#wonder what some of my mutuals feel about this

[vifilms]

FIND YOUR WINGS, VALENTINE

❝ VI!ONE SHOT ❞

pairing. roommate!vi x femcoded!reader x exsituationship!caitlyn

caitlyn kiramman, a woman who yearned to have her cake and eat it too. violet, a simple girl who has fallen for someone emotionally unavailable and you — trying to disperse between heartbreak and a new love.

warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: 17k wc. bartender!reader, melvika cameos, lesbian sex, semi-public sex, mutual finger-off, anal play, shy!vi, caitlyn is a cunt (in this), unfaithful mentality, valentine's day aura?

rayray rambles, chat! we made it. truthfully, this fic got away from in so many ways and i'm proud of myself for reigning it in. this originally was going to be a new years eve fic but it got so impossibly long that i wanted some more time with it. but i hope you enjoy it, this is my latest baby and a lot of love was put into it. happy valentines ♡

— special thank you to my amazing proofreader reader, @meganegatari, plu, i love you dearly.

‪‪and to my love, @sinstear, thank you for always listening to me ramble. happy valentines bubba, ily. even though you've already read 85 percent of this bc i was so excited about it

You could still feel her.

Like it was just last night with her finger buried deep inside, pinning you against your front door with her slender fingers, the soft pad of her fingers stuffed inside your pants, making you see stars. A last ditch effort to keep you around. 

Caitlyn likes to chase but she becomes a bambi in headlights once she’s caught her prey. There was desperation for the last cry, a final effort to keep you around. You’d never seen such a progressive emotion from her. 

Before tonight, every moment; every word said seems transactional. 

The hauntingly blue windows of her soul look anywhere but you. You wonder if it's a tactic. Refusing to make eye contact when she’s most vulnerable. As if one glance at you would cost her the rest of her life, an outcome she can’t afford. 

These days, she’s afraid of her own shadow. Unable to look anyone in the eyes, her spirit crushed like she’s anywhere but here. When you try to pull her back to shore, she recedes even further. 

Nothing is good enough. 

Caitlyn makes it abundantly clear that you aren’t. Insults bite into your skin like a bullet, the blow never to your heart, the place you desperately want it to be. 

But for now, you lick your wounds and you let her have what she wants. Even if she’s fading from your grip, you can still hold her, you can still pretend she loves you the same way, and you can cry after she leaves. You wonder if she sees you for who you really are or if Caitlyn only sees what benefits her. 

It’s a cycle that keeps you here, entangled with a woman who doesn’t have the decency to let you go. If Caitlyn is half the woman you believe her to be, she would have mercifully kicked you out of her apartment. 

Then, there’s Vi.

Nothing with her is serious, not even physical, she just whines and dines you, she holds you like she loves you. Above everything else; Vi makes you forget. Even if it’s with a soft smile, a harmless joke that’s so stupid it makes you giggle — it’s a moment of peace. One you crave more than desolation. 

There’s a softness to her that Caitlyn doesn’t allow. You’re sure that’s why the two didn’t work out. Caitlyn is rough. Kind when she needs something, vengeful when you get in her way but when she seeks retribution for her sins, it’s entirely too late. 

Vi is everything Caitlyn isn’t, what she’s incapable of being — a simmering token of hope you keep close to your chest. 

The more you think about it, the more your stomach twists in knots over your neediness. Entertaining Violet so she can quench your emotional thirst. And keeping Caitlyn around in good faith, a blind faith you place in her, hoping that you’re not wrong. 

You can’t be wrong. 

Somehow she’ll change, right? 

“Why do you have to leave so soon?” Her accent bites into you like an icy river, devoid of emotion as she reveals what she really wants. A silky blue robe untied as her full breasts sit perfectly on her chest. 

Almost as if it’s muscle memory, your thumbs circle over her pink nipples, it buds under your touch and Caitlyn does what she does best. 

She grasps onto the reins of control, refusing to let go. 

With a firm hand, she applies pressure on the back of your neck, beckoning your mouth to find home on her perfect tits and they do. At the moment, you’re her favorite toy and she lets you play.

Plump lips latching on her nipple while your free hand squeezes the other, your tongue flicking over the sensitive nipple as your teeth graze over the sensitive skin, a gasp falling from Caitlyn’s lips. 

“Pretty girl just needs her mouth put to work. Give the other some attention, she’s feeling quite lonely.” 

Doing as you're told, your desperate drool collects on her chest as you bite the swell of her chest, before sucking on her other nipple as if she’s lactating. Then the idea of Caitlyn’s belly swollen makes you whimper, moaning into her skin as she runs a finger up her own slit, your eyes looking up at her as you suck, flick, and bite. 

As if your life depends on it. Maybe it did. 

“Come back to bed, babygirl. I need my perfect little slut. I can fuck you in the shower just the way you like.” 

The ammunition of her poisonous words might as well have penetrate your bloodstream. Displaced trust turns you into another toy for her to use. Trapped perpetually in a cycle you had a hand in enabling. Words full of steam leave a third-degree burn on your skin, not a single drop of blood to be found. 

But even if you want to pull back, you can’t. 

There’s no further arguments as you slip into the lion’s den. With soul-crushing desire, your bare chest presses against the fogged glass, Caitlyn using her favorite dildo as she fucks you into the wall of glass, a dignity you posses withers with each thrust. Perfectly manicured slim fingers pull at your hair as an arch to your back is forced. 

With each thrust she becomes more aggressive, her pace is punishing and it’s meant for you to fall in her hands. But you’re resisting, holding off the orgasm and the high that comes with it. The higher you fall, the harder you crash. You know Kirakiller won’t be there to catch you. 

You’ll burden the fall on your own. 

“Cait, please—” 

The slap of your stretched lips being thoroughly obliterated by her brutal cock can be heard throughout her apartment. She wants to make you come, that’s clear, but she also wants to break you. There’s nothing more a Kiramman loves, hearing you beg for mercy. To have the pathetic and whiny girl who blindly loves her, shattering at her grip. 

“That’s not my name. You fucking know it’s not. Good little sluts say it, don’t they?” 

Before you can even process it, she slaps your ass, three times, sending the orgasm raging through you. All Caitlyn does is fuck your pretty face into the glass as you take every inch of her. Then her pace halts as your heavy breath is heard over the shower. She turns the water off and you’re stuck there, unable to move.

Afraid. 

 Your heart would collapse right with you. 

Caitlyn moves swiftly, like a knight coming in the dead of knight to steal the princess. On all fours, she rummages through the cabinet before locating the precious wand. With a profound smirk, she grips the handle as if it’s an extension of her limb. 

“Looks like you’re getting punished today, babygirl. How do you wanna take it?”  

The lines blur together over the next few hours until you’re stumbling out of the apartment. Caitlyn not directly kicking you out of her home but your stay is only welcome for as long as the fucking window is open. It’s nearly three hours past midnight, tears in your eyes as you tread home with a gaping hole punctured with her sharpest end of her carefully placed blade. 

You wonder if she’s always been like this. Hot and hungry for power, ready to hurt anyone in order to get it. The angry flesh begs to be fed, and she gives in each time. Even when it means she sees the love depleted from your eyes, or when you refuse to make eye contact, or like tonight when she watches you hold in tears to escape out of her apartment. 

Some nights, you did want to be handled with a gentle hand but it’s not something Caitlyn gives. 

Anything more than a generous hand and greedy lips begging to lap at your cunt and Caitlyn comes up short. Living up to her name to the fullest. 

Kirakiller, they called her. 

There’s a dozen reasons for her name. How she slaughters everyone on the pitch,  academically she’ll make you feel inferior to her own privileged, private education prior to university. How she kills your spirit if you aren’t someone she sees as an exceptional academic student for Piltover University. 

All of it seems to be a game for her. With Cassandra Kiramman as the dean, the board members sit heavily in her overflowing pocket, she runs things as she sees fit. Her daughter being taken care of and on top of the world is her number one priority. There’s been a dozen to come after the Kiramman’s and none have been successful. Murmurs of corruption grace the hallowed halls but not a soul dares to challenge the wealth and power of the prestigious bloodline of the Kirammans.  

Caitlyn “Kirakiller” Kiramman associating with someone who was merely on scholarship wasn't in Cassandra’s plans. Even if you didn’t even know it yet, you were too low on the totem pole to be associated with the future of a daunting legacy. An entire life laid out for Cait before she even took her first breath. 

It was dumb to buzz her up to the apartment. Even more idiotic to respond to her texts in the first place but besides all her failed attempts, she still tries to worm her way through your heart to take what she believes is owed. Just like last week, you let her. 

She leaves when you pretend to fall asleep after, the two of you telling yourselves it’ll be the last time, but it won’t be. 

It’s a vicious cycle, one has your insides spinning, your stomach churning and your heart aching. But you’re too weak to end. It’s a tale as old as time. You want something more and Caitlyn can’t be bothered to be committed to the wrong type of girl. 

It’s all about appearances and you’re not good enough. 

Cassandra, the respectable dean and the mother who is the puppeteer of her daughter’s life, behind the scenes pulling the strings in order to maintain image, status. She holds it closer than her own blood; a need for her bloodline to prosper and Dean Kiramman will trample anyone’s heart to complete the task. 

Whether she wants to fight against her mother’s future or not? You didn’t know. 

Truly, you never know what she wants, besides getting herself off or getting you off, Caitlyn was stuck between a world she’s born for and one that’s decided for her. A child acting out but waiting until college to do so. 

Kirakiller. 

That’s what they called her. Ruthless in all of her conquests, never calling back, never fucking the same girl again, it wasn’t something Kirakiller did. She used, abused, and moved onto the next one. 

But for some reason, she’s incredibly stuck on you. 

The new year puts you at a distance when Cait refuses to bring you home for the holidays. Of course, the fight rages as soon as she’s done fucking you. 

“What do you think this is?” 

“You tell me.” 

There’s a look in your eyes, gleaming and sorrowful, the rejection crystal clear. That’s all any of this has been. A severe procrastination tactic to put off what you want, her. 

What makes it worse is Caitlyn knows it but she’s still here, trying, and who the hell knows why. 

Hope. A poor woman’s faith guts you, ripping your insides of love and prosperity. In your line of vision, you just see claws tearing at your skin, all flesh raw and bleeding as she begs for more. 

A wish that you hope for every time you see her. This time she’ll choose differently, she’ll be kind this time. I’ll be enough to love. This will be the moment. 

But when she doesn’t, the accent you love so much burns you at the stake, you’re screaming on deaf ears. Begging for her to hear just one, but she snuffs you out. Like the moonlight you bring, she pretends you don’t call to her like the moon pulls the tide. 

Instead, you’re met with Caitlyn’s greed. 

“Why do I think this is? I expect some basic level of human compassion but you’ve forgotten that too. I’ve always given you the benefit of the doubt. Even when everyone tells me you’re fucking other girls besides me, even when I see with my own eyes how you act when you think I’m not around. You clearly don’t respect me. Every time I’ve tried to have this conversation, you avoid me. Do you think I deserve that?” 

“There is nothing to even discuss. This is nothing.” Her accent is sharp, cutting right through your heart. A woman you love too deeply reaffirming how little she thinks of you. 

Dismissal. 

Absence. 

You are nothing, might as well have fallen from her lips. 

Her heart is ice cold,  her piercing eyes bite like the bitter wind of winter. A slim view of fire rattling within her dark blue eyes, pupils dilate so much they practically turn black. 

You feel your stomach tense, the pit in your stomach has once returned, denying you of what feels so real to you. 

It’s just a game for her. 

Always a game Caitlyn has to win. 

“Fine. Then leave. But don’t come back next time, don’t text me when you’re lonely or horny, don’t call me when everyone else won’t hear you out. Forgot about me and let’s be done with it, yeah? Go back to those girls you love to fuck so much. The ones that are bright, shiny, untouched by your venomous heart.” 

“I will. They sure will be a hell of a lot better lay than you, maybe they’ll let me fuck their ass.” 

You scoff but your expression is stone cold as you watch her struggle to pull her clothes on. There’s no sudden movements made. Certainly no apologies. 

Once Caitlyn fully dresses, she waits there as if you’ll change your mind. A wish she’s so desperately hanging onto as your eyes remain cold. A shiver is sent up her spine — you’d never been more ruthless — and for the first time her chest feels tight at the loss of you. 

“It’s what you want. A pretty rich thing your mother will accept and the control in the bedroom you need since the real Kiramman controls every aspect of your life, even your love life. Good luck, you’ll need it.” 

“You’ll come begging back, you always do.” 

You want to choke Caitlyn with the smirk she’s currently wearing. 

“We’ll see about that, Kirakiller. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.” 

In an instant her face drops, her acute lips turning into a frown, cursing under her breath before she finally slams the door. It’s only then do you allow yourself to scream into your pillow, agony coursing through you, desperation, and most of all — a rage that wouldn’t be quenched. 

—

The fairy lights, softly winking at you each time the sequence goes off. Violet craved to put them up around Christmas but never bothered to take them down. Perfectly, they fit with your shared home. The small apartment stuck between the suburbs and the city, close enough to campus where it was only a short drive, the two of you carpooling or Vi moving her schedule around to drop you off. 

It happened to work out for the two of you. You didn’t think you’d get to be so lucky. Finding a decent roommate is a tall order, but now the two of you are inseparable and you couldn’t imagine your life any different. 

If not for her, you didn’t think you'd survive spending the holidays alone. 

Caitlyn made sure to isolate you but Violet holds you close.  

The memory of new years solidifies the budding infatuation growing within you; as much as it excites you, it sends a freezing shiver down your spine. Like a bitter winter to an evergreen bush, who knows if it’ll last the season without one moment to be basked in the sun. 

— 

New Years Eve, 2024. 

Sevika nursing an old fashioned. Trying to avoid the smell of cheap corona and budweiser intruding her relaxed nostrils as Mel sips on a glass of wine. Her smaller frame leans into Sevika’s arm looped through hers as their hips nearly become conjoined. They watch as Violet watches you. You’re standing there alone, fending off a few women who try to make a move on you. 

Whispers of your former fling, Caitlyn Kiramman make their way across campus, the colossal cunt raging her anger during practice. Just as you’ve been reminded by her teammates who blame you for her toddler tantrum. Violet’s heart sinks to her chest as she watches Caitlyn make a straight shot for you. 

The second she entered the room, Violet could feel the dread filling her body. Half because seeing her reminds her of all the horrors, everything she let Caitlyn do to her. Now, Caitlyn’s moved on to her next victim and she wonders if you’ll ever truly escape from her. 

“Do you think we should–” Vi speaks softly, a murmur she didn’t intend for anyone else to hear. “...interrupt?” 

“Calm down, casanova.” Sev interjects letting the whiskey soothe her throat. 

“Easy for you to say, coupled up love birds.” Vi rolls her eyes as she watches the scene unfold before her. 

The light in her eyes cracks, like a sparkler losing its flame. Each time Caitlyn attempts to worm back in your life, you’ve always let her. Even when she’s the last person who deserves even a moment of your time. It takes anything in her not to wince when you let Caitlyn touch your arm but after a moment you push her off. 

Well, that’s new. 

“You should go over there.” Mel chimes in, “Caitlyn would surely run for the hills then. She’s all bark but no bite.” 

“Go be her knight in shining armor.” Sev says it like it’s a bad thing, her sarcasm biting into the air. 

All Vi continues to scratch away at the label unraveling from the condensation, just as her heart rips each time Caitlyn gets closer to you. It’s a strange feeling. Her ex-girlfriend and the person she loves. Nearly spiteful her heart becomes, almost wanting to fling herself off a bridge. It’s more than Vi wishes to deal with and she tells herself she won’t. 

You’re not worth the trouble, she’s just making her feelings bigger than they actually are, right? 

Whatever Caitlyn says pisses you off enough to throw your drink in her face, coating her from hot to toe in the vodka cranberry Vi had made for you earlier in the night. 

“You’ll eat those actions, babygirl. Next time, it’ll be you who is soaked and we both know it.” 

Caitlyn screams for all to hear as she checks you with her shoulder before heading upstairs. 

It’s five minutes before midnight and Violet watches as you crumble, running outside, needing to catch some air. You need something to make you feel less suffocated. Even with a drink thrown in her face, Caitlyn still finds a way to get an upper hand. 

“Vi, would you be a dear and check on her? Sev and I will be there in a sec.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Violet sees you in the corner of her eye, trying not to break down, but she notices the tears threatening to spill. 

“Don’t look so glum princess or you’re going to make me cry and nobody wants to see that.”  The lightness of her tone makes you chuckle. Vi’s trying to make you laugh and she succeeds. 

Everyone pours outside as the clock strikes closer to midnight, Mel and Sevika come out but they keep their distance. Vi kneels at your feet, gently wiping the tears away you finally let fall. The small hiccups leaving your chest as you feel inadequate, wondering if anyone would miss you if you just melted away — not a single trace of you to be found. 

“She makes me feel so small, even when I leave, she wants more of me. I have nothing left to give.” You sob, hands shaking as you make fists trying to stabilize yourself. “No one understands how…how fucking awful and addicting she is.” 

“I do.” 

“Of course you, Violet. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. She’s just…” 

“Frustrating?” You nod, trying to laugh off the heartbreak but the familiar glee doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“And now I’m alone, on new years.” You say, cursing at the premature fireworks illuminating the sky. “While she goes to shag whoever wants to clean the vodka cranberry with their tongue.” 

I want to taste the cranberry on yours. 

Violet doesn’t speak those words. It’s just a dream — one that only drips in her mind until her thoughts pull at her like a pomegranate as it sheds from the skin. 

“She’s an idiot for letting you go. Anyone here knows that.” 

“Really? Funny ‘cause I’m here single. Caitlyn just wants me to crawl back to her with me on all fours just so she can say, i told you so, in that insufferable English accent. God, I wanna rip it from her throat.” 

“Then don’t give her the satisfaction.” 

“Easier said than done.” You say as everyone counts down from ten, “At least we still have each other.” 

Vi smiles, her powder-blue eyes sweet on you. There’s nothing more she wants than to kiss you. But Vi will screw the both of you if she moves too quickly. 

3…2…1! 

The buzz of the party reaches an all-time high and you’ve never felt so close to hell. Watching as everyone kisses the person they love, the gleeful-holiday making them smile as they wrap in the warmth of their partner. Vi sees how sad you are, how close you are to breaking, so she does something stupid. An action that will only get her heart in all kinds of trouble. 

Nearly almost planting her lips on yours, but saves herself with a peck to the apple of your cheeks. 

She blushes and you smile. 

She considers it to be a win when she gets a positive reaction from you. That’s all she really wants, to hear you laugh and you do. 

Again. 

The both of you speak nothing of it, the heartache too heavy and the love in Violet’s eyes too bright. You rest your head against her shoulder as the both of you watch the fireworks shining the midnight sky — it feels awfully like a fresh start. 

God knows you could use one. 

— 

The last thing you want is to miss her but you do. 

Longing instilled the moment she infected your blood; making each beat of your heart consistently flow for her. You couldn’t admit it, not her or yourself. It’s what she counts on. For you to slip, to venture back into the lion’s just so she can gut you from root to stem. 

With your finger hovering over her number for the past few weeks, each time, nearly a moment from giving back into her needs. Not once had she called, texted, or even looked at your way. Not even when she sat across from you in the library last Monday. Before her tongue found home in the girl who threw herself in Caitlyn’s lap. Promptly deciding that was enough studying for the day. 

The nights are the worst, you stay secluded in your room, tired of thinking about her and everything that’s transpired. How much you miss her, how much you love her — wondering if you ever should have — and how much you clung to this version of her that maybe just never existed. 

It isn’t until Vi tries to get you out of the house that you realize how heartbroken you actually feel. How unbearable it would be to do anything but the bare minimum that’s expected for you to survive. 

“C’mon, it won’t be bad.” Vi throws herself in bed with you, “You’re with me you’ll have a fantastic time.” 

Vi cheekily smiles, “Plus, I can’t go without you. Those are the rules.” 

“Oh really?” She nods, the sincerity reaching her eyes so blindingly, it makes the swell in your chest ache. 

“Basically the law, so if you don’t want me to handcuff you, you’ll listen.” 

Raising an eyebrow at the question, you watch her as your roommate goes into the closet and comes out with three dresses back in hand. 

“You always look, um u-uh, really pretty in these.” 

Violet’s always been like this. Unsure, a little bit flirty, and with a heart so gentle you would be too afraid to hold it in the palm of your hand. All it took was one introduction from Sevika and the two of you instantly clicked. 

You cooked at the housewarming party for Mel and Sevika, in the middle of having a breakdown when you didn’t have crucial ingredients you thought you did have. It’s when Violet came to your rescue. Already in the kitchen watching you nearly have a panic attack over not being better prepared, she instantly grabbed the keys to her truck, off to assist. 

With your former roommate flaking out after the second semester in your apartment off campus, and Violet coming off a messy breakup, the two of you helped each other out. 

“Which one is your favorite?” It’s an innocent question. 

It really is. 

Then you remember the last time you wore it, Violet unable to keep her eyes off you when she thought you weren’t looking or how she would meet your eyes when you caught her staring. Dramatically clearing her throat as she scratches the nape of her neck, bashfully blushing. 

“The black one. You always look beautiful, any of them really. That one is just my favorite.” 

Feeling the fabric of the silk dress, the neckline is plunging and the back is open until it reaches your lower back and you don't dare bend down to pick up anything in this little number. 

“Someone’s being sweet tonight.” You smile softly, kissing her cheek before you disappear into the bathroom. It’s long before you come out, but when you’re ready Vi nearly has to do a double take. 

Visibly, she gulps. 

Fuck, she forgot how amazing you look in that dress. 

“Where’s it at this time?” 

“You remember Natalie?” 

“Oh?” 

“It’s not—” 

“I didn’t say it was.” But you’re smirking and Vi has no other option but to groan into her hands. 

“You were thinking about it.” Harmlessly, you shrug. 

“Regardless, it’s some new girl who’s gonna be on the team this season. It’s kind of a get together before the season starts.” 

“You’re taking me to the kick-off banquet?” Vi winces as your voice shrieks, slightly piercing her eardrum in the process. 

“Uh,” Vi runs a hand through her vibrant, messy head of hair. “Uh, yeah. It’s really not a big deal.” 

“So, why not Natalie?” 

“Does it matter?” Vi counters. She becomes uncomfortable about how she would have to answer the question. There wasn’t a way for her to answer without fully exposing herself so she pulls at her cuticles until she’s slightly bleeding before she stuffs them inside her pockets. 

She doesn't want to have the conversation, and honestly, neither do you. 

“The she-devil won’t be there. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? One night for yourself, there’s a little dancing, we can have a couple of drinks—” 

“Y-You’ll dance with me…in front of everyone?” You sound more unsure of yourself than you ever have. The words are foreign on your tongue as if you’re speaking another language. 

“Is that a statement or a question?” Vi chuckles before she stands up from your bed, “Give me ten minutes and we’ll head out. We can stop and get some burgers. The food they cater is ass anyways. All that money from the snobby rich parents and Piltover University can’t even splurge on anything decent.” 

It doesn’t take long before she’s emerging into the living room, her white button up has the top three buttons undone, the tattoos creeping on the outside of her neck visible as does her name she has on her cheek. The one you chastise her for consistently. 

“You ready?” Violet stuffs her essentials in her deep pockets before taking you in. 

“Yeah, I think so, I was just waiting for you.” 

She seriously has to assume your exes are severely ill for ever letting you out of their sight. Violet despises how rapid the beat of her heart is, how shaky her hands become when she offers a hand to help you off the couch. Only two nights ago, it was the two of you cuddled up, Vi shrieking in fear from your favorite horror film. 

The terror in her powder-blue eyes made you laugh. Violet sees it as a big enough consolation for her downright distress. 

You’re too gorgeous for your own good. 

She may be pushing her luck tonight. Even pulling you out of bed makes her feel slightly accomplished. Between work and class, your mattress has been your chosen place to nurse your heartache. A few of your friends had been in and out, trying to get you to grab a fresh breath of air, or find the bottom of a bottle of tequila but all had failed. 

“You look….” You bite your lip, watching as your eyes drag over her frame, overwhelmed by just how well she cleans up. 

“That bad, huh?” Violet smirks as she makes her way over to you, and with your heels, she can’t help but admire your height. She supposes she does have a type. Who can blame her? 

“Something like that.” Your face is burning, the world doesn’t seem so bleak when she locks the door with one hand, her left warm-calloused hand holding yours in a firm grip. 

“How do I look?” You do a twirl, there’s a smile you try to contain when her eyes drag over you, taking all the time in the world as open the door to her truck, guiding you inside. 

“You look beautiful but that’s no surprise, princess.” 

The drive is quiet. Violet itches to place the palm of her hand on your thigh but she resists. With a quiet mind, she listens as you ramble about a new album you listened to earlier and she hands you her phone so you can play it. Immediately, you’re bewildered at the trust. 

Caitlyn wouldn’t even let you use her phone when yours died. Ordering the uber herself as she left you on the curb as she took her sports car and faded into the intersecting street. 

It’s only a twenty minute drive to the diner and the red neon sign greets you, the outside wall painted in a pastel-yellow, it’s gaudy and nearly unpleasant to the eye but there’s the charm about it. Zaun outlasted the gentrification of the corporate pollution, still one of the only places to remain standing and family owned. 

You’re led to a booth where you both take a seat, glancing over the menu as you decide what you want, trying to make a decision in your mind is something that drowns you like a misty fog at the crack of dawn. 

Finally you settle on a burger and so Violet. The conversation is easy with her. Everything seems to flow with a simpleness you find yourself reaching for. Like the last copy of your favorite book at the library, you crave to wrap your fingers around the crispy edges, sinking your smell into the spine of a new novel. Where the beginning feels like a first kiss — blissful notions of someone new — when the thought of love doesn’t seem so jarring. 

Before you’re terrified of getting your heart shattered into a million pieces. Before love morphs into something violent, you turn to Violet and you wonder if she’s ever been scared to love. Does it come easy for her? Would she let herself go for the right person? You feel too broken to ever let yourself fall that freely again. 

But she has blue eyes, a scar on her upper lip making her more charming, and tattoos adorning her back that only attribute to the surface level of her allure.  

Shortly after you sink into your thoughts, ones you don’t believe you should even have, you're ravaging your burger when Violet notices the attention you're getting. It’s obvious. To everyone. But you just talk to her about anything but the elephant in the room, you’re so chatty tonight she might even think you’re nervous. 

But it’s Vi. There’s nothing to ever be nervous about. 

Nothing at all. 

“God, this was such a good call. Who knew I needed to bury my sorrows in a pound of grease.” 

“Carbs. They are a beautiful thing.” Vi winks, you chunk a fry at her but she catches it in her mouth. 

You finish your food in silence, Vi smiling as she takes another sip from the cane-sugar coca cola. The sweetness of the syrup  coats the back of her throat as she watches you watch her. She wants to say something but the timing is wrong. She wonders if you see a future or a rebound, maybe even just a friend, only time can tell and Vi fears she would wait a lifetime waiting for you to figure it out. 

It’s how she loves. Free, without restrictions, even if she still mourns the love she once had burned to flames — you make her forget it all. Renewed in holy water, she basks in a touch that hasn’t scorned her, freely washing her of past sins.  

“What happened to Natalie? I thought things were good.” 

“For a time, yeah.” Violet says something without saying much. 

“Vi, are you being coy?” 

The blush coats her cheeks as she tries to shy away from the conversation. She feels the heat from your attention, the way her heart beats a million times per second as you have her cornered. Different in a way she would typically imagine when you came to mind. Even if she does try to stop herself, Vi can’t help but wonder about you and if you would feel the same way she does. 

If you do and just aren’t allowing yourself to let go of the wall you have up in the horrendous shape of Caitlyn Kiramman.  

The way you pry, your bold eyes slightly squinting at her as if you’re already figuring out the self-righteousness of the sinner. Secrets she hides under lock and key but even on a good day, the confession bubbles on her tongue as she catches herself choking on her own spit. You’re always so careful of the questions you leave hanging in the air. 

In a moment of frustration, Violet thinks of how Caitlyn’s manipulative patterns may have sinked into your brain. She knows that much — the blue-haired witch has done the same to her. Making you question everyone’s motives, wondering if anyone could ever be truthful. 

But others can. 

Caitlyn can’t. 

Vi distracts herself, avoids the question even if it is just a second to recollect her thoughts, a minute to buy time and divert from this conversation. It’s a truth she doesn't want unraveled. 

“What’s the saying? Don’t kiss and tell.” She grumbles as she stuffs her face with another bite of the beefy patty. “But we just didn’t work out s’all. Plus, I’m not looking for anything serious I guess. She was.” 

Another lie but Vi keeps her lips tight. She doesn’t need you to know why her latest attempt at a relationship blew up in her face, catastrophically. 

“Maybe you and Kirakiller should date again.” You tease. 

“Take that back. She’s the devil’s spawn and I’m still sorry you learned the difficult way. Just like me.” 

“Well, she definitely lives up to the name.” 

“I wish she would have changed her ways. You didn’t deserve to get hurt at all and especially by her.” Violet reaches across the table, soothing the back of your hand, rubbing circles into your skin. The action is sweet, lighting your skin ablaze with goosebumps as you watch her show affection, especially where other people can see. 

At the moment, you want to be claimed by her. Marked as Violet’s girl and you would be proud to be. You close the thought from your mind as soon as it opens. This isn’t a date. Just because Violet flirts doesn’t mean she’s interested. The two of you are roommates. 

Pull yourself together. 

Jesus Christ. 

She knows how much everyone can’t stop looking at you. The diner, outside the gas station even when Vi told you to stay in the car, and then the banquet. But you latched onto her, practically glued to her side as new sponsors came to speak with the new head captain. Vi’s nursing a beer when the music hits and she grins. 

“Are you ready for this?” 

What is she talking about? 

Vi latches her hand with yours as she pulls you to the open floor, only a few couples begin to lightly sway to the classical being played. It’s different from what she was used to but she was nothing if not resourceful. 

“I don’t bluff, princess, and I certainly don’t lie.” Vi tugs you close as you make no arguments, she leads as you find shining faith in her eyes. 

It’s a new feeling, unfamiliar as it courses through your body. Vi isn't ashamed of you, as a friend, as a roommate; she’s full of warmth when she glances at you. Sending a sense of belonging through your skin, a home you want to throw yourself in before the foundation has even been laid. 

Violet’s too good at this. You secretly love it but you pretend like you hate it. As if getting attention from someone as kind and hot as her is a bad thing. It’s nearly too much, almost making you sick with how much you’re enjoying being held by someone who actually wants to hold you. 

She’s not playing chess and using you as a pawn. 

It’s a recurring thought you have to remind yourself of, she’s not Caitlyn. 

Violet doesn’t make promises she doesn’t keep, she doesn’t say careless compliments to only have sex with you. With a firm palm on your back, calluses kissing your spine, she’s looking at you — so much so it feels as if she’s looking right through you. 

 “You don’t have to—” She twirls you around before you can protest, guiding you back into her gentle care. 

Vi shrugs, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me princess but I’d never go back on my word.” 

The other couples start to move on the dance floor as each song blends into the next. 

“That’s refreshing.” 

Violet hand placed on your exposed back feels so warm it nearly burns her skin. Leaning in, leaning her head against yours. You smell of vanilla and something else entirely too sweet, maybe jasmine or fresh lilies. The delicate breath kissing your neck feels tempting. You would never consider yourself to be a siren, but with each promise laced up in your tongue, you wish to serenade her into a future with you. 

“So are you, sweetheart.” Violet pulls away just enough to look at you, her temple presses against yours. 

You can hear the shake in her breath, her grip around her back tightening like she’s trying to restrain herself. But she doesn’t restrain, she leans in, the tip of her pierced nose kissing yours. If either of you moved an inch forward, your lips could taste hers. 

Is her chapstick cherry, strawberry, or maybe even blueberry? They look irresistible as the glisten, you need to crave the ache deriving from your bones. Violet has itched herself into every part of your life and she’s the only one to make you feel a sliver of joy again. 

“We should…” The dazed woman doesn’t even know what she’s pleading for. This is all she’s been wanting but somehow her heart is pulling away, terrified to be crushed under the unforgiving weight of rejection. 

“Yeah.” You say. Somehow understanding what she wishes for, silently you’re able to see her exposed skin, raw to the notion of a love dying to bloom in the beginning of spring. 

Violet kisses your cheek again and somehow you feel the warmth of the fresh season. In the February rain, there is still sunshine spilling over the clouds — washing you in hope again. 

— 

The rest of your life fell back in place as if she never existed, except the ache in your heart that wouldn’t stop. You did your best to ignore it. Word got around Caitlyn went back to fiercely fucking. Apparently instead of sleeping just once a week while she was with you, she went back to her ever-growing appetite, nearly every night. It isn’t too difficult for her; not when there’s a line of women waiting to be at her beck and call. 

You threw yourself into your studies, picking more shifts at the bar and hoping she doesn’t pull any of her usual stunts, showing up drunk and begging to fuck. 

One more time, baby. This could be good for the both of us. 

Caitlyn uprooted the past semester of uni and she didn’t even have the decency to apologize. All your friends with a knowing look of — I told you so — without actually dispersing the words from their tongue. It feels too much like a blurry dream but Sevika is good at making you smile. Even if you wanna throw yourself against a wall until the memory of Kirakiller fades for good. 

The night had been busier than expected but nothing you and Sevika couldn’t handle. Even if there’s an ache in your knees, the muscles in your shoulders strained, it feels nice to just work. Everything flees your mind, all the insecurities bubbling inside you escaping to get out. The emotions you’re attempting to keep at bay and failing. 

“You good, kid?” 

“Yeah, life’s just a shit fire. Nothing new.” 

Continuing to wipe the bar down for new customers, you clean off some glasses in front of you, as you dry your hands on a clean towel before tending to the other side of the bar. 

The rest of the night comes to you in a blur. You’re flirty enough with the men to ensure a nice tip but when one tries to get too handsy, you tell them to fuck off or Sevika will throw them out. They eye up her frame as she makes her way over, height hitting at over six feet, her muscles visible through the fitted black tank she chose tonight. If you didn’t know any better, she would terrify you. 

“Got a problem here?” 

“I’m not sure, what about you boys? Do you think there’s an issue?” 

With a quick shake to their heads, they take a nervous sip of their beer and the rest of the night goes along swimmingly. It’s last call when you spot the familiar pink-haired roommate, nursing her second bottle of beer it seems. 

“How long has she been here?” 

“Came during the rush for you, but didn’t wanna bother you. She’s been waiting for a few hours.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your tone goes high and squirrelly, murderous eyes finding her glimmering, silver eyes. 

“Well, it's only Vi, right?” Sevika smirks. 

That itself was a loaded question. If you’d been asked six months ago, it would have been a flat friend but now Vi had somehow turned into a friend. The almost-kiss you’ve been having dreams about. How she would kiss you — would it be tender — or would she be depraved about it in a way that would have you bruising your knees at the speed of lighting. 

“Stop that. Vi is as harmless as a puppy.” 

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” 

“Wasn’t Kirakiller here last month waiting for you and you didn’t bat an eye? Plus, the only thing she seems to be jealous of is Vi. The diva had a meltdown when she saw Vi picking you up after the end of your shift last week, or that’s just what I heard.” 

“Mel needs to stop telling you so much.” 

“Pillow talk. It’s a beautiful thing. Isn’t it?” 

Rolling your eyes, you throw your apron at her, collecting your tips for the night. Vi still looks innocent as ever, Gert making friendly conversation with her as you just watch her. Her thick, wool beanie matches her hair and you can’t help but think of how cute she looks. Her fingerless gloves you always chastise her about, doing very little to keep her warm. 

You knew she had a date tonight. Hell, it makes you nervous why she’s even here. Racking your brain with some excuse to get you out of this. What’s so important she couldn’t wait until you got home? She waits up for you every night. Doesn’t let herself fall asleep until she hears the familiar jingle of your keys outside the door. Pretending to read the book in her hands like she’s casually perched on the couch at three in the morning for any other reason. 

“Well, she’s one of the good ones and I’m not.” 

You’re frustrated as you split the tips, handing Sevika her half. Things with Vi had been more than complicated. You weren’t sure if you were over Caitlyn but you also knew things with Vi were getting closer to an edge you couldn’t come back from.

The flashbacks of the banquet you attended as her plus one just a few weeks ago haunt you. Her lips so close to yours, the hitch in her breath and whimper you let out that stopped it all. 

You would be an idiot to ruin the best friend you’ve ever had. A deep secret buried in your mind tells you how much of a bigger idiot you would be if you let her slip right through your fingers. 

“Doesn’t matter if you are or not. She sees something in you. Count yourself lucky. Oh, and before you head off Mel wants to invite you over for Valentine’s. Some big party she’s throwing. You know how she is. Be there or she’ll come and find you if you resist.” 

The wink Sevika sends you is insufferable. Similar to her attitude this entire night. 

“Yeah yeah, tell Mel I’ll be there.” 

“Now that’s the loving spirit, lovergirl.” 

You make your way over and Gert’s hand is touching Vi’s forearm, a look in your eyes that sends an annoying pit to your stomach. Gert’s eyes flutter and her smirk is evident but Vi only gulps when you make your way over. 

Gert may just take your attitude for tiredness but Vi knows better. Your two seconds from blowing up the way your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding as you fight to act like a complete and utter cunt. Vi’s a very pretty girl. Women flirt with her all the time. It’s not anything you didn’t know but to see it up and close was new for you. 

As was the jealousy practically sprouting out of you. 

“Well call me, yeah?” Gert’s eyes sparkle, dodging you entirely as she walks away and into the back. 

Violet gulps as it’s just the two of you. 

“Why are you here?” You snip, arms crossed over your chest, unknowingly making your cleavage even more apparent. “Sev says you’ve been here for hours.” 

“I came to see you but you looked busy.” 

“Mhm, yeah. Busy. You look awfully busy.” 

“Don’t do that.” 

But you ignore her. 

You rolled your eyes, the irritation raging within you. Fucking Gert. You drunkenly told her about your confusing feelings for Vi and she took that as Vi's single. It’s slim pickings out there but fuck, did Vi have to entertain it right in front you? 

But you didn’t like to think about how she did. You weren’t dating, you weren’t fucking, you essentially were just roommates who cuddled sometimes, or went on these almost dates with and almost kissed. 

Vi hasn't been dating since Natalie but she’s free to do as she pleases. It’s a colossal hit to your pride but you can’t be mad. You are, but you can’t be. 

You really cannot be doing this. 

Vi is just a friend. Only a friend. That’s it.  

“I’m going but Gert will be off soon. Goodnight, Vi.” 

It’s short and not so sweet. Swiftly turning around as you are practically running out the door. The chill of February hits you first and then you hear Vi and her voice calling after you but you just keep walking. Hoping she’ll give up and go back. You’re a lost cause, anyone with eyes can see it. 

“Would you stop running away?” You turn around and Vi is so close that she runs into you, her arms wrapping around your waist to stop you from falling. “Jesus, are you insane? It’s fucking freezing out here. I don’t care if you’re mad right now, I’m driving us home.” 

“Violet, let me—” 

“No. You’re not getting sick. It’s past midnight. It’s not safe. We are not arguing about this.” You pout as she holds your hand and practically drags you back to her black truck. Opening the door for you as you get in, shutting the door once you’re situated before she gets in on the other side. 

Igniting the engine, it revs on and while the car warms up Vi sighs, rather loudly. She’s always good about waiting until she calms down to speak. Letting the anger roll off her, the frustration you’re sure was caused by you. She slides the beanie off her head as the car reaches a normal temperature and runs her fingers through beautiful pink strands being kissed by the light of the moon. 

The natural fluff to the strands is restored, no longer inflated by the beanie you had embroidered her full name on. You can’t keep your eyes off of her. She must feel it because Vi catches your gaze and instantly her eyes go soft. It’s too much so you turn your eyes away; focusing on the snow falling on the windshield. 

“What’s going on? I’ve been patient for weeks but something changed and you’re not telling me.” 

“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” 

“The truth would be a good place to start.” 

Vi sighs, again, when you’re silent. No smartass rebuttal, no snide remark, not even an exasperated curse underneath your breath. Complete and utter silence.

But you feel trapped.

You’re terrified. Vi is too warm, loving, and painfully-pure. She might not know it, but she’s the girl you come back for. The one who you bring home to meet the family, the one who will bring you breakfast in bed when you feel under the weather and the one who will make sure you feel loved every single day. 

When other people figure that out, if Gert does, it’s over for you. Because maybe it was foolish, pathetic, and possibly tragic but you were just trying to sort yourself out long enough to see if you want those things with her. Now, it’s only a matter of time before she dotes on someone else who can give her everything she deserves. 

You should let her have this, it’s far better than her pleading eyes begging for something you’re not sure you can give. Caitlyn broke pieces you're not sure are repairable, parts of yourself that can’t be put back together. You didn’t even realize you had been crying until Vi’s wiping away your tears. 

The pad of her thumb is careful as she wipes all the tears away. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, princess. It’s just you and me.” 

“I-I can’t. It’s too…I just can’t.” You confess, sniffling as you try and calm yourself down. 

Vi guides you into the crook of neck as she does her best to hold you over the middle console of her truck. “It’s okay, princess. Shh, I’m right here.” It’s then that your sobs wrack your body and Vi decides she needs you as close as possible. Using her strength, she brings you into her lap, wrapping her tight arms around you as you sob into her neck. Salty tears stain Vi’s neck but she really doesn’t care. 

All she cares about is you. 

“It’s about Kiramman, isn't it?” 

Vi can’t hide her disdain for the woman. That much is clear as day. Whatever happened with the two of them burned deep. 

“Maybe murder isn’t such a bad thing.” 

“Vi.” You chuckle half heartedly. 

“There’s that smile..” You lift your head from the safety of her warmth, pressing your forehead against hers. Your breath is heavy on her lips, staring at the beautiful scar, the plumpness to her lips practically staring right at you. Close enough to see the constellations of freckles littered across her full cheeks. 

Your timing is awful but your heart gives into Violet’s gaze, lips falling closer together to hers. 

“Don’t make it like this.” Vi whispers, her powder-blue eyes gleaming at you. 

“What?” 

“Don’t kiss me for the first time because you’re sad about her. I can’t be her runner up. I’ve been playing that for too long.” 

“I won’t kiss you, not if you don’t want me to.” 

The tears are still fresh, but this need churning within you isn’t. Since the moment you met Vi, you’ve been fighting it. Fighting this. 

“Fuck, I do but,” Vi stalls when you unzip her leather jacket, revealing her wrapped chest, abs on display. “Shit, princess.” 

Fingers playing with the button of her trousers, waiting for her to push you away but she doesn’t. She does nothing of the sort. Vi’s breath is heavier than you’ve ever heard it. Looking down at your hands, waiting for you to pull the trigger on all of this. It’s then you realize Vi is letting you have all the control. If this is going to happen, she wants you to take it. It’s different from what you’re used to. 

A choice. 

It’s more than you could have expected. Vi isn’t pushing you away, isn’t telling you to stop. Not when you unbutton her pants and not when you suck on your fingers before slipping them beneath her boxers, feeling the soft curls and wondering if they match the drapes, before your fingers get perfectly acquainted with her. 

“Oh fuck—” Vi curses as she grabs onto your ass, lifting the short skirt you’ve been wearing all night, rucking it up to your hips as she sinks her nails into the skin. 

When you slip inside her, she clenches around your fingers, fucking her hips into your pace and Vi struggles to contain the whimpers. They flow out of her like a tidal wave. She’s been thinking about this moment with you for so long, just you and her — it’s the only thing Vi wants. 

When Vi saw you tonight she thought it was absolutely ridiculous for you to wear this strapless top, only because your nipples poked through the small fabric, but now she’s grateful you did. It’s easy to slip as she sucks a pierced nipple into her mouth. Her tongue plays with the barbell, causing you to groan as she pinches and delicately pulls at the other. As Vi kitten licks your nipple, she finds home on your ass again, before ripping your panties off. 

Her mouth is eager, hot, as she won’t stop giving attention to your chest. You’ve never wanted to kiss her more. 

“Can you take two, princess?” 

Eagerly you nod, a yearning yes falls from your lips. Vi doesn’t waste a beat. 

You try to fuck Vi harder, but she doubles down on her efforts, her fingers so deep and you feel so full. Trying to chase the high, you ride her fingers, almost as if you were riding her, your ass unable to stop humping against her. It’s just the two of you, a silent competition to get the other one off first and you can feel Vi winning. Then she’s extending her thumb, rubbing circles on your clit, and you know you’ve lost. 

“That’s it, just like that princess.” 

“Vi, Vi, baby, oh my godddddd—” 

Vi’s purely evil with every thrust of her fingers but she’s so full of light, an angel sent to you in your darkest hour. Batting her long eyelashes at you while she suckles on your bouncing tits, knuckle deep inside you as she gives you everything to just take. She’s too beautiful to look away from. With her pupils dilated, her blue eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them. Letting off your perfect tits with an obnoxious pop, she kisses up your sternum as she marks you with her lips everywhere but the place you actually want. 

But then her words revere in your mind once again. 

Don’t make it like this. 

“Look at me.” 

Eyes drifting back to her as she curls her fingers inside you, your grip on her hair iron tight, unwillingly to let go of you. 

“Such a beautiful girl, so special, so pretty when you form a sentence. The most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. There’s no need to be jealous, babygirl, don’t need anyone else but you. Mhm, just you, alright? Yeah? Keep looking at me, yeah baby, just like this.” 

You nod, close to the brink, her compliments send a rush through your head and your throbbing clit feels it. 

The most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. 

“Baby, I, shitttt Violettttt—” 

The name of her full name, the first time she’s ever heard it fall from your lips since the first time you met. Vi’s too close and hearing you scream her name isn’t helping. 

“C’mon, princess. Show me how pretty you can be.” Vi commands and you come undone around her fingers. 

Arching your back against the steering wheel, and the horn blows. 

You giggle and so does she but the soft moment is short lived as your body twitches, selfishly basking in the way you irrevocably coated her fingers in your cum. 

Bringing Violet with you as you pull at her hair, her face planting on on your chest as your breasts smother her moans as she jumps off the cliff with you. Sucking at the flesh, marking what she craves as you fuck yourself on her fingers, her pace even more brutal as Vi coaxes you through your blindingly, hot orgasm. 

“Just like that princess, pussy just can’t stop drenching for me, yeah? My pretty girl can paint my face next time. Do you want that? My face covered in your cum, dribbling down my chin, on my tits…you’ll clean me up though. A good girl like you will. So fuckin’ pretty.” 

One slap to your ass has you trembling, body shaking and that’s when Vi lays off, her fingers slipping out of you and you feel so empty without her. 

As if you didn’t need any more torture, you watch as she lavishes at her fingers, covered in your cum, her high cheekbones suctioning as she sucks every last drop. Vi smirks as you drool a little bit before you wipe the saliva off. Sweet as always, she doesn’t say a word. Saving you the embarrassment from a crude joke. 

One Caitlyn would definitely make. 

“Um, sorry, I think I got carried away.” 

“We both did, it’s okay, Vi.” 

There’s a soft silence, it would almost become cumbersome if it wasn’t so peaceful. The only thing you can hear is her exhale of breath as Vi tries to regain some composure. All of it feels complicated, the severed tie to Caitlyn doesn’t seem so entirely severed when her ex-girlfriend makes you come in the driver’s seat of her truck. 

If anyone found out about this, about the two of you, it would be the talk of the town. Caitlyn’s exes making a victory lap in Kirakiller’s grave. The victory is so triumphant even the goddess on top of the mountain gets scorched. It’s your worst nightmare. Your wish is to coddle this as long as you can. Savor the feeling, keeping Vi under lock and key. 

You just want to have this one thing for yourself. 

Even if you are far from her reach, she has a way of making sure any good thing gets ripped from you, torn from your hands before you even have a second to enjoy. As much as you enjoyed her company, this complicates. 

But it doesn’t stop your heart from thumping loudly. A shiver runs up your spine as Vi pulls down your skirt. There’s a tenderness to her touch as she fixes your top, covering your chest once again. You nearly lock your lips with hers when she rubs your full cheeks with the pad of her thumb, smoothing along her jaw as she leans in to kiss the tip of your nose.  Unable to snuffle it, you smile. 

It’s genuine when the light reaches your eyes. Vi says nothing, anything would be too heavy, something neither of you are ready for. A silent agreement to enjoy this moment for what it is. 

“Are you doing anything for Valentines? Mel and Sevika are having this party and I thought you might wanna go together.” The panic surges through her powder-blue eyes the moment she asks the question. 

Is that why she came tonight? Did she want to ask you? 

Reminding you of the first night you met, a party and Sevika and Mel’s but you find yourself to be in an entirely different position. The idea of a date without the pressure, you’d be surrounded by your friends. But you tremor with the thought of Violet wanting to spend Valentine’s day with you. 

“But it’s, um, perfectly fine if you already have plans. It's just I don’t want to spend it alone. Powder is off spending it with Ekko this year, Vander is doing god knows what and Silco well, that would just be pathetic if I asked him what his plans are. I really just—” 

“Violet.” 

Violet.

Violet. 

Violet. 

The second it rolls off your tongue, a crimson hue forms on her freckled cheeks, even spreading across the bridge of her nose before it coats the tips of her ears. A soft pink unlike her vibrant locks of messy hair, partially due to your tugging and pulling. 

“Sorry, Vi. It just slipped.” 

“No. I mean not no. I wasn’t trying to be rude. You can call me, Violet, if you want to.” 

I like hearing you say my name, it sounds even more beautiful than when you whispered it falling apart on my fingers. 

But Vi couldn’t say that. 

“Well then, Violet, I would love to go with you. Count me in.” 

She didn’t need to know you already had plans on going. This was much better. 

— 

Mel decides to take you up on the offer of studying at the library tonight. With your future hanging on by the thread that is your scholarship, you have to keep your grades airtight. Not to mention the downfall of your situation with Caitlyn only puts a bullseye on your back. 

The first couple of hours have been silent for the two of you, the accountability keeping you in check to stay focused. Then the third hour approaches and the two of you start to quietly converse in the nearly vacant library. 

“Did Sev tell you who came into Leagues last night?” 

Shutting your book, your eyes squint in confusion. 

“Kiramman.” 

“I thought the ship had sailed away during that fight. God, it nearly made me want to strangle her and we all know violence is more of Sev’s choice of resolution.” 

“It has. She likes checking in on her so-called…wounded. She’s never been one for grace. I wish she would make it less obvious, Leagues isn’t even her scene. Her pompous ass would never be caught dead in there when we were, well, whatever the fuck you would call us. But she’s been quite the regular ever since I cut things off. 

It’s surprising she would come to you, but on the other hand, she didn’t know where you lived. It was the only straw for her to grasp on. It’s probably killing her to know she’s been blocked on everything, no contact, a complete ghost town. Almost as if none of you even existed together, just a memory faded, one you hope to burn into ash. 

“Well, Vi was there hanging out with Gert and—” 

“She was?” 

Mel suddenly felt like she said something she shouldn’t have. 

“Appearances can be deceiving, they did talk for a bit, yes, but how does that have any level of importance?” Mel can’t hide her lips upturning. 

“Nothing.” 

“Hey kid, lighten up. I think you’re two seconds away from snapping that pencil in half.” The rasp of Sevika’s voice pulls you back to earth, but it’s too late for the pencil as the infrastructure snaps. You feel like a child, caught in doing something they shouldn’t do. 

“Oh, so this is a thing? Vi?” Mel almost speaks a little too loudly, her voice reaching endless limits as the object of your affection is named in the very silent library. “I just thought you wanted to make Kirakiller jealous. Not actually…” 

You bury your head in your notebook, wanting to strangle Sevika as you hear her chuckle, taunting you as your traitorous heart fails you in your time of need. Maliciously giving you up as your tragic negligence exposes you truly. 

Even if it’s silly, needy, or a little bit selfish — you wanted this one part of your life to be concealed from beady eyes. 

“Finally coming to your senses.” Sevika taunts. 

“Enough. I’m not…Violet and aren’t…that’s not what this is.” 

Mel gives you a knowing look, arching her perfectly arched eyebrow, hazel eyes with a ring of gold surrounding them piercing so deeply into your soul. It almost has you stuttering out how you let her fuck you in Violet’s truck, driving you back home with her warm, soft hand on your exposed thigh. Absentmindedly drawing circles into your skin. 

“Violet?” Sevika and Mel say in unison. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

“Vi doesn’t let anyone call her that. The only one who's ever called her that is well, her family. She yelled at Kirakiller for calling her that whenever they fought. Vi looked like she could rip her tongue out.” 

The information makes your head spin, there is only so much you can take. 

“It’s just a name. Seems like Vi is preoccupied anyways. This is just so…” 

“Hey Vi!” 

You turn around, hearing her greet someone she was friendly with. In her athletic shorts and cleats, it’s clear practice had started again, her gym bag in tote. The sweat and grime layered over her face, the sleeves of her jersey rolled into her shoulders. With each movement, her muscles rippled in the dim lighting of the library. 

The navy blue jersey complimented her vibrant strands of pink, she laughs at whoever she’s talking to and she looks so happy and at peace, it makes your heart soar. Rugby always made her the happiest. Vander and Vi used to play when she was just a girl, even Powder joined as they got older but when Violet got stronger, she restricted for playing seriously with classmates her own size and not old men whose knees could give out in any second. 

She still doesn’t see you and you want to keep it that way so you turn around, minding your own even if your two closest friends in the world just watched you gawk over Violet. 

“It’s just going to get worse. Living together. It’s only a matter of time until one of you…” Sevika gestures to the pencil lying broken on the table. 

“Well, try not to act too disheartened at the party. Vi said she’s bringing someone. I’m sure it won’t work out between them. Ever since she’s gotten here she hasn’t been able to—” 

Sevika places her hand on Mel, to cue her to silence herself as Vi walks up to the table, grabbing the chair closest to you and discreetly pushes it even closer to you when she takes her seat. 

Immediately, you chastise yourself for loving how turned on you are by her sweaty body, her muscles clearly acquiring the pump from her practice, those stupid strong calves brushing against yours. You admire the scar against her top lip. Tattoos on display, making your head feel dizzy, and she leans over and asks if she can have a couple of your orange slices. Before falling right back in conversation with Sevika. 

Violet does anything to be close to you. Mel and you are engrossed in a conversation, when she shows you the video you were discussing, Vi has to lean over to see. Her arm hanging off your shoulder, her neck craning to see but when she sits back, she keeps her arm around the back of your chair. 

“How did practice go today?” You ask. 

“Fine.” But the grass stains on her shirt tell you differently, so does the burn on her exposed shin. 

“Who the fuck did you let kick your ass?” Sevika interjects before you have the chance to. 

“Can’t kick Kirakiller’s ass. Dean Kiramman might throw me out faster than I can blink. I’m already on thin ice and Kirakiller just made it worse. She doesn’t like losing.” 

Violet glances at you, her expression unreadable as she turns her attention back to Sevika. 

“Got outvoted for Team Captain and she can’t fucking stand it. You know the pompous Kirammans don't believe in democracy. One for all and all for none. Some bullshit Kirakiller says while she’s trying to out-bench me in the weight room. Not my fucking problem. Hasn’t been for a while. She went in for some cheap blows during drills. It is what it is.” 

Sevika nods her head, “Seems like you did a real number on her. She shouldn’t have fumbled half of this table.” 

“Sev.” You shoot a glaring warning. 

Violet visibly tenses but she doesn’t remove her arm, Mel elbowing Sev in the gut softly before she coughs up a quiet apology. The tension could be cut with a knife, but Violet just plays with the material of your cotton shirt, soothing herself as she tries to forget. 

“Right, yep.” An awkward silence disperses before Mel and Sevika excuse themselves leaving you and Violet alone. 

“Violet, I can talk to her. She shouldn’t be taking this out on you. This is all my fault.” 

“It’s not you, alright? Not directly. Caitlyn likes to hurt when she’s hurt. I can handle her.” 

Vi chew on her lip, breaking through skin as blood comes to the surface, the iron taste coating her tongue. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You question Violet. 

“She knows she can’t lash out at the one thing she wants.” 

The one thing we both want, Vi thinks to herself. 

She takes the brunt of Caitlyn’s anger and she doesn’t even know why. Maybe an understanding but doesn’t know the full picture. You’re too much of a coward to let it slip. If everything goes south, the woman you adored could truly hate you and that’s the last thing you wanted. It’s silly to even hide a secret. Especially when you feel as if she sees right through your heart when her curious blue eyes look at you. 

“Trust me, I’m playing against what I want but she’s not as done as you think she is. She’ll come back for you, princess. You’re someone anyone would come back for. I’m the low totem pole trash found underneath her designer sole, there’s never been a place for me in her life.” 

“Don’t do that.” 

“It’s the truth.” 

“No, it isn’t. You’re more than how she treated you. Don’t talk about yourself like that. It’s the furthest thing from the truth.” 

Vi nods, tries to offer a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“What really happened? You look banged up and it looks more than just a rough practice. You know you can tell me anything. I’m all ears for you.” 

Vi struggles for a moment, and contemplates on telling you the truth. You deserve to know the truth and she knows that but she also can’t stand for Caitlyn to hurt another piece of you. This entire time apart from Caitlyn, you’ve done your best to separate and get over her. She can’t be the person to make you feel any worse about the situation. 

Caitlyn can’t get more in the way, she won’t allow it. 

“Kiramman just being a cunt, okay? It’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

“Okay but I’m cleaning that cut on your arm when we get home.” You nudge your shoulder against hers. Talking solace as she places her head in the crook of your neck. 

“Whatever you want, princess.” 

Then the question nags in the back of your mind, I saw her with Gert. But you’re putting her with Caitlyn. You think she’s cheating on you but there’s isn’t anything to cheat on. You’ve never spoken about that night in her pick-up truck but still dream of it. 

Luscious, greedy cunt taking her fingers in ease as you fucked her to completion. The whines she made, how harmonious they were with your own. The image stays imprinted on your mind, scorching the deepest depths of your mind for all eternity to see. 

But it’s not everyone taking a look. 

It’s just you. Keeping a lid on it has been more than you bargained for. Vi is the person who has been there to help you. When you’ve felt like the cards are stacked against you, it’s her that pulls you out. Every day after the breakup, if you could even call it that, you evidently were just a warm body to fuck for Caitlyn, Violet was there to make sure you were okay. 

The daily check-ins, making sure you were staying hydrated through all the tears, cooking dinner for the both of you when she knows you skipped lunch. It’s the little things you’re beating yourself up over and it makes you wonder what was really going on. 

If Caitlyn had taught you anything, it was people did fuck you because that’s the only thing they want. But you wanted Violet to be different. More than you ever had than Caitlyn, you need her to be more than what you’ve always been. 

“Are you alright, princess? Lost you there for a second.” 

You hope she never does. And you never want to lose her. You swallow your jealousy, you decide to trust, despite your best efforts; your heart remains unprotected. You chose blind trust, even if you know better, you lean into the faith. 

“Yeah, I’m here with you. Promise.” 

—

There’s red, pink, and white — everywhere. Mel is passionate about Valentine's day. In weeks of build up, this party is all she spoke of. Dragging you along to shop when buying decorations, but you didn’t mind. Sevika covering you at the bar means one less shift this week. After last night’s events, you could use the breather. 

If Sev wasn’t there, putting the men in place, the status of your safety would severely be in question. Vi came after you called, just complaining about it on your break, and thirty minutes later she sat on your section of the bar with one of her favorite books in hand. 

“You didn’t have to come. See? Still in one piece.” 

“Mhm and that’s how I want you to stay. Sorry princess, I’m not going anywhere.” 

It’s not like you needed any more reason to enjoy her company. You have too many. And they come to your mind as needy as a bee to honey. It’s why you bail on coming as a pair, you had a valid excuse, but you also knew if Mel knew why you were helping decorate their home she would literally kick you back to be with Violet. 

Hanging the banner in the entry was the last of your duties and before you knew it everyone was shuffling in one by one. The party is in full swing by the time Violet walks in the front door and you nearly collapse from just how damn good she looks. A bouquet of flowers, an assortment of pink and yellow roses with a few lilies meticulously placed in the arrangement. 

“I hope it’s not too much but I wanted to do something nice for you.” 

“They are beautiful, Violet. You really didn’t have to.” 

She smiles as she leans in to kiss your temple, “Of course I did.” 

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch, the games Mel has planned are fun. Everyone engages with each other and it is surprisingly pleasant. The only unsettling feeling stirring in the pit of your stomach is the ginger in the corner who has been eyeing you all night but the shirley temples you’ve been drinking all night has you dazed, sitting on Violet’s lap with her arms wrapped around your waist. 

Vi’s a bit inebriated as she plays with the hem of your dress, whispering how beautiful you look in your ear. You fidget in her hold, grinding against her even when you’re really not even meaning to. 

Astoundingly, the door slams, her arrival being announced. 

Uninvited and as prompt as ever. 

“Oh, so this—“ Caitlyn gestures to Vi as if she’s the sticky gum on the bottom of her overpriced sneaker, “my leftovers is why you chose to end things?” 

She’s charging as the ginger gets up from her seat, trying to hold Caitlyn back but she fails but in an instant, Vi stands up. Every protective bone in her body goes hyperactive, proving herself as a blockade between you and the devil herself. The smirk Vi wears makes Caitlyn violently scowl. She may be taller, but she’s smaller, thinner, not packing nearly as much muscle in her punch. 

There was nothing she would love more than to punch that stupid, coy fucking smile off her face. 

“What are you gonna do, cupcake?” She says the once endearing nickname, crathing to slither underneath her skin, she wants to piss her off to no end. Make Caitlyn regret ever fucking with either of you. It’s all this ever was, a game. Kiramman’s are always desperate to win, to annihilate your opponent. Any future moves made would be contingent in how she made you feel. 

“Get out of my way, Violet.” 

“Call me that again and I’ll knock your teeth out. And what are you going to do about it? Everyone may be afraid of you outside of the field, but in case you have forgotten, this isn't on campus where things are done the Kiramman way. If you wanna take a cheap shot at me, better make it count.” 

With a careful gaze, Caitlyn’s eyes beam down to the hand clinging to Vi’s bicep, how you’re looking at Vi and touching her skin and how dreadful you look to her. 

She directs her voice to you, “What? You’re gonna pick her over me? Like we mean nothing?” 

Bitterly, you laugh, but it isn’t funny. Not one bit. 

“It’s painful, isn’t it? Being on the other side of it.” Taking a step forward, leaning against Violet’s shoulder, intertwining your fingers together. “Those were your words exactly, Kiramman. This is nothing.” 

“I–” For the first time, right before your eyes, she’s stunned. For the first time since she’s met you, she’s speechless. 

“Caitlyn, we should just–” 

“Maddie, enough.” 

The both of you have done more than just rattle her, you’ve surprised her and Violet would be smiling so damn wide if Caitlyn still wasn’t in front of her. 

“Baby, can we talk about this? Just a minute of your time and we can sort this out.” Violet won’t stand for the desperate pleas for a moment longer. She takes a step forward, getting in Kiramman’s face, “I think you and your little orange muppet should get the fuck out before I throw you out myself.” 

“This isn’t any of your business, Vi.” 

“When you’re talking to my girl like that, it really fucking is.” 

My girl. 

Violet seems to be two seconds away from physically throwing her out when Mel finally interjects. “Caitlyn, you are unwelcome, uninvited, and you’re trespassing. I ask that you please leave before other extreme measures need to be taken.” 

A venomous scoff leaves her lips as Maddie drags her away, slamming the door on her way out. 

You're rattled, but not from Caitlyn, but from the assertiveness you didn’t know Vi possessed. The implications of this would serve consequences to not just Vi but to you but you couldn’t focus on that right now. She had called you her girl. 

Vi’s girl. 

“Well now that’s out of the way…” Mel jokes, lightening the mood as the party jumps back in full swing. But all you hear is Vi’s voice calling you hers and it’s like she knows what you’re thinking of when she spares a glance. 

“I’m sorry it just slipped but I couldn’t stand her looking at you like that. Like you were some piece of meat she can have whenever she wants.” Violet apologizes. Rubbing the back of your hand with your thumb, tracing her name into your skin. 

“It’s okay, um, it was actually really hot…” Immediately, she takes a step forward in an effort to be closer to you. “I-I’ve never really seen you be so uh–” 

“What princess?” Mischievously, she girls her head, biting her lip right before she licks them, her tongue piercing teasing you. 

“I dunno…it was just really hot seeing you like that…calling me that.” 

“My girl?” Vi smiles. It’s so genuine, making you swoon with a sincerity only she can give. 

“Yeah, something like that, maybe.” 

“I can call you a lot more things if you want. Wanna take a bet if they actually locked their bathroom?” 

Neither of you have ever moved so quickly in your life. Clothes get thrown on the tile the minute the two of you are alone, pressing your frame against the door as she decorates your neck in sovereign possession. She never wants anyone to question, you’re her girl. 

“Vi, do you,  fuccckkkk, really think this is a good idea?” She only grunts in reply as you're nearly fully exposed, your weeping cunt grinding against the muscular thigh she offers so graciously. Your friendship with her hangs in the balance, and you don’t want to think about that right now but you can’t help but have your doubts. 

“We can stop if you want to. Whatever you want.” Vi moves to remove her thigh until you whimper, tugging her closer by her pink hair towards you. 

“I didn’t say that. Please, don’t stop.” 

“Mhm, okay princess but only because you asked so nicely.” 

Vi pushes her against your pussy, your hips falling more erratic as Violet gets lost in your neck. Lips marking whatever inch of skin they can find as your folds get the needed friction from her trousers. Blindly sucking on the sweet spot behind your ear, making you putty in her hands. 

With a tight grip, you pull at her vibrant hair, her roots grounding you as the build in the pit of your stomach increases. But she pulls away just when you’re getting close. If your hands didn’t have the edge of the sink to hold onto, you’re not sure your legs would have supported you. 

“Did you want to stop?” 

“No.” Vi smirks. 

“Then why the hell did you?” 

She says nothing, infuriating you further. It almost pisses you off to the point where it’s painful. Vi keeps smirking at god knows what. Maybe she finds you just as pathetic as Caitlyn does. It may have been a distant future, when Caitlyn had actually been decent in her freshman year, her and Vi were the talk of the town until it all abruptly ended and no one knew why. You’ve never asked. 

Vi’s friendly with you but not to the point where she’s an open book. She’s hardly an open book with anyone, she’s careful when she hooks up with others. Especially with the who, she doesn’t want someone who's going to go off and tell the rest of campus how many fingers she used while she makes them come. 

But now, you like her. Really fucking badly. 

The way she snapped on her, protecting you, nearly connecting her fist with Caitlyn’s sharp jawline. It’s one of the reasons you’re in here with her. But still, not knowing the reason makes you feel slightly unsettled. 

There's been different rumors over the past few years surrounding Vi the sweetest girl around and Kirakiller. All of them painting Caitlyn in a god awful light. 

Kirakiller cheated on Vi. 

Vi left because Kirakiller didn’t want to make things official. 

Kirakiller‘s tenacious appetite for the bedroom couldn’t be satisfied by Vi. 

Kirakiller said Vi couldn’t make her come. 

The list goes on and on, and on. Neither of them were seen to be around each other again, not until Caitlyn seemed to catch you in her web. It was the sin of the century. Vi’s roommate seeing her ex-girlfriend. It was messy to say the least. A few long weeks and you cooking Vi her favorite meal, buying her favorite sour candy in bulk, along with some new gadget for her computer she’d been wanting. 

It’s all it took to forgive you. Her only request was to keep Caitlyn out of the apartment while she was here. She never spoke about her again and you never pressed the wound. If Vi didn’t ever want to talk about it but why they broke up gnawed at you. 

But Violet doesn’t seem to give a shit about that right now. 

“Get on your knees, princess.” 

You obliged as Vi took off the sweater, revealing a grey fitted tank-top, showing off just how fit she stayed in the crisp of winter. 

“Good girl. Now, take off my belt, yeah?” 

You released the belt from the latch, pulling it through the loop and handing it to Vi. Her firm grip grabs the belt, as she kneels behind you, bounding your wrists together by the smooth, cold leather. It’s black with a silver clasp, it feels nice against your wrists as she tightens it. As far as you can tell, it’s new and it makes you wonder if she bought it for just an occasion like this. 

Wrists bound behind your back, Vi slaps the fat of your ass before soothing over with delicate fingers, the calloused pads of her fingers playing with your puckered hole as she thumbs it gently. 

Pulling it back for a moment, collecting saliva in her warm mouth before drooling over your ass. Smothering her own spit, a place you’d never let anyone touch. You've convinced yourself all this time it’s because of your boundaries but when Vi did it, you didn’t have a problem with it. Then you realize you have trust with Vi, one you hadn’t had with anyone else. 

It was just a spur of the moment, two horny girls lonely and single, needing someone else but you also know Vi wasn’t one to sleep with half the campus. She’s a one-woman kind of girl. Maybe you need that trust. 

You’re hesitant, still but you can’t bring yourself to say no. She’s attentive, making sure you’re alright with each moment. Not wanting to push you past a limit both of you can’t come back from. 

“Is this alright?” Vi whispers into your ear as if she can read your mind. 

“Yeah, it’s good.” You take a beat before moaning as you lean into her chest, “A little too good.” 

Vi chuckles into your ear, the vibrations tingle throughout your body. Suddenly your mind is wondering how a simple giggle can make you feel so soaked. With a gentle hand, her thumb keeps on playing with your ass as she maneuvers you into her lap and that’s when you feel it. 

A faux cock. 

“Is that a—” You want to ask but for the first time in your life, you feel shy. 

“A cock?” 

“Someone’s cocky.” 

You both giggle at your innuendo. 

Lightly, with soaked fingers she pulls out of your lips, she rims your puckered hole, a coveted limit in your body but with her, you so freely wish to give it. 

The eye contact feels awfully intimate but you can’t bring yourself to tear yourself away. It’s entirely new to you. Caitlyn never liked to look you in the eyes when she fucked you. Always something to hide, how she truly feels about you is privy to anyone else but her. 

You didn’t have the right to know. 

With Vi, everything becomes so clear. 

It’s crystal clear when she asks if she can slide a finger inside your ass, it’s overly intimate when you tell her yes as your eyes never leave hers. Her eyes are as hooded as you’ve ever seen them but she won’t break eye contact. Not for a second. You’re questioning if she’s even blinking. 

With each passing second, her pink hair surrounds you as her forehead pressed against yours, blue eyes open as she asks again if you’re okay with it. You give her another yes before her middle finger slides in your mouth, your tongue circling the digit before sucking on it dramatically. Letting off with a pop, Vi teases your forbidden hole one more time before she gently coaxes you open for her. 

“Shit, Shit, that’s—” You squint your eyes shut. The new sensation is a little too much for your brain to process much less the fluttering pressure in the pit of your stomach. 

“Look at me, princess. Keep your eyes on me, alright?” Vi lightly commands, her tone as sweet as you’ve ever heard it. 

With the sweet words thrown your way, your eyes flutter open, long eyelashes kissing your brow bone. Vi smiles softly, her top lip lifting as she sees the way you’re looking at her. 

Kirakiller is so fucking stupid, Vi thinks to herself be she keeps the words to herself. 

Vi stretches you more as her entire finger sits within you, waiting for you to be ready for more and when you are, she nearly comes herself. You’re louder than anyone she’s ever been with. She’s thankful for the loud music Mel insisted on, some shitty pop tune drowning out the two of you. Violet’s never been so thankful. 

Those shitty pop tunes are drowning the especially deafening screams of Vi’s name until your vocal chords are shot. With a strong wrist and the flick of her wrist, she can tell you’re already close. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before.” Shining eyes are glossy as ever as you struggle to keep them open and focused on her. “Never felt this, shiiiittttt, Vi, please. I’m so close.” 

“What do you mean? Has no one ever fucked your ass? You’ve been sleeping with Kiramman. How have you not—” 

“Never let her.” That sends Vi’s clit throbbing viciously. 

“Kirakiller’s an ass lover, everyone knows that.” 

“Are we gonna sit her talking about her the entire time or are you gonna make me come?” Agitating you roll your eyes but Vi licks her lips slowly as a distraction, pulling your attention to her pierced tongue and then you feel another finger stretch at your ass. 

“What did you say, princess? Something about coming?” Vi uses another finger, her long digits spreading the slit in your lower lips, making a mess as she spreads the pre-cum spilling out of you. “Be a good girl won’t you?” Vi pinches your clit and just like that your eyes shut again, a completely shattering orgasm washed over you. 

Body twitching as Vi keeps you in her hold with a strong grip, your body riding against her fingers but she isn’t too pleased for a moment as she tuts. 

“What did I say princess? Eyes open, now.” You struggle, again, but you’re able to meet her demand. There’s an urge to look away, to hide in Vi’s pink hair, her tattooed neck, but you do none of it. Dangerous eyes look at yours as she fucks you through it. You wanted to tug at her hair, pull her closer to you, but hands are bound so all you can do is take it, with loud moans being released, ones you’re trying to control but utterly fail to do so. 

“So pretty like this, yeah? God, those gorgeous eyes of yours are gonna get me in trouble. Crying for me like that, makes me wanna take you back to our home and fuck you on my bed, baby. You’re such a beautiful girl and deserve to be treated like one, my sweet girl.” 

Vi isn’t sure if you’re crying from the intimacy or from the orgasm, probably both. It’s not a secret since the start of the semester you’d been with Kiramman but Vi knew first hand what that meant. There’s no eye contact, no cuddling, no reassurances, it’s just sex. When Vi was going through it herself, she could see the toll it even took on Caitlyn but she didn't break. Her resolve is rock solid and Vi had learned it the hard way, just as she supposed you did. 

It was an endless cycle and it seems Kiramman continued it again with you. It’s evil the way she pulls you apart, makes each part of you feel special, like you’re her entire world and there’s no one else but there always is someone else. Always. Kiramman will lie through her perfectly aligned teeth but there is always someone she keeps for a backup. 

Vi wipes away your tears as she soothes you with soft whispers and delicate hands running up and down your back. It feels like the easiest thing she’s done, soothing you into serenity. With gentle care, she takes the belt off of your wrists, rubbing soft circles over the sensitive skin as you come back to yourself. The alcohol feels like a memory. Her kindness makes your head spin and your heart flutter. 

Now, you understand why the two of them never worked. 

Vi is everything Caitlyn struggles to be. 

It’s like looking in a mirror of everything you want to be but knowing you’ll never be her. The imperfection of Caitlyn’s kindness and the overabundance of Vi’s is probably too much of a bruise to her ego. One could see how much it would eat her alive. Vi helps you relocate your clothes that are scattered across the bathroom floor. Shamelessly, she watches as you dress yourself again, not one to look away from the woman she had screaming her name not even five minutes prior. 

“You’re so beautiful, can’t keep my eyes off you.” 

“C’mon Violet. We live together, I’m the same ole’ me. Now, you’ve just fucked my ass.” You try to brush off the compliment. You feel more similar to Caitlyn then you’d like to admit. Vi’s wholeheartedness is overwhelming, leaving a sting of longing every time she looks at you with a light in her curious eyes. 

You slip on your dress and Vi is quick to zip you up but not without kissing the nape of your neck. 

Tonight’s actions suddenly feel very sobering. 

Vi isn’t done with you as she lifts you up on the countertop, finding her sweatshirt before she covers her toned figure again. You’re wondering what she’s playing at. What she’s thinking about. Vi finds your heels, the versace platform heels Caitlyn had gifted you for your birthday a week after the fact. A pity gift. Similar to herself, you couldn’t say no, it was just too pretty. 

They’re too expensive to come from a broke college student. Vi knows where they came from but she exercises that tight lip of hers. 

With a gentle tap, she taps your calf lightly a couple times and you offer your leg to her as she slaps the heel back onto your feet, clasping the strap around your ankle before she does the same for the other. The both of you stare at the lingering hands on your thighs, rubbing soft circles into the skin, the bluntness of her fingernail causes goosebumps to spread across the skin. 

Caitlyn is terrified of this, something so soft and fragile, her grip would be too tight; she’d break you in the process. She’s a chapter you want to close. All you want now is the woman in front of you. 

Vi has only ever been just a friend and she treats you like this. An imaginative mind, one of your own making, starts to wonder…if Vi was in love with Caitlyn, was she even sweeter to her? If her golden heart wasn’t enough for Caitlyn, whose would it be? 

The question makes you lost on the idea. Maybe it’s the post-nut clarity of being fucked like you just were, but you see Vi an entirely new light. One that feels as blinding as the sun but she’s smothering you with a perfect amount of warmth. 

“So…that happened.” Lightly, Vi laughs trying to brush off the seriousness of the moment. 

“Yeah and it seems you came packing.” 

Mel has been talking her up all week, telling her she wasn’t just seeing things, all she had to do was give you space and you would come to her slowly. It seems like Mel hadn’t been totally wrong. You are clearly attracted to her but the more protective side of her mind wonders if this is all that it extends to — sex. 

The flashback of Caitlyn and all her little twisted games comes to mind while your curious eyes inspect her intensely. 

“It’s just a stroke of optimism.” Vi tries to control her breathing when you close your legs around her waist, crossing your legs over the other as you lock her into a secure position. 

The tight dress you’re wearing bunches up again, almost resting on your hips. 

“I think you were wanting to stroke something else.” 

“Uh. No. I was, definitely…okay…maybe I was. A little bit.” Vi admits as you continue to play with her hair, your heel lightly grazing her bum as you tease her for just a little bit longer. 

“It’s cute. I like it when you’re confident. You packed a cock in your pants because you wanted to fucked me tonight. Be proud about it. Yeah, maybe you didn’t get to use it but you sure did fuck me.” 

“How do you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“You’re so brave. Nothing stands in your way, when you want something you go after it. I could never do that.” 

“Well, you kinda did. Unless, um—” But the words die in your throat. Suddenly they seem too real and if you tell her, this whole charade will be over, reality will set in and this magical night will only be reduced to primal, drunken needs. 

For all you know, Vi didn’t mean any of this. Maybe you just wanted to get your pussy wet, wanted to fuck a pretty girl, needed to see some tits to get her through this lonely holiday. The one that patronizes the single. 

Maybe that’s all this is. You’re just a nice piece of ass to fuck. It makes you feel dirty, the air feels thinner, and before you know it Vi’s whispering in your ear to take deep breaths. 

“Princess, I’m right here, alright. Just breathe and tell me. It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“I-I just thought because you know, well, after the last month I thought I was more than just…” 

“A girl I wanna fuck?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, you are. Would that be such a bad thing? I know with Caitlyn you had something casual, and maybe you liked things that way, but I want something more serious. I don't want to play with your feelings and I don’t want you to play mine. If this is what you want then I think it’d be worth a shot but if not, we can just be friends, alright? There’s no pressure.” 

“But Natalie…you said she wanted something serious and you didn’t.” 

“I lied to you and I’m sorry for that. But I wanted something serious, just not with her.” 

“You know what you want.” You stated it more like a question, puzzled and perplexed about a woman, for the first time, saying exactly what she’s looking for. 

“Well…yeah? I respect you enough not to waste your time.” Her eyes gleam, expectant and waiting for you to answer. 

“I’ve never had someone so honest with me. I kinda don’t know what to do with it.” 

The most sincere eyes look into yours, as she leans into your fingers that play with her vibrant, violet hair. It’s all so fast but Vi nurtures everything once broken within you until you’re healthy once again, restoring the strength you once felt before your heart stopped listening to your head. 

It’s a warm, comforting feeling you want to sink into. She’s the closest you’ve had to a semblance of hope. You wondered how anyone could ever let go of her. It wasn’t that she had just given you the best orgasm of your life, it was more than that. Vi made you feel more in thirty minutes than Caitlyn had in your entire time together. 

There wasn’t a worry in the back of your mind if this mattered, if you mattered. Her eyes were so open, letting you into the love dripped like honey, full of sweetness, every empty jar of yours waiting to be filled. 

“Don’t do anything right now then. For now,” Vi leaned forward, her lips ghosting yours. Close enough where her breath could be felt on yours. “I don’t know where you’re at but I’ve never felt like this, about anyone, and if you wanna start slow we can. Although, we have twice now so I don’t know how slow we can actually go, or we could even go on real date and then you can decide but—”

“Violet?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You talk too much.” 

You lean in and Vi doesn’t waste the opportunity, capturing your top lip between hers, wanting nothing more than to get lost in every inch of you. Holding you like a delicate flower she’s afraid to crumple in her hands, Vi lets herself get lost in this. 

For once she doesn’t think of the consequences, if this is moving too fast, wondering what Caitlyn would do if she knew and who she would actually be jealous of. It’s a slippery slope, you messing with her, Vi messing with you. 

But she desperately wants it to be more than your roommate, more than a friend — more than secret meeting where Vi fucks you senseless. She can’t get into this and for it to mean nothing and she’s terrified Caitlyn already has her claws dung in deep to you. Then there’s a moan of Vi’s name being said, and her greedy tongue slips in your mouth as she aches for more of you. 

Strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling your frame impossibly close to her, commanding your mouth with her pierced tongue as if she was born for it, the coolness of the stainless steel ball tangled with your tongue is a high you want to chase. With every touch, a shiver runs up her spine, like there’s a live wire exposed within you and only her touch can spark it alive. 

Vi knows where you want to be touched before you say a word, like she has a connection to your mechanisms, every craving designed for her to carry out as if she’s the one who put them there in the first place. Violet’s pelvis presses against yours, as she gives you the kiss of your life, it leaves you breathless as you chase her lips, your grip pulling at her roots as if it’s your sole purpose in life. 

The rest of the world melts away and it’s just the two of you. The lingering shadow of your ex fades into the background and all you see is Violet. Right under your nose this entire time and only now do you realize just how wonderfully perfect she is. 

Violet ravishes in how good it feels to be chosen and it’s by you. 

The angel who can fly all on her own now; wings no longer clipped by the devil herself. 

Fin. 

[cxrsed-angel]

Long Distance Calls| Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut

summary: You call Eddie for you routine phone dates, since you're away at a college and it elevates to phone sex. (late 80s/ early 90s college AU)

warnings: Phone sex, mutual masturbation (Both m and f), use of a dildo. dirty talk, pet names, (lmk if I forgot anything please)

wc: 2k

a/n: Im in college and was missing Eddie so this was the result and wrote this. Sorry for the shitty header. not proof read or beta read

You lay on your twin XL bed in your dorm, lying on your sheets, on your stomach, fidgeting with the pink phone cord on your pink barbie phone you've definitely outgrown, but your dad said if it’s not broken, don’t fix it, so it came along with you to college. Glancing at the clock on your nightstand. 

You’ve moved a few hours away for college, and since then, you and Eddie have had to get creative with how you spend time together. You would have date calls a few times a week, and then on the three-day weekends or breaks, you would drive up to Hawkins to hang out, or he would drive to you. 

You wait impatiently for Eddie's call, glancing at the clock on the nightstand of your dorm room again, back at the phone, then at the phone, counting the seconds until 10:30 PM. The moment you hear your pink Barbie childhood phone ring at 10:30 PM, right on time, the clock showing 10:30 PM, you pick up, immediately answering.

“Eddie?” you answer, responding faster than usual, too excited, honestly. You really missed Eddie this week. Nothing particularly bad happened this week. You just wished you weren't 5+ hours away from him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you hear his voice greet you, and you immediately start smiling. The familiar pet name makes your heart race, and even though he says it all the time, you still feel giddy hearing it. 

“Hey Eddie, how was your day?” you ask as you lay in your college dorm bed, the phone in your bed so you're more comfortable. You grab your brown teddy bear, holding it closely. It's the teddy bear he had given you for your one-year anniversary. You hold on to it as he starts sharing about his day. 

“Well, it was pretty boring at the shop. I fixed some cars, the usual. But then I got home to the trailer, and Wayne told me I got a small package from you. Now, I thought it was your usual package with cute little gifts and pictures and stuff, but I was surprised when it was a little naughtier than the usual package from you.” 

Since you’ve gone away to college, you send each other little care packages, small gifts, pictures of things you did that month, letters, small candies, and stuff like that every now and then. 

You frown, trying to remember what you sent since it has been a while since you sent it, but when it comes back, you feel flustered as you remember. You were particularly horny that month, a few days before your period started, and really missed Eddie, so you decided to take some explicit Polaroids while your roommate was away, it was just supposed to be you in some lingerie and suggesting poses, but with your mood, it escalated to photos of you enjoying a toy. A few with the dildo in your mouth sticking out tongue, and you got a little carried away taking some with your pussy wet evident you had cum while the dildo was on display covered in your arousal. 

You smile, flustered. “Oh, did you enjoy it?” you ask, a bit embarrassed, wondering if you had gone too far. You hear him laugh through the phone. 

“Did I enjoy it? Baby, I just opened it and almost came in my jeans. I had to call you and hear your voice. I liked the letter you added, gushing about how much you missed me and wanted me to touch you all over, rubbing my hands along your body and eating that pretty pussy of yours. You were really horny, huh, babe.” 

You nod, feeling yourself getting wetter at his words and the memory of taking all those photos and how you fucked yourself hard on the dildo, thinking of him wishing it was him. “Yeah, Eds, I was-must’ve been ovulating or something,” you laugh lightly, joking as you feel your body getting hotter. 

Eddie hmms, obviously condescendingly, teasing you. “Aww, poor baby. Is your roommate there.” 

“No, she is visiting her family for the weekend.” You hear ruffling through the phone speaker for a few minutes before hearing his voice again. 

“You must’ve really wanted a baby in you sweetheart, because god. These pictures are killing me. You look so sexy posing for me like this. Fuck.” You're quiet as you hear a rhythmic movement through the phone, and once you hear Eddie quiet moaning. 

“Eddie, are you jerking off?” you ask, already knowing the answer. You set the phone down, take your shirt off, and slide your shorts off before picking up the phone again. “Hell yeah, I am, sweetheart. I couldn't help it once I saw that one picture of your pussy wet and swollen from fucking yourself. He grunts as you hear his hand rubbing his shaft.

Your own fingers slip under your shorts and underwear, rubbing your fingers along your wet folds, getting more aroused hearing your boyfriend get off. “You're touching that pretty cunt of yours, got a finger or two circling around your sensitive clit, huh? Imaging it was mine and having my cold rings touching you?”

You nod as your fingers move a bit faster around your wetness, imagining they were his fingers, thicker and rougher compared to yours. Feeling his cold rings against your clit. You close your eyes as the phone rests against your shoulder. You let out breathy moans as you think of the countless times Eddie fingered you when you were back in Hawkins. In his van, under the table while he was waiting for the rest of the party to join the campaign, against a wall at the renaissance fair. You could go on. 

“C’mon princess, this only works when we’re both vocal. I know I have a huge, active imagination, but it can only go so far. Need you tell me whatcha you’re doing over there.” His voice brings you back to the call as a rush of heat floods your body, you’re head getting foggy a little by your arousal. 

You nod even though he can't see. “Sorry baby, your voice is just really sexy.”  You hear Eddie’s deep chuckle from the speaker for a bit before his moan replaces it.  

“ ‘Are you touching my girl for me since I can't be there?” You nod as your face flushes as he refers to your pussy as “his girl.” You pretend to be annoyed when he does it, but you love it. It never fails to make you wet. Your fingers continue circling your cunt as you hear his moans and the sound of Eddie pumping his hard cock.  

“Yeah, Eddie, I am. It feels good, but I want you,” you beg and whine as you continue touching yourself to Eddie's sounds.” 

“She’s missing me, huh? Sounds so fucking pretty, baby, wanna talk to her? Put her on the phone for me, princess.” he groans after speaking a string of curse words coming out under his moans. Your fingers pause, stopping you to turn to look at the phone, confused about what he had just asked.

“Wh-what?” You're met with Eddie’s laugh before he answers. 

“I wanna speak to my girl. Put her on, let me hear her.” you pause for a minute, and you nod your head before slowly putting the receiver to your pussy, slipping your fingers in and out, slowly letting Eddie hear the lewd sounds of you finger fucking yourself.

“Oh fuck…there she is, sounds so fucking good, bet she's all puffy and needy and soaking for me, huh, begging to be fucked.” Eddie moans as you hear him stroking his cock through the receiver. You swear it was the hottest sound. You loved hearing him. 

“Miss you so much, Eddie, fuck…fuck me.” You whine, begging for him. The phone is still close to your cunt, letting Eddie speak to “her.” 

“Fuck I miss her so much, baby, see her in my dreams. God, listen to her, soaking for me isn't she.” You hear his arousal through the speaker, imaging his leaky cock, wishing you could taste him. 

“Eds, I wish I could suck your cock, so bad.” You whine and hear Eddie let out another moan.

“Yea baby? Fuck wish you could too. Shit princess, ‘got that dildo I sent you?” you nod, humming in agreement as you sit up a bit. 

“Go get it, baby wanna hear how you use it. How you fuck yourself with it.” 

“Okay, hold on.” You set the phone down on your bed before hopping off the twin XL bed, going over to your drawer, and grabbing the dildo you have hidden under a pile of socks, along with a bottle of lube. 

“I got it.” you pick up the phone, pulling your underwear down your thighs, taking them off, and tossing them somewhere down on your bed. Waiting for Eddie to respond, but you’re met with gasps and groans and the pornographic wet sounds of his hand moving up and down his shaft. Clearly, he didn't hear you. 

“Eddieeee, this only works when we both talk,” you repeat his words earlier, getting his attention. You hear him let out one deep groan before he talks to you. 

“Shit, sorry, sweetheart, just looking at the picture of your soaking cunt, and its killing me, babe.” you feel yourself getting wetter as you remember the day you took the polaroid. 

 “You got the toy? Rub it over your pretty pussy. Get it wet for me.” 

You listen, grabbing the toy and rubbing it along your slit, covering it in your wetness, teasing yourself with it. The size and length are almost exactly like Eddie’s. You remember seeing Eddie’s face light up when he spots the “Clone-A-Willy” box in the sex shop in Indianapolis, and you remember when he snuck it into your dorm desk drawer while you were moving into your dorm with a pink bow tied around the box and a note. “Not the real thing, but a close second - Eds.” You moan as you slowly rub the head of the toy along your wet folds. 

“Jesus-fuck, you sound so good, baby. Go ahead and put it in for me, baby. I Can hear her begging for it over the phone? She’s been so good suffering all this time without me, go ahead and fuck for me.” 

You nod, listening to him, slowly sliding the toy inside you. You let out a moan as you push the toy in deeper. You still missed Eddie, feeling his hand grip on your waist as he’s inside you, the way he kisses your chest as he thrusts into you, or the way he would move your leg onto his shoulder fucking deeper inside you. Or when he would manhandle you, flipping you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips so your ass was up, the sting you’d feel when he would plant a few spanks onto it. 

But the fact that it was a model of his cock, did help, you moan, feeling the familiar stretch of his thickness inside you. 

“Fuck Eddie!” You cry out his name as you continue fucking the dildo into your pussy, the phone lying on the side of your head as you lean back on your pillows, moving it deeper inside you. “Jesus Christ, you sound perfect, like an angel fuck baby. Go on fuck yourself for me, sweetheart.”

You move the toy faster in and out of your achy hole while you’re other hand rubs your clit, the sounds of Eddie jerking off making you wetter.

“Fuck Eddie, I miss you. I miss you so much.“ You moan louder into the phone, getting closer to your release, more from Eddie's moans than anything else, honestly.

“I know, baby, I miss you too, shit. Miss you so fucking much, sweetheart.” He grunts before moaning more, “Goddamn honey, Im…Im about to-“.

You hear eddies moans through the receiver you can tell he's cumming by the sounds of his moans, the string of curses he lets out, and how he gasps before groaning loudly. You can practically see his hard pretty cock spilling his cum onto his hand, probably his stomach too. You wish you could be there, wish he was spilling his cum into you.

You move the dildo and continue to fucking yourself, getting closer as your fingers rub your clit a bit faster, closing your eyes, imagining Eddie hovering over you fucking your deeply, moving your leg over his shoulder, feeling his balls against your pussy.

“E-Eddie…” you whine into the phone, getting closer. 

“You close, baby? I can tell, I can hear it. Come on, baby, cum for me. Let me hear her.” Eddie’s voice sends you over the edge, feeling your orgasm wash over you, moaning eddies name over and over. You open your eyes, coming down from your release, dropping the dildo somewhere on your bed. You breathe heavily, grabbing the phone and putting it back to your ear. “Eddie?” you call him through the phone, and all you hear is Eddie’s laugh. 

“Sweetheart, that was so hot, Jesus Christ. Next weekend I’m coming up there and fucking you in that shitty twin XL all day.” you laugh a bit, sitting up in your bed, you twirling the cord line around your finger and glancing at the brown teddy bear. 

“Promise?” You light up at the thought of spending time with him, seeing him, and hearing his voice in person, touching him. “Yep, I'm taking Friday off, so I can drive up on Thursday and spend the whole weekend with my girl, well, my girls.” You hear him laugh as you hear him shuffling through the phone You roll your eyes at him and his personification of your pussy. You shift, holding the phone with your shoulder as you grab your blanket, pulling it over your legs. “Do you have to go now, or can you talk for a bit?” You ask Eddie, hoping he doesn't have to hang up. You really did miss talking to him.

“No baby, I'm yours all night.”

[mawlbone]

PLAYBOY BUNNY - KÖNIG

[SNIPPET: Never in your life had you paid much much interest towards the more… pet-ish sort of outfits. You know, the type of stuff you’ll find in the bedroom to be a little more wild from ears embedded headband, tail plugs, and hell, even collars. Though, when one of your older customer dropped off their old collection of Playboy magazines as an “extra tip” for your work, who are you to deny such a gesture?]

[CW: gender neutral reader, domtop reader, possessive reader (it’s mutual), flemish giant hybrid König, mention of childhood bullying, mild hunting description, praise kink, fingering, non-specific penetration (could be interpreted as dick or strap), sloppy riding, dry-humping, breeding kink, overstimulation, biting, missionary sex, doggy style, and sleepy sex.]

[COMMENT: Promised sequel to Lucky Rabbit’s Foot, please read that first. Apologies for how overdue this is, this month had kept me terribly busy, hur have fun kissing the big guy. While I promised to be nice for the most part, I got angry at my draft being deleted and writing too much in the exposition… Sigh, also on a final note, don’t ask for any kits, do you want to cause an overpopulation problem in this world! /lh]

Out of the many things you had learned since you had taken over your grandfather’s cabin and many long ago car rides together, one that constantly proves itself true time after time again is that people are utterly talkative when they’re lonely.

Year after year, when the town brings its daily rounds of tourists to celebrate the holidays, many of the residents will speak about you, the hermit that resides in the depths of the forests with nothing more than their gun and bags to send to the local butcher in town.

At least, that’s what the bar regulars say.

An unconventional job bad brought words of envy from your local bar’s residents as they swing over heavy jugs of cheap watery beers. Half fizzled from the barley with eyes that once spoke of brighter dreams, you hear them murmur within their daze as they take your ear to complain about the newfound loneliness in their lives now: the emptiness they feel in their 9-5 jobs, the lack of friendship they can keep, and disappearing free time to go explore life more. All of it they lament to you how nice it would be constantly outside and surrounded by nothing but the warm silence and greener grass every time you come and visit.

You have half a mind to protest those thoughts.

There’s nothing admirable in what you do: between the daily rounds of shooting, harvesting, and selling whatever scraps of meat and bones after sustaining yourself— what exactly is so admirable about it? With bloodied clothes rotten into a grimy brown when you’re done for the day and a heavier heart knowing all of your catches were simply a wrong-place-wrong-time as you once again steadied your rifle at the wounded creature for a quick death with a soft click.

But you don’t, no point in arguing about something like this, wondering about the limits of a “necessary sacrifice” too much.

And when you have to deal with months of being left on your own for the majority of the year, eventually you will learn to tune out your peers never-ending nagging for you to find a companion to accompany you in that empty cabin of yours before it’s all too late and you’re too grey and aching to settle.

”Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone waiting for you at home with a hot plate and to warm your bed while you’re away?”

From doctors and far-away friends, those type of sentiments never ends. While you are comforted by their worries, you never expected your long-time customers to join in as well when they hear about you in the bar as well…

Especially when one of them placed the box of indecent mags into your arms with the most shit-eating grin you ever seen saying the stuff will keep you company before driving off in a puff of clouds with that stupidly big red truck of his. You can distantly hear some midwest emo band booming out of the windows as he fades away into the distance with nothing more than the vibrant autumn leaves blowing behind him.

Usually you would had typically complained about such junk being left behind for you to deal with but— ‘the bunny suits are quite cute…’

You quietly thought to yourself, when you made your way back home, comfy on your worn leather couch with a mug in hand flipping through thick raunchy pages filled with hundreds of women dolled up in their colorful 60s cocktail suits in their complete bunny ensemble. From the fluffy yarn tail and bent bunny ears as they decorate themselves with big ol’ lashes and lace, honestly you felt a bit endeared by it.

The sharp cuts of skin as they prance around on the wide spread of pages and contort their bodies to meet the camera’s gaze to appease whoever is behind it, perhaps was a bit silly in your eyes.

While their intimidation will never come close to your big rabbit’s adorableness, you had to admit, those suits were quite a sight for sore eyes. Page by page, you moved from complete nudes to admire the cutesy blues and pinks to admire the classic black satin bunny suits tightly hugging the women’s figures snuggly.

Perhaps it’s a bit amusing to you, as a huntsman to watch the way people tried to make themselves more approachable: smaller, weaker, cuter— something worthy of being loved despite how non-animalistic they were. With naturally rounded nails, blunt teeth, and a lack of proper fur on skin to protect oneself from the cold, it’s no wonder why humans moved to advancing themselves to be stronger, all while attempting to return to a state of harmlessness just for the sake of being adored.

Maybe you’re just being critical.

There’s no harm in wanting to be liked, everyone does. Such is the nature of men. Perhaps you once felt that way before, but you’re older now, simply content with the hermit life you with your fewest closest friends to keep you company for the few times you all are able to meet throughout the year.

Plus, your big rabbit will be coming back soon. It’s nearly winter now, you can tell by the way the crisp winter breeze over your bare face every time you come outside to talk a walk around the forest.

It been three years since you made an unlikely relationship with König, the giant flemish rabbit that got his foot stuck in one of your traps. Yes, your giant huffy rabbit who is much too smart for his own good.

Sure, you never heard of a rabbit who can somehow open and closes doors when you shut him out to do work, or a rabbit who somehow can tell the time for meals, or even one that learned to wipes his paws on your floor mat before walking in your home after you scold him for bringing dirt onto your floors.

But he’s yours even if it’s just for the winter.

No way you’ll sell your long-eared friend, even if he breaks your wallet when you splurge on importing out of season berries for him to munch on. Though you do worry about him eating your meats occasionally, remembering the multiple occasions where he’ll furiously bounce off your lap to chase after your sandwich despite your complaints, but you did find a little laugh in you when he goes immediately bouncing away whenever you needed to change your dirtied clothes while he was in the same room as you.

It’s whatever, you don’t want no mad scientists knocking at your door to dissect your rabbit’s brain. If anything, they might take you and him if they see your sticky note galore all over your bedroom’s walls, something that you long had reduced after watching König chew on them. After watching you fuss and shoo him away from them, you could had sworn you remembered him smiling from beneath his fluff after he watched you cleaned up your cluttered papers.

Taking one last sip of your mug, you made sure to make a mental note to place the magazines somewhere high so that he won’t chew on them as well as you had long learned your rabbit is not fond of indecency…

Changing in front of him one time after getting your clothes covered in dirt from gardening had led him to flee under your couches and refusing to meet your eye or even cuddle you that entire winter, but you managed to cox him with treats finally when he came back around again.

Oh well, as your hands slammed the magazine shut, you made a note to place them high above your shelves so König won’t find them.

Winter is coming soon after all, and you can’t wait to see your fluffy friend once more.

—

While winter will bring its usual cheer and shimmer with carols and bells ringing up everyone’s doors, but for a lonely hunter? The cold snow will rush in a giant black rabbit squeezing his head into the dog door, something you had installed before when you didn’t made it home in time to let him in and leaving him to deal with the elements.

It’s something you had long cried about, furiously apologizing to the rabbit while clutching him to your chest before he butted your mouth shut, tired of hearing you sob for so long. He has a thick coat, he was fine, so be quiet now won’t you? There’s no need to feel bad.

So upon stepping into your empty cabin, he figured you had long been out dropping off last minute orders again.

Busy human you are…

It won’t take long for him to snoop around in his human form as he shifts, making sure to take his sweet time to stretch around. He can feel the way his bones crackle as his limbs bend and fold underneath his weight. Oh well, might as well through your shelves, just go and see if you added anything new since the last time he came.

Perhaps he shouldn’t been nosy, maybe that would had saved him from finding the the dozens of dog eared pages on your shelf littering his vision as his eyes dart back and froth at the scantily-clad ladies dressed up to the nines in the cheekiest bunny suits König had ever seen.

With the tight satin bows and lace wrapped around their forms, König could feel the heat arising onto his cheeks as his hands suddenly dropped the magazines with a loud “plop” onto your floors to rub his heated face, suddenly feeling very bothered, fiddling around occasionally squeezing his floppy hanging ears for comfort.

Why was he acting so shocked for? It’s not like you were some saint. Neither were you and him were something more than friends— So why is he so upset for?!

Humans and hybrids were already forbidden from interacting in the first place, that’s the one rule he had engraved into his brain until it became nothing more than another wrinkle on it. It’s what all hybrids learn as soon as they could speak, safety and survival, survival and safety. Do not approach the humans.

But König had never been the best listener, especially when he already been outcasted for being so big. Eating too much, growing too much, there was little he can do to appease his colony. A nuisance really, how can one grow so big?

‘He’ll do horrible in the winter, why bother keeping him around…’

Perhaps that’s why he’s so attached to you— you’re nothing but a giver of easy affection. Long cold days are filled with you cuddling him on your lap as you stroke his ears and kiss his face, calling him your baby and such.

He had to put a foot down at some names however when you poke his behind, calling him a “little mop” while he was eating some of your leftover egg salad.

But back to the present, as he takes one final glance over the playboy magazines on the floor, he wonders deeply of whether you’ll accept him like this. Half rabbit and human and all, something more in between that props couldn’t do… You seem to really like a half rabbit based off the pages so— you shouldn’t mind if he became your only choice, right as his equally large hands begin to crumble the photos.

There’s something funny squeezing his chest, he isn’t sure what it is, but it’s quite uncomfortable and all stuck in his throat as he breaths, only relieving itself more and more as he rips another magazine underneath his nails.

Maybe it’s something that he had been long avoiding. Something that is undeniably rabbit in his skin beneath covers back at the base. A heavy hand pushing down on the tent in his place thinking about how you’re strong enough to provide for him with all your territory in his dumb little rabbit brain.

He’ll be well protected. He won’t have to worry about safety anymore. It’ll be nice. So nice. He won’t have to come back to the dens anymore to appease his needs anymore.

It must be simple instincts for why he’s falling so fast.

Yes, that’s what must be it…

No such thing like fickleness of love awaits for him. It’s a rabbit’s nature to live fast and breed fast, no room for anything else.

But surely you can come to accept him in this form too if you have these lying around. Even if he is a little more realistically than the bunny girls in the magazines, right?

—

There’s very few things that makes you frustrated with life.

Whether that be taxes or bad customers, coming home to a mess of ripped and scattered papers at your door is the newest thing on that list when you came home from your orders to see what looked like an absolute tornado had ran though your living room.

Ripped bits of your playboy magazines scattered your vision as piles and piles of spewed about your home. Your once clean rooms now stuck in disarray with nothing more than the lingering mess of an upset rabbit.

Well, guess he was able to grab the box after all, you contemplate to yourself as you set your bags down.

Kicking aside a barely holdable magazine by your feet, you decided to follow the trial of scattered papers into your bedroom already wondering what ways you can appease your rabbit.

As you twist the knob, you can distantly hear the sound of claws scratching against your mattress as you sigh, pressing forward to swing the door open. With a loud “thump”, you step back, taking a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of your room as your eyes scan over the familiarity of your aligned drawers and astray piles of unfinished laundry before your eyes fall on the abnormally large bump hidden beneath your bed covers as you stared, confused.

‘Surely a giant flemish can’t go through another growth spurt. Is that even possible? Did you fed him too much?’

You thought as you slowly, you approach the bed making sure to make your footsteps apparent to not scare him before gently patting the giant bump.

“König~”, you cooed, softly shaking the massive figure underneath your blankets. “What’s wrong baby?, I wasn’t that late. Don’t be too mad at me…” Attempting to coax your friend

Your hands smoothed over the wrinkles of the blankets, gliding them over the massive form. You really didn’t want to go through another winter without being able to cuddle him, he’s pretty much the only warmth you have regularly.

But when an undeniably human sob escaped from your covers instead of the usual sniffles your rabbit makes— immediately you didn’t stop yourself from ripping away your covers.

Your mind races as the downpour of cold sweat shrivels down your spine as you grabbed the sheets off. Cursing and all as you wrestled with the man underneath as you rustled with the sheets.

Please, anything but him— You beg to yourself. Stricken with the immediate grief of losing something dear once more in this sad life of yours.

But when your sheets were pulled away to reveal an awfully large man with huge floppy black ears running down on the side of his face as he stares at you with the saddest baby blue eyes you ever seen on his droopy face desperately trying to cover himself, ashamed as he squirms around in your grasp.

He struggles madly, almost like a buck on the loose as you fought with the stranger as strong nails caught onto your arms, not enough for you bleed but held yourself back from pinning down the man further when a familiar red collar wrapped around the fluff of his neck quickly caught your attention.

You aren’t exactly dumb to not connect the dots… But heavens, could someone give you some grace when you had to take a few moments to collect yourself! The last thing you could had expected is your dearly beloved rabbit is to turn into some— man-rabbit-thing overnight.

Well… That explains his abnormal intelligence and all now. Slowly, you let up your hold on König, still placing him firmly underneath you. Just in case if your friendship with him suddenly means nothing to him and he’ll go forever missing from you.

You decide to gaze upon the man once more, taking a long deep moment to take in the sight.

From the short black hair and wide blue eyes staring you down, you dared to caress his face as the man shivered. Smoothing your hand over his soft cheeks, your thumb brushes upon his brow and then down to the leftover scruffiness of his beard. Gently, softly, and slowly you moved your hands all over, admiring the strangeness he possess. You hear König begin to stamper as a widening smile begins to form upon your face. It’s strangely nostalgic, this moment between you two. Having him in your grasp, something hot rushes in your skin as you begin to laugh loudly, joyously at your friend’s new form.

He’s terribly cute, what is this nonsense? How dare he keeps this sight away from you! You complained silently as you reached down to begin kissing his forehead and squeezing those velvet laid ears of his to your heart’s delight as he squawks, embarrassed at your shamelessness once more.

Truly animals evolved to be too adorable to kill…

After much half-hearted struggles against your hold to satisfy your touch addiction with one last bite of his ears before dodging a swift punch, both of you finally settled upon your bed again.

You silently thank your past self for investing in a larger bed because no way can you and him can fit on your old twin size bedding.

König lays beneath you. Not meeting your eyes. Never moving, still. You could’ve mistake him for some poor road-killed animal as you laid between his strong legs, letting you enjoy yourself with squeezing the thick muscles underneath all that fat and the strangeness of rabbit hair brushed across that human skin.

Perhaps a moment had passed.

Maybe two.

You weren’t keeping count, too amused with squeezing his flesh as he laid, stiffed up in what looks like his deathbed.

But between the dead of the room, slowly those small warbled whispers beings to pour from your friend of how deeply sorry he was for deceiving, how he never intended to mask himself this long within the quiet. He was scared, he says, of what you’ll think of him, of when you’ll cast him away into the bitter cold to die because you couldn’t stand such a freak inside your walls. He continues, confessing his shame, how he was sorry for ripping up those magazines when he came back home because he got vicarious angry at the thought of someone taking his place. For those thoughts blistered inside his chest until it blackened and decayed into a gruel mush, something that was familiar to him once long before he had to run away from it. He explained how he tried to sleep it off while waiting for you to sooth his worries like you always do, he wasn’t expecting to shift during his nap and when you came in— it was just too late to hide from you.

And with those bated breaths, he now waits, still, once more for you. And from above, you take a moment to take in everything around you. You can hear the rumbles of your old radiator heaving outside your room, the drips of your constant sobbing sink, and mad winds banging against your windows to be let in your warm home.

All of it, you take in as König lays underneath you.

There are many things you can say in this moment. But there are also many things you can also just keep secret. You can say how you understand him, how you too are constantly afraid of other people around you, just thinking and existing within the same space, struggling and wondering if you are breathing too loudly, blinking too little, or looking a bit too unkept for them to harbor a dislike for you. But vulnerability is a soft organ gutted with nothing but squishy mass with nowhere to defend itself, and you aren’t too willing to expose such a soft jelly thing. So you decide to keep it short, merely saying how you will never abandon him because he’s your friend as his eyes widened, dead stiff hands now finally moving to properly hold onto you.

Maybe you’re going insane in your isolation but— he’s pretty much the only comfort you have, and he never did anything malicious to you as a rabbit so you’re not really keen on letting him escape. What hunter does such a thing when a pretty thing falls onto their lap?

He chose to be yours.

Not anyone else.

You hear sobs escape König lips when you press down your face to rub against his own. A gesture, familiar, he recognizes.

It’s what he does to comfort you as a rabbit. Yes, indeed you’re terribly fond of him. That, you can’t deny no longer as you brushed the tears down his round pink-ed cheeks. For you, a human, hunger for flesh the same way all men do. And when a lingering hand presses down his thigh, terribly close to the tent in his boxers, you grinned with glee when he quickly raised his hips in turn, pushing you closer to him with an endearing tilt of his head as those strong legs begin to gather around your waist, daring you to continue down your little trek.

Can anyone blame you when you jumped for the bait?

Oh well, looks like you’ll be in for a long warm winter.

—

You distantly remembered visiting a country fair at some point during one late summer when your grandfather was still alive and hearty and breathing with a characteristic pipe in his hand as you both strolled down the booth, looking to sell your small hunts for the day.

“Something to get you ready when you’re older and out all alone there. You suck at talking, y’know? Can’t charm customers with that shut-mouth of yours”, he said with a little attitude on his tongue. You huffed at his bluntness, too tired from chasing after pests yesterday before you two stepped into a tent-laid alleyway to peer into the petting zoo with its glamours of piglets, sheep, and hamsters all in their caged fences, staring bright-eyed and bushy for you to step in.

Though when you grandfather finally stopped to talk to a familiar face, some acquaintance that came by the cabin often, your eyes wandered about the room, hearing the clatter of voices blending away to an incomprehensible language as you grow grumpier at the uncomfortable heat of the room.

But something had caught your attention from afar you can see a tall wooden sign with splashy red letters listing in embolden letters that there are “Rabbits for Sale!” Curious, it led you wandering over to awe at the sight of sleeping rabbits inside their pen, just hidden within the back and all wrapped up in their hay, obscured and cozy within their own world as you creeped over to watch them.

You aren’t sure why you were so fixated on those creatures. Maybe because you were too used to the occasional possum banging up the cabin’s attic that made you interested in those small creatures. As you stared upon them, too long for you to admit, you can distantly hear someone chattering in your ear. You tuned out most of their words, flying into one ear and out the other, too accustomed to random strangers giving their mind when it’s not needed. But as you stared at those fluffy small rabbits, you distantly hear some snippets, something about “keeping them separate” and them being “fucking maniacs” because they’re so weak that they will keep breeding under any circumstances to continue their lineage.

And today?

You’ll laugh at how true those words are every time you pull on those stupidly soft ears of his, earning you a small squeal at the jolt of pain-turned-pleasure as his screams fall on deaf ears with every sweet thrust against his ass, switches between pleas for more and more outta you before attempting to run away as his feet kicks violently at the sheets as you push more soft little noises from his chapped lips..

‘How silly, your little bunny is’, you thought to yourself, as you paused to reach over to bite his meaty arms and cover them anew with deep marks up and down his arms as he moans into your ears, mewling as he takes this moment to catch his breaths. Long hefty gulps of oxygen rattles his lungs as he cries and complains at your bullying as he rubs his sore ears. The pleasure still had not left his bones as he tenses his hole, still feeling the remnants of your presence inside him when you pulled out to admire his debauchery. It wasn’t long before he begin meanly snipping at you to pick up the pace once more as he spreads his legs wider as a mixture of lube and cum sloppily drips down from the loosened opening before his head falls onto the mattress, passing out in pure exhaustion.

Fucking hell… You sigh at the sight, as you moved to take care of him.

There must be some sickness inside your head telling you to pick apart König more and more as the time flies by for it. For it been days since you two had left the house. Your back aches from strain. Muscles sore from repetitious movements. And there is a small festering headache arising slowly within your temples but— you can’t stop.

It must be an addiction now when you can feel your mouth salivate like a trained dog every time you see those strong hard-earned muscles collapses underneath you from exhaustion. And you can’t say it should be a surprise to you when you come to the eventual realization that König is utterly so damn needy. Despite your best attempts to sooth his libido with prepping his hole as much as you can at the start, bumping thick knuckles against his good spots only left him on a torturous edge as he fussed around and threatened to leave if you don’t put something in him already.

That of course, pissed you off.

What a fucking brat he is, coming into your house and asking you to appease more of his demands? Who does he think he is?! You finally had enough of that attitude of his that day, deciding to wrestle him to tie his arms together onto his back before you flipped him over onto his stomach to use as a handlebar. And just raising his hips high enough with some pillows for you to slam in immediately as you pushed many nerve-racking releases out of hm.

And oh boy, did you redeem yourself when you pulled those arms back into your hips, forcing out a small cacophony of deep groans and curses out of his throat before making him let out a sharp cry when you grab that fuzzy tail of his to maneuver him around as his dick rubs against the soft covers. Immediately starting his little tirade of how horrible you are before you shut him up with a few hard slams against his prostate and praising him when he did closed his mouth to stop those cute cries from spilling, embarrassed and too angry to give you the satisfaction of teased him as you laughed. That didn’t stop you for noticing how his ears perked up when you called him a “good boy” for “listening to you” as his hips subtly rose to press against you.

Or when you got him to ride you for a bit, thinking how pretty he’ll look atop of you as he crushes your hips. Though… You had to put a foot down when you realized how much he absolutely sucked at riding. With reddened eyes and nose dripping with snot, you watch as König barely raises his body up and down. Weakened from the onslaught of the bruising you had done to his bottom, he could do nothing more than hump against you, pleading you to take over for him. He’s too tired, please do it for him. He can’t, everything burns inside and you’re the only one who can make him feel better he says. Struggling to shake himself awake as those bunny ears flop around his face, and making him look so much more fragile in his ruined galore, freshly fucked and all shiny with afterglow.

You’ll have to ask him later to wear some mascara or eye black next time to watch them drip down his face as you mess him up again.

However, for now, you have to clean your big rabbit while you still can. In those small hours of rest, you’ll bathe and feed König to his heart’s content, nothing more than wiping wet towels across his skin and cleaning the covers as you feed some light foods and water to refresh him.

He had been good and you always will make sure to let him know that. But if he dares to say he’ll leave you one day?

There’s nothing but a little trap that wouldn’t do the trick for a big catch…

[aventurineswife]

Hi! This request is based on something personal that I do, so I was wondering if you could do it (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

It's about how readers are cold people (regarding temperature) they're always cold no matter where they are, then one day they hug the character (Aventurine, Sampo, Caelus and finally Childe), instead of it being a nice hug as it should be, the reader puts his hands under the character's shirt and it's worth mentioning that the reader has a low temperature therefore his hands are terribly cold. The reader did that just to annoy the character, also because he likes the character's warmth. It's something I do with my friends to annoy them ♪⁠～⁠(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

-💤🩵 anon

“The cold never bothered me anyway”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Childe x Reader, Caelus x Reader, Flirting, Playful Teasing, Cold/Heat Contrast, Romantic Tension, Physical Touch (Hugging, Hands slipping under clothes), Vulnerability, Mutual attraction.

Warnings: Mild suggestiveness, Light discomfort (due to cold touch), Emotional vulnerability, Potential tension.

A/N: I'm not saying you're obsessed with Childe... But you're obsessed with him. I should probably run to hide my warmth 🏃‍♀️, don't know I'm still warm while wearing a tshirt and shorts in literal winter...🧍‍♀️

Aventurine leaned against the balcony railing, his ever-present smile in place, his golden rings catching the light from the stars above. Life was a game, and he always played to win—until now. You, however, were a challenge he hadn't quite figured out. Every time you entered the room, he could feel the chill in the air, the coldness seeping from your very presence, making him both curious and wary.

"Careful now, my dear," Aventurine said, his tone teasing, his eyes glinting beneath the soft light. "You're starting to freeze the very air around you."

You grinned, taking it in stride. "Maybe it's just you who's too warm."

With a sly smirk, you approached him. Before he could react, you wrapped your arms around him in a quick, almost too casual embrace. Aventurine’s laughter bubbled up at first, amused by your spontaneous affection. But then, the chill from your hands, as they slipped under his shirt and brushed against his warm skin, sent a shiver down his spine.

"You," Aventurine hissed, pulling back just enough to look at you with narrowed eyes, a mixture of annoyance and something deeper flickering behind his gaze. "Do you ever stop? I’m quite certain your hands could freeze the very life from me if you tried."

You only laughed, keeping your hands there, enjoying the sudden jolt of warmth his body gave you as he shifted uncomfortably. His usual suave charm seemed to falter for a brief moment, a rare glimpse of vulnerability.

"You’ve got all this warmth, Aventurine," you murmured playfully. "I think it’s only fair I take some."

Aventurine’s smile returned, but there was an edge to it. "You’re playing a dangerous game. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, dear. But, I must admit," he said, moving slightly closer, "it's rather... fun."

His words were calculated, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable.

Sampo paced around the bustling market square, always scanning for opportunities, always searching for his next big score. Yet, whenever you were around, he found himself distracted, his usual confidence slipping into something more unsure. There was something about your icy presence that gnawed at him.

"Hey, hey, don't give me that cold shoulder!" Sampo called out with a grin, catching you just as you passed by.

You simply smirked, the chill in your step unmistakable as you approached him with a twinkle in your eye. "What’s the matter, Sampo? You don’t seem as warm as usual."

Sampo raised an eyebrow. "What’s that supposed to mean?" he asked, but before he could retreat, you suddenly wrapped your arms around him in a hug. He grunted in surprise, but it was the sudden coldness from your hands slipping under his jacket that made his eyes widen.

"Sampo," you whispered mischievously, your fingers grazing his skin. "You're always so warm. Thought I'd help you cool off."

Sampo froze for a moment, his usual smooth talk faltering as your icy touch made him shiver. "O-Okay, that’s it!" he sputtered, trying to squirm free, but your hold was unyielding. "You better be paying me for this kind of service!"

You just leaned in closer, savoring the way his body stiffened in discomfort. "You’re always talking about warmth, but now you get to feel it from me."

"You’re lucky I’m not charging you double for this, you little...!" Sampo snapped, though the playful irritation in his voice was more endearing than anything. He couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. "Aha, I guess I’ll have to get you back, huh?"

The Astral Express was always a whirlwind of motion, a place where time and space seemed to bend. But even among the stars, there was something about you that made Caelus uneasy. His curious eyes often lingered on you, and while he could never pinpoint it, there was an undeniable tension in the air between you two.

"Everything okay?" Caelus asked, walking up to you with a soft smile, his eyes always so calm.

You shrugged, your cold aura wrapping around him even as you stood by his side. "Everything’s fine," you said. "Just a bit cold, that’s all."

His eyes softened at the admission. He had always been sensitive to the feelings of others, and he could tell that you weren’t just referring to the temperature.

Without warning, you wrapped your arms around him, and Caelus tensed. It was warm, almost like a protective instinct, until he felt the sudden chill of your hands pressing against his skin, slipping beneath his jacket.

"Wait—!" Caelus began to protest, but the icy sensation sent a sharp shiver through him, his breath catching for a second.

You grinned into his ear. "Just wanted to see if you were as warm as you seem."

Caelus’s face flushed, his composure slipping as the coldness spread through his chest. "That's... that's not what I meant..." His voice trailed off, and his arms instinctively pulled away from you, trying to escape the discomfort of your touch, but there was a subtle warmth in his reaction too, an appreciation for the closeness.

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Relax, Caelus. Just a little cold comfort. Besides, you’re so warm I could get used to it."

He blinked at you, unable to hide his smile, despite the discomfort. "You... really are something else," he muttered, though a soft glow of affection began to flicker in his eyes.

[Header credits]

Childe was known for his toughness, his unshakable resolve in the face of any challenge. But when you entered his presence, it was as if a strange vulnerability crept into his heart. The way you held yourself, so cold yet so determined—it made him curious, though he’d never admit it.

"What’s the deal with you, huh?" Childe grinned, leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. "You always give off this frosty vibe."

You smirked back, walking closer to him with a casual air. "Maybe I just like your warmth, Childe."

Before he could respond, you wrapped your arms around him, the sudden hug catching him off guard. He was ready to laugh it off, but then, the icy shock of your hands sliding beneath his shirt made him stiffen, his breath hitching in surprise.

"Hey!" Childe exclaimed, quickly pulling back. "What the hell was that?"

You grinned widely, savoring the way he recoiled. "Just wanted to see if you could handle a little cold," you teased, your hands lingering for just a moment longer.

He shivered, but not from the cold. There was a heat to the way his body responded to you, despite the discomfort. "You think you can just sneak up on me like that?" he grumbled, though his tone lacked the usual sharpness.

"You should be more careful next time," you teased, stepping back with a satisfied smile.

Childe couldn’t help but laugh. "You're lucky I like a good challenge," he muttered, his grin wide and genuine, the warmth in his gaze unmistakable.

[marscardigan]

what is this feeling?

roomate!ellie x fem!reader

summary: you and ellie disliked each other since the beginning, when you became roommates. The director has to do something about it when your mutual hatred goes too far.

cw: university au. based off of the song what is this feeling? from the musical wicked. no use of y/n. reader is kind of a bitch.

The semester was almost over when Ellie arrived at Jackson University. She stood at the doorway of her new dorm room, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. It looked like a tornado had hit—if tornados were made of textbooks, potted plants, and tons of clothes. Every available surface was covered in something, from open notebooks stacked on the desk to an overflowing laundry basket by the bed.

Correction: by her bed.

Posters of pop stars she’d never heard of were plastered on the walls. A lumpy quilt, clearly handmade, was tangled on the left mattress. The right side was a mountain of stuff: books, hats, and bags.

“Uh, hello?” she called out, knocking on the open door frame.

From behind the closet door, a voice called her out, “Just a sec!”

Ellie waited impatient. She already didn’t want to be here—new school, new roommate, new everything. And now this.

The closet door swung open, and you stepped out, flicking your hair over your shoulder. Your eyes scanned Ellie from head to toe, lingering on her wrinkled flannel and scuffed pair od Converse. One perfectly shaped eyebrow arched. "You’re the new roommate?"

Ellie crossed her arms. "Yeah. Ellie."

You turned on your heel, stepping over a pile of textbooks as you moved toward your bed—Ellie’s bed, technically. You looked over your shoulder, eyes gleaming. "I would’ve made room for you, but they told me you weren’t coming until next semester."

Ellie glanced around at the chaos. "Looks like you decided to spread out anyway."

You shrugged, not a hint of apology in your tone. "Well, I had the place to myself. Can you blame me?" You waved a manicured hand at the pile of clothes on her mattress. "I suppose I could clear some of that. Eventually."

Ellie’s jaw clenched. "Or, you could do it now."

You blinked, clearly not used to being spoken to like that. But then your smile widened, dazzling and sharp. "Wow. Someone’s feisty." You crossed your arms, leaning against the desk, eyes never leaving Ellie’s. "Tell you what—since you’re here early and all, why don’t you help me? After all, it’s your stuff in the way."

Ellie’s eyes darkened. "My stuff?"

"It’s your bed, isn’t it?"

Ellie opened her mouth to retort, but you were already moving, "There. Now you’ve got space."

This was going to be a long semester.

Ellie quickly learned that living with you was like being in the middle of a hurricane—one with nice hair and a perfectly sharp tongue.

It started with the little things. Like the way you always seemed to be on the phone, voice carrying through the thin dorm walls as you laughed with friends Ellie hadn’t met and probably wouldn’t like.

But then it got personal.

"Are you sure you’re a sophomore?" you asked one morning, leaning against the closet door as she tied her converse. "Because I could’ve sworn they stopped letting high schoolers in here."

Ellie didn’t look up, "Funny. I was just wondering if you were majoring in Fashion Police."

You tilted your head, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Nope. But if I were, you’d be failing." You gave her a once-over, taking in the faded band tee and worn jeans. "Like, spectacularly."

Ellie’s jaw tightened, but she kept her tone flat. "Yeah, well, not all of us have trust funds to blow on overpriced rags."

Your smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes. Annoyance, maybe. Ellie counted that as a win.

At lunch the next week, Ellie trudged into the cafeteria, exhausted after her back-to-back lectures. She grabbed a tray, mind already on the paper she needed to finish, when she heard a voice carry across the room.

"I really don't know how you do it, like, genuinely. How do you stand her? I don't think I could."

That was another thing. You had everyone wrapped around your finger. Everywhere you went, you were surrounded by people—laughing, smiling, clinging to your every word. It didn’t matter that you were the most infuriating person Ellie had ever met. You were popular. And you were aware of it.

"Well, at least she doesn’t occupy much storage in the closet," you replied, your voice light and casual, but loud enough for Ellie to hear. "It’s an advantage of having only two jeans and three shirts, right?"

Your friends laughed, their voices echoing off the cafeteria walls. Another girl added, "Well, we are on your side!"

Ellie’s grip tightened on her tray. Two could play at this game.

She crossed the room without hesitation, sliding into the seat across from you. Your eyes widened in surprise, just for a second, before you composed yourself, flashing that perfect smile of yours.

"Aw, don’t stop on my account," Ellie said, setting her tray down with a thud. "I was just wondering how you manage to talk so much without actually saying anything."

Your smile didn’t falter, but your eyes sharpened. "Just making conversation. Sorry if that’s new for you."

"Right. Must be exhausting, carrying that much air in your head all day."

You blinked, clearly not expecting her to bite back that hard. But you recovered quickly, tilting your head. "Oh, that’s cute. I didn’t know sarcasm was a personality trait now."

Ellie’s smirk widened. "I didn’t know lip gloss was either, but here we are."

Your jaw tightened, but your voice remained sugar-sweet. "Wow, it must be nice to not care about how you look. I mean, it really shows."

Ellie shrugged. "At least when people look at me, they don’t get blinded by glitter."

You huffed, tossing your hair over your shoulder. "It’s called style. You should try it sometime."

Ellie leaned in, her eyes locked on yours. "Thanks, but I don’t need to dress like a Barbie to have people listen to me."

Your cheeks flushed, and for a moment, Ellie saw the crack in your perfect facade. But then you plastered on that brilliant smile, leaning forward as well with an infuriatingly calm expression. "You know, it’s really brave of you to act this tough when everyone knows you’re just some charity case they let in out of pity."

Time froze. Ellie’s face went blank, her hands tightening around her fork.

You tilted your head, voice dripping with faux sweetness. "Oh, did I strike a nerve? Sorry, I just assumed you knew. You do stick out like a sore thumb."

Ellie didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. She picked up her tray, mashed potatoes and all, and flung it at you.

Your gasp was drowned out by the collective 'Oh!' from your friends. Mashed potatoes splattered across your top, dripping down your perfectly styled hair.

For a moment, you sat there, frozen, eyes wide with shock. But then fury flashed across your face, and you grabbed your own tray. Without a word, you hurled it at Ellie.

She barely dodged as spaghetti sauce splattered across her shirt, a noodle dangling from her hair. Her eyes widened before narrowing dangerously. "Oh, it’s so on."

The cafeteria erupted into chaos as food started flying. You launched a cup of pudding, and Ellie retaliated with a handful of peas. Someone screamed as a slice of pizza soared through the air, narrowly missing them. Laughter and shouts echoed off the walls as tables were overturned, students ducking for cover.

You lunged for a bowl of salad, but Ellie was faster, smearing dressing down your arm. "You’re gonna pay for that!" you shouted, grabbing a carton of milk and pouring it over her head.

Ellie sputtered, wiping it from her eyes. "You’re dead." She grabbed a roll and chucked it at you, hitting you square in the forehead.

Before either of you could escalate further, a voice boomed through the cafeteria. "ENOUGH!"

The room fell silent, heads whipping around to see Director Miller standing at the entrance, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His eyes were blazing as he took in the scene—the overturned tables, food-splattered walls, and you and Ellie, standing in the middle of the carnage, covered head to toe in cafeteria slop.

His gaze locked on you, then shifted to Ellie. "My office. Now."

Ellie swallowed, her anger giving way to a sinking feeling in her stomach. You looked just as stunned, mouth slightly open as you tried to brush mashed potatoes off your jeans.

"Move it," Director Miller barked, turning on his heel and marching out of the cafeteria.

Ellie shot you a glare. "This is your fault."

You scowled back, cheeks flushed. "Excuse me? You started it!"

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Yeah? Well, I’m gonna finish it."

You opened your mouth to retort, but Director Miller’s voice echoed from the hallway. "Now!"

With one last death glare, you turned on your heel, marching out of the cafeteria with your head held high, even with spaghetti sauce dripping down your back.

Ellie followed, grumbling under her breath as she flicked a noodle off her sleeve. This was not how she’d planned on spending her afternoon.

But as she watched you try to wipe pudding off your designer handbag, she couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at her lips. Maybe this wasn’t that bad after all.

Director Miller’s office was colder than Ellie expected. The walls were bare except for a single clock ticking ominously above his desk, and a portait of him and her daughter. It felt like a judge’s chamber—appropriate, considering the scowl on his face as he stood behind his chair, arms crossed.

You sat rigidly in the chair beside Ellie, arms crossed so tightly over your chest that mashed potatoes were flaking off your sleeve. Your hair was a tangled, sticky mess, strands stiff with gravy and milk. Ellie didn’t look much better, her shirt stained with spaghetti sauce, some noodles still clinging to her shoulder.

Director Miller let out a slow breath, his eyes narrowing. "You two care to explain why my cafeteria looks like a war zone?"

Neither of you spoke. Ellie’s jaw was clenched so tightly her teeth ached. She wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

When neither of you answered, he let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. You’re supposed to be adults. College students. Yet you acted like a couple of toddlers throwing a tantrum." His eyes flicked between you two, the intensity of his glare enough to make you look down.

"I don’t care who started it," he continued, his voice dangerously calm. "What I care about is the fact that half the student body had to duck for cover because you two decided to turn lunch into a food fight."

Ellie’s fingers dug into the armrest, her eyes fixed on the floor. She could feel your presence beside her, a tense ball of anger and humiliation. She refused to look at you. Not after what you said.

Director Miller’s eyes narrowed. "Clearly, you two have issues to work out. And since you obviously can’t do that like adults, we’re going to try something else."

You finally looked up, eyes widening in suspicion. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Director Miller started, leaning on his desk, "you’re going to sit here and say three nice things about each other."

Ellie’s head snapped up. "You can’t be serious."

Your mouth fell open, eyes flashing with indignation. "That’s… that’s ridiculous!"

Director Miller’s lips twitched, but he kept his composure. "Oh, I’m dead serious. You’re not leaving this office until I hear three sincere compliments from each of you." He straightened, brushing off his jacket. "I’ll give you ten minutes to figure it out."

You sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. "And if we don’t?"

Director Miller’s gaze was steely. "Then you’ll spend the rest of the day cleaning every inch of that cafeteria. Floors, tables, walls—every last drop of food you threw."

Ellie felt her stomach drop. She remembered the chaos, the mess splattered across every surface. It would take hours to clean up.

Director Miller looked at his watch. "I’ll be back in ten minutes. If I don’t hear six sincere compliments, you better be ready to scrub."

He turned on his heel, leaving the office without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you and Ellie in heavy, awkward silence.

Ellie’s fists tightened, her eyes fixed on the clock. Ten minutes. Ten minutes to find something—anything—nice to say about you. Her mouth twisted in distaste. She’d rather swallow glass.

You sighed loudly, leaning back in your chair with a dramatic huff. "This is so stupid."

Ellie shot you a glare. "Yeah? Well, it’s your fault we’re here in the first place."

Your head whipped around, eyes blazing. "My fault? You threw food first!"

"You insulted me first!" Ellie snapped, turning to fully face you for the first time. "You think I didn’t hear what you said? Calling me a charity case? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Your face fell for a fraction of a second before you recovered, scoffing. "Oh, get over it. I was just stating facts."

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. "You don’t know anything about me."

"I know you’re infuriating," you shot back, crossing your arms. "You act like you’re better than everyone just because you don’t care about fitting in."

Ellie let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, because fitting in with you and your pack of clones sounds like so much fun."

You bristled, your eyes flashing. "You’re impossible. No wonder you don’t have any friends."

Ellie’s chest tightened, the words hitting harder than she wanted to admit. But she kept her face neutral, her voice cold. "I’d rather have no friends than fake ones, honestly."

Your mouth opened, then snapped shut, eyes dropping to your lap. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The clock ticked loudly above, each second a heavy reminder of your shrinking time limit.

Ellie let out a slow breath, running a hand through her hair—then grimacing as her fingers got stuck in the sticky mess. "Okay," she muttered. "Three nice things. Let’s just get this over with."

She glanced at the clock again, heart sinking. Eight minutes left.

Before she could speak, you let out a dramatic sigh, slumping back in your chair. "Alright, I’ll go first. I don’t want to be here all day."

Ellie looked at you, surprised. "Fine. Let’s hear it, then."

You opened your mouth, then closed it, eyes narrowing. It was clear you were struggling. Ellie almost smirked. Good. At least she wasn’t the only one who found this torture.

Finally, you looked away, your voice lower than usual. "I… I think you’re really good at drawing."

Ellie’s eyes widened. "What?"

You rolled your eyes. "You heard me. You’re… great, okay? I saw your sketchbook the other day." You shifted in your seat, clearly uncomfortable. "The way you draw people is… impressive."

Ellie stared at you, suspicion flaring in her chest. "Are you being serious right now?"

Your head snapped toward her, eyes blazing. "Yes, I’m serious! God, this is exactly why I didn’t want to go first. You can’t even take a compliment without making it weird."

Ellie’s mouth opened, then shut. She blinked at you, still processing the fact that you—you, of all people—had just complimented her art. Her sketchbook was one of the few things she actually cared about, something she kept private, hidden from judgmental eyes. The fact that you saw it, and didn’t make fun of it… It threw her off balance.

She cleared her throat, looking away. "Oh. Well… thanks, I guess." Her fingers drummed on the armrest, nerves prickling under her skin. "I didn’t know you… noticed."

You shrugged, suddenly fascinated with a stain on your jeans. "Well, I did. You’re talented. It’s annoying."

Ellie let out a short laugh. "Right. Sorry for being good at something."

You huffed, but there was no real anger behind it. "Yeah, well… don’t let it get to your head."

A small smile tugged at Ellie’s lips, and for a moment, the tension between you seemed to ease. She shifted in her chair, her heart beating just a little faster. This was weird. But… not terrible.

She took a breath, forcing herself to speak before she could chicken out. "You’re… actually pretty smart."

Your head whipped around, eyes wide. "Huh?"

Ellie looked away, her cheeks warming. "I mean, you act all superficial and, like, too cool to care. But I’ve seen you in class. You’re always taking notes, and you actually get the material. Like, that essay you wrote for English? It was… good." She cleared her throat, refusing to meet your eyes. "I mean, for someone who spends so much time gossiping, you actually have a brain. Who knew?"

You gaped at her, clearly taken off guard. "You… read my essay?"

Ellie shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Yeah. The professor used it as an example, remember? I figured it’d be stupid, but it wasn’t."

Your cheeks flushed, and for a moment, you looked… shy. "Oh. I didn’t think you paid attention."

Ellie rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, well… I did."

Silence settled again, but this time, it felt different. Lighter. Like the air wasn’t as thick with resentment.

You cleared your throat, fidgeting with your hair. "I, um… I saw you playing guitar the other day. Outside the dorm."

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. "You were spying on me?"

Your eyes narrowed. "No! No, I was just… passing by. You weren’t exactly being quiet." You hesitated, voice softening. "You’re good at that too. I didn’t know you could sing."

Ellie’s face warmed. "Oh. Uh… thanks." She shifted in her chair. "I’ve been playing since I was a kid."

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your lap. "I always wanted to learn. I-uh… my ex was supposed to teach me, but it never happened."

Ellie’s chest tightened. "Your… ex?"

You nodded, your voice oddly quiet. "Yeah. She had a guitar, but she never got around to showing me how to play."

Ellie’s mouth went dry. She opened her mouth, then closed it, her cheeks heating up. She. You dated girls. You had an ex-girlfriend.

She was suddenly aware of how fast her heart was beating, her mind racing with a million questions she couldn’t ask. Her gaze flicked to you, noticing how your shoulders were slightly hunched, your fingers nervously twisting in your lap.

You looked… vulnerable. Sad, even. It was weird, seeing you like this—seeing you as a person, not just the stuck-up princess who made her life hell.

Ellie swallowed, her voice coming out softer than she intended. "I… I could teach you. If you want."

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. "What?"

Ellie looked away, scratching the back of her neck. "I mean, I’m not, like, a pro or anything. But I could show you the basics. If… you’re serious about learning."

You stared at her, mouth slightly open. "You… you’d do that?"

Ellie shrugged, fighting to keep her voice casual. "Yeah. I mean, it’s not a big deal. Better than you bugging me about my closet space all the time."

Your lips twitched, a small smile breaking through. "I don’t bug you about your closet space that much."

Ellie snorted. "Yeah, right.”"She risked a glance at you, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the genuine smile on your face. "So… is that compliment number two?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in it. "Fine. I like that you can play guitar. And… that you offered to teach me." You hesitated, voice softening. "That was… nice of you."

Ellie’s chest tightened, warmth spreading through her. She looked down, trying to hide her smile. "Yeah, well… don’t get used to it."

You laughed—a real laugh. It was the first time Ellie had heard it, and it did something weird to her stomach.

She looked at the clock, realizing only three minutes had passed. But for the first time since she’d met you, she didn’t mind the thought of being stuck here a little longer.

Before you two knew it, you were back at the hall. Your friends were lounging in the common area, laughing loudly. You looked at them, your expression faltering for just a second before you turned to Ellie. "I… guess I’ll see you around?"

Ellie’s stomach did a weird flip, and she nodded. "Yeah. Sure." She hesitated, then added, "You know… if you still want to learn guitar, I… I meant what I said, too. I could show you sometime."

Your eyes widened, a flash of surprise crossing your face. "Oh. Um… yeah. I’d like that." You gave her another small smile, then turned, heading toward your friends. But you didn’t go to them right away. You hesitated, glancing back at Ellie before finally joining them, your posture just a little stiffer than usual.

Ellie watched you go, her heart doing that stupid flip again. She shook her head, heading up the stairs to your room. Her room. Your shared room.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard your friends’ voices.

"Oh my God, did you seriously got detention for fighting with her?"

"What were you thinking? She’s such a loser."

Ellie’s fists clenched, her shoulders tensing. But before she could storm back down, she heard your voice—quiet, but firm. "Yeah, well… maybe she’s not as bad as you think."

A stunned silence followed, then one of your friends scoffed. "Ugh, you’re joking, right?" You didn’t answer.

Ellie felt her chest tighten, her grip on the railing loosening. She turned, heading up the stairs, her mind spinning.

Maybe… maybe you weren’t as bad as she thought either.

Days passed, and the tension in the dorm room slowly began to fade. It wasn’t like you and Ellie were suddenly best friends or anything, but the insults were less sharp, the glares less frequent. Sometimes, you even managed to have a conversation without throwing a shoe to her direction.

It started small. Polite nods when you crossed paths in the hallway. A quiet "bless you" when Ellie sneezed. A muttered "thanks" when she held the door open for you. Little things that weren’t a big deal on their own, but together, they started to chip away at the wall between you.

And then, there was the guitar.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the sun was spilling through the dorm window, casting lazy patterns on the floor. Ellie was sprawled on her bed, strumming absentmindedly, lost in the music. You were at your desk, pretending to study, but your eyes kept flicking to her, watching her fingers dance over the strings.

You chewed your lip, debating with yourself before finally blurting out, "Can you show me?"

Ellie looked up, blinking. "Huh?"

You nodded toward the guitar. "You… you said you’d teach me. If you’re not too busy."

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh. Uh… yeah, sure." She sat up, scooting over to make room on the bed. "C’mere."

You hesitated, glancing at her bed like it was dangerous territory. Then you shook off the nerves and sat down, careful to leave a few inches of space between you.

Ellie handed you the guitar, her fingers brushing yours for half a second. You both froze, the air suddenly feeling warmer. Then she cleared her throat, leaning back. "Okay, so… this is a G chord. You put your fingers here… and here…"

You tried to mimic her, your fingers fumbling on the strings. It was awkward, and the sound that came out was more of a croak than a chord. You winced. "Wow. I’m terrible at this."

Ellie laughed, and that itself made something flutter in your chest. "Nah, that’s normal. It’s weird at first." She reached over, her fingers adjusting yours on the frets. "Here, like this."

Her hand was warm, her touch gentle. You swallowed, trying to ignore how close she was. "Oh. That’s… better."

Ellie’s voice was softer now. "Yeah. Try strumming it again."

You did, and this time, the sound was smoother, less jarring. A real chord. You looked up, grinning. "I did it!"

Ellie’s eyes sparkled, a smile breaking across her face. "Yeah, you sure did." She looked proud, and you felt a warm glow in your chest.

After that, the lessons became more frequent. Sometimes in the afternoon, when your friends were busy gossiping without you. Sometimes late at night, when the campus was quiet, and the only sound was Ellie’s guitar and your whispered laughter.

You started spending less time in the cafeteria, less time listening to your friends’ endless chatter about the latest parties and shallow drama. You still dressed the same—perfectly styled hair, cute skirts, flawless makeup—but now, it felt more like a choice and less like a costume. You wore what you wanted, not what your friends expected.

And somehow, even though you were seeing your so-called friends less and less, you didn’t feel lonely. Not when you had Ellie strumming her guitar beside you, laughing at your jokes, teasing you when your fingers fumbled.

One afternoon, as you were practicing chords, Ellie looked at you, her gaze lingering. "You’re getting better, you know."

You smiled, glancing down at your fingers. "You think so?"

Ellie’s voice was soft. "Yeah. I do."

Your heart did that stupid fluttering thing, and you looked away, pretending to adjust the guitar strap. "Well, I’ve got a good teacher."

Ellie’s cheeks tinged pink, and she looked down, a smile playing at her lips. "Yeah, well… don’t get used to the compliments."

You laughed, your shoulder brushing hers. You didn’t pull away. She didn't, either.

It happened slowly at first. Missed texts, unanswered calls. You would walk up to your usual table in the cafeteria, only to find your friends turning away, their laughter falling silent. It was subtle, but it was there—a cold shoulder, a whisper behind your back.

At first, you tried to brush it off. Maybe they were just busy. Maybe you were imagining it. But then the rumors started.

"She’s changed. Thinks she’s too good for us now."

"Have you seen her with that new girl? What’s her name? Ella? Freaks, both of them."

"Ugh, she’s so desperate. No wonder she hangs out with her."

You tried to ignore it, to pretend it didn’t bother you. But it did. It hurt. Especially because it was coming from people who were supposed to be your friends.

One afternoon, you walked into the cafeteria, tray in hand, heading to your usual spot. But when you got there, the table was full—every seat taken. You stood there, feeling exposed, your face heating up as they all looked at you with blank, uninterested stares.

"Oh," you said, forcing a smile. "I… didn’t realize the table was full."

One of the girls looked you up and down, her nose wrinkling. "Yeah, funny how that happens. Maybe there’s a seat somewhere else?"

Your heart sank, but you kept the fake smile plastered on your face. "Right. Of course. I’ll… see you later." You turned, your vision blurring. You could feel their eyes on you, hear the giggles as you walked away.

You didn’t know where else to go, so you went back to the dorm, your footsteps echoing down the empty hallway. You unlocked the door, shoulders slumping as you stepped inside.

Ellie was there, sitting cross-legged on her bed, a book resting on her knees. She looked up, surprised. "Hey. You’re back early."

You froze, your hand still on the doorknob. For a moment, you wanted to turn around and leave, to go anywhere else. But then Ellie’s expression softened, concern flickering in her eyes. "You okay?"

You swallowed, your throat tight. "Yeah. I just… wasn’t hungry."

Ellie frowned, closing her book and setting it aside. "You sure?" Her voice was gentle, her gaze steady. "Because… you look like you’re about to cry."

"I’m fine." But your voice wavered, and you looked away, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

Ellie stood up, crossing the room to stand in front of you. "No you're not," she said softly. "what happened?"

You shook your head, hugging yourself. "They… they laughed at me. My friends. Or-uh… I guess they’re not my friends anymore." Your voice cracked, and a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

"I’m sorry," she whispered. "I… I know it’s because of me. They don’t like me, and now they’re taking it out on you. I didn’t want that to happen."

Your vision was blurry with tears. "It’s not your fault. They were never real friends. They only liked me when I was pretending to be someone I’'m not." You took a shaky breath, your hands trembling. "I just… I didn’t think it would hurt this much."

Ellie’s jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with anger. "They’re idiots. They don’t know you. Not the real you."

Your heart skipped, and you looked at her, vulnerable and raw. "Who does, huh?"

Ellie’s gaze softened, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I do."

She hesitated, her eyes searching yours. "I… I see you. The real you. And… I like who you are. Even when you’re bossy and mean." She cracked a small smile. "Maybe especially then."

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your tears. "You’re an idiot, you know that?"

Ellie grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yeah. I’ve been told." Her voice turned serious. "I’m… glad I met you. Even if we wanted to kill each other at first."

Your heart fluttered, your pulse racing. "Yeah. Me too." You took a shaky breath, your eyes dropping to her lips before flicking back up to her eyes. "Ellie…"

She went still, her eyes widening as she realized how close you were standing. "Yeah?"

You took a step closer, your breath catching as your faces were just inches apart. "Can I…?"

Ellie’s eyes were wide, her lips parted. "Yeah," she breathed. "please."

You didn’t need any more encouragement. You leaned in, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips met hers.

It was soft, tentative, your heart racing as you kissed her. Her lips were warm, her hand coming up to cup your cheek, her fingers gentle against your skin. You let out a shaky breath, melting into her, your hands gripping her grey hoodie as you pulled her closer.

Ellie made a small noise of surprise, then she was kissing you back, her lips moving against yours, soft and sweet and perfect. Your heart was soaring, your chest tight with emotion. You had never felt like this before—so vulnerable and exposed, but also safe and alive.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your foreheads touching, your eyes still closed. Ellie let out a soft laugh, her breath warm against your lips. "Wow."

You laughed, your cheeks flushing. "Yeah. Wow." You opened your eyes, looking at her, your heart pounding. "Ellie… I…"

Ellie smiled, her eyes shining. "I know. Me too."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart full. "So… what now?"

Ellie grinned, her fingers still brushing your cheek. "Well… I hear we’re both banned from the cafeteria for a week. Want to get takeout and… I don’t know… hang out?"

Your chest fluttered, warmth spreading through you. "Yeah. I’d love that."

Ellie’s smile widened, her eyes softening. "Good. Because… I’m not done getting to know the real you."

You leaned in, pressing another kiss to her lips, soft and sweet. "Great. Because I’m not done getting to know you, either."

This was just the beginning. And for the first time in a long time, you were excited to see where it would go.

[moeitsu]

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 8 - A Storm Is Born In Still Water Summary: Spending the evening with the Marstons, laughter and warmth filling the space, you couldn’t ignore the looming presence of the hurricane on the horizon. A quiet unease has settled in your chest—this night felt like the calm before the storm. The last taste of normalcy before everything was about to change. wc: 11k tw: none! Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: This ended up being longer than I intended, but I really enjoyed it. Reader spends some quality time with the Marstons in this chapter. With a juicy little surprise from Arthur at the end :)

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare @shygamergirl01 @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @sevikaspuertoricanwife @abducted-cowz @ilovethatforyousworld @gatodebiquini @onyxlune @bomdada

Standing in front of the bathroom sink, I rolled the small pearl between my fingers, its smooth surface cool against my damp skin. Steam curled around the room in ghostly wisps, clinging to the mirror in a thick, hazy veil. The humid air pressed against my bare skin, making me sweat all over again, as if the shower had done nothing to wash away the night.

Since I’d arrived home, I couldn’t stop replaying everything.

I could still feel him everywhere—Arthur’s strong hands gripping my waist, his slick tongue dancing with mine, his warm breath filling my lungs. No amount of scrubbing could erase the phantom sensation of his touch, the way my skin still tingled as if he had left an invisible mark on me.

Maybe it wasn’t just his touch that had me so undone. Maybe it was the trust, the raw vulnerability of it all. Arthur had a way of making me feel safe, seen—like I was something treasured. He unraveled me with the sound of his deep, melodic voice, lured me in with the ethereal glow of his body, pulsing like a heartbeat in the water.

A shiver rolled through me, despite the heat lingering in the air. If he hadn’t been the one to pull away, how far would I have gone?

At that moment, I had been ready to strip my wetsuit from my body, to give myself to him completely, to discover what lay beneath those shimmering scales. It was insane. I had only known him for a week. I barely understood his biology. And yet…to Arthur, I was the first to show him kindness. To explore him with gentleness and admiration.

And standing here, miles away from him, I still felt his pull. That strange, invisible tether binding us together. This feeling inside me was foreign yet familiar, and it felt wonderful. Damn it, some part of me truly did love him.

My gaze dropped to his gift, its pearly-white surface reflecting the golden glow of the bathroom light. My stomach twisted as I finally let the weight of this tiny treasure settle over me.

I had sealed my fate. Not that I could or even wanted to refuse him. But the future… whatever awaited us… terrified me. I had accepted his courtship. I had expressed a mutual desire to mate. The thought of sex with him sent heat rushing up my neck, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. My thighs pressed together instinctively, aching with an anticipation I barely understood.

Part of me knew I shouldn’t want this. And yet every time I was near him my body betrayed me. 

But this was bigger than just desire. Charles’ warning rang in my ears. This was bigger than my feelings. It could be dangerous. Hell, it could even be deadly.

I placed the pearl down on the cool porcelain sink, its milky surface gleaming under the dim light. My fingers lingered on it for a moment before I turned away, grabbing my night creams and smoothing them over my skin with slow, absentminded strokes. And yet, as I went through the motions, my thoughts wandered.

What do his cocks look like?

The question struck like a bolt of lightning, sending a flush creeping up my neck. I don’t think I’ll ever truly grasp the fact that he has two. My hands faltered for a moment before I forced myself to keep going, spreading the thick cream over my cheeks with shaking fingers.

What would they feel like?

Would they be like the rest of him—silken, slick, and impossibly warm? Would they have the same ridges as his tongue, designed to pleasure and devour? A whimper nearly slipped from my lips at the thought.

I snatched my toothbrush, clicking it on with a little too much force before shoving the humming bristles into my mouth.

Would he even fit inside me?

Arthur was big. Not just in size but in presence, in the way his chest and shoulders dwarfed me, the way his powerful frame moved through the water with effortless grace. He was far bigger than any human I’d ever met. His tail alone nearly weighed 300 lbs. Would it hurt? Would his body even be compatible with mine? Surely there was some way we could make it work.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to conjure up the brief glimpse I’d caught when I was stroking his gills—the way he had pressed them into my soft stomach, the heat of him unmistakable even beneath the water. Slipping past his scales in a moment of raw hunger and pure arousal. Part of me loved that I had that effect on him, that my touch alone brought out a primal side that he tried to keep locked away. That instinctual need to—

My eyes flew open.

Did he want to impregnate me?

My breath caught in my throat, the electric hum of my toothbrush suddenly deafening in the small bathroom.

Could he?

His father was human, which meant there was some possibility for offspring. And sirens—at least from what little I knew from Lenny’s lesson—didn’t just mate for pleasure. Mating season wasn’t about getting off from the heat of arousal. It was a biological imperative, an instinctual drive to breed, to create strong, healthy offspring so the species could endure for generations. Arthur’s body was driven by its biological processes, much like my own. My body still followed its natural reproductive cycle, ovulation and menses occurred whether I wanted it to or not. And I was certain, there was no birth control for sirens. 

I spit out the foamy toothpaste, watching the milky swirl spin down the drain as I gripped the edge of the sink, my thoughts following it into the abyss. There was only one way to answer these questions, and standing here spiraling like my minty spit wasn’t going to help.

I needed to take this one day at a time.

Arthur had been open with me about nearly everything. He would understand my hesitation, my concerns, my fears and my fantasies. If he was going to be my mate, and I his, there were things we needed to discuss. Things I had to know first.

But for now, this pearl—this sacred vow—would remain between us. Like our own little secret.

Grabbing my hairbrush, I wrung the excess water from my hair over the sink, watching droplets slide down the porcelain before wiping the mirror with my palm. The fog smeared under my touch, revealing my reflection in hazy fragments. I pulled my tangled hair back from my face, only to freeze as the light caught something shimmering on my ear.

My breath hitched.

Leaning closer, my pulse pounded in my throat as the blood drained from my face.

Iridescent lines, thin as spider silk, wrapped delicately around my earlobe, tracing up the helix in intricate, swirling patterns. The faint shimmer was unmistakable. Evidence of Arthur’s hunger, where he had nipped at my flesh and then soothed the ache with his traitorous tongue.

Shit.

A rush of heat crawled up my neck, an unrelenting mix of embarrassment and something far more dangerous—desire.

With a sharp grunt, I tossed my hairbrush into the sink, the clatter echoing in the small space. Yanking my bathrobe off the door, I threw it around my shoulders and stormed out of the bathroom.

So much for keeping this a secret.

At this rate, I might as well walk into work on Monday with a brand-new fucking piercing.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

The microwave let out a shrill beep, its sound slicing through my quiet apartment like a judge’s gavel, sentencing me to another regrettable meal. With a sigh, I trudged to the kitchen, grabbing the steaming plastic tray and peeling back the film. A wave of artificial cheese and processed nostalgia wafted up, clinging to the air like an unavoidable truth.

Flopping onto my bed, I sank into the pillows, the mattress dipping beneath me. Eating in bed was typically reserved for the days I truly felt pathetic—but after tonight’s adrenaline-fueled chaos, I figured I’d earned it. The glow of the bedside lamp cast long, soft shadows across the walls, wrapping the room in a cozy, almost melancholic warmth.

Ah, gourmet.

Just as I reached for the remote, my phone buzzed against the nightstand, the vibration rattling the wood, its soft white light cutting through the dimly lit room like a whisper demanding to be heard.

Hey. ~JM

A small smile tugged at my lips. Placing my dinner down on my lap as I swiped the notification open and typed back.

Hi.

You alive? ~JM

No, you’re talking to a ghost right now.

Grinning, I stabbed at the sad excuse for macaroni with my fork as I waited for his reply.

Very funny. Just wanted to make sure you got home safe. ~JM

Home by 11 PM sharp, Mr. Marston. Don’t worry, I didn’t break my curfew ;)

Taking a streaming bite, I instantly regretted it, and reached for my drink to wash away the taste of disappointment. My phone vibrated again.

You’re impossible. How’d your swim with Arthur go? ~JM

I smirked, stretching out across the mattress, my legs tangled in the blankets.

Wouldn’t you like to know? You tryna get lessons to be a lifeguard or something?

Three little dots danced on the screen. Disappearing for a moment then coming back. Then—

Forget it. ~JM

I laughed softly, and he was calling me impossible? Perhaps I was playing too much. Despite our antics John was a sincere friend. He was only looking out for me after all.  

I’m teasing, you idiot. It was nice. Arthur showed me around the tank. Discovered some new abilities of his too. He really is something incredible.

I couldn’t help but think back to the way his bioluminescence had flickered like a living constellation beneath the water, the way his voice had wrapped around me like a song meant just for me. The way his warm breath curled in my chest. It crossed my mind whether or not I should share that piece of information with the others. Charles asked me to keep him updated on everything. But how much did I really need to share? 

Yeah, incredibly weird. You both are. Guess that’s why you get along so well. ~JM

Rolling my eyes, I bit back another laugh.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I got to swim with the magic fish and you didn’t :P

Oh shut up. Are we still on for tomorrow? Abby and Jack are coming too. ~JM

That made me sit up, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

It was tradition—an unspoken ritual between John and me. Every time a big hurricane loomed on the horizon, we’d go out for drinks, raising our glasses to the storm before it had the chance to take anything away from us. One last hoorah, just in case we woke up to find the world outside our doors washed away.

It was a morbid tradition, sure, but necessary. The hurricanes had been growing stronger, more relentless. Sometimes it felt like Mother Earth was being sinister, toying with its humans. Though who could blame her. Each summer, we lost more land to the sea, watched the shoreline creep further inland, watched the cost of repairs climb higher than we could keep up with.

But this tradition—this small act of defiance—was our way of saying we wouldn’t break. That no matter what was coming, we’d face it together, with laughter in our throats and whiskey in our veins.

This time, though, Abigail and Jack would be joining us. It meant fewer drinks, fewer reckless choices, but I didn’t mind. If anything, I was proud of John for bringing them along, for letting them be part of something that had always just been ours. It meant he wasn’t just bracing for the storm anymore—he was facing it with the people he loved most in the world.

Absolutely, I’ll be there. I miss those two!

They miss you too. Was thinking either Shady Belle or Bronte’s. ~JM

I nearly choked on my drink.

This little island off the coast wasn’t exactly known for its fine dining. There were only a handful of places to eat, and even fewer that were appropriate for the whole family. Neither John nor I were rolling in cash, which meant our options were limited. But Shady Belle? Really?

To put it kindly, Shady Belle was a dump. A dive bar tucked into the shadiest part of town—hence the name. The kind of place where the floors were perpetually sticky, the jukebox was always playing something just off-key, and you were guaranteed to see at least one fight break out before closing time. It attracted the worst kind of crowd—drifters, troublemakers, men who smelled like cheap beer and regret. But it was cheap. Greasy burgers, stale fries, watered-down whiskey. You got what you paid for, and in our case, that wasn’t much.

Bronte’s, on the other hand, was a different world entirely. A cozy little beachside Italian restaurant, nestled right by the harbor where the scent of salt and grilled seafood filled the air. The place had charm—worn wooden tables, twinkling string lights, and the soft hum of waves crashing just beyond the deck. Their seafood was as fresh as it got, pulled straight from the harbor each morning and served up in buttery pastas and rich, fragrant risottos. It wasn’t fancy, not exactly, but it was a place you took your family, where you lingered over good food and even better conversation.

And somehow, John thought these two were interchangeable.

John Marston, you are not bringing your lovely family to a dump like Shady Belle. I forbid it, shame on you. >:(

I’m just messing with you, boss. We’ll see you tomorrow at Bronte’s. ~JM

I set my phone down with a contented sigh, sinking deeper into the pillows. My food had gone cold, my show remained unwatched, and yet my mind was still tangled in thoughts of Arthur—his touch, his voice, the pull of something I didn’t fully understand.

And yet, despite it all, a weight had lifted from my chest.

That small conversation with John had grounded me, brought back a sense of normalcy, like an anchor in the middle of a storm. The calm in the eye of a hurricane. For tonight, I let myself believe that the little pearl gleaming on my nightstand was just that—a simple pearl. A treasure from the abyss. Nothing more, nothing less. Whatever future awaited me with Arthur could wait.

With that thought, I let my eyes slip closed, drifting off to sleep with a small smile on my lips.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

The hum of my truck’s engine faded into silence as I shifted in my seat, giving myself one last once-over in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t vanity that kept me checking my reflection—it was the damn iridescent marks that shimmered no matter how I tried to conceal them. The fading sunlight caught the delicate lines, making them glint like pearls against my skin.

Covering the scars on my wrist was easy enough with a well placed watch or bracelet. But my ear was a different challenge. I had tried earrings, but they only drew more attention. A beanie had crossed my mind, but late summer in the Outer Banks was no time for extra layers. With a sigh and a silent prayer that no one would notice, I raked my fingers through my hair one last time, letting it fall over my ear before stepping out of the truck.

The scent of salt air and freshly baked bread welcomed me as I stepped into the restaurant. It didn’t take long to find the Marstons—the hostess barely had time to point me in their direction before the sound of Jack’s high-pitched giggles rang through the patio. His little voice carried over the murmur of dinner conversations as he eagerly scribbled across his kids’ menu, tongue poking out in deep concentration.

“Aunty!” he shrieked the moment I leaned over his chair, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug.

“Hey, nugget,” I grinned, ruffling his blond hair as he giggled into my shoulder. I slid into my seat, warmth settling in my chest as I turned to Abigail. “It’s so nice to see you. You’re looking great! How’s the baby?”

Her tired but radiant smile said it all before she even answered.

A few months ago, I had been jolted awake by a drunken call from John, slurring his way through the news that he was going to be a father of two. I had given him an earful—not just for drowning himself in whiskey instead of being there for Abigail, but for calling me instead of facing his own emotions head-on. Still, beneath my frustration, I understood.

John wasn’t in the best place, mentally or physically, when Jack was born. That was before I came around, but Abigail had told me how much he struggled with fatherhood in the beginning. His own father had been a hard, unloving man, and John had spent his youth running wild, just another orphaned street kid scraping by however he could. It wasn’t until Hosea took him under his wing that he found something like guidance—like family.

By the time I entered the picture, John was already trying to be better, to be more present. And then he found out Abigail was pregnant again. The drinking didn’t stop overnight, but I helped him reel it in, reminded him that this time, he didn’t have to figure it out alone. He didn’t have many friends outside the facility, and I had quickly become the person he called on those nights when doubt crept in, when he mumbled about being a failure and a sorry excuse for a father. I listened. I talked him down. I reminded him that he wasn’t his old man—that he had a choice in the kind of father he wanted to be.

And looking at him now, his hand resting protectively on Abigail’s, his eyes soft as he watched Jack chatter away, it warmed my heart to see how far he’d come. To see him not just accepting fatherhood, but embracing it.

Abigail beamed, her whole face lighting up. “She’s wonderful. Been kickin’ around in there like she’s training for the Olympics, though,” she laughed, resting a hand on her belly as if to calm the tiny storm within.

I gasped, nearly dropping my napkin. “She?!” My voice came out more like a squeak. Last time I saw her, the baby’s gender had still been a mystery.

With a proud nod, she confirmed it, and I looked between her and John, my excitement bubbling over. “Well, congratulations, you two! A baby girl—what wonderful news!” I turned to Jack, who was still absorbed in his coloring. “What about you, Nugget? Are you excited?”

Jack didn’t miss a beat. He threw a crayon triumphantly into the air and declared, “I’m gonna be the best big sister!”

Laughter erupted around the table. John chuckled, shaking his head as he gave his son’s shoulder a light nudge. “Big brother, kid. You’re gonna be the best big brother to your little sister.”

The minutes melted away as we talked about everything and nothing, Abigail filling me in on all the baby know-how while Jack chartered between this topic and the next. When the waitress arrived to take our orders, I raised a knowing eyebrow at John as he casually ordered a Blue Moon. He caught my expression and mouthed just one before returning his attention to Jack’s latest tic-tac-toe match.

When my turn came, I ordered an Irish coffee.

John shot me a look. “Little late for coffee, isn’t it? You tryna pull an all-nighter?”

I nodded, stirring my straw absently in my water. “Gonna stay up to track the storm. It’s not supposed to hit land until after midnight. They’re saying it’ll weaken to a Cat 3, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

Abigail’s smile faltered slightly as she twisted her hands in her lap. “I heard they already evacuated some parts of the island. Are you sure you’re safe in your apartment?”

Before I could answer, our drinks arrived, and John lifted his beer in salute. “I’ll drink to that,” he said with a grin before taking a long sip. Jack, wanting to be just like his old man, eagerly lifted his sippy cup of milk and took a dramatic gulp, his little brows furrowed in exaggerated seriousness.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “I’ll be fine, Abby,” I reassured her, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m on the fourth floor, anyway. Only thing I really gotta worry about is the wind.” I threw in a wink for good measure.

Abigail didn’t look entirely convinced. She reached over the table and took my hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Alright,” she said, her voice softer now. “But if you lose power, water—or even if you just need some company—you’re more than welcome to stay at Hosea’s with us.”

Her warmth settled over me like a blanket, and for a moment, the looming storm didn’t seem quite so daunting.

Dinner carried on in a comfortable rhythm, the conversation flowing as easily as the drinks. Abigail shared stories of Jack’s latest antics—his newfound fascination with bugs, his insistence that he could build a boat out of sticks, his stubborn refusal to accept that the moon wasn’t actually following him home at night. John chimed in with the occasional quip, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation whenever his son interrupted him to “correct” the details of the stories.

Plates were passed, forks scraped against ceramic, and the scent of garlic and butter mingled with the salty ocean breeze. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in deep hues of indigo and violet. The colors reminded me of a certain someone, but I pushed those thoughts aside. As if on cue, the string lights flickered to life above the patio, bathing the space in a warm, golden glow. The soft hum of conversation from other tables drifted around us, but beneath it all, there was something else. 

A shift in the air.

The wind carried a different weight now, cooler, charged with something powerful and untamed. The storm loomed just beyond the horizon, invisible but present, pressing against the edges of our peaceful evening. The distant rumble of waves against the shore sounded rougher than before, like an unspoken warning. I glanced toward the darkened sky, the edges of heavy clouds rolling in, and felt it deep in my bones. The tension, the waiting.

But here, on this little patio strung with golden lights, everything still felt normal. Safe.

Jack, having polished off his dinner with the determined enthusiasm only a child could manage, rocked back and forth in his chair, barely containing his excitement. “Dad, can we go inside and see the fish? Please? Please, please, please?”

John sighed, already pushing back his chair. “Alright, alright. But you gotta actually look this time, not just tap on the glass and scare ‘em off.”

Jack beamed, leaping up from his seat and practically dragging his father toward the restaurant’s entrance. “You know Papa Hosea owns an aquarium right? You can come see the fish whenever you like.” 

“But I wanna see those fish!” He pointed a small finger towards the tank inside the restaurant. 

Abigail and I watched them go, their figures illuminated briefly by the warm glow of the doorway before disappearing inside.

A gust of wind sent a shiver through the patio, rattling the string lights overhead. Abigail pulled her cardigan a little tighter around her shoulders and shot me a look. “You sure you don’t want to take that offer?” she teased, but there was something genuine in her eyes.

I smirked, but the thought lingered. The storm was coming, and even with a full belly and good company, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this might be the last normal night for a while.

Abigail studied me for a moment, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her water glass. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something quieter, something knowing. “And how are you doing?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “I feel like a terrible friend. We’ve spent the whole night talking about me and the baby, and I haven’t even asked about you.”

“You are the farthest thing from a terrible friend Abby. Hell, you’re practically like family.” I hesitated before my next words, swirling the last of my Irish coffee in my mug. “But, I’m fine. Nothing exciting to report,” I said, but even I wasn’t convinced.

Abigail arched her brow. “Oh, fine, huh? That’s convincing.”

I huffed a laugh and shook my head. “I mean it. I’m just… busy. Work’s been a lot.”

“So I’ve heard,” Abigail said, swirling the last of her drink before setting it down. “John told me all about that monster you guys found on the beach. He still won’t let me come see it, though—said he doesn’t want me to get wrapped up in it. Whatever that means.” She waved a dismissive hand, her tone light, but the word monster lodged itself like a thorn in my chest.

I forced a small smile, but my throat tightened. I couldn’t blame her—how could I? She had never met Arthur, never seen him beyond whatever crude image John had painted for her. Knowing him, he had probably fed her just enough details to keep her curiosity in check, just enough to make sure she didn’t go snooping around for more. But I doubted he spared the more unsettling details—the sharpness of Arthur’s features, the unearthly glow in his eyes, the sheer, overwhelming presence of him.

To her, he was just a story. A strange, terrifying thing washed up from the deep, something not quite human. And maybe that was easier. Easier to believe in a monster than to acknowledge the gentle yet broken man beneath.

I shifted in my seat, holding my drink just to have something to do with my hands. “John just worries,” I said carefully. “You know how he gets.”

Abigail scoffed. “That’s one way to put it. He acts like I can’t handle myself.” She shook her head, then gave me a pointed look. “But you have seen it, haven’t you?”

My fingers curled around the ceramic mug. Him, I almost corrected. But instead, I just nodded. “Yeah. I have.”

Abigail tilted her head, watching me closely. “And? Is it really as bad as John says?”

I hesitated, feeling the weight of the truth pressing against my ribs. Worse, I wanted to say. And yet... not at all. Instead, I just swallowed and gave her the safest answer I could.

“We’re taking it one day at a time.”

She wasn’t buying it. She never did. “You sound just like Hosea. Anyways, are you seeing anyone?” she pressed, her voice light but her gaze sharp. “Or still working yourself into the grave?”

I exhaled slowly, tapping my fingers against the side of my cup. “I don’t know if I’d call it seeing someone,” I admitted, choosing my words carefully. “It’s… complicated.”

That caught her interest. Abigail leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. “Complicated how?”

I let out a breathy chuckle, running a hand through my hair. Where did I even begin? “He’s… different.”

Abigail’s brows lifted. “Different good or different bad?”

“I don’t really know yet,” I admitted honestly. “He’s just—he doesn’t fit into any category. Not someone I ever expected to know, let alone…”

“Let alone what?” she prompted, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

I sighed, shaking my head. “He’s not like anyone else, Abigail. He’s got this way about him—like he’s seen and done things most people couldn’t even begin to understand. And it’s not just that he’s been through a lot, it’s that he wears it, you know? Like it’s stitched into him, into the way he moves, the way he talks.”

Abigail’s expression softened. “Sounds like someone with a rough past,” she said gently.

I swallowed, staring down at the swirls in my coffee. A rough past. That was one way to put it. “Yeah,” I murmured. “And sometimes I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t fully see. Like if I step too close, I might lose my footing entirely.”

For a long moment, Abigail didn’t say anything. Then, she reached across the table, squeezing my hand. “You’re not scared of him, are you?”

The question caught me off guard, but the answer was easy. “No. Never.” That much I knew for certain.

“Then maybe that’s what matters,” she said simply. “Different doesn’t always mean bad. And complicated doesn’t always mean impossible.”

I looked up at her, at the quiet reassurance in her eyes, and for a moment, I let myself believe her. But deep down, I knew that Arthur wasn’t just different. He was something else entirely. And that was what made this so damn complicated. 

The conversation lulled into a comfortable silence. The clinking of silverware and the hum of distant conversation dimming in the space between us as patrons left to take shelter from the oncoming hurricane. The air was thick now, charged with the quiet presence of the storm rolling in from the sea. The string lights overhead flickered slightly as the wind picked up, rustling the palm trees and sending the scent of salt and rain through the open patio.

Abigail glanced at the sky, then at Jack, who was starting to rub at his eyes between half-hearted scribbles on his kids’ menu. “We should get going before it really starts coming down,” she said, pushing back from the table.

We settled the bill, and as we stepped into the parking lot, the restaurant’s warm glow spilling onto the pavement, the wind had gained strength. It whipped at Abigail’s cardigan and sent Jack giggling as he tried to fight against it.

“Be safe, alright?” she said, pulling me into a tight hug. She smelled like vanilla and the faintest trace of baby powder. “And if you change your mind about staying with us—”

“I know where to find you,” I finished with a small smile.

She gave me one last squeeze before turning to buckle Jack into his car seat, her voice soft and affectionate as she reassured him they’d be home soon. That left me alone with John for a moment, the space between us filled with the howling wind and the rustling of palm fronds overhead.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. “Storm’s rolling in fast,” he muttered.

Before I could respond, a sudden gust swept through the parking lot, catching my hair and blowing it back from my face. I barely noticed it—until I saw the way John’s expression shifted.

His eyes flickered, just for a second, to the iridescent glint of the thread like jewels on my ear, catching the restaurant’s light like tiny embers against my skin. It was only a second. A brief, unreadable look before he schooled his expression into something neutral.

I froze, unsure if I should say something—unsure if he would. But John just exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head before stepping forward and pulling me into a quick, tight, one-armed hug.

“Stay dry,” he mumbled against my hair, his voice low and rough.

“You too.” 

And just like that, he let go, turning away without another word. I watched as he climbed into the driver’s seat, the glow of the dashboard briefly illuminating his face before he started the car. Abigail waved at me through the window, and then they were gone, disappearing down the darkened road toward Hosea’s home.

I stood there for a moment longer, the wind tugging at my clothes, the scent of rain heavy in the air. Then, with a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, I turned and headed for my truck. It was going to be a long night, and I had a date with the storm radar.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

Sometime after midnight, exhaustion must have won—I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. The coffee I’d downed earlier had lost its fight against the weight of my eyelids. The last thing I remembered was watching the storm churn on my computer screen, the swirling eye of the hurricane swallowing our little island whole. Reds and yellows slashed across the radar like open wounds, fading into greens and blues on the outskirts. I had been listening to the radio, tracking power outages, storm surges, trees crashing onto roads, and the eerie mention of debris washing up on the shore.

Now, I woke to a sharp crick in my neck, my laptop dimly glowing where it had slipped between the folds of my blankets. The storm still raged outside—wind shrieking against the windows, rattling the glass in their frames. But something was… off. It was too quiet.

The low hum of the radio had been reduced to static, its garbled voice flickering in and out, whispering in fragmented syllables. I reached up, tugging the string of my bedside lamp. Nothing. No power. That explains the silence, the hum of my AC is typically a comforting white noise.

Rubbing the sleep from my face, I sat up, disoriented. My watch read 3:17 AM. Outside, the wind howled like a living thing, its ghostly wails slipping through the cracks in the building. But beneath it—beneath the storm’s fury—I heard something else.

A faint, rhythmic buzzing. My phone.

It must have slipped from my bed while I slept, and now it was vibrating somewhere on the floor, lost in the darkness. I strained to listen, feeling blindly across the wooden boards until my fingers brushed the smooth glass.

I flipped it over, squinting at the screen. John.

A cold weight settled in my stomach. My thumb hovered over the answer button for only a second before I swiped to pick up.

“John?” My voice was hoarse, the word barely audible over the static hum in the air.

For a moment, there was nothing but the howl of the storm.

Panic began to coil in my gut, tightening with each second of silence. “John, is everything alright?” I was praying this was some kind of butt dial, or that he was simply calling to check in on me.

A sharp burst of static crackled through the line, followed by a distorted mess of noise—wind shrieking, the distant clang of something metal slamming against concrete.

“—out. Power’s out—damn generators—”

I sat up straighter, gripping the phone a little tighter. Did Hosea lose power too? But why would he be calling me about it? “John, I can barely hear you. Where are you?”

The wind battered against my windows, rattling them in their frames. My heart pounded against my ribs, its rhythm matching the erratic pulse of the storm.

“—at the facility—” His voice wavered, distant, then returned in a frantic rush. “It’s bad. Real bad.”

I threw the blankets off and shot up from the bed, already reaching for my boots. So he’s not at Hosea’s, got it. Leave it to John to be at work during a damn hurricane. “What’s happening?”

More static. A low, shuddering creak echoed through the speaker, like steel under pressure.

“—system’s down—” His voice cut in and out, growing more frantic. “Aerators failed—oxygen levels—” Another sharp cut of silence. “Pumps not working.”

I cursed under my breath, fumbling in the darkness as I yanked my jacket on and scrambled for my keys. My hands shook, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a vice. If the generators were down, that meant the entire facility was in darkness—no lights, no air circulation, no cooling systems. And John… John was there alone, trying to handle it himself.

He’d be working himself into the grave, pushing through exhaustion, sweat soaking his clothes in the humid, stifling air. And if the tanks were failing—if the aeration system was down—he wasn’t just fighting to keep the lights on. He was fighting to keep everything inside that building alive.

“Hang on, John, I’m on my way. Don’t do anything stupid, wait—”

His voice broke through again, this time with a single, chilling sentence:

“They’re suffocating.”

I froze. My breath hitched. The wildlife was suffocating.

My mind raced, connecting the dots at a sickening speed. No generators meant no power. No power meant no saltwater pumps. No filtration. No oxygen cycling through the water.

In a normal aquarium tank, that would be bad. In an enclosed system as massive as the facility’s main exhibit—housing fish, sharks, rays, and other massive marine life—it would be a death sentence. Oxygen depletion would happen fast.

Too fast.

Hypoxia. It could happen within hours. A slow, suffocating death. The fish would panic first, gills flaring, their bodies slamming against the glass in erratic distress. Then tissue damage. Starved organs. Their movements slowing as their bodies failed them. Then—

I swallowed hard, forcing my spiraling thoughts to a stop.

A sharp inhale hissed through my teeth as realization slammed into me like a tidal wave.

John wasn’t just talking about the fish.

The static flared again, his voice cutting through—urgent. Desperate.

“Arthur—”

The line crackled, breaking apart into nothingness.

I clutched the phone tighter, pulse hammering in my ears. “John?” I pressed, voice rising. “John, what about Arthur?!”

But the call had already gone dead.

My mind raced as I bounded down the staircase, taking two steps at a time, barely feeling the impact beneath my feet. The last step was a blur—I half-jumped, half-stumbled, but I didn’t stop moving. I tried to remind myself—Arthur can breathe air. He’ll be okay. If things got bad, he could pull himself to a shallower part of the tank, find a pocket of safety.

But that wasn’t enough to quell the gnawing fear twisting in my gut.

Without oxygen circulation, the water would turn against him. CO₂ and ammonia would build rapidly, poisoning the very environment he called home. And Arthur—his entire life had been spent in a controlled aquatic space, monitored, maintained. What if his body needed those precise conditions? What if we had overlooked something critical?

And even if he survived physically, the psychological toll would be its own kind of torment. He would be trapped in that space, forced to witness the creatures he shared his world with convulsing, gasping, dying. The thrashing, the desperation—he wouldn’t just see it; he would feel it.

I shoved through the front doors, and the storm nearly knocked me off my feet.

Wind roared around me, a force so strong it stole the breath from my lungs. Rain pelted my skin like a relentless volley of tiny bullets, cold and stinging. I had to squint against the downpour, barely able to make out anything beyond a few feet ahead. The street was an endless expanse of blackness, the power outage swallowing every familiar landmark into a shapeless void.

My hands shook as I fumbled with the truck keys, the metal slick from the rain. I yanked the door open, using the full force of my body to fight against the wind, and threw myself inside. The moment I slammed the door shut, the world outside became muffled, but the storm still howled, rattling the windows, making the vehicle feel like a fragile bubble against something vast and furious.

I gripped the wheel, my knuckles white. I was terrified.

Of the storm. Of what I might find when I got to the facility. Of what Arthur might be enduring right now.

This was reckless. I knew that. But John was alone. Arthur could be suffering. And I couldn’t sit here, waiting, hoping, while the worst unfolded in the dark.

I had to get to them. I shoved the keys into the ignition, took a deep breath, and turned the engine over.

The roads were a nightmare.

Water pooled in deep, deceptive pockets along the asphalt, and my tires skidded more than once as I navigated the flooded streets. The rain pounded relentlessly, turning the windshield into a smeared, shifting blur, my wipers barely keeping up. Streetlights were dead, leaving only the erratic flashes of lightning to illuminate my path in harsh, fleeting bursts. Each time the sky cracked open, it revealed a scene more unsettling than the last—fallen palm trees, submerged sidewalks, waves crashing violently over the breakwater.

As I neared the facility, the ocean raged against the shore, its swollen tides rising higher than I’d ever seen, swallowing chunks of sand and hurling salt spray across the road. My chest tightened. If the storm surge got worse, the flooding would only accelerate.

Then, through the sheets of rain, I spotted John’s truck parked near the back entrance. Relief and urgency tangled in my chest. I swerved into the lot, barely throwing the gear into park before yanking the door open.

The second I stepped out, the storm slammed into me with full force. Wind tore at my clothes, rain slashed at my skin, and the ground beneath my boots felt slick with rushing water. I forced myself forward, head down, arms wrapped around myself as I fought against the gale.

By the time I reached the door and shoved my way inside, I was drenched to the bone, my breath coming in gasps. The moment I was safe from the storm, another realization hit me like a brick.

I should have brought a flashlight.

The facility was pitch black.

The only sounds were the muffled roar of the wind outside and the frequent claps of thunder that seemed to shake the whole earth. Accompanied by the slow, eerie drip of water somewhere deeper in the dark.

The beam of my phone’s flashlight cut through the suffocating darkness, barely illuminating more than a few feet ahead. The air inside the facility was thick and damp, carrying the scent of saltwater and something faintly metallic. Every step I took echoed down the empty corridors, swallowed by the creaks and moans of the building as it strained against the wind and rain hammering from outside.

“John?” My voice wavered, lost in the vast, suffocating silence.

Nothing.

The emergency lights weren’t working. That meant the backup battery system had failed too, leaving the entire place cloaked in a darkness so absolute it felt unnatural. My pulse pounded in my ears as I moved forward, the walls pressing in closer with every passing second. Shadows stretched and twisted with each flicker of my light, my own breath sounding too loud in the stillness.

A sudden groan reverberated through the ceiling, the metal framework shifting under the storm’s relentless force. I flinched, sucking in a sharp breath as a distant crash echoed somewhere deeper in the facility.

“John!” I called again, louder this time, urgency creeping into my voice. I pushed open the nearest door—a supply closet. Empty.

I turned down another hallway, checking every room I could think of—his office, the staff lounge, even the breakroom. Each one was abandoned, cold, and eerily still. The farther I went without seeing him, the more the panic gnawed at me.

A door down the hall rattled violently, the wind slamming against it from the other side. I spun toward the sound, my breath hitching as the phone’s flashlight beam trembled in my grasp.

“John, where the hell are you?” My voice cracked, frustration and fear tangling in my throat.

I was running out of places to look. If he wasn’t in the generator room or one of the main labs, then that only left one place—the tanks.

My grip tightened around my phone as I turned toward the large double doors leading to the main exhibit hall—the heart of the facility. The water filtration tanks, the viewing platforms, and, of course, Arthur’s enclosure loomed ahead.

Dread coiled in my stomach, the weight of it pressing against my chest as I stepped forward. There was no possible way he was outside. He couldn’t be. My mind began to spiral into dark places, and I fought to pull myself back.

A new fear gripped me, chilling my bones. What if he’d gone outside? What if he’d tried to check the outdoor power lines? The floodwaters had already crept dangerously close to the shoreline. If he got swept away, carried out to sea—no.

Stop.

I couldn’t afford to let my mind race ahead. There was still a whole aquarium to search. Panicking would only slow me down and it certainly wouldn’t help Arthur.

I forced myself to focus, squaring my shoulders as my heart hammered in my chest. A faint sound caught my attention—something that almost felt like instinct pulling me up the stairs. The dive locker. The very top of the facility, where divers prepared for routine cleanings, repairs, and underwater shows. The thought of him up there made my skin crawl, but it was the only place left to check.

I pushed myself faster, my legs burning as I took the steps two at a time. Sweat slicked my face, dripping down my neck, but I didn’t slow down. I needed to find him. And I needed to find him now.

I called his name again, the sound of my voice small and hoarse in the oppressive silence.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I threw open the door without hesitation. The weak beam of my phone’s flashlight sliced through the dark, illuminating the expansive space ahead. The water glimmered, reflecting the dim light in small, rippling waves. It looked strange, like a portal to something deep and unknown—an abyss that threatened to swallow everything in its path.

I moved deeper into the room, my breath shallow, chest tight. Every shadow seemed to shift, each movement amplified in the silence of the storm’s fury outside.

Then, I saw it.

A figure.

Cloaked in shadow, their silhouette outlined faintly against the water’s surface. They were frantic, their hands moving quickly, pulling on something heavy. An oxygen tank. The sound of metal scraping against metal cut through the stillness, a sharp contrast to the storm’s distant wail.

But even in the darkness, I knew who it was.

A flash of pale skin, the faint glow of scars, pink and familiar, unmistakable.

John.

My breath caught in my throat, a mix of relief and dread flooding me all at once. I took a cautious step forward, my heartbeat echoing in my ears, I had no time to waste. 

"John!" My voice came out hoarse, louder now, trembling with an urgency that made my hands shake. “What the fuck are you doing?!” 

The wind howled through the building, its voice blending with the roar of the storm outside. John didn’t hear me. His back was to me, his focus entirely on the task in front of him—strapping the oxygen tank to his back. Securing the mouth piece for him to breathe and then—

Without warning, he jumped into the water.

I froze, my heart slamming in my chest as the splash echoed across the room. The sound felt too loud, too sudden, like it had split the air. Panic ripped through me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move.

"John!" I screamed again, but the storm drowned my words, swallowing them whole. He couldn’t hear me. My phone slipped from my trembling hand, hitting the metal floor with a harsh clatter before sliding across the platform into the murky water below.

I didn’t hesitate. I bolted toward the diving stage, my legs shaky and my mind racing. What the hell was he thinking? John couldn’t swim—he’d never learned. And he certainly wasn’t certified to dive. He was throwing himself into a dark, cold ocean of uncertainty with no experience, no knowledge of how to survive down there. Taking a deadly risk on everything.

I reached the edge, my hands gripping the railing so tightly my knuckles ached. My chest was tight, panic clawing its way up my throat. I looked out at the rippling water, scanning the dark expanse, my pulse pounding. It was too dark to see him, let alone see anything in the tank. Did he have a light with him? He could bump into something, or something could bump into him.

What the fuck was he thinking?!

More importantly, what should I do? What could I do? Standing here I felt as useless as a blobfish out of water. 

I wanted to dive in after him, to drag him back to safety, but I was no diver either. I couldn’t risk both of us. And besides—if I couldn’t find him in this black water, what would I do? If he was unconscious, if he was already struggling… I’d be no better off. We would both end up dead.

Should I try to get the generator up and running? Was that even possible with the storm raging? I had no knowledge of electrical currents and power supply. But I’d seen it done before, you just pull a ripcord. How hard could it be? The air inside the building was becoming thick with heat, the lack of oxygen starting to settle into my lungs. Time was running out. It was like everything was moving in slow motion—every second stretching into eternity.

I paced back and forth, my hands shaking violently. The cold sweat on my skin clung to me, sticky and nauseating. There were so many things I needed to do, so many choices—and all of them felt like life-or-death decisions.

The air was getting heavier with each passing second, but it was hard to focus, hard to stay calm when my thoughts kept circling back to John, to his reckless jump into the water. I couldn’t lose him, not like this.

Minutes stretched into an endless haze. It was like I was trapped inside a nightmare. No light, no air, no way to call for help. I could hear my own heartbeat, feel the seconds dragging by as I stared into the murky water below, waiting for any sign of movement. Waiting for anything—anything at all—to show me that John was still alive.

And then, suddenly, I heard a sound—a faint, distant thump followed by the familiar hum of the filters. My heart leapt in my chest, but it was swallowed by the howling winds. Was that him? 

I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to do something. I turned toward the diving equipment, my hands fumbling as I tried to get the gear on. My fingers were slick with sweat, slipping against the straps and valves. It felt like everything was moving too fast and not fast enough all at once.

But what if I made it worse? What if I was too late?

I barely registered the eerie glow steadily growing beneath the water, my mind too tangled in panic, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. It wasn’t until a sudden, violent splash shattered the silence that my head snapped up, my fingers still clumsy against the buckles of the oxygen tank.

Bodies hit the platform with a sickening thud, the wet slap of limbs against the slick metal ringing through the storm-rattled air. My heart seized in my chest.

Arthur.

And beneath him, heaving, coughing, a goddamn mess—John fucking Marston.

Relief hit me first, a bone-deep rush that nearly took my knees out from under me, but it was quickly drowned by something hotter, something furious. The adrenaline that had been running through my veins since I first bolted out into the storm boiled over. I stormed toward them, my pulse still hammering from the sheer terror of thinking I was going to have to drag John’s lifeless body out of that water.

As if sensing my rage, Arthur backed away, slipping silently beneath the surface, his dark eyes lingering on me as he floated in the murky depths. I was glad to see he was okay—grateful—but right now, my fury had a singular target.

“Do you have a goddamn death wish, Marston?” I shouted over the thunder’s deafening growl, my voice shaking with the weight of all the things I wasn’t saying—I thought you were dead, you idiot. I thought I was too late.

John, of course, wasn’t the least bit fazed by my anger. He rolled onto his knees, hacking up water, and cleared his throat like he hadn’t just jumped into a pitch-black tank during a hurricane with no diving experience.

“Pumps are running,” he rasped, still catching his breath. “I can redirect the generators to keep ‘em on so they don’t fail again.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. He was shaking, his body trembling with cold, adrenaline, maybe even fear—though he’d never admit it. His lips had a bluish tint, his hands clumsy as they tried to push against the slick platform.

“Enough about the goddamn generators!” I snapped, my voice cracking from the force of it. “You could have died, John! Why the hell didn’t you wait for me?”

He let out a breath, slow and heavy, shifting onto his knees. In the dim light, I could see it clearly now—the raw exhaustion in his expression, the way his fingers curled against the platform as if steadying himself.

“We were running out of time,” he murmured, his voice rough with strain. “Without the pumps filtering the water… everything would have—”

He trailed off, his breath still uneven, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of what he wasn’t saying. I swallowed hard, my anger warring with something else. Something dangerously close to fear. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Defeated, I yanked a towel from the nearest locker and wrapped it around him as he shrugged the heavy oxygen tank from his back. John coughed again, spitting out a mouthful of saltwater before dragging a trembling hand down his face. 

"One of the main pumps was clogged," he finally said, voice raw. "I tried clearing it from the control panel, but nothing was working. The pressure was building, and if it backed up any further, the whole damn system would’ve started dumping toxins back into the tank." He looked up at me then, eyes glassy but sharp with determination. "Everything would’ve died."

I exhaled sharply, my hands tightening around the damp towel I’d just wrapped around him. I knew he was right, knew how delicate the balance in Arthur’s enclosure was. But knowing didn’t make it easier to swallow the fact that he’d risked his life to fix it.

Before I could say anything, a soft ripple caught my attention, and Arthur moved to the edge of the platform, watching us with an intensity that made my skin prickle. His dark hair clung to his face, water glistening on his skin under the glow of his veins. "He nearly drowned," Arthur said bluntly, his voice calm but edged with something deeper. "By the time he realized the tank wasn’t secured properly, he was already sinking."

My stomach twisted violently. I turned back to John, my breath catching in my throat. "Jesus Christ, John—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he cut me off, his lips pressing into a tight line. "By the time I figured out the straps were loose, I was already flailing. Damn near sucked in half the tank trying to stay afloat." He let out a humorless chuckle, but it fell flat against the weight of what had just happened.

Arthur shifted, the water lapping softly as he leaned on the edge of the platform. "I got to him just in time," he continued, eyes locked on mine. "Dragged him up ‘fore he could panic and make it worse."

A shudder ran down my spine. I wasn’t sure what terrified me more—the fact that John had nearly drowned in the dark, or the thought of what might have happened if Arthur hadn’t been there to pull him out.

I sighed, leaning back on my heels. “You got lucky, John. Abigail would’ve killed us all if something happened to you. Go home. Be with your family before this storm tries to take away what really matters.”

John let out a slow breath, his head hanging low as he nodded. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right.” He turned to Arthur, shifting the towel around his shoulders. “Thank you, Arthur….I don’t know how to—”

Arthur waved a dismissive, webbed hand. “No need. I understand, just do as the lady says. Go be with your family.”

A quiet chuckle escaped John as he pushed himself to his feet, tightening the towel around him. “You two are my family. This place… it’s my home. I’d be lost without it.”

My chest ached at the words, he had always been like family to me. But to acknowledge Arthur like that, it made my heart grow warm. He’d come such a long way. Before I could stop myself, I pulled him into a tight hug. “And we’d be lost without you. Just promise me you’ll be careful getting home. The roads are hell.”

John nodded against my shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Just gonna check the generator room one last time and grab some dry clothes from my office.” He pulled back slightly, studying me with a look of concern. “You sure you don’t wanna come back to Hosea’s with me? I don’t like the idea of you driving out there alone.”

I smiled, touched by his worry—especially after what he’d just been through. But as I glanced at Arthur, something in my gut told me I needed to stay. That I’d be safer here with him. “I’ll be alright. I think I should stay with Arthur, make sure no more pumps get clogged.” I shot him a wink, trying to keep it light.

John huffed out a laugh and pulled me in for one last hug. “Not exactly the swimming lesson I was hoping for.” He gave my shoulder a firm squeeze before stepping back. “You be safe, ya hear?”

I nodded, watching as John disappeared into the darkened corridor, his wet footsteps fading into the storm’s relentless roar. A deep sigh left my lips as I finally let myself sink onto the platform, crossing my legs beneath me. The adrenaline that had kept me moving, kept me focused, was finally wearing off. In its place came exhaustion, creeping in like the tide, mingling with the lingering relief that John was—at least for now—safe.

But even with Arthur’s presence, unease curled around my ribs. The storm was still raging outside, the building groaning under the relentless wind and rain. It was so dark in here, the only source of light coming from the gentle glow of Arthur’s bioluminescent veins, pulsing with his heartbeat beneath the skin. The water around him shimmered with the soft glow, casting strange, shifting shadows along the walls. They twisted and danced with each ripple, almost alive, taunting in the periphery of my vision.

My gaze remained fixed on the door where John had left. Would he be okay? Should I have gone with him? The roads were treacherous, barely visible even with headlights. And the thought of him driving alone in this storm, half-drowned and exhausted—

A violent crack of thunder shook the facility, so loud it felt like the sky itself was splitting open. My whole body jolted, a sharp gasp escaping before I could stop it.

I didn’t even notice Arthur moving until I felt him behind me. The platform barely creaked under his weight as he pulled himself up, his broad chest pressing against my back. Before I could say anything, two strong arms wrapped around my waist, his warmth chasing away the cold that had settled in my bones. His chin found my shoulder, his breath fanning across my neck, a steady and grounding presence against the chaos outside.

“You are afraid,” he murmured, his deep voice cutting through the storm, resonating right next to my ear. 

There was no mistaking his meaning, no way the wind could steal his words away. He was close enough that I knew, without a doubt, he was inhaling my scent. Taking in the subtle shifts in my emotions the way he always did.

I swallowed, my fingers absentmindedly grazing over the tops of his hands, feeling the slight texture of his silky skin, the way his thumbs traced slow, soothing circles against my abdomen. “Not afraid,” I whispered, though my voice wavered. “Just… worried. What’s going to be left of this place tomorrow? What if… what if John doesn’t make it home?”

Arthur exhaled a slow, steady breath, then pressed a lingering kiss just beneath my ear. The warmth of it sent a shiver down my spine, but gods, it was a welcome distraction.

“Shhh,” he rumbled against my skin, his lips brushing so softly it made my heart stutter. “You make my hearts bleed when you worry like that.” His embrace tightened, pulling me impossibly closer, as if he could shield me from the weight of my thoughts. “We cannot control the storm, only focus on what’s in front of us.”

Or behind us, I thought, exhaling as I leaned back against him, letting my head rest on his shoulder. He was such a massive presence, his body swallowing mine completely, a wall of solid strength against the uncertainty surrounding us.

Arthur let out a quiet, contented sound, something between a sigh and a low, pleased hum, his arms flexing as he drew me in. His hold was protective, steady, unshakable. And for the first time since I’d raced through the storm to get here, I let myself close my eyes, just for a moment, letting his warmth anchor me.

“Try to relax,” his voice was low, almost strained, like he was holding back something deep and primal. “You’re safe here. Safe with me.”

His hand moved agonizingly slow up my side, fingers tracing along the curve of my ribs, his palm so big that the tips ghosted over my breast. The barely-there touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I sucked in a breath, trying—and failing—to quell the growing heat pooling between my thighs.

I wanted more. Gods, I needed more of him.

Everywhere. 

I wanted him to touch me everywhere. I wanted him to slide that hand fully over my chest, to feel the way his rough but gentle thumb would tease over my hardened nipple. To know what it was like to be touched, claimed by something as wild and untamed as Arthur. I wanted his claws to tear through the thin barrier of my clothing, to leave nothing between us. These were dangerous thoughts; terrible, sinful thoughts.

There must be a special place in hell for women who looked at a creature like Arthur and imagined how he would feel between her thighs.

But fuck. These are where my thoughts are. 

I was drowning in them, so lost in the heat of my own fantasy that I barely noticed when his hand shifted, cupping my cheek with careful reverence. It wasn’t until I heard the deep, rolling timbre of his voice that reality snapped into focus.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart? What I’m doing to you in your thoughts?”

My breath caught. My body tensed, a mixture of shock and shame flickering through me like a live wire. Startled, I started to pull away, but before I could—

“No,” he whispered against my neck, his voice firm yet impossibly soft. “Don’t stop, I’m certain that whatever it is you’re imagining is something I’m enjoying immensely.”

A large, webbed hand slid down, fingers splaying wide over my belly, holding me in place. If only his hand would move a little lower…claws grazing the line of my waistband. Almost like he was teasing. The pressure of his touch grounded me, kept me from slipping away. I could feel his hearts beating against my back, steady and strong.

My pulse pounded in my ears as I swallowed hard. “S-so you can read my thoughts now too?” My voice was barely a whisper, breathless and unsteady.

Arthur chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his body, reverberating through me like a melody I never wanted to stop hearing. The fondness for him that stretched through my chest was almost painful at this point. 

“No, my love,” he murmured, his lips brushing just beneath my ear, sending a delicious shiver racing down my spine. “But when I touch you, your soul is so familiar to me. It’s as if I have known you in a hundred lifetimes before this.”

His grip on my waist tightened, fingers curling possessively, but not to restrain—to anchor.

“I feel your need calling to me, and my own… my own wishes to bury itself inside you.” His voice darkened, rich with longing, heavy with promise. “It tells me to cling to the curve of your waist, to clutch at the feeling in my chest that lingers when you’re near. My soul wishes to keep you—” his lips pressed lightly against my temple, sealing his words into my skin “—and never let you go.”

Something between us shifted then, something that had been dancing on the edge of certainty, now falling into place with an undeniable finality. And it wasn’t just the slickness between my thighs or the fire licking up my spine.

Arthur had just placed the leash to his heart in my hands.

And I knew—he would never ask for it back.

AN: I promise the next chapter is pure smut. The title is "The Point of No Return" and I think we can all guess what that implies. I have sooo many steamy ideas I just need to figure out how to put them all together. But it's gonna be fun ;) I know this was a long chapter, so I hope you don't feel too deprived of our favorite seaboy. I love John/Abigail/Jack so dearly, they deserved some one-on-one time with the reader <3

[premiumbitch]

VICTORIA SECRET ANGEL: ♡ ANGEL OPIUM: AN ADDICTION THEY CAN'T QUIT ♡ MANIFESTATION PACK ₊˚⊹♡

This is for my lovely mutual @cinnamoncilla ! basically this is a pack that includes things people might want to manifest about themselves! this is a victoria secrets themed pack ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ enjoy

♡ 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀’𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 ♡

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐬𝐞 ✧ 𝑆𝑜 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡, 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑦—𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙.

They see you on the runway, in glossy campaigns, on the cover of magazines. You exist in a world just beyond their reach—floating, shimmering, untouchable. They want to know what it’s like to be close to you, to feel the heat of your glow. But you’re always a step ahead, always just out of grasp.

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 ✧ 𝐴𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑑.

Golden skin kissed by the sun, eyes that hold galaxies, a body sculpted by the gods. You’re too flawless to be real, too divine to be human. They watch in awe, wondering if you’re even made of the same stardust as them. They swear they’ve seen you before—in dreams, in paintings, in moments of déjà vu.

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲—𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐥 ✧ 𝑎 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙, 𝑎 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑚.

You’re the kind of beautiful that stops time, the kind that makes people forget how to breathe. Heads turn when you walk into the room. They try to convince themselves you’re just another pretty face—but then you speak, and it’s game over.

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭 ✧ 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑡.

They say they’re immune, that they won’t fall like the rest. But then you laugh, a sound like champagne bubbles, and they realize they never stood a chance. You’re in their thoughts, their dreams, their every waking moment. No matter how hard they try, they can’t forget you.

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 ✧ 𝑇𝑜𝑜 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒, 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑.

You move like silk, weightless and effortless, as if the world bends to your will. They watch you, transfixed, wondering how someone like you even exists. They tell themselves they’re different, that they’ll be the one to get close. But you already know how this story ends.

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 ✧ 𝑎 𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ.

You dance through life, laughing like it’s all a game. You don’t belong to anyone, not really. They try to capture you, to claim you—but you’re already gone, leaving only the scent of perfume and the memory of your lips.

✧ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ✧ 𝐸𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒.

Some stare in admiration, some in envy. They want your confidence, your glow, the way you float through life as if nothing can touch you. Others just want to be near you, to claim a piece of your magic. But you don’t belong to anyone but yourself.

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 ✧ 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑘𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡.

Your lips taste like temptation, like late nights and secrets whispered in the dark. They think they can hold onto you, that they can keep you for themselves. But you’re a mirage, a fleeting dream. And when they wake up, you’re already gone.

✧ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 ✧ 𝑆𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐, 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒.

They look at you and see something otherworldly. Skin kissed by candlelight, a gaze that lingers in their thoughts long after you’ve left. Every detail, from the way your hair falls in effortless waves to the soft glow of your complexion, is meticulously crafted—but they’ll never know the effort behind the illusion.

✧ 𝐀 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 ✧ 𝑆𝑖𝑙𝑘𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟, 𝑑𝑒𝑤𝑦 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛, 𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑠𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑑𝑠.

Your beauty is an enigma—soft yet striking, delicate but undeniable. You float through rooms with an effortless grace, leaving behind whispers and stolen glances. They wonder how someone can look like a dream and still be real.

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐞 ✧ 𝑆𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑒—𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑎𝑤 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔.

A laugh like champagne bubbles, but a presence that commands attention. You are refined, elegant, and dangerously mesmerizing. They think they have you figured out—until you turn your gaze on them, and suddenly, they don’t know who they are anymore.

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 ✧ 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑛-𝑠𝑜𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑙𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑔𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒.

Your world is one of silk and lace, candlelight and stardust. Even in the simplest moments—sipping coffee, slipping on perfume, brushing your hair—you exist in a space untouched by the mundane. They watch, captivated, wondering what it would be like to step into your reality.

✧ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥—𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 ✧ 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦’𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑.

You were never meant to be ordinary.

[chocodile]

Hi ! I’ve been a massive fan through the years, seeing you develop Hyden and his world and how full of life and wonder and details is so awe inspiring and cool! I really love your work and your style is so vibrant and electric! It always makes me happy when I see your posts pass by

I wanted to ask if you had any advice about wanting to share your stories with the world. I get so anxious that no one will care and I’ll just be posting to no one. I don’t want fame , just mutual interaction or have people genuinely curious , hear about others stories and be able to tell my own

How did you start? I don’t want to assume , but you do have so much confidence and are very well spoken in the way you explain your lore, what helped you get over any fears or worries?

Gosh, thank you so much for the compliments! That's so sweet of you to say… it means a lot to me that people enjoy my stuff.

My thoughts on your other questions about sharing stories are long, rambling, and disjointed… apologies in advance for the length, I swear I tried to edit this down:

Regarding sharing stories, I'd say the most useful thing you can possibly have is to have at least one friend you share story stuff with who is totally on board with it and having fun too. I've been coming up with stories and characters my entire life, and only twice have I really had an audience for it. Every other time it was just me and my sister, or me and a couple friends, or me and my wife doing creative stuff semi-privately just for the joy of the craft.

(Of course, I know that's easier said than done… but if you do have creative friends, organizing some plans to share stories with each other, ask questions, create AUs where your OCs from different stories interact with each other, etc can be very psychologically nutritious.)

Regarding feeling anxious, I suppose I never felt much anxiety about it myself, so I'm not sure how to advise there… I was a teenager on Neopets where putting massive amounts of work into character stories that nobody might ever read was the norm… unless you were astronomically popular, it was expected that you would probably never hear from your audience and would never know how many people read your stories. Everything was primarily for your own entertainment, and I carried that approach forward into other creative works. Of course, it's hard not to feel a little self-conscious these days, when you can easily see what people are saying and see who is getting "engagement" and who is not... but I do think that aiming to entertain yourself (and perhaps one or two friends) first and foremost is the healthiest approach. Plus, if you are really invested in something and constantly producing lots of art and info about it, people tend to pick up on that positive energy.

Apologies if this isn't super useful... I know "just don't care and also happen to have a bunch of friends with very specific interests!" is not very helpful advice in itself.

I have many other thoughts on "launching" a story, how to meet other OC creators, and trying to build an audience who interacts with your characters... it's something I've thought about a lot. I can share my insights for others in this boat, if anyone's interested? I'm unsure if I should include them here since it might feel lecture-y to Anon (and also this post is long enough, PHEW). Let me know if you're interested in hearing them though!

[redfoxv]

Rivals to lovers is some amateur level shit.

Rivals to sisters!

[nova-rpv]

a redraw of the first drawing i posted here to celebrate the fact that ive been in tumblr for more than a whole year posting my shit and havent deleted my blog in panic yippee \:D/ (mushy rant in tags)

[torchickentacos]

The pokemon anime subreddit fascinates and frustrates me on equally deep levels

[pnsge]

"unrequited_love.png"

[patches-of-thistle]

everytime i think about thistle and like. my blog and stuff, i kinda ponder what itd be like to have white hair. and longer hair too

[fromtheseventhhell]

They're so twins-coded

[worldofgoo]

i guess i also stopped participating in the mutuals thing years ago (though obviously i do value any connections i still have thru tumblr) because of the stress of trying to get the approval of strangers / communicate an identity through blogging but i guess mostly because i dont have the time to keep up with so many people... so now i feel kind of selfish but i guess its not the end of the world

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Okay so I'm only 6 episodes into w.bg so needless to say I have absolutely no idea what to expect regarding the actual narrative arc of the show, but one thing I can say for certain is that Mike Walters is definitely a Character who makes Decisions.