don’t think she knows how to deal with it.”

The words hang between you as the clamour of the bar continues around you. You glance down at your drink, the amber liquid catching the dim light, and take another sip. It doesn’t burn as much this time, but it doesn’t settle the knot in your stomach, either.

“I can keep an eye on her,” you say quietly, more to yourself than Loris. “She’s not supposed to be in the pit intoxicated anyway.”

He nods, a faint hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes. “She’s lucky to have you.”

The comment catches you off guard, and you look at him sharply, but he’s already turning back to his drink. You swallow, your cheeks warming for reasons that have nothing to do with the alcohol.

You look away.

And then you spot her.

Vi pushes her way through the crowd, a storm parting the sea of bodies on the dance floor. Her scowl deepens as she brushes off someone’s outstretched hand, her movements sharp, purposeful. The smudged paint on her cheeks—likely streaked from the rain—gives her the appearance of someone worn down by more than just the weather. Faint lines trace across her face like tears.

Your eyes trail to her arms, bare and flexing slightly as she adjusts the leather jacket slung over her shoulder. The spikes catch the dim, flashing lights of the bar, their edges softened by the haze of the room. In her other hand, she grips a glass of something amber and strong.

Your heart jumps, and you realize you’ve been staring when her gaze lifts to you. For a moment, she pauses in her tracks and just looks at you, her eyes scanning your face as if confirming you’re really here. Then, she grins—a slow, crooked thing that tugs at her lips and sends your pulse hammering in your chest.

The smile is lazy but unmistakably pleased.

She changes course, heading straight for you.

She doesn’t look drunk—not like before—but the memory of her swaying slightly in your medic room comes rushing back. You don’t miss the way her drink is already nearly empty, or how smoothly she downs the last of it before setting the glass on the bar with a clink.

When she reaches you, the faint scent of rain and leather clings to her, mingling with the sharper tang of alcohol.

“Hey,” Vi says, your name rolling off her tongue in that low, slightly rough voice of hers, and she leans against the counter next to you.

“Hey,” you grin, trying to keep your voice light even as your pulse races and Loris laughs at you. “You seem surprised to see me.”

“Not surprised,” she replies quickly, her eyes flicking to yours and then away, her smirk faltering for just a second. “Just… glad.”

The simplicity of her words sends your thoughts scattering, but before you can respond, she tilts her head toward your glass. “What’re you drinking?”

You lift it slightly, letting the dim light catch the remaining liquid. Vi eyes it for a moment, nodding in approval. “Good choice. Finish it.”

You blink, “What?”

She nudges your elbow lightly, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Come on. You’re here to have fun, right? Finish your drink, and I’ll show you what that looks like.”

Her tone is playful, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of sincerity beneath it. You hesitate, then take a longer sip, her expectant gaze making it impossible not to comply. The drink burns a little less this time, and when you place the empty glass down, she’s already holding out her hand.

“Come with me,” she says, and it’s not really a question.

Her fingers are warm when they curl around yours, her grip firm and steady as she leads you toward the heart of the bar. The crowd thickens as you move closer to the dance floor, the music pounding louder with every step. The bass thrums through the floor, climbing up your legs and settling in your chest, and the swirl of bodies around you becomes a blur of movement and heat.

Vi doesn’t let go of your hand, even as she turns back to glance at you, a faint smile pulling at her lips. For the first time in a while, there’s a lightness in her expression, a spark of something you’ve missed seeing.

Her usual confidence is there, but it’s softened, almost shy. You follow her lead, feeling awkward at first, but her laugh—low and husky—eases some of your nerves.

The two of you move together amidst the shifting pulse of the dance floor, the heat of the crowd wrapping around you like a living thing. You’re acutely aware of every brush of her fingers against yours, the subtle way her body angles toward you as if she’s drawn to your orbit.

You’re staring at her, looking at the few freckles on her cheeks you can still see under the smudged paint, at the pink ends of her dark hair, at the way her leather jacket has found itself back on her shoulders, muscular arms hiding inside the sleeves.

You think you’re a little obsessed with her.

The question forms on your lips before you can stop it. “Why did you stop coming by?”

Your voice is soft, barely carrying over the music, but it’s enough. Her gaze sharpens as she hears you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face.

“I like taking care of you, Vi.”

For a moment, she freezes. Then, almost imperceptibly, she steps closer. Her hand slides to your waist, the calluses on her fingers warm against the thin fabric of your clothes. She doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, her thumb brushing against your jaw, coaxing you to look at her.

Her eyes search yours, hesitating just long enough for you to realize what’s about to happen. Her breath, warm and faintly tinged with alcohol, fans across your lips, and a shiver runs down your spine.

And then she kisses you.

It’s quick at first, almost testing the waters—a soft brush of her lips against yours that leaves your breath caught somewhere between your heart and throat.

You pull away from her, face burning, when you notice her eyes are still closed, only to flutter open questioningly. Bright, piercing blue meets yours, and for a moment, you see panic flare in her expression.

“Fuck,” she mutters, running a hand through her rain-damp hair. “Fuck, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” The word comes out instinctively, you cannot get rid of that stupid smile on your face. “No, don’t apologize.”

Your fingers find their way to the lapels of her jacket. Her face scrunches up, caught somewhere between hope and disbelief, but you’re not looking at her eyes anymore. You’re focused on her lips, on the faint scar cutting across the corner of her mouth.

You tug her closer.

You kiss her back.

She exhales sharply against your lips, the sound half a gasp, half a groan, as her hands come up to cradle your face and the nape of your neck. It’s as if something inside her has snapped, all her restraint slipping away as she pours herself into you.

The world around you dissolves—the music, the crowd, the cacophony of Zaun’s nightlife fading into a muted hum. It’s just her, her warmth and her touch, her breath mingling with yours as she holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring her to the moment.

Her lips move against yours with a fervour that borders on desperation, her hands mapping out the curve of your waist, the small of your back, your hips, and your ass with her eyes closed. She’s eager to have you close, to feel you.

You respond in kind, your hands sliding up her abs, your fingers tangling in her hair, tugging slightly as her groan vibrates against your mouth.

The sound she emits makes your head spin. Vi’s warmth is all-consuming. A tangle of heat and want that leaves you both breathless by the time she finally pulls back, her forehead resting against yours.

“I need to—” she starts, her voice hoarse and trembling. She glances around, as if suddenly aware of where you are. “Let’s go somewhere. Outside.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, her hand finding yours again as she guides you through the crowd. You barely register the shift in the air until you’re stepping into the rain-soaked streets of Zaun.

The alley she leads you into is dimly lit, the flicker of a neon sign casting faint, wavering light against the wet pavement. The rain is light but steady, cool droplets clinging to your skin as she turns to you, her chest rising and falling like she’s been running.

Her gaze is intense, unwavering, as she steps closer, crowding you against the brick wall. “You’re making me crazy,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough. Her hand cups your jaw, her thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along your cheekbone.

“I could say the same,” you admit.

And then she’s kissing you again, this time with a fervour that leaves no room for hesitation.

It’s embarrassing how fast you tangle together after this, melding together into a pathetic heap out on the sidewalk for god and everyone in this podunk city to see. This time, you note with a ticklish glee settling in your stomach, your lips moving in tandem. They slit against each other with ease.

The rain seeps into your clothes, cold against your skin, but Vi’s touch is fire. Her hands are everywhere, rough and sure as they explore your body, pulling you closer, as if afraid you’ll slip away.

You thread your fingers through her hair, pulling her to you, matching her passion with your own softness. She groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, your tongue brushing against hers in a slow, deliberate caress.

Her grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into damp fabric as she presses you harder against the wall. The rain patters around you, mingling with the sound of your ragged breaths, the occasional distant noise of the bar fading into irrelevance. She parts your thighs with one of her own and places a steadying hand right next to your face. She takes you in, wholly and completely and you let her. 

The rain beats down relentlessly, plastering your clothes to your skin, but you barely notice it. Not when Vi is kissing you like this—like she’s trying to consume you like she’s been starving for this. Her body is warm, her lips are hot, insistent, and messy against yours, her teeth occasionally graze your lower lip in a way that sends shocks through your entire body.

Breathy moans expel from your mouth in tandem with curses as her leg creates delicious friction against the lace of your underwear. 

“Vi,” you manage, though it comes out as more of a broken whine, breathless and desperate.

Her name on your lips pulls a moan from her, low and guttural, and the sound is enough to make your knees weaken. You think you might collapse if she weren’t holding you so tightly.

Your head spins. You feel like you’re dissolving, every nerve alight as you lose yourself in her touch. Your lungs burn, screaming for air, but you can’t pull away. You don’t want to. Instead, you cling to her, fingers tugging in her hair.

It’s overwhelming—her heat, her strength, her desperation. She’s chaos and want, all Violet and nothing else, and you’re caught in her pull, like a leaf tossed about in a gale. It terrifies you, the way she consumes your thoughts, your senses. It feels like being set aflame, every kiss, every touch fanning the fire until you’re sure you’ll burn to ashes.

Her hands slide lower, shoving into the back pockets of your pants, and she grips you firmly, guiding your hips to rock against her. The movement is deliberate, slow at first, but the friction makes you whimper, a sound that seems to drive her further. Vi pulls you closer, dragging your body against hers in a way that makes you shudder.

Your breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, each one punctuated by her low moans. You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this—untethered, your body moving on instinct as you grind down against her leg. Her hold on you tightens, fingers digging into you, her strength reminds you of all the noses she’s broken, all the wounds you had to tend to because of her. The thought makes you dizzy, makes you crave her more.

Vi’s hips roll up into you, meeting your movements with a messy rhythm that leaves you trembling. The heat pooling in your stomach builds steadily, like a fire that refuses to be sated, even under the torrent of rain.

You let your hands wander, sliding up the hard planes of her stomach, your fingers tracing the ridges of muscle through her soaked bandages. You’re struck by how solid she feels, how strong, and it makes your chest tighten with something you can’t quite name. When your palm presses lower, cupping her over her pants, she keens—a quiet, needy sound that has you aching to hear it again.

Oh, you want her to do that again, you’re going to make her do that again.

Her grip on your hips becomes almost bruising, her breath coming faster as she sighs into your mouth. “Fuck,” she mutters, the word a rough exhale that sends a shiver down your spine. And then, barely audible, she mumbles, “Cait.”

You falter, the word barely registering over the storm and your own pounding heartbeat. It’s unfamiliar and foreign, and it sticks in your mind like a splinter.

Her lips are on yours again, insistent and wild, her teeth catching your bottom lip as her hands slide up under your shirt. Her fingertips are warm despite the rain, leaving trails of fire along your skin as she pushes the wet fabric higher. You shudder under her touch, goosebumps rising in her wake, your body arching instinctively toward her.

Your mind is a tangle of emotions and half-formed thoughts. You’re hyper-aware of everything—of the rain soaking through your clothes, the way her breath mingles with yours, the quiet groans she can’t seem to hold back.

She moves with purpose, her lips finding the sensitive skin along your jaw, then lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Each touch sends a fresh wave of heat through you, making it harder to think, to breathe.

Your fingers are clumsily slipping into her underwear and then you’re there, fingers brushing right against her clit—she’s so wet that your fingers brush right through her folds, gliding like silk.

“Vi,” you whisper again.

Her answering hum vibrates against your skin, and she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes are half-lidded, the blue of them dark and turbulent, like the sea during a storm.

You lean in, pressing your lips to the sensitive spot just below her jaw. It’s a place you know well, one you’ve touched countless times in the dim light of your medic’s room, dabbing at bruises and wiping away blood. Each time, she’d jerk away ever so slightly. Now, you press your lips there with the same precision, but the sense is wholly different.

She shifts beneath your touch, her breath hitching as your mouth moves deliberately along her neck. The breathy moans she leaves by your ear fuel you, spurring you on as you focus on the rhythm of her breathing, the way her body responds to you.

“Good,” she mutters, her voice rough and uneven. “Fuck, feels so good.”

Her hand moves beneath your shirt, her palm rough and calloused against the softness of your skin, digging under your bra. She cups your breast, her thumb brushing over your nipple, and the sensation sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric. Her other hand tangles in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make your scalp tingle.

It aches, but you’re smiling, even as the rain continues to pour, soaking through your clothes and plastering your hair to your face. You sneak a glance at her, and the sight nearly undoes you. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her dark lashes clumped together with rain and dark, smudged makeup against pale, bruised skin. Her lips are parted, searching for something—your lips, your skin, something to kiss.

You don’t make her wait. She bites at your neck, teeth grazing your skin, and you gasp, your hand instinctively moving to her hair. You tug, and the sound she makes—a guttural, desperate moan—sends heat pooling low in your stomach.

She mutters your name, her voice soft yet filled with a hunger that shakes you to your core. There’s a plea disguised in her tone, a silent plea to give her everything, to let her take all you have to offer.

And you will. You’ll give her everything. Your time, your care, your thoughts and prayers, every piece of yourself. Your leg, an arm, the air you breathe, and the food you make. You’d give her your heart, too, if only she’d take it.

Her body trembles against yours, her chest heaving as her breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts. You can’t tell if it’s from the cold rain seeping into your bones or from the way your fingers move against her. You trace light circles over her clit, teasing, testing, and the way she reacts—hips jerking, her hands clutching at you desperately—you think she wants your warmth, and you hope that is what she chases after.

When you slip a finger inside, she gasps, her voice breaking into soft, fractured sounds that make your chest ache. It takes a few tries, careful adjustments to find the spot that makes her fall apart, but when you do, it’s like a floodgate opens. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her body tensing beneath your touch as she winds tighter, tighter—

“Cait…” The same name from before slips from her lips like a whisper at first, so faint you almost miss it.

Then she says it again, her voice catching on the syllable, and your world tilts.

“Cait… Cait…” she chants, the name tumbling from her lips in fervent prayer, each utterance cutting through the haze that had clouded your mind.

It tastes bitter. Bitter like the alcohol still lingering on her breath. Bitter like the realization sinking into your chest.

You freeze, suddenly sober.

Your hands falter, and Vi doesn’t seem to notice at first, still panting, still trembling, her forehead pressed against yours. The furrow in her brow deepens when you pull back, untangling yourself from her arms.

“What—? Why’d you stop?” Her voice is hoarse and confused, the desperation still thick in her tone.

“Who’s Cait?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

“What?”

Vi blinks, her face a mask of confusion before her expression shifts. Guilt flashes in her eyes—raw and unguarded. It’s a look you’ve seen before, maybe once or twice.

“You keep calling me ‘Cait.’” You can’t meet her gaze as you say it. Your chest tightens, your throat burns, and suddenly, the space between the two of you feels suffocating.

You reach for her hand still under your shirt, running your thumb over her split knuckles. It’s a gesture that feels too tender now, and you pull her hand away from you, stepping aside to put distance between your bodies.

“I don’t know…” Your voice cracks as you say it, your mind grasping for anything to make sense of this moment.

“Shit. Shit.” Vi curses under her breath, running a hand through her wet hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—Cait’s just… someone I used to know, alright?”

The rain pours harder, the chill sinking into your bones as you cross your arms tightly against your chest. You glance down the alley, to where the streetlights cast faint glows on the wet pavement. Anywhere but her face.

“Um… I think I need to go,” you mumble.

“You just got here.” Her voice is low and unsure, and it makes you stutter for a moment. She takes a step toward you, one hand lifting as though to touch you, but she freezes mid-motion, her fingers curling into a fist.

“I know.” You force the words out. “But it’s been a long day.” You take a step back, and then another.

“Please.” Her voice cracks on the word. “Don’t leave.”

You pause, your breath hitching at the desperation in her tone. It tugs at something in your chest, something that still wants to turn around, to reach for her and say everything is fine. But it’s not fine. Not anymore.

“Vi…” Her name feels raw on your tongue. “You’re drunk. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

“No.” She cuts you off, the panic in her voice sharp enough to pierce through the rain. “No, don’t say that. I’m not drunk—”

“You are.”

Her words are rushed, and frantic, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as you. You shake your head, stepping back again, the cold of the brick wall scraping against your palm as you steady yourself.

“You’re clearly not in the right state of mind right now,” you say, your tone firmer this time. It feels like a lie, like a mask you’re slipping on to hide the crack forming in your resolve. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Just… rest easy. You fight early tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a sound halfway between a sob and a growl, her hands clenching at her sides. “Fuck. Fuck!” The frustration explodes out of her as her fist slams into the brick wall beside her, the dull thud reverberating in the air.

The sound makes you flinch, your shoulders stiffening as you start walking away. Her voice chases after you, raw and broken, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back.

Your lips burn where her mouth had been, a phantom heat that refuses to fade despite the freezing rain. You wipe your hands against the damp fabric of your pants, but the scent of her lingers—smoke, leather, and something wholly hers. It clings to you like a ghost.

The sunlight catches you off guard the next morning. It filters in through the grimy window of the medic room, cutting golden beams through the usual haze of smog. The light feels almost intrusive, prying into the shadows you’ve grown accustomed to.

You glance at the old clock on the wall, your eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Last night replays in your mind like a broken record—Vi’s voice, raw and regretful, the taste of her still lingering on your lips, and that name, Cait, slipping like a shard of glass between your ribs.

Outside, the faint hum of Zaun waking up filters through the walls. Fighters pass by the door, their voices carrying muffled excitement or hushed murmurs about Vi’s loss.

“She’s never been this off her game,” someone says as they pass. “Wonder what’s eating her.”

You tighten your grip on the bandage roll in your hand, trying to ignore the way your stomach clenches.

The sunlight persists, illuminating every imperfection in the room—the cracks in the walls, the scuff marks on the floor, the faint stains on the counter. It’s the first time you’ve seen this much light down here, and yet it only seems to highlight everything you want to forget.

You try to focus on your work, lining up supplies that don’t need organizing, folding bandages that don’t need folding. You think about how Vi’s presence, chaotic as it was, had somehow made this job bearable. Her grins, her dry wit, the way she sat in that chair like it was her throne—it had all made this dim room feel a little less oppressive.

But today, the chair stays empty.

Word of her loss had swept through the Pit hours ago. Even the ones who bet against her—out of spite or fear—seemed shocked. You’d caught snippets of conversations, whispers about how Vi had gone down hard, how her opponent’s hit had landed with a sickening crack that echoed through the arena.

Ryker confirmed the details when he came in, his voice low as he described the sound her body made hitting the floor. The image had stuck with you, sharp and unrelenting, as you waited.

You expected her to show up the way she always did—bleeding but defiant, swaggering in with that cocky grin, already downplaying her injuries. But as the hours stretched into evening, the worry settled deeper.

Maybe she’d gone straight to the bar again, skipping protocol out of spite. You wanted to believe it, even if it wasn’t fair. If anyone had the right to be upset, it should be you.

You paced the cramped room, the sound of your boots scraping against the floor the only thing keeping you grounded. You told yourself you didn’t care—it wasn’t your job to chase after fighters who wouldn’t take care of themselves. But deep down, it stung.

The thought of her turning back to old habits—of her brushing you aside like you never mattered—settled in your chest like a bruise you couldn’t rub out.

And then the door creaks open.

Vi steps inside, her silhouette framed by the soft, golden light spilling through the window behind her. She hesitates in the doorway, a shadow of her usual self. Her confident swagger is gone, replaced by a tired, battered figure. The black paint streaked across her shoulders has smeared into her skin, blending with dried blood and sweat. Her leather jacket hangs heavily from her hands, and her makeshift top is damp, torn in places, and caked with dirt.

Her face tells the rest of the story. A swollen eye, a nose bent at an angle that makes you wince just looking at it, and a constellation of bruises across her cheekbone and jaw. Blood has dried in crusty patches along her hairline and temples, merging with the remnants of the black paint she hadn’t bothered to wash off.

She lingers there, gripping the edges of the doorframe like she’s bracing herself for rejection. You’re about to speak when her gaze finds yours, cutting through the silence like a knife.

“Hey,” she says, her voice scratchy and low.

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, willing your tone to stay steady. “Took you long enough,” you say lightly, turning toward the counter to grab the salve and bandages.

When you glance back, the ghost of a smirk flickers on her lips, but it vanishes just as quickly. She steps further inside, lowering herself into the chair with a muted groan. There’s no quip this time, no offhand joke. She just sits there, shoulders sagging, staring at her bloodied hands like they belong to someone else.

You pull on your gloves, the snap of latex breaking the silence. “What happened?”

Her shrug is stiff, “Guess I wasn’t fast enough.”

There’s an edge to her voice, sharp and bitter. It’s self-directed, steeped in frustration, and it takes you by surprise. You soak a cloth in antiseptic and step closer, gently dabbing at a jagged cut above her eyebrow. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” you ask, your tone soft but firm.

Her jaw tightens, and her hands curl into fists on her lap. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

You pause mid-motion, your hand hovering just above her skin. Her words feel like a slap, and you’re not sure if the sting comes from the accusation. “I still like to take care of you,” you say quietly.

Vi scoffs, the sound is humourless and tired. “That’s your job.”

“Yeah, but,” you counter, meeting her gaze head-on. “I like doing it.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken between you. Her shoulders tense as she processes your words, her eyes darting away like she can’t bear to look at you.

You try to focus on cleaning her wounds, “You should’ve come earlier. You shouldn’t do this to yourself.”

“Why not? Seems to be what I’m good at.”

Her words strike a chord, a pang of hurt and anger swirling in your chest. You step back, giving her space as you set the cloth down. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on her hair, painting her in a halo of gold. She looks almost ethereal, and it breaks your heart, because you know she doesn’t see it.

“Vi…” You hesitate, unsure of what to say.

She looks up then, her eye searching your face. Her voice cracks when she speaks. “I don’t get it. I’m a jerk, right? Always have been to fucking everyone, even Loris and my sister and I... I mean, I’ve been a dick to you since day one. Why don’t you just… let me fuck myself up?”

“I’ve thought about it,” you admit, a hint of teasing laced in your voice. “But then I’d be a pretty shitty medic, wouldn’t I?”

Her lips twitch upward again, but it doesn’t quite stick. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice so quiet you almost miss it. “For everything.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I didn’t mean to…” She trails off, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The sincerity in her voice twists the knife deeper, but it doesn’t change the truth. “It’s okay,” you manage.

“No, it’s not.” She finally looks at you, her blue eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Shame? “I… You deserve better than that. Better than me.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. “You’re being dramatic. I’m fine, really.”

Vi shook her head, leaning back against the chair. “You’re not. You’re just too good to say it.”

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning. You can see the pain in her expression, the regret and the sorrow, but there’s something else, too—a longing that mirrors your own.

But it’s not enough.

You step back, and the distance between you feels like miles. “You should rest. I gotta fix your nose.”

Vi nods, leaning back in the chair. The sunlight catches on her bruises, highlighting every mark, every scar. She looks like a warrior, battle-worn and beautiful, and you know you’ll never forget this image of her.

As you work in silence, you can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if things were different—if whoever Cait was didn’t haunt her, if she could see you the way you see her.

But deep down, you know the answer.

She’ll never be yours.

But you’ll always be hers.

When you finish, Vi hesitates for a moment longer than you expect, her movements slow and deliberate, as though she doesn’t know where to go next or what to do. She stands, and the way her shoulders rise, like she’s summoning what’s left of her strength, makes your heart ache.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Of course. It’s what I’m here for.”

As the words leave you, they feel hollow. You want to reach for more, to say something else, to make her understand. You want to scream, to tell her that you could be enough for her if she’d just let you. You could make her believe that she’s worth more than the pain she’s carrying. But instead, all you do is smile. It’s soft, strained, and bittersweet.

She doesn’t meet your eye as she turns toward the door. You watch her move, each step deliberate, like she’s carrying an invisible weight. For a fleeting moment, it’s as if she’s pulling the room with her, dragging everything back into the shadows.

And then, she’s gone.

The door clicks softly behind her, leaving the room eerily silent. You sit back in your chair, the quiet pressing in around you like a heavy fog. The warmth from the light seems to linger, but it doesn’t reach you anymore.

You sit back in your chair, staring at the empty space. The room feels colder and quieter, and you realize that, no matter how much you wish otherwise, she’ll always carry pieces of someone else with her.