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yournightmary · 11 days ago

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─── Ⅵ CHAPTER SIX: SIX

violet; 4,984 words, fluff and SMUT!!!, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, college parties, hurt/comfort (kinda), wlw, SESBIAN LEX!!!, thigh riding (both), fingering, oral (r!receiving), gays being bad at feelings, mel is Mother, jayce is the bestest wingbro ever, no "y/n"

summary: in which vi, actually, does not fuck this up.

a/n: and.... here it is!!! the grande finale :) thank you guys so much for reading and for showing this lil miniseries so much support <3 i hope the payoff was good, and #trust that this won't be the last you see of hockey!vi and figure skater!reader ! they're so dear to me and i'm already thinking of cute lil drabbles i could write in this universe but anyway -- i'm getting ahead of myself. enjoy the last chapter!!!!

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ THIS IS, VI REFLECTS as she steps into the booming base-threaded room of the sorority house, probably not the best idea. But it’s the only one she’s got, so she might as well lean in, right? Right.

Jayce cranes up to look over the sea of people before jerking his head towards the punch table with a shrug. Vi follows him, running a hand through her freshly washed hair. She thanks whatever gods are up there that she’d remembered to bring a change of clothes to the game.

“Here,” Jayce says, pressing a red solo cup into her hands.

Vi stares at it for a second before gulping it back, grimacing around the clash of liquors and half-blended mixer as it burns its way down her throat. Almost immediately, a warmth starts to buzz behind her ears and she remembers, somewhat belatedly, that she’s had nothing to eat since having two bananas and an ancient granola bar before the game.

She shakes her limbs loose and reaches out to refill her cup, but Jayce catches her hand.

She’s about to argue when he points towards a sofa halfway across the room and Vi’s eyes follow it only to find you, sitting there with a cup of your own, laughing at something someone’s saying, and it takes Vi another second to realize that the person next to you is Margot, her bleached blond hair fading into acid green tips, her snakebite piercings glinting in the dim neon lights.

Vi’s pushing through the throng of people towards you before she can stop herself, careless of the hands that thump her on the back, the congratulatory sentences, cut off by the way she pulls way, till she’s standing feet from you, and your eyes twist up to meet hers.

The smile on your lips only falters slightly, but she doesn’t miss the way your gaze flicks down the length of her body, ticking back up to her lips, where it lingers for a beat too long before she finds your eyes with her own again.

There’s a dull, pleasant ache somewhere behind her navel as she notices how much darker your eyes are the second time around.

“Hey six,” Margot drawls, shifting back and stretching out her legs, “we were wondering when you were gonna get here. But don’t worry — I was keeping your little ice minx here company for you.”

Vi purses her lips, tries not to think too hard on the fact that your knee is so close to Margot’s leg it’s almost touching.

“Uh thanks but — can I — can I get a minute?” Vi asks, jerking her head towards the kitchen, praying to the heavens that it’s empty.

You bite down on your bottom lip, but you nod and push yourself up from the couch, glancing back at Margot with tiny smile.

“Thanks for the advice,” you say.

She smirks, “Anytime, dollface.” She wiggles her fingers and winks as she catches Vi’s eyes, and Vi makes a mental note to send her a thank you text later.

Vi leads you through the party with her hand around your wrist, but by the time you reach the door leading into the kitchen, her grip’s loosened just enough for you to slip your fingers between hers. But when she tries to open the door, she finds it locked.

“What the —”

She wiggles the door knob, wondering who on earth would want to lock the door to a sorority house kitchen, and then, a melodious voice says from the other side —

“What’s the magic word?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Mel, it’s us.”

A beat of silence later, the doorknob twists and the door slips open just a silver. Mel’s bright hazel eyes appear in the crack, her lashes limned in gold as she looks at you and then at Vi, then back at you again.

“Those aren’t the magic words,” she says, though she does open the door a few inches wider, her expression smug.

You groan, crinkling your nose before you lick your lips.

“Fine, please.”

Mel’s smile widens as the door opens and Vi steps through, pulling you along after her.

Mel’s eyebrows hitch up as she catches your free arm in her delicate hand.

You give her a soft squeeze and mouth thank you. She gives the pair of you a satisfied nod before letting you go and pressing a small key into Vi’s chest.

“Do not —”

Vi nods, “Fuck this up. Yeah… I know.”

Mel gives you both a final look before slipping from the kitchen and bringing the door closed behind her. Vi stares at it for a beat, digging her thumb into the jagged teeth of the tiny key before reaching over to lock the door behind her.

You let out a soft breath, folding your arms across your chest, your shoulder shrugging up as you suddenly remember that you’re still wearing Vi’s varsity jacket.

Vi turns around and you both speak at the same time —

“Look, I’m sorry about the —”

“I shouldn’t have walked out —”

Vi purses her lips around a burgeoning smile even as you let out a tiny laugh, shaking your head.

She waves an awkward hand as you lean back against the kitchen island. Distantly, Vi remembers the way you’d sunk down on the other side just about a month ago, how later that same night she’d hoisted you up onto the countertop and kissed you till there was no more breath in her lungs left to give.

“I… I’m sorry I freaked out like that in the locker rooms…” you say, twisting your arms tighter around yourself as Vi nods, leaning back against the closed door.

“I just saw that text come in and I thought…” you swallow.

“I know, princess… it was my fault for —” she heaves a sigh, motioning haphazardly at the air, “not cutting her off sooner.”

You let out a soft laugh, “Yeah. Mel told me that she reminded Jayce to —”

“— tell me to block her. Yeah. And he did… I just…” Vi shrugs, sheepish, “… forgot.”

Your lashes flutter as your gaze cuts away from her face.

“Wow —” you say a second later, your voice threaded through with mirth, and when Vi looks back at you, it’s to find you smiling, “we’re really kinda shit at this, aren’t we?”

Vi puffs out a laugh, letting her head knock back against the door.

“Yeah… you can say that again.”

“So…” you say, fingers worrying at the hem of your little black dress.

Vi cocks her head, her eyes caught on the movement, and suddenly, heat plumes up the back of her neck at the memory of you, with your thighs slotted on either side of hers, the feel of your soft skin beneath her palms as she’d slowly worked up the hem of that very same dress.

She takes a deep, steadying breath.

“So?” she echoes.

You’re watching her with pink lips and damson cheeks.

“So… what now?”

Vi pulls an exaggerated sort of thinking-face before pushing off the door, taking the few steps forward to put herself in your personal space. She relishes in the way you gasp, lashes fluttering as your palms come up to rest against her chest, but you don’t make to push her away.

“Well, I’m not one for a lot of foreplanning but right now… I think I’d just like a do-over from the last time we were in this position.”

“Y-yeah?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as she settles her hands on your hips and digs her fingers into the plush of of your ass.

“Mhm… what’dyou think, pretty girl? That a good place to start for us?”

Your answering yes is cut short by the squeak you make as Vi hoists you up to place you on the kitchen island, her nose digging into the soft spot just beneath your jaw, breathing you in till her head spins, her thumb trailing up the soft of your thigh till you’re trembling.

“V-Vi?”

Vi pulls back just far enough to catch your eyes, and from up this close, she can see the thin trails of glitter running down your cheeks, the slight redness to your lashes that tells her you’d been crying. Guilt twists like a stitch in her side, and she bites back a sigh.

“What is it?” she asks. She watches you watching her, your eyes searching hers as if you were looking for something — a question, or an answer, or perhaps just the answering truth to the lies that both of you have been trying so desperately to tell yourselves.

You swallow, tracing a thumb across the small tattoo on her cheek; and then, you smile a smile that might just rhyme with forgiveness.

“Kiss me.”

So Vi does, the kiss itself shredding the air between you until there’s nothing left but the gut-clenching friction of her lips on yours. You gasp open for her, so beautifully that Vi almost stumbles back, but instead, she tips herself forward and pours herself into your pliant mouth. You taste like honeyed bourbon and stolen midnights, like the first breath of air on a winter’s morning or maybe just the next few decades of her entire life.

She pulls away breathless, moaning thick into the skin of your neck, hissing at the sting of your fingers curled into her hair, at the sound of your hitching gasps as she inches a hand between your thighs and swears when her fingers find you slick and wanting.

“F-fuck — Vi —”

“Holy shit —” Vi presses her face into your neck, letting her fingers slip through the folds of your wet heat, desire sparking through her veins like lightning in a gathering storm. She drops to her knees, nudging yours apart with her palm, yanking you till you’re nearly slipping off the edge of the counter, but you tug at her hair with a soft whine.

“W-wait, Vi —”

“Mm, don’t wanna wait anymore, princess — wanna taste you so bad — fuck —”

“No — Vi, please —”

She pauses then, looking up to find your eyes blown dark, your lashes fluttering like hummingbird wings as you watch her with your bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“It’s just — I don’t want our first time to be —” you motion weakly at the sorority house kitchen, your cheeks going blotchy, “and the counter’s… kinda cold and…” you drop your hand to grip the edge of the counter “… uncomfy,” you finish, rather lamely, your voice trailing off as Vi puffs out a laugh against your inner thigh, pushing herself back up with a crooked smile.

“Mm… you really are a princess, aren’t you?” Vi teases, even as she helps you off the counter and tugs down your dress for you. You pout up at her, but she rolls her eyes, grinning.

“Right, c’mon then —” she links your fingers and unlocks the kitchen door, tugging you once more into the disorienting throng of the party.

Halfway to the door though, your limbs go cold as the pair of you run smack into Caitlyn, this time sans her new ginger girlfriend.

“Vi — good, I was hoping to run into you —” she says, her eyes flickering over you for a second before it settles back on Vi.

You swallow, wondering if you should pull away, but Vi tugs you into her side and slips a possessive arm around your waist.

“Sorry, Cait — can’t really talk right now. I’ve gotta go fuck the brains outta my girlfriend — nice seeing you though — enjoy the party, go Enforcers!” she says, grinning wide as she pulls you through the rest of the way to the door, leaving Caitlyn slack-jawed and speechless behind you.

You let out an incredulous laugh as both of you stumble out of the door and onto the front porch. Vi chuckles as the door slams shut behind her, a little self-conscious even as you turn to stare at her.

“Wow… that was…” you purse your lips as Vi shrugs, tugging you back into her chest for a soft kiss.

“Impressed?”

You giggle, nodding, moaning soft against her lips as the pair of you fumble towards Vi’s car.

“I was gonna say impulsive,” you say, slipping into the passenger’s seat. Vi starts the engine and rips out of the parking space and down the street before you even have the time to properly buckle in your seatbelt.

“Yeah. Wonder who I learned that from.”

She shoots you a cheeky grin, reaching over the center console to grab a handful of your thigh, squeezing just hard enough to make you groan.

The car’s not even properly parked before the pair of you are stumbling into her apartment building, her pressing you up against the elevator wall, lips caught on the junction of your neck, her teeth sinking into your delicate skin. She takes a savage satisfaction in the knowledge that you’ll be sporting that mark for the next five to seven business days, at least.

You’re barely through her door before she’s walking the pair of you towards her room, kicking open the door and almost toppling through. You giggle as she trips over something on her floor and fumbles for the light switch, flicking it on as light spills into her messy bedroom, the walls papered in posters — everything from bands to hockey stars to what looks like an outdated bikini-model calendar.

Your eyebrows kick up as you take in the scene, an amused grin playing at your lips

“Oh wow…” and there’s a lilt in your voice that makes Vi’s face go hot. She regrets not at least cleaning up the laundry on her bed as she shoves it off onto the floor with an arm.

“What? Not up to your standards, princess?”

You purse your lips, delicately picking your way across the room to plop down on her unmade bed.

“Y’know, I think that first frat house room might’ve been cleaner.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Your grin goes slanted as you toe off your heels and inch back onto the bed, your legs spreading just a bit wider. Vi’s breath goes still in her chest as you lean back slightly on your arms, your head cocking slowly to one side.

“Is that a promise, six?”

Vi groans, yanking her shirt from her back with a single hand, tossing it somewhere behind her, her fingers fumbling with her belt, kicking off her pants as she crawls onto the bed towards you.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ, princess —”

Your lashes flicker as she pushes up the hem of your dress, letting out a low breath as she finally sets eyes on you, a curse puffing out of her as she reaches down to slick two fingers between the puffy lips of your sodden pussy.

You let out a soft whimper, your head lolling back, but when she lifts her head to look at you, it’s to find you watching her with dark, lidded eyes.

“I-I’ve always wondered… how’d you pick your number? Is it like… a ranking system o-or — ah — like — on a ten-point scale o-or — mmngh —”

Vi hums, watching your lashes feather across your cheek as she flicks her thumb around your throbbing clit, her blood a spring-water rush behind her ears as she feels you jerk beneath her.

“We really gotta do something about that mouth of yours, princess…” she murmurs before tugging her hand from between your legs and pressing her slick fingers to your lips. You mouth falls open just as easily as she remembers, and she has to swallow down another thick groan as you suck her fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirling around them to collect the taste of your own juices from her skin.

Your eyes flash open to meet hers, and the contact jolts right through her to her own aching cunt.

“Sweet fuck, pretty girl — I — I thought you said you’d never done this shit before?”

A tiny frown flickers across your forehead before you roll your eyes, giving her fingers a good hard suck before pulling back to lick your lips, sitting up slightly to tug her forward.

“I said I’d never really been on a date before — not that I’ve never had sex before.”

A startled breath stitches from Vi’s chest as you flip the pair of you till you’re straddling one of her muscular thighs, your own thigh pressing up between her legs to rub deliciously against her aching pussy.

She hisses out a breath as you roll your hips down over her leg, moaning low in your chest, your head falling back, the dress you’re wearing still rucked up at your waist.

“Those post-Gala parties can get… a little wild…” you say distractedly, picking up a slow rhythm, grinding down against her, your wetness slicking along her skin, making the most toe-curling noises every time you rock your hips forward and back.

Vi groans, reaching up to help you pull the dress off, her mind going fuzzy at the sight of your perfect tits, bouncing out of the tight black dress, your nipples hard and pebbling in the cool air of her room.

“F-fu-fuck that’s hot —” she says, leaning up to suck a nipple into her mouth, teasing her teeth over the sensitive flesh, grinning at the way it makes your hips stutter. She can’t help the quick little jerks of her own hips against your thigh as well, slotted along her clothed cunt, her boxers now well and soaked through.

“Vi — Vi —” you whine, the sound going straight to her clit as you rock down against her, your fingers reaching down to tug her closer.

“Y-yeah? Tell me, princess — wh-what do you want?”

She groans as you shift and your thigh presses harder against her, your own cunt squelching messily over her leg.

“Want — wanna ride your fingers —”

“Oh shit, yeah?” she swallows, adjusting back as you lift your hips up, “want my fingers inside you? How many d’you think you can take, princess? Hm?”

She pauses when she feels you scrabbling at the waistband of her boxers, a tiny laugh puffing from her at the pout on your face.

“Off,” you say, almost petulantly, as Vi shifts her own hips to jerk them off her legs, tossing the to one side.

“There, happy?”

You grin, sinking back over her thigh, looping your arms around her shoulders as she shifts her right hand beneath your sopping cunt and teases two fingers around your entrance.

“You never answered my question, sweet girl — how many fingers, hm?” she asks, even as you whine.

“Don’t — dunno — just — just wanna feel you inside me — please —”

Vi hums, watching your face as pleasure twists across your features.

“Then count for me — yeah? Can you do that?”

You nod, eager and desperate, and Vi chuckles, because she’s not sure if you even know what you’re agreeing to anymore. She pushes a finger passed your soaked folds and immediately feels you clench around her, the pressure making her own cunt squeeze. She hisses out a breath, rocking you down over her, shifting her hips to rut up against your leg.

“O-one —” you gasp, lifting your hips up to drop them back down again, your fingers digging into her skin of her back.

“More?” she asks, as you bounce a couple more times, and you nod, just as fervent as the first time, if not more so. She chuckles, “alright then —”

“T-two — oh — oh.”

She sinks another finger into you and revels in the way you keen, loud and high in the back of your throat, your head tossing back as you start to ride her fingers proper, your hair tumbling down around your shoulders. She reaches up with her free hand to fist a handful into her palm, yanking back slightly to bare your throat to her, groaning when she leans forward to suck another hard bruise into the skin of your collarbone.

“M-more — more Vi — want — want you to stretch me out — fuck — mm —”

“Fuck — shit — yeah? Want me to fuck you loose? That it?”

Vi’s head spins and she feels nearly delirious with want as she pushes a third finger into you, watching as your mouth falls open around a silent moan, your whole body shuddering around her. You’re so wet, so tight, and the growing ache between her own legs is starting to reach a fever pitch as she shamelessly rucks against your thigh, still slotted between her own.

“Yes, yes — fuck — Vi wanna — want you to stuff me full — fuck, fuck, fuck —”

“Shit, princess — so fuckin’ nasty — so needy —”

You nod, bouncing yourself so hard and fast that Vi has to take a second to marvel at how strong your legs are. She thanks the heavens for the innate athleticism required for figure skating before her thoughts smear into a crackling mess of pleasure as you inch your hand into the space between her cunt and your legs — your fingers pressing messily between her folds.

“Vi, Violet — can I — wanna feel you — want y-you to feel good too —”

Vi nearly loses it then, nodding, spreading her own legs wider to give you more access as you work three fingers into her sloppy cunt with no warning.

“F-fuck!”

You curl your fingers and Vi swears she starts to see stars.

“Y-yeah? Feel good?”

Vi nearly whimpers as she feels you pump your fingers up into the tender bundle of nerves inside her, her own fingers squelching noisily as you fuck yourself down on them. It’s all too much, and before she knows it, the tension in her stomach is snapping like a thread, her cunt pulsing around your fingers as her orgasm shakes through her, white pops of pleasure sparking behind her eyes.

“Mm — holy shit — oh my god… fuck —” she gulps down air, blinking her eyes as the shape of you comes back into focus above her, the buzzing inside her head still ringing with the aftermath of her high. She notes, vaguely, that you’re smiling down at her, a second before you lean down to press your lips to hers in a sweet kiss.

Vi hums into the kiss, her breath hitching slightly as she feels you pull your fingers from her. And when you pull back to pop them into your mouth, she feels another shudder work through her. Somewhere in the back of her head, there’s a small voice chanting holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck how did I get so lucky? over and over again till it becomes the baseline thrum that drives her to lean up, pushing you down onto your back with a hazy, indulgent smile.

“C’mere, princess — as much as I love watching you ride me —” she inches her way down your body, trailing a few kisses down your chest, pausing to circle her tongue around your nipples just to make you arch up into her. She drops a few lingering kisses down the line of your abs, before puffing a hot breath over your throbbing clit, her fingers spreading your dripping cunt lips open.

She swallows, groaning to herself.

“I’ve been dreaming about tasting you for weeks.”

You let out a soft whine above her, and she feels your fingers sinking into her hair. She glances up and marvels at the sight of your body, laid bare like this above her mess of sheets, writhing for her as she finally drops her mouth to you, licking a long strip along your slit, her eyes nearly rolling back at the taste of you soaking her tongue.

“A-ah! Vi!”

It doesn’t take long after that, a few good, hard sucks on your clit, and her pushing three fingers back into you, and you’re coming apart for her, your thighs shaking as you whine and jerk and gasp your way through your orgasm, Vi fucking you through it slow, leaning up to press a kiss to your shoulder as your breaths start to even out and your lashes flicker open again.

“Hey there, princess,” she grins.

You’re still a little breathless, but you pull her down for another long kiss, tracing her jaw with your thumb.

“Hey,” you answer, pulling away.

Vi chuckles, slumping down on to the bed next to you to stare at the pebbled ceiling. The warmth of her old Christmas lights casting everything in a soft, diffused glow. She feels you shift and tuns to find you looking at her, your cheek pillowed on your arm.

She shifts to mirror your position, reaching out a hand to stroke your cheek.

You catch her hand with a smile, wrapping your fingers around hers as you say —

“Six. I get it now.”

Vi frowns. “What?”

You splay your palm over hers, touching the tip of her pointer finger with yours as you start to count.

“One, two, three —” you say, a mischievous grin twisting your lips as you point to her middle and ring finger, before pointing to your own hand, “four, five, six,” you finish, wiggling the three fingers that had so recently been shoved into her throbbing cunt.

Vi stares at you for a solid few seconds before she shoves her face into her pillow and screams.

“Oh my god — get the fuck outta here!” but she surfaces laughing, and you’re laughing too, and the sound is so intoxicating, so mind-numbingly lovely that she thinks if she could, she’d grind your laughter into powder and get high on the lines of your smile.

She inches forward to pull you closer, tucking you into her chest.

“You’re insane, you know that?” she asks, pressing her lips to your forehead as you giggle. You wiggle your arms around her middle till your bodies are pressed curve for curve, skin to skin. And you settle against her as if you were always made to be there to begin with.

“Mm, been told a few times…” you murmur, your voice soft.

A tiny clink jars both of you from your post-orgasmic stupor, and you both pull back, only to find your necklaces linked — the pendants stuck together with a pair of tiny magnets set at the point of each teardrop, so small that Vi hadn’t noticed when you’d first given it to her.

“Oh, I didn’t get to show you this back in the locker rooms but…” you reach up to tug the two pendants apart before letting them snap back together.

“The necklaces come as a pair and they link together like this —” you show her the two pendants, the shape something like an hourglass or the two rabbit ears of a perfectly tied bow.

“That’s cute, but… what’s it supposed to be? A time-turner thing?” Vi pushes herself up on an elbow to try and get a better look.

You shake your head, pouting slightly.

“Nope! Well, I mean, it’s sold as an infinity symbol cause —” you roll your eyes, “forever and all that crap —”

Vi smirks, “Oh yeah. That crap.”

You shoot her a look before continuing, your cheeks burning, “But… it reminded me of a figure eight. You do those in hockey too, right?”

Vi nods, “Yeah, they’re drills that we run. Pretty basic.”

You nod, “And in figure skating, we used to have these mandatory figures we’d have to skate to demonstrate our edge control — hence the name figure skating. Amara still makes us do them, because she’s old fashioned as all hell, but I just thought… it was kinda nice… for the two of us…” your voice trails off as you drop your hand and the two pendants hang, suspended between the pair of you with nothing but their own magnetism.

Vi licks her lips, “Yeah… it is nice.”

She leans in, tilts your head up for a kiss, but you tug back just an inch.

“Vi…?”

“Hm? What is it?”

You blink up at her, a flash of uncertainty flickering behind your eyes as you glance down at her lips.

“We’re… we’re dating now… right?”

Vi stares. And stares. And then, she pulls back with a dramatic groan.

“Oh my god, you did not just seriously hit me with the what are we after we’ve just fucked each other into another dimension, after I’ve been wearing the necklace that you gave me, the one that matches your necklace —”

You scramble forward to push Vi down, yelping.

“Okay! Okay — I’m sorry! It’s just —”

Vi raises her eyebrows, pinning you with a look even though you’re perched above her, your hands clamped over her wrists.

“Neither of us ever properly asked the other one out, and — and I know you said girlfriend in front of Caitlyn back at the party but —”

“Hey princess?”

You break off, blinking as she pushes up and settles you over her lap.

Vi smiles, tugging your chin towards her.

“Will you go out with me?”

The smile that breaks across your lips is so pretty, so tooth-achingly sweet that Vi thinks she just has to lean forward and taste it.

So, she does.

You nod, breathless even as she chases your lips, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

“Yes — yes… I will.”

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yournightmary · 13 days ago

Text

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER FIVE: DON'T HATE THE PLAYERS

violet; 5,460 words; fluff, suggestive content, drama, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, smau-intermissions, miscommunication, fake dating, lesbian situationships rly hit diff, toxic ex!cait, simp!vi, rival!sevika, inappropriate use of locker rooms, vi is down so horrifically bad its kind of sad tbh

summary: in which instagrams are posted, texts are sent, hockey games are played, and you try your best to make it back in time to gie vi her present.

a/n: a lot of things happen here. LOL but i promise they're not all bad! ALSO. the insta post picture IS NOT PERFECT but it was the best i could do. and i didn't have time to commission an artist to draw the exact image that i wanted :( but i hope it at least gives the vibe of the post. and... it starts getting frisky here so... yall have been warned!

< table of contents

��── Ⅵ "OH SHIT, she said that?”

Vi grunts, rolling her eyes as she drops the deadlift bar with a loud thunk, flicking her belt off with her thumb.

“Yeah. I told her to fuck off.”

“Atta girl!” Jayce says, thumping her on the shoulder. Vi casts him a disgusted look.

“If you value your future offspring, Talis, never call me that again.”

Jayce laughs, reaching down to help Vi put the weights back onto the rack.

“I honestly thought it was gonna take much longer for you to, y’know —”

Vi pauses before straightening to pin him with a look.

“What? You thought I’d super hung up on her or something?”

Jayce shrugs, “Well, yeah. You seemed pretty deep in it when you two were together so…”

Vi sighs, carding a hand through her sweat-slicked hair.

“I mean, I was, but… I dunno… seeing her with that new girlfriend of hers… and just… her reaching out to try and — what… sabotage my…” Vi bites back the word ‘relationship’ so she just makes a vague sort of gesture and continues, “really kinda put things into perspective for me.”

Jayce hums thoughtfully, “Yeah, but that Nolen girl’s no joke either. Her whole family’s been in the military — her dad’s some sort of war hero, and her mom’s the daughter of a politician, I think.”

Vi casts him a sidelong glance before scoffing, “Wow. Mel really did her research, huh?”

At this, Jayce jerks up, sputtering, “Well — she just — you know — her family’s also — I —”

Vi laughs, waving him off, “Whatever dude… but I already knew all that — why d’you think Caitlyn even ditched me in the first place?”

Jayce frowns, “Wasn’t it… because her mom didn’t approve of you or something like that?”

“Yep. We had one dinner together, and her mother made it very clear that she didn’t think someone of ‘my elk’ was worthy of being with her daughter. Apparently, having an adoptive father who owns a local watering hole and coaches college hockey isn’t the exact pedigree she’s looking for.”

Jayce lets out a low whistle.

Vi grabs a dumbbell for bicep curls.

“And… it seems like Caitlyn really look her mother’s words to heart. Cause a few weeks later… well, you know the rest.”

Jayce sighs, “That’s… unfortunate. But hey, look on the bright side. Without Cait’s mom, you would’ve never had the chance to date an Olympic athlete, right?”

Vi’s mouth twists into a half-grimace as she puffs out a breath and flexes her arm up, her eyes focused on her form in the mirror.

“Yeah well — not sure what exactly we are right now so… who knows.”

Jayce folds his arms, “Give her time. I haven’t known her as long as Mel has but she’s still a really good friend and…” Jayce allows himself a tiny, slanted grin as Vi pushes through her reps, “Mel wasn’t lying when she told you that we’ve never seen her like this with anyone else before.”

Vi finishes her first set with a loud exhale, glancing up at him.

“Don’t go getting my hopes up like that, pretty boy,” but she’s smiling when Jayce bends down to hand her a bottle of Gatorade, “hasn’t anyone told you it’s not good manners to toy with a girl’s feelings?” she pitches her voice up at the end, wiggling her fingers through the air even as Jayce rolls his eyes.

A few minutes later, Jayce frowns as he turns back to Vi.

“You’ve blocked her number, right?”

Vi huffs, still counting beneath her breath, “— twenty-two, twenty-three — who? What? — Twenty-four —”

“Caitlyn’s.”

Vi grunts, straining through a few more reps before stopping to glance up at Jayce.

“No. Why? Should I?”

Jayce licks his lips, frowning slightly.

“Yeah. Might be a good idea.”

Vi shrugs, “Yeah. I’ll do it later.”

Jayce nods, “Good. Alright — abs, lets go.”

You’re antsy all the way to the airport, checking your phone every four seconds, your knee bouncing even as the cab driver pulls up into the terminal and opens the trunk to grab your bag with a smile.

You bolt through the doors, thanking the heavens that the TSA Pre line is nearly empty.

Just as soon as you get through security, Mel calls.

“Have you got it?” you ask, without even saying hello.

Mel sigh, “Yes, yes, but it won’t do much good if you’re not here to give it to her —”

“I know! I know — I’m at the airport, and just got through security. Are you and Jayce —”

“I’ll come pick you up at the airport — thank god it’s only 16 minutes away from campus.”

“And you’re sure we’ll still make it on time for the game?”

“So long as your flight doesn’t get delayed —”

“It won’t.”

Mel laughs, the sound soft as you speed-walk your way through the terminal, slumping down next to your designated one with a long breath.

“Alright then, darling. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Mel says.

You make a loud kissing noise into the speaker and hang up, your fingers automatically flicking through the open windows till you come to yours and Vi’s text history.

You grin down at it stupidly for a few more seconds before jolting out of your seat as one of the gate agents comes to shake your hand and help you board first. As you sink into the wide, business-class seat, you close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Your fingers fiddle with a thin gold chain around your neck and you bite back another grin.

You tug out the small teardrop locket dangling from the chain and flick open the clasp. Inside is nestled a single violet flower, pressed and perfect, preserved behind a thin pane of shimmering glass.

Vi makes a round of the rink, scanning the crowd with furrowed brows.

Nope. Nope. Nope…

She swears silently to herself, rolling her shoulders as the crowd roars.

You promised you’d be here tonight.

“And tonight, we’ve got our season’s top two favorites for the NCAA’s Frozen Four Championship — the Piltover Enforcers, and the Zaunite Barons!”

Vi grins as the stadium positively shakes with applause. It’s always nice playing on home-ice. Across the rink, she can see the huge, lumbering shapes of the Barons, and her jaw clenches as she catches Sevika’s eye.

They’d been something like childhood friends once upon a time. But after a falling out of meteoric proportions, they’d settled somewhere between grudging acquaintances and mortal enemies. Where they land on the scale on any particular day typically depends on the weather, the orbital tide height, and whether or not Mercury is currently in retrograde.

Though judging by the smirk that’s visible from beneath Sevika’s helmet, Vi thinks it’s nearing the mortal enemies end of the spectrum today.

All the players line up for the face off.

Vi bites down on her mouth guard and smacks her stick against the ice. Sevika skates up to her, bending down so close their helmets clack.

And for a brief, interminable second, Vi thinks Sevika’s going to stay quiet. But the moment passes and Sevika chuckles, the sound low and hoarse and utterly derisive. It sets Vi’s teeth on edge even before the first word leaves her mouth.

“Heard America’s snowflake-sweetheart’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“Tch. What’s it to you?” Vi’s eyes flash up.

Sevika’s smirk has morphed into a full blown grin, sharp as freshly turned blades.

She shrugs, keeping her voice low as the official says something or other to both the teams.

“Well… just a lotta people buzzin’ online about her perfect skate at her competition this past weekend and I’m just thinkin’… man… you must not be fuckin’ her right —”

“You —” Vi nearly jerks up, but Sevika presses in just a bit tighter and Vi grounds her teeth down over the mouth guard.

“Cause if you lemme **take her for a spin, you can bet your scrawny ass that she won’t even be able to stand up straight, let alone skate clean.”

The puck hits the ice as if in slow motion; Vi feels a white-hot anger mixed with something very much like hurt surging up the length of her spine as she watches Sevika’s stick make contact with the puck first. But she doesn’t care — she slams her body forward and feels her shoulder check into Sevika’s chest as they both go sprawling across the ice and the puck goes wide.

They scramble up and take off after the puck, now in Zaunite possession, Sevika’s shoulder ramming reflectively into Vi’s as they jostle down the length of the rink.

Vi cracks her shoulder back into Sevika and the momentary gap is all she needs to break away, circling wide behind the goal. Someone shouts Reverse! and Vi feels more than sees the tiny black puck make contact with her stick. Her body moves on instinct, and she’s halfway down the rink before the others catch up to her.

She allows herself a single, tight-lipped grin before someone slams into her back with the force of a speeding firetruck. The world spins, but a second later, Vi hears the unmistakable sounds of Sevika’s heaving breaths.

“Ha. Aren’t you glad your little girlfriend isn’t here to see you eat shit?”

Vi flips around and before she knows it, she’s swinging her left arm into Sevika’s helmet, knocking it askew.

“Vi!”

Vi’s whole body seizes at the sound of your voice, and she looks up wildly, but she pays for it a moment later as Sevika’s fist connects with her jaw and her head snaps back. She brings her elbow down against Sevika’s extended arm, her free hand grappling to keep Sevika’s head shoved against the ice.

A whistle blows and they shove apart, shaking their heads and spitting blood. Vi tastes iron on her tongue and winces as she rotates her jaw. There’ll be a nasty bruise, but it’s not dislocated, and Vi’s suffered much worse at Sevika’s hands.

Half a foot from her, Sevika is shaking out her arm, looking murderous as the official comes up to point them towards the penalty box.

Vi looks around, and halfway across the rink, she sees you, your eyes wide, your hands pressed over your mouth, Mel and Jayce sitting next to you, both looking worried. But you’ve got dark streaks painted on your cheeks, and it takes her a second to recognize the large “VI” written there — her number, her name.

The world melts around her as she meets your eyes, and you look so worried that she almost laughs. This is nothing, she wants to say, you ain’t seen nothing yet, princess.

But the second is short lived as the official skates over and jerks his head towards the penalty box. She sighs, begrudgingly skating over and settling herself as far away from Sevika as humanly possible as the clock starts on their five minutes.

When all’s said and done, the game is a good one — with the final score of 3-2 in Piltover’ s favor. Sevika gets another penalty, but Vi manages to keep her cool. And by the end, everyone’s sweaty and tired, but riding high, and Vi can’t help the way she once more scans the cheering crowd for your face.

But, you’re not there. The seat next to Jayce and Mel is empty, and Vi can’t help the clawing, hollowing sensation that burrows up her chest from the base of her stomach.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Margot teases, bumping Vi as they all clamber off the ice.

Vi narrows her eyes, “What’dyou mean?”

Margot only grins, shooting Vi a wink before following the rest of the team towards the lockers.

Her phone buzzes and Vi glances down, only to see a single line of text from you:

come to the figure skating lockers. i’ve got a present for you.

Electricity zings up Vi’s limbs as she pivots hard left and makes her way down the heavily padded hallway towards the figure skating lockers, tugging off her gear as she goes. By the time she gets there, she’s managed to get most of her upper pads off, shucking them outside the door, leaving her in her loose jersey and pants.

She pushes through the thick metal door into the figure skating lockers. They’re smaller, brighter, and generally cleaner than the hockey team lockers. Vi’s never thought herself a stickler for things like nicer locker rooms but stepping in, she can’t help the way that her eyebrows shoot up.

“Whoa.”

“They’re not all this nice.”

Vi whips her head around so fast she almost gets a crick in her neck at the sound of your voice. And there — standing next to the far row of pure white lockers, with your hands behind your back and her number (her name still painted on your cheek), you.

“Yeah?” she asks, even as she drops her helmet on the thickly padded floor and shuffles forward in her skates. She takes her time looking you over — and objectively, she knows it’s only been a few days since she’d last seen you, but it feels like forever, the way time stretches endless when you’re a little kid on the playground and eternity is just another thing you can take for granted.

You purse your lips around a shy grin and Vi almost groans as she notices the bright pink ribbon tied around your neck like a choker. You’re wearing the little black dress that you’d worn to that sorority party, the one that’s been the subject of one too many of her dirty daydreams — her varsity jacket slung around your shoulders.

“Sweet god, princess… is this the present you have for me? Please tell me it is —”

You let out a soft puff of exasperated laughter.

“No! I mean —” your eyes cut away as you shift your weight from one foot to another, falling back half a step as Vi takes a few steps closer. “I-if you want it to be — this can be — uhm — an additional present —”

“Mm… I don’t think I want any other present if I’ve got this one —” Vi says, inwardly thanking the heavens that she’d kept her skates on as they give her a few more inches as she corners you against a row of snow-white lockers, so bright they’re almost blinding.

“I — well that’s —”

“Mm… cat got your tongue, princess?” Vi asks, reaching up to tug your chin back towards her as you try to glance away.

You suck in a short breath, your lashes fluttering as you meet her gaze with yours — dark to light, amber and ice.

There’s adrenaline coursing through her system, and Vi knows she’s still riding high off the win, off the knowledge that you’re here, and that you’re here for her. She looks you over with reverent eyes, her gaze lingering on the dark paint now slightly smeared across your cheeks in a large “VI”.

“I… I got this for you a while back…” you say, pressing something into her chest. Vi pauses, glancing down to see a small black box wrapped in a length of bright pink ribbon the exact same make and color as the one around your neck.

Vi falls back a step to take the box in her hands, turning it over.

“What is it?”

You shrug, a tiny, bird-like movement. Sweet and almost daring.

Vi grins as she traces a finger along a single ear of the perfectly tied bow.

“Can I?” she asks.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

Vi tugs on the ribbon and it comes loose with a whisper. She opens the box to reveal a simple, teardrop locket set on a golden chain. She picks it up, letting the locket dangle from her fingers.

“Go on, open it,” you prompt, looking both bashful and eager. Vi gives you one more glance before fumbling open the locket to reveal a single snowflake, carved into the thick glass set into the middle of the locket.

“Oh.” Vi breathes, her voice nothing but a whisper. She stare at the locket, at the simplicity and delicacy of it. And then, she looks back up at you.

“It’s — Mel and Jayce helped me pick it — I didn’t know if you even wore stuff like this but —”

“I’ll wear it,” Vi says, letting the pendant drop into the palm of her opened hand. She offers it to you with a lopsided grin. “Can you help me put it on?”

You nod, a bit breathless, even as you take the locket from her and undo the clasp with trembling fingers. Vi grins as she leans in to let you fasten the chain around her neck, reveling in the tiny kiss of cold metal against her sweaty skin as she pulls back.

“So? How’s it look?” she asks.

You stare at the locket, and then up at her, and she swears she can see your eyes go molten.

“It looks… good.”

“Good,” Vi whispers, reaching up to finger at the tiny pink bow still tied around your neck. You suck in a breath, going still against her as she ghosts her breath along the long column of your neck. And she thinks she can almost hear the sound of your heart pounding against your ribcage by the way your pulse flutters in your neck — she sure as hell can feel her own traitorous heart thundering away in her chest as she glances from the bow around your neck up to you and back down again.

“Can I?” she asks again, though this time, her voice is gentle, imploring, something like a plea as opposed to question.

She revels in the way your pulse flutters beneath the bright pink of the satin.

“Y-yeah —” you say, your own voice a harsh scrape of sound over a burgeoning need that Vi can almost taste on her tongue. But, she wants to take her time with you, she thinks, so she trails her fingers up to your neck and teases at the rabbit ears of the butterfly bow before tugging one end loose. And just like before, the ribbon gives way much too easily, and something gold shimmers as it drops from beneath the pink satin.

She stares.

It’s a gold chain identical to the one around her neck, with a teardrop pendant strung from it that mirrors her own.

This time, when she glances up, her eyes are wide, almost disbelieving.

Your throat bobs as you clench your fingers at your sides, resisting the urge to lift your hands and help her.

“What…” her voice trails off, disbelieving.

You lick your lips. “Go on — open it.”

Vi nearly fumbles the locket twice before she gets it open, and her short intake of breath is the only sign you get that she’s seen what’s inside. You hold your own breath, watching her face as it flickers through a film-frame series of emotions.

“Is that —” her voice is hoarse; she clears her throat, running a thumb over the glass.

“Yeah,” you say, reaching up to take the open pendant from her, glancing down at it yourself, heat pricking into your cheeks as your eyes settle on the pressed violet.

She’s kissing you before either of you can say another word, and the force of it nearly slams your head back into the lockers but Vi’s hand is somehow there to cushion you, her fingers digging into your hair as you gasp open for her wanting mouth. It’s not a sweet kiss and there’s nothing gentle in the sting of her nails raking against your scalp as she presses you close, and then closer.

It’s a clash of teeth and tongue, skin and sound — your tiny, surprised squeak eclipsed by the low moan that reverberates from her chest to yours as she licks into the hot cavern of your mouth and feels you soften against her — sweet as sun-warmed honey.

“F-fuck princess —” Vi hisses, pulling back with a panting breath as you let your head fall back, gasping for air even as she yanks you towards her till both of you are toppling onto one of the long benches, your legs falling open to straddle her thighs, her hands poised over the round of your hips.

You look down at her, running your thumbs along her cheeks eyes flickering over her face — and the admiration caught behind the fractured glass of your eyes is so obvious that Vi almost turns away, embarrassed. Instead, she leans up to nose into the triangle of your threading pulse, delighting in the shiver that chases down the shape of you, in the involuntary way your thighs squeeze on either side of hers.

She grins, inching her fingers beneath the hem of your little black dress, groaning as she finds the winged hollows of your hipbones and realizes, half a breath later, that you’re not wearing any panties.

“Holy shit — w-were you like this the whole game?” she asks, her eyes going wide with awe.

You bite your lips, cocking your head to one side as you reach up to brush away a strand of hair from her forehead.

“No…” you say, but your voice trails off and you glance towards the side. She follows your gaze to the left, only to find your bookbag sagging against one of the far lockers. A smirk twists her lips as her eyes slingshot back to you.

“Oh wow… so…” she drawls, trailing her fingers ever so slowly up the bare skin of your hips, hitching the hem of your tight black dress further and further up till it’s barely covering what she now knows is your bare cunt.

“You came in here and took them off… just for me?” she bats her lashes at you, her skylight eyes going dark and liquid as she watches you fidget above her. Your tongue swipes across your bottom lip and Vi has to physically bite back a moan.

“Maybe I did — what of it?”

Vi’s smirk stretches as she reaches up to tug your face down towards hers, so close you can taste her breath dissolving on your tongue like sugar into tea.

“Princess…” she says, and her voice is so thick with desire it might’ve been spread there with a butter knife, “I thought… you wanted to take things slow.” Her fingers have successfully rucked your dress up high enough for it to gather at your waist, though she keeps her eyes on yours and makes no move to take advantage of the fact that you’re now entirely naked from the waist down.

You shrug up a single shoulder.

“Right… but I also remember telling you that I’m not the best with impulsivity…”

Vi laughs, the sound bright and honest. You giggle, pursing your lips, your cheeks tinted such a darling shade of crimson that Vi doubts rosy-fingered dawn would’ve had the power to eclipse it.

“Good,” she says, reaching up to cup your face with both her hands, bringing you down to tease her lips over yours, her words soft and indulgent, “cause honestly, I’ve never been the best with that either.”

She’s about to kiss you again, content to lose herself in the intoxicating drag of your lips on hers, but a text message alarm blips from her pants pocket and it jars the both of you from your desire-induced trance.

You blink, a slight frown creasing your forehead as she reaches into her hockey pants and digs out her phone. You sit back slightly as Vi clicks on her screen to see a slew of notifications dating back till god knows when, but the latest is sent from a few seconds ago and only reads:

New iMessage from cupcake 🧁

“What the —” Vi frowns.

But a second later, you’re pushing off her lap, and Vi catches a glint of the hurt in your eyes before you’re tugging down your dress and wrapping your arms around yourself.

“That’s Caitlyn, right?” you ask, your voice tenuous.

And for a second, Vi seriously considers lying to you, telling you that it’s someone else — that it’s Powder or even one of the girls from the hockey team, but she sees the fractured look in your eyes and knows that she can’t.

“Y-yeah — it is but —”

You suck in a deep breath, your fingers twisting in front of you even as Vi pushes up from the bench to try and reach for you. You jerk away, your back hitting the lockers with a loud clang that set’s Vi’s teeth on edge, even as she clenches her fist and drops her arm.

“No, it’s — it’s fine,” you say, making your swift way to your bag and snatching it up, digging around for your phone before shouldering the straps and rounding the benches again. And maybe it’s the sheer desperation curling up her chest, or the fact that the name had just come up on her screen but when she opens her mouth again, Vi says the worst possible combination of words —

“Wait, cupcake —”

You physically flinch at the pet name and Vi squeezes her eyes shut with sigh. Fuck.

When she opens her eyes again, you’re by the locker room door, your hand poised on the handle. You shoot her a single, broken backwards glance before pulling it open and slipping away.

Vi stands there, held still by the oppressive silence and the bleached-white metal all around her. She’s frozen for a single second longer before she swings her fist into the row of lockers next to her and pain ricochets up her arm from her knuckles, and her fingers pull away, already bruised.

“Fuck!”

Your fingers are shaking so badly it takes you three tries before you manage to punch the call button on Mel’s speed dial. She picks up after a single ring.

“Hey there, darling — well that was quick — we’re all heading to the after party if you —”

“Mel — c-can you come and p-pick me up?”

Mel goes quiet, and then —

“Darling? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“N-Nothing I just — can you come pick me up?” you hiccup halfway through your sentence, wiping at the fat, traitorous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

Distantly, you can hear Mel saying something and Jayce’s voice answering back. A moment later, she’s back on the line.

“I’ll come get you, but you have to tell me what’s wrong. Why’re you crying? Did Vi do something?”

“No — it’s — it’s nothing — I just d-don’t feel very good —”

Mel sighs, “Alright then, stay where you are and I’ll come get you. I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Yeah — t-thanks Mel.”

You hang up the phone and dart into the nearly abandoned parking lot, the crowds have long since dispersed, leaving you thankfully alone. You slump against the outer wall of the rink and suck in a deep, shuddering breath, reaching up to rub at your eyes with an angry palm. You cast your eyes up at the ruefully clear autumn night, the moon hanging fat and low, the stars twinkling with their cold, far-off light.

Approximately five minutes later, Mel pulls into the parking lot, mercifully alone, rolling down the windows as you rush forward and let yourself into the passenger’s side of the car, sinking into the seat with a bitten-off sob.

“Oh my darling… what happened?” Mel reaches over to give your hand a squeeze.

You bite your lips, blinking hard at the dark tarp roof of her convertible, clutching at your bag.

“Sh-she got a text from ‘cupcake’.”

Mel stares at you for a solid three seconds before slumping back into her seat and reaching up to pinch her nose bridge.

“I’m going to murder Jayce.”

“I fucked up — I fucked up —”

“Whoa, whoa — slow down — what the hell happened?”

Vi nearly chucks her skates into the already dented lockers just as Jayce makes an abortive move forward as if to stop her. She drops her skates and buries her face in her hands instead.

“Caitlyn texted me, and — and I never changed her contact from ‘cupcake’ —”

Jayce groans, running a hand through his hair.

“I thought I told you to block her?”

“I forgot, okay?” Vi says, tugging so hard on her own hair that Jayce has to reach out and smack her hands away.

Jayce sighs, leaning back against the lockers, looking over the shape of her. He can’t help the tiny grin that hitches his lips or the small puff of helpless laughter.

“Wow.”

Vi looks up, “What?”

Jayce just shrugs, “No, it’s just — been a while since I’ve seen you down this bad.”

Vi flips him off, “Fuck you, Talis. Yeah, laugh it up — look! It’s Vi! Piltover’s favorite train-crash lesbian, fumbling yet another —”

“Y’know, one of the things about being in a nice, committed, completely non-toxic long-term relationship —” Jayce says loudly, cutting her off despite the murderous look in Vi’s eyes, “is that you learn real quick that you’re always gonna be the one that’s wrong, and that your dear, darling, perfect girlfriend will always be the one that’s right.”

He grins, bitten-lipped and open-palmed. Like this, he looks almost like the politician that Vi knows Mel’s parents so desperately want him to be.

Vi frowns, “What’re you getting at, pretty boy? Spit it the fuck out — I don’t have the patience for your bullshit right —”

“And you know what people do when they’re wrong?” Jayce continues in that chipper, Sunday-morning commercial voice of his. He leans forward even as Vi leans back, the frown digging ever deeper between her brows.

“Uh… cry and punch things and shoot for a new PR at the gym?”

Jayce snorts, but at least Vi’s smiling.

“No, you fuckin’ fratbro son of a — you apologize.”

Vi’s gaze goes flat. “Ah. Right. Of course — why didn’t I think of —”

“And then — ” Jayce continues, raising his voice even higher, a finger pointed up in the air as if he were delivering the valedictorian speech at graduation, before he twists his hand and pokes it into Vi’s jersey-clad chest.

“You do better.”

Vi’s breath catches; she blinks up at Jayce before swallowing around the peach pit in her throat.

“R-right…”

Jayce hikes both of his eyebrows comically high. Vi glances up towards them before puffing out a breath.

“Think you can do that?” Jayce asks, his voice now finally back to normal.

Vi chews on the inside of her cheek before shrugging up a shoulder.

“Dunno, but… I really wanna try.”

Jayce thumps a fist into her chest.

“Good answer, Lanes. Now. Phone.” He opens his hand palm up.

She blinks at it for a second before sighing and digging her phone from her pocket and dropping it into his hand.

Jayce punches in the password without breaking eye contact, pulling up her text history and turning the phone around to face Vi as he clicks — Contact > Info > Block Caller — on Caitlyn’s number.

He hands it back just as the screen goes dark.

Vi stares at the long crack running through the center of her screen before the phone lights up again, this time, with a text from an unknown number.

Jayce barely glances at it before smiling.

“That’ll be Mel.”

Vi’s eyebrows knit as she flicks open the screen. There are two texts in quick succession:

i’ve gotten her to agree to come to the afterparty.

Do not. Fuck this up.

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yournightmary · 16 days ago

Text

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER FOUR: FOR CUP'S SAKE

violet; 5,052 words; fluff, fake dating (is it tho?), situationship be situating, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, miscommunication, vi is very bad at feelings, simp!vi, first date, powder being powder, mention of skating competition, wlw, no "y/n"

summary: in which you and vi go on a cupcake date for the ages. oh, and skate america happens too, i guess.

a/n: WOOP WOOP its finally first date time!!! lmao i won't say much more for now ;) read and find out!

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ YOU TRY NOT TO FEEL too self-conscious, fiddling with the sleeves of your baby pink sweater.

“Hey!”

“Oh — hi!” you jerk up, smiling as you catch sight of Vi, and your throat seizes — god, that’s not fair, you think as your eyes flicker down the shape of her, dressed in tight black jeans and a cropped leather jacket, beneath which you’re sure she’s wearing nothing except a light gray muscle tank. You swallow, clearing your throat.

“Y-you’re not cold?” you ask, cursing your voice for the way it cracks.

Vi grins, shrugging, “Nah. I run pretty hot.”

“Right. Hot. Yeah.” You tear your eyes away from the sliver of skin peaking out from under her tanktop and jerk your head towards the cafe entrance, “Shall we?”

Vi sweeps her arm across her front, “After you, princess.”

You drop into a little curtsey as she pulls open the door for you and you prance passed. You don’t notice the way her eyes linger just a second too long on the bare skin of your shoulders as you shrug off your coat, or the way she puffs out a breath as her gaze skates up the long column of your neck, buttercream and swansong, the way it slopes up so gracefully into the thin cut of your jaw.

She shakes her head, forcing her eyes away as you smile at the server at the front.

“Just the two of us,” you say, and Vi swallows around the skip in her heartbeat at the word us. As if it means something more than just the word.

“Ohhh,” the server girl says, looking between the two of you as she leads you to a small table tucked into a corner, “first date?” she asks, setting down the menus as you take a seat and hang your fluffy coat on the seat back.

You chew on your lip, glancing at Vi for a second before smiling back up at her.

“Something like that.”

Vi nods, “First one here, anyway,” she offers smoothly, even though she stomach is hanging somewhere, suspended by her ankles as she drops into the seat across from you, doing everything she can to keep from salivating at the way your off-the-shoulder sweater frames your collarbones. And for the first time, she thinks that Powder might be onto something there, what with her near religious appreciation of them.

She makes a note to text Powder about this later.

“Well then, you should know we have a discount for couples — you get a free cupcake if you let us take a picture of the pair of you together and post it on our socials. Your faces don’t have to be in it or anything! It can just be your hands or whatever, but yeah! If that’s something you’re interested in…” the server lets her voice trail off as she looks between the pair of you.

You lick your lips, glancing at Vi, only to catch her looking at you with just as much uncertainty.

You turn back to the waiter, “That sounds cool! Let us think about it.”

The server nods, rocking on the balls of her feet, and for a second, she hesitates, but then, she leans in and says —

“And — sorry of this is cringe or anything but — I love your skating — big fan. Good luck at Skate America this week!”

She scurries off before you can say anything. You blink after her, a plume of heat working into your cheeks as Vi’s eyebrows tick up.

“Wow… geez, princess. You like… famous, or something?” Vi asks, her voice lilting into a tease even as you bury your face in your hands with a soft groan.

“Just… don’t…”

Vi laughs, glancing down the menu, trying to tamp down the wildfire thrum that she thinks is her heartbeat. She can’t quite remember the last time she’s felt like this, heady and light with that stupid, fluttery, butterflies-in-the-stomach sensation eating at her from the inside out.

“Huh, so the Pina Colada flavor looks good…” she muses, glancing up to admire the way you crinkle your nose and pull at your own menu, your cheeks still tinted.

“Y-yeah, and the — I think the Espresso Martini flavor is the one Mel said was super yummy,” you say, fiddling with the corner of your menu, your eyes flickering over the page without ever really settling on one thing.

“Sounds like we’ll be needing that free-cupcake coupon,” she says, her voice low.

Your eyes flash up, wide and uncertain as you search her face for a hint of… something. She shrugs, leaning back in her chair, fighting tooth and nail to keep the heat from eating too high into her own cheeks.

“’S like that girl said — our faces don’t have to be in it or anything, right?”

“R-right —” but your voice is drowned out by the sound of the server welcoming another couple into the shop. Vi freezes at the unmistakable, accented voice.

“I’ve been meaning to come here for weeks,” Caitlyn says, tossing a strand of midnight blue hair over her shoulder as the server walks her and Maddie to a table a few down from yours. You can barely see them from the corner of your eyes, but from her seat, Vi has a perfect view.

You can see her fingers clenching on the table, her knuckles going white.

“Hey,” you reach out, pressing your hand over hers, sighing as Vi jerks out of her reverie to look back at you.

“Huh? Oh, sorry —”

“You guys know what you wanna order?” the server swings back by your table, and you flash her a camera-ready smile.

“Yeah! Can we get the Pina Colada and the Espresso Martini? And —” you glance at Vi before cutting back to the server, your fingers giving Vi’s hand a squeeze, “we’ll take you up on that free cupcake.”

“Fantastic!” the server says, seemingly overjoyed as she reaches down to take your menus. “The picture’ll be candid, so don’t stress out too much about it — just… enjoy your time here, and we’ll show it to you with your receipt. Okay?”

You nod, still grinning. You think distantly that, if for nothing else, at least your years of camera training as a kid is paying off now, as you watch the server bounce away from you, her ponytail swinging behind her.

You turn back to Vi, only to see her watching you with a strange look in her eyes.

“Vi?”

She shakes her head, “Yeah? Sorry —” she puffs out a soft laugh, “I’m… not being a very good date, am I?”

“It’s alright — ‘s not like I’ve had much else to compare it against.”

“Wait — what?”

You bite your lips, your eyebrows ticking up at the incredulous expression on her face.

“What? Is that so hard to believe?”

Vi blinks at you, her expression open and incredulous.

“Uh — yeah. I mean —” she gestures towards you, “you’re —” she casts about for a fitting word, puffing out a breath when she finally settles on, “insane.”

You let out a startled laugh, your head tipping back, and a few tables down, you see the faint figure of Caitlyn glancing over towards your table, her eyes sharp as she watches you and Vi.

“Wow, thanks,” you intone, rolling your eyes even as Vi sputters.

“No! I mean like — have you seen yourself?”

You nod, propping a cheek on your knuckles, “Sure have — more than anyone should have to, honestly,” you drop your eyes to the table, fingers drawing abstract patterns into the pastel napkins.

Vi’s hand appears in your field of vision, running a thumb over the back of yours before she tugs your fingers loose and laces her own fingers between them.

Your breath hitches as your glance up.

“I could spend entire days lookin’ at you and never get tired of it, princess.”

Your throat squeezes as she reaches up to run a thumb along your cheek, coaxing your eyes towards hers.

“Y-yeah?” you breathe.

Vi nods, but before she can say anything else, the server bops back, with two massive cupcakes balanced on a pretty patterned plate. She sets it down between you, seemingly clueless to the way your hands have to jerk apart to make room for it. She giggles as she sets two miniature cocktail glasses on either side of the plate, tiny versions of the drinks the cupcakes are supposed to be emulating.

“And… here we are — the Pina Colada, and the Espresso Martini — the drinks are complimentary,” she leans down with a conspiratorial wink, “usually, they only come in pre-order packages but —” she lowers her voice, “I figured since it’s your first time here…” she lets her voice trail off, standing back up, looking mightily pleased with herself.

You flash her another bright grin, nodding, “Thanks so much! I’m sure they’re great.”

The server beams before she turns and flounces off to greet another set of guests.

Vi stares at you, a lopsided grin hung loose over her lips.

“Damn. I should come out with you more often, princess, if this is the kinda service you get.”

You laugh, “It’s usually not like this,” you say, “it’s a once every four years thing. When the Winter Olympics roll around and suddenly everyone remembers figure skating is, like, a sport.”

Vi chuckles, and it’s stupid, really, how easy it is to talk to you. How easy it is to tease you, how much she likes making you pout or squirm in your seat, how she’s hungry for the soft hitch in your breath, the part of your lips. How she can’t help herself when you lean forward and split one of the cupcakes with a plastic knife and push half of it towards her, pulling your finger back to lick the frosting from it, the way her throat bobs at the thought of reaching out to tug your finger into her mouth.

When you lean down to take a bite of your own half a cupcake, she licks her lips, thinking of the phantom taste of sugar on that might’ve lingered on your tongue.

“Wow —” Vi says, through a mouthful of cake, “this is good.”

You giggle, nodding as a crumb topples out of the edge of your mouth, “Mhm!”

And she’s so arrested by the sight that for a second, she forgets who’s sitting three seats from her, until she hears it — the loud, derisive laughter she’s come to know all too well.

Her head swivels towards the table before she can stop herself, and she sees Caitlyn smirking as she turns away, her eyes dark as she splits a cupcake in half with Maddie and pushes the larger half towards the ginger.

Vi swallows, the sugar in her mouth going ashy.

“Vi — you’ve got frosting all over your lips —” you say, laughing, your voice pulling her back as a soft finger runs across her lips and she’s left gasping at the sensation. She blinks, reeling ever so slightly as she watches you pull your thumb back and pop it into your mouth, your eyes sparkling.

A sharp spate of desire twists somewhere deep in her gut and Vi has to bite back a groan.

“You’re one to talk,” she murmurs, leaning forward to drag her thumb along the corner of your mouth, her heart thundering inside her chest as your bottom lip tugs open beneath her touch, easy as anything, and the hot kiss of your breath washes along her skin.

Sweet fuck.

The harsh tang of alcohol hits her tongue a second later, and her head spins to the sound of your breathy laughter. She watches you pick up the tiny Pina Colada glass in a sort of trance, your lips painted pink and perfect as you press them to the rim and take a sip.

Vi nods, her stomach flipping once, twice inside her as she reaches for your proffered glass.

She takes a sip without breaking eye contact, reveling in the way you flush three shades darker as she licks her lips clean of the foam.

“Yeah — whoa,” she clears her throat, “that packs a punch!”

You break into a fit of giggles so endearing Vi has to bite on her lips to keep from smiling too hard. And distantly, in the back of her head, a voice very much like Powder’s coughs up something like sounds suspiciously like pussy-whipped.

By the time you finish the second cupcake and the equally miniscule Espresso Martini, Vi is sure that she’s drunk, though perhaps not on the actual alcohol (of which she’s sure there was more than either of you had initially bargained for), but on the sound of your voice, on the way you tug on the ends of your hair when you’re talking, absently, and then how you flick them over your shoulder, the perfect bend of your collarbone dipping in the bright lights of the cake shop.

She’s drunk on the way your lashes flutter every time she makes you laugh, and god, does she really like making you laugh — she can’t remember the last time she’s tried so damn hard to be charming, pulling out all the stops (and on the first date?!) till she’s sure you’d have nothing else to talk about, but, despite that, the conversation flows, and flows.

“Wow, holy shit —” Vi leans back, running a hand through her hair as she checks her phone — 3:37PM. It’s been two and a half hours.

“Sorry, d’you have somewhere else to be?” you ask, and you sound so genuinely concerned, Vi has to laugh, shaking her head.

“Nope. Nowhere else but here, princess. Cleared my whole schedule for you.”

You flush, crinkling your nose, folding your napkin into progressively smaller and smaller bits.

“Oh. That’s…” your brows furrow as you stare down at the empty plates between you, “that’s really… nice of you.”

Vi clears her throat, her eyes catching on the shape of Caitlyn and Maddie as they stand up, Cait wiping her lips as she thanks the waiter with a tight-lipped grin.

She raises her voice just as Caitlyn walks by.

“Nothin’ less for my favorite ice princess.”

She leans forward to run a thumb along your cheek, but you stiffen as Caitlyn scoffs, brushing by your table with an upturned nose, Maddie following behind her, looking nervous as she glances between the pair of you.

You shrug off Vi’s hand as soon as they disappear, flagging down the waitress, flashing her another winning smile even as Vi curses beneath her breath. You’d put down your card before she can even fumble for her wallet, and you’d signed the electronic tablet faster than she has the time to wipe her mouth and stumble after you into the sunset street, a gust of wind picking up, whipping your hair into a silken frenzy around your cold-bruised cheeks.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You round on her, your eyes over-bright.

“Sorry, I forgot that this whole thing was just —” you suck in a long breath, eyes cutting away before they slice back to her, so sharp Vi almost winces at the contact, “a ruse for your ex.”

Vi gapes, her fingers digging so hard into her palms she thinks she might just draw blood.

“What? No! Oh, fucking —” she yanks you back as you try to turn away, and like this, with your windblown hair and the setting sun cast behind you, gliding the shape of you in gold, you look nothing short of ethereal. You swallow, curling your arms around yourself as the wind kicks up, your hair feathering around you like loose tendrils of sunlit silk.

“I —” Vi grasps for words she does not have, and you are so, so beautiful, even like this, even sad and wary, and bracing yourself against her, against the late autumn chill.

You lick your lips, “It’s okay, Vi… I knew what I was getting into when I —”

“No,” Vi says, so vehemently she almost startles herself. “That’s not — I mean — sweet fuck,” she swears, twisting around to rake both her hands through her hair, tugging harshly at the ends as she tries to center herself in the sting.

You stand there, watching her, holding yourself, the street behind you pooling with liquid gold.

Vi takes a deep breath, “I’m — I’m sorry. I didn’t mean — it was —” she pinches at her nose bridge, “I came here today for you,” she says, turning back towards you with an imploring look, hoping you’d understand. “Not for Cait, not for that new, ginger, button-cap mushroom girlfriend of hers.”

And at this, you let out a surprised laugh, shaking our head.

“Button-cap… mushroom?” you press a hand to your lips.

Vi grins, chuckling, “Yeah, sorry, it’s what my sister calls her —”

“Your sister… sounds like an interesting person.”

Vi rolls her eyes, “Interesting doesn’t even start to cover the basics with her —”

You laugh, and the sound is so inviting Vi almost groans.

“But… I — I mean it, princess. I came here today for you.”

“Yeah?” you sound so breathless, so disbelieving, that Vi almost tugs you to her, almost kisses you just to prove a point.

But she doesn’t, instead, she only nods, keeping her posture open as you look her over, and your arms loosen around your torso. You take half a step towards her, careful and a little hesitant.

Vi sighs, “Yeah. And… i-if you don’t believe me, I… I’d love to take you out on another date to prove it to you.”

You suck in a breath; your lashes flutter.

“Okay.”

Vi blinks, “Okay?”

You nod, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Yeah,” Vi echoes, feeling her heart thread up against her voice box as she nods, shoving her hands into her pockets, “okay.”

You laugh, shaking your head to free yourself from the tangle of hairs that had collected in front of your eyes. You brush them away and Vi feels her breath catch at the sight of you, your cheeks kissed pink by the cold, your eyes glittering with a promise of the days and nights to come, the street lamps around you flickering on one by one as the sun sinks beyond the far horizon.

“Then… I guess I’ll see you, Violet,” you say, smiling shyly up at her.

Vi nods, “Yeah. I’ll see you, princess.”

She watches as you take a few steps back, before turning to make your way down the street. Vi turns herself to head the opposite way, feeling a strange lightness in her steps, almost as if she were walking on clouds, as she fights down the urge to whoops and click her heels in the air.

Halfway down the block, she turns and shouts down the street, startling a good few passersby as she calls —

“Good luck at Skate America!”

You jump, twisting around to find Vi waving at you from nearly an entire block away, her hair a bright gash of pink against the dying light.

You curse yourself for the way your heart skips at the sound of her voice.

“Thanks!” you yell, waving back, “I’ll uh — call you after!”

Vi nods, “I’ll be watching!”

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

You give your hand another hard wave before turning down the corner, and letting the oncoming darkness swallow the shadow of Vi, still waving, behind you.

“Unless you’re calling to tell me that you’ve successfully laid some Olympic-level pipe, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Powder, I think I love her.”

“Oh wow… first date went well, I see.”

“Powder, no — you don’t understand —”

“Actually, I think I might understand way better than you do —”

“She wore this pink, off-the-shoulder sweater —” Vi gulps in a long breath of the chilly air, squinting at her phone screen as Powder dabs electric blue dye into her roots.

“Oh, I knew I liked her.”

“No, like — this is insane.”

“Sis, I swear, if you don’t wife her up, I will.”

Vi frowns, “You’ve literally never met her.”

“Don’t have to. I’ve seen all her clips on Youtube. Hey, did you know she’s got one of those Vogue ‘What’s In My Bag’ videos?”

Vi stares, “Uh… no?”

Powder rolls her eyes, twisting a strand of dye-saturated hair up to pin it, “You’re missin’ out, sis! There’s an entire treasure trove of content relating to your little ice-cream sandwich of a girl-crush, and all you gotta do is search.”

Vi blinks at the Facetime call for three whole seconds before pulling up her Youtube app and searching your name, and sure enough, the first video that comes up is the Vogue What’s In Your Bag video with nearly half a million views.

She clicks into it, digging in her pockets for her earbuds, shoving one into her ear just as the ad finishes and the screen cuts to you sitting in front of a pastel blue background, waving at the camera, your voice soft in her ears as you say —

“Hi Vogue! Today I’ll be showing you… what I carry in my skating bag every day —” you laugh, crinkling your nose, and Vi’s heart skids in her chest.

“Yeah… anyways,” Powder’s voice cuts through the video; Vi almost drops her phone for the shock — she’d nearly forgotten she was still on a call with Powder, “I’ll let you… explore,” Powder finishes, grinning crookedly at Vi before dropping the call.

A second later, Vi gets a text that’s just a link to a playlist of 47 videos, detailing your greatest figure skating programs, interspersed with interviews you’ve done with a variety of fashion and lifestyle magazines, and then the line —

Don’t forget to take pee breaks!

Vi rolls her eyes, swiping out of Powder’s iMessage to the Youtube app again.

Vi re-clicks play on the Vogue video, sighing into the sound of your voice, grinning stupidly to herself, thinking that she’ll be locking in for a long, long night.

You don’t remember much of Skate America, only that Vi had sent you a quick text of — good luck, pretty girl, seven minutes before your short program, and you’d stepped onto the ice feeling weightless.

You remember Amara’s smiling face, Mel and Jayce’s excited expressions as you’d passed them on your way to the Kiss and Cry. You remember staring at the number on the megatron screen even as the crowd erupted into screams around you, Amara clutching your hands so tightly in hers you lose feeling into your fingertips.

A new personal best, and a World Record to boot.

You’d skated clean.

The days before your free-skate are a whirlwind of flashing cameras and early morning practices. Amara’s voice ever constant in your ear as she works you through your paces. You barely have time to eat and drink and shower before collapsing into bed each night, and before you know it, you’re stepping onto the ice again, the sweet chill of the rink greeting you like an old friend.

Four minutes and six seconds, exactly — Liebestraum.

You close your eyes as the music starts. A flash — the faint after image of a memory cast behind your eyelids — Vi watching you from across the hazy plastic as the rest of the hockey team jostles around her. But her, standing still, the only in-focus thing in a smeared rush of shapes and color.

You smile; your body moves without you ever having to tell it to.

You remember stepping off the ice, feeling the fire expanding in your chest, the soreness already tingling through your limbs. But Amara’s tugging you into her side, pressing her palms to your cheeks.

You remember glancing down at your phone to see a missed Facetime call from Vi, and a string of texts.

You smile, flicking open your screen even as you’re herded towards the Kiss and Cry booth. You barely have time to see all the exclamation marks before the announcer is calling out your scores. Amara lets out a pleased yelp, and the spectating audience roars their approval. You glance up at the numbers, the mental math you’d been doing since childhood stacking up as you realize, a little belatedly, that you’re in first place.

It isn’t till the afterparty, long after you’ve received your gold medal and posed for all the necessary podium photos that you finally come to, ducking out of the raucous party hall to give Vi a call back.

She answers on the second ring.

“Hey!” she sounds slightly out of breath as she fumbles with something in her ear. A second later, she settles on what looks like a bed, and it’s only then that you realize it’s nearly 11PM at night.

“Hi! Sorry — I know it’s late but — I saw you called —”

“Yeah! No that was my bad — I uh — I called you by accident while I was watching your stream —”

“You were?”

Vi laughs, “Yeah! Of course I was! I got a Peacock subscription and everything — and I promised I would, didn’t I?”

You lick your lips, feeling your cheeks prickle with heat. You lean back against the padded hotel hallway, silently thanking the heavens that you’ve only had two glasses of champagne.

“You — you didn’t have to do that.”

“But I wanted to! And holy shit! You killed it, princess! I mean — you skated totally clean!”

You nod, laughing, buoyed up by her excitement even as she grins at you through the screen.

“Yeah — I know! I haven’t done that since —”

“Your Chopin skate — and I mean — this time though, you were so —”

“Wait — how do you know about my Chopin skate?” you ask, cocking your head.

Vi stares, and then, a bright flush works into her cheeks, visible even in the dim lighting of her bedroom.

She chews on her bottom lip.

You hitch an eyebrow, “Vi… have you… been watching my skates on Youtube?”

Vi clears her throat, “Uh… I mean —“ you watch as she chews on her lip, the thin scar on her top lip made all the more obvious by the sharp light of the phone screen. “Is it really that strange to wanna watch the pretty girl you’re trying to date do the thing she seems to be put on this earth to do?”

You blink, “Trying to date?”

Vi purses her lips, “I — sorry if that’s weird — I know everyone thinks we’re already dating but…”

You shrug, staring at your own fingers, clutched around the phone, your baby pink nail polish a tad chipped at the thumb. You resist the urge to pick at it.

“We… we can take it slow, though… right?”

It’s Vi’s turn to blink, before a crooked grin splits her face.

“Yeah? I mean — yeah… we can.”

You smile, nodding as Vi fights not to do something stupid, like break into a riverdance right there in her bed, even though her limbs are trembling with the urge.

“Cool,” you say, glancing somewhere off screen, and Vi lets out a breath. A second later, light appears and you say something to someone who’s apparently come to look for you.

“Sorry,” you say, pursing your lips with an apologetic little smile, “I’ve gotta get back to the Gala party.”

Vi nods, “Go on then, pretty girl. Have fun. You… you deserve it.”

You flash her a grin that makes her heart crawl into the back of her throat.

“Thanks,” you breathe, and the phone screen wobbles, the camera flipping down as you fumble with it for a second, affording Vi a glimpse of the dress you’re in. And its nothing like the one you’d worn to sorority house party, but it still makes her mouth go dry.

“I’ll — I’ll text you after the party’s over then?” you sound unsure.

Vi grins, “Sure. I might be uh, passed out by then — early morning practice tomorrow. Gotta utilize the rink when all you figure skaters are gone, right?”

She winks.

You crinkle your nose and something in Vi’s chest stutters.

“Okay then — tomorrow?”

Vi blinks, “Huh?”

You laugh, color washing into your cheeks as you tug open a door and light floods your face, the unmistakable sounds of a party blaring into your mic. Vi gulps — like this, she can see the glitter you’d painted on your eyelids, the mascara on your curled up lashes. She can see the light sheen of highlight on your cheeks, setting off the pink of your blush, your hair a little messy, but gorgeous as it cascades around your shoulders.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” you say.

Vi nods, “Y-yeah — right. Tomorrow. Good.” She feels the heat eating into her face even as she bites back the urge to smack her head against the wall. God, she sounds like a fucking idiot.

You giggle again, the sound shuddering straight through Vi’s stomach to coil somewhere low and heavy in her belly.

“Kay… gnight, Vi. Bye!”

“Yeah, bye Princess.”

The call drops and Vi lets the phone tumble from her fingers. Her head slumps back into her pillows and she’s left staring at the pebbled ceiling of her messy room, the far wall tiger-striped by the tremulous yellow streetlight peaking through her half-closed blinds.

She presses a hand to her chest, if only to feel the frantic thumping of her heart, to reassure herself that it really is still there and not somewhere in the vast metasphere, having leapt clear through her phone screen, just to try and get to you.

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yournightmary · 18 days ago

Text

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER THREE: LOVE'S DREAM

violet; 1,823 words; fluff, drama, smau-intermission, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, bff!mel, platonic gym soulmates!vijayce, vander doing his vander thing, fake dating, no "y/n"

summary: in which mel and jayce are trying their best to be supportive best friends.

a/n: this is a super short chapter compared to the others, i know buT ! we have some cute lil text interactions so i hope u guys enjoy those ;) FIRST DATE coming up next chapter so this is just setting up the stage for that ! <3

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ “— YOU HAVE TO GET LOWER in that sit spin — and the footwork after your Triple Sal needs work —”

You nod, frowning at the tiny little scribblings in Amara's notebook as you fidget with your gloves.

Amara sighs, reaching out to cup your cheek, “Speak to me, sweet girl. You’ve been so distracted.”

You purse your lips, blinking at her as the cold presses against your back, ever the reassuring friend.

“It’s nothing — I just… I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Amara’s sharp eyes flicker over your face, and her lips thin into a terse line as you pull away, reaching for your water bottle.

“Hm. Well, let me know if you need anything prescribed — I know you don’t like them but sometimes, it really does help —”

“I’ll be fine, Amara. Let’s — let’s go through it again from the top.”

You push away from the barricade, your eyes catching on the hockey team as they file in from the doors, joking and jostling, huge sports bags slung across their shoulders.

The music starts, slow and sparkling, the piano notes working up in arpeggios, and through the fogged up plastic, your eyes meet Vi’s for a second before you slip into the routine.

On the other side, Vi’s breath catches as she watches you flow through the opening steps of your program. On the speakers, the piano music builds into a rising crescendo — someone behind her bumps her to get her moving again, and she stumbles forward, her eyes still caught on you as she lets the tide of her teammates carry her towards the lockers, her neck on a swivel as you fly across the ice.

“Good, isn’t she?”

Vi jumps at the sound of Vander’s voice, and he grins, watching her watch you with a knowing sort of smirk before his expression softens and he reaches out to pat her shoulder.

“So what’s this I hear about you dating Amara’s top girl?”

Vi balks, “I — uh — it’s —”

Vander lets out a booming laugh, “’S alright, you’ve always liked the pretty, talented ones, eh?” he ruffles her hair and she pushes at his large hand.

“Shut up,” Vi murmurs, rolling her shoulders as she turns back to watch you.

The music swells around you, gathering like sunlight, and you, buoyed up by the sheer magnetism of it all, spinning through the air in a flawless jump, landing with a smooth hiss of blades on ice. Your body lengthens as the music slows, and Vi finds herself once more gasping for a breath she doesn’t remember holding.

“The song’s nice,” she says, watching as you work through a complicated series of steps and spins, Amara tapping her hand against the barricade to each of your changes of edge. Vi feels her heart threading up her throat as Vander chuckles.

“It’s called Liebestraum. Know what it means?” He glances at her.

Vi shakes her head, not daring to take her eyes from you as you swirl into a spin so fast you’re nothing more than a blur of thin limbs and wispy hair. She can taste her heartbeat pulsing on her tongue as you spiral out of the spin, your cheeks red as you work through the final few steps of the routine and the music trails off into silence.

Your lashes flicker and again, your eyes find hers through the paneled plastic.

“Love’s dream,” Vander says, nudging her lightly before turning to herd the rest of the hockey team towards the lockers, leaving Vi standing there, dizzy as she stares at you and you stare right back.

On the ice, you’re chest is burning, your head spinning as you tear your eyes away from Vi and skate back towards Amara, who’s smiling just wide enough for you to know she’s pleased.

“Excellent,” she says, snapping her little notebook shut, her wine-red lips pressing in triumph, “good — whatever you were picturing then, darling, you’d best keep a hold on it. Because that’s what’ll get you to Olympics gold, my dear.”

You give her a faint nod, your heart thumping somewhere near your jugular as you chance a glance back at where Vi was standing.

But, she was already gone.

You waltz out of the rink, humming to yourself. A second later, a pair of arms loops through yours, and you’re accosted by the scent of lavender perfume.

“What’s got you in such a good mood, hm?” Mel asks as the pair of you turn into the parking lot, bracing yourselves against the mid-autumn chill.

“It was a good practice,” you say, not quite able to keep the skip out of your step as the pair of you make your way towards your car, pulling open the back door to toss your skating things inside.

“Yeah, so I saw,” Mel says, her voice low as she slips into the passenger’s seat, “Amara was nearly floating when you got off the ice.”

You smile, starting the engine, letting out a sigh of relief as warm air blasts out of the vents.

“So. Violet.”

You slam on your break halfway through pulling out of the parking space, sending the pair of you jolting in your seats, Mel yelping as her torso jerks forward.

“S-sorry —”

“What on earth was that?”

“Nothing!” you insist, easing your foot off the break and pulling out of the space to turn towards the main street. “You just… caught me off guard.”

Mel folds her arms, “Don’t waste your breath lying to me, darling.”

You sigh, pausing at stop sign before turning right onto campus.

“Fine. What about Violet?”

Mel glances at you, “Have you… spoken to her at all?”

“Yeah. A couple times.”

“And?”

“And, what?”

Mel scoffs, “Have you guys —” she motions vaguely with her fingers, “worked anything out?”

“We —” you lick your lips, “we’re going on a date this weekend.”

“A date? Are you — are you sure this is a good idea?”

You pull the car into student parking and sigh, switching off the engine.

“Mel, you were the one that set us up in the first place!”

“I — I just thought it’d be nice for you to get a little action, that’s all — I didn’t think you’d go and land yourself in a situationship with the hockey team’s most infamous bleeding heart!”

You gape at her for a solid three seconds before groaning and slumping back in your seat, tugging off your seatbelt.

“Yeah well — what’s done is done and —” you run a hand down your face, frowning at your phone screen as another text from Vi pops up on your notifications.

Mel has the base decency not to peer over your shoulder, though you don’t miss the way her eyes flash towards it.

“Fine,” Mel concedes, “where’re you going for this date, then?”

You shove your phone into your school bag and grab a scarf from the back seat.

“The boozy cupcake place.”

“Oh! That’s a good one. Me and Jayce went there a lot in the beginning —”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, grinning as the pair of you duck out of the car, the door slamming closed behind you.

The wind picks up and you both make for the main building, heads bent.

“Just —” Mel turns to you as the pair of you part ways at the foot of the stairs leading up to your separate lecture halls, her eyes flickering over your face, “be careful, alright? And…” her smile is warm as she reaches out to tap your cheek, “if she ever does anything to hurt you… you let Jayce and I know, hm?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes, “Thanks, Mel.”

She pulls you in for a quick hug before you turn down the hallway towards the Stats lecture hall, a tingling warmth spreading through your chest all the way out to your fingertips.

“— ninety-seven, ninety-eight — c’mon Lanes, I know you got a few more in you — ninety-nine — one-hundo —”

Vi huffs, grunting as she readjusts her grip on the pullup bars and hoists herself up again, her arms burning as she holds it for a three count before dropping down with a loud exhale.

“I thought we were takin’ it easy today, pretty boy.”

Jayce chuckles, lying back on the bench press even as Vi hovers over the bar, staring down at him.

“No such thing as easy on a pump day,” he says, even as Vi rolls her eyes, settling in to watch him grip the bar and push it off the rack with a grunt.

“S-so —” Jayce says, his voice slightly strained as he works through his sets, “how’ve things been going with —” he cuts off as he sucks in a breath and holds it.

“With little miss Olympics?” Vi supplies.

Jayce makes a grunting noise.

“We’re going on a date this weekend.”

Jayce nearly chokes as his grip slips on the bar and Vi’s hands shoot out to catch hold of it before it can crush his trachea.

“What? Where’re you taking her? Does Mel know?”

Vi snorts, “Probably, since Mel’s like her self-assigned den mother — uh, this… boozy cupcake place?” Vi frowns as she grabs her phone to try and pull it up.

“Oh! I know that place — on Centre street — Mel and I used to go there a lot when we started dating. The cupcakes are huge though.”

Vi stares, her thumb hovering over her phone screen as she stares at Jayce. Then, she breaks into a soft, exasperated laugh.

“Yeah… she said she’d been meaning to go but… she didn’t have anyone to share the cupcakes with.”

Jayce opens his mouth, but he pauses as Vi drops her eyes back to her phone, a faint smile playing at her lips as she scrolls through something on her screen.

“Careful there, Lanes,” Jayce says, reaching out to nudge her with a leg, “you’re starting to sound a little lovesick.”

“We haven’t even gone on a real date,” Vi says, looking up sharply.

Jayce nods, putting a solemn hand on her shoulder, “Yeah, I know.”

Vi’s mouth drops open as she gapes at him for a second before slamming her mouth shut again with a groan.

Jayce grins, “Hey, look on the bright side — at least half the campus is convinced you guys’ve been official for weeks. So even if someone does see you simping, it’s not that weird, right?”

“You better watch yourself, Talis. Next time, I’ll just let that bar drop on your fuckin’ throat,” Vi says, but she’s grinning as Jayce lays back down to start a new set.

taglist: @traiitorjoe@rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly@drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22@lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless@armins-slvt@lin-elizabeth @ryescapades @kingkamk @princesssmars @chobssss @mybelovedvi @bouqette @noietta @brooks-lin @ally-all-around @bunnyrose01 @stumpystump @lia-winther @folklore13lover @sawaagyapong @sevikas-whore @sunflowerwinds @taurtel @tourmalinetyrone @oidloid @marcylated @krisziepowlet @vikaswife @pa-co @devotedlyelectronicartisan @aliluvszs @elliecoochieeater

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yournightmary · 19 days ago

Note

ellie headcanons about being best friends in college, ellie and reader are hopelessly in love and hopelessly clingy asf over text whenever they’re separated due to like winter/summer break or whatever 🤠

content warning:: literally nothing i don’t think so??

AN:: happy new year! except for all of the dumbasses on this app <33 I wanted to make some fake texts but the app I use is broken :/ Hope you enjoy it

⇢ ˗ˏˋ First of all, she’d be so sad about getting separated from you. Definitely insists on having a few days long sleepover before any kind of break (if you live off-campus)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Also always invites you to spend the break at her house. Joel wouldn’t mind and she’d get to show you her actual bedroom!! how cool is that? (not that cool, but don’t tell her that)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ If the break is long enough she’ll send you little gifts, especially over christmas break. She wouldn’t even tell you, the package would just arrive at your door and she’d be like ‘Oh, yeah. Forgot I even sent that’… though she didn’t forget. She was on her toes everyday, waiting for you to receive it.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Makes you open it and react to everything on a video call. Literally everything. Most of the stuff would be handmade things or small trinkets she found and they reminded her of you. And a few things she accidentally brought home with her that are actually yours.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I see her as the type of person that just spams messages. Not only she won’t write a message longer than a few words, she’ll also send thousands of them, not waiting for your reply.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Honestly, she treats her chat with you as a notes app that gives replies.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kicks herself in the head everyday she’s away from you, regretting not telling you her true feelings before break. Every single time she’d be like ‘I’ll tell them as soon as I see them’ but then she pussies out and the cycle repeats.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ If you have an iphone she’s playing 8-ball pool and other games like that with you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ If you’re friends with Dina and Jesse she’ll force you all to play things like gartic phone and cards against formality with her every night. (She’s just happy that you’re getting along with her friends)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She wants to fall asleep on call with you, but it always ends up with her phone dying and getting hotter than the sun itself.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She isn’t one to take photos of herself, so you’ll get tons of random pictures of the ‘cool’ stuff she sees. It can be anything from a photo of a stray cat she saw on the street to a photo of a burnt piece of bread she tried to toast.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Gets mad when you don’t watch the tik toks or reels she sends you. She will literally ghost you until you do.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Ironically uses emojis.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Chronic gif sender.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Sends you good morning and goodnight texts every day (ignore the fact that the good morning’s get sent at 2PM and goodnight’s at 4AM)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Doesn’t really like to text when she actually wants to talk. She just doesn’t know how to convert her thoughts and emotions to messages. So she just calls you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ The first time you went on a break after you two became friends she gave you a whole ass house tour on video call. Maybe even a town tour if she wasn’t lazy.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves to eat over video call. Just chat and laugh during meals, like you do when you’re together in person.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Genuinely gets jealous when you go out with your friends from your hometown. She just wishes you two could stay on call 24/7.

i’m rusty

#lesbian #wlw #the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams headcannons #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fluff

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yournightmary · 20 days ago

Text

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER TWO: FISTS TO A KNIFE FIGHT

violet; 5,021 words; fluff, drama, brief depiction of violence (vi kicks ass), fake dating, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, powder being hilarious, patching up injuries trope, wlw pining, mel is a badass, platonic gym soulmates jaycevi, no "y/n"

summary: in which both you and vi are suffering about each other, and you friends/fam try to help to varying degrees of success.

a/n: here it is !!! chapter two :) i hope everyone enjoys and that you're having a SMASHING beginning to your 202THRIVE. i truly had the best time writing powder in this chapter and i hope u guys love her just as much as i do u__u

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ "HASN'T IT ONLY BEEN LIKE… three weeks since —”

“Yes Powder, it’s only been three weeks since Cait and I broke up —”

“I mean, for the record, I never liked her —”

“Yes, you made that abundantly clear even when we were dating —”

“She was a stuck-up little horse-shoe crab with a weird obsession with turtlenecks and I mean, that always felt like a red flag to me —”

“Powder. Focus.”

“Oops — sorry,” Powder giggles, “what were you saying again? Something about a hot figure skater girl who’s tryna be your girlfriend?”

Vi sighs, adjusting her phone, propped up against a stack of pillows as she lazes in bed, her cheek pillowed on her crossed arms as she watches Powder fiddle with something or other through the screen.

“Trying to be my fake girlfriend,” Vi corrects.

Powder lifts up her goggles, “Oh, I like this one better already. So? What’s the issue?”

Vi groans, burying her face in her arms, “The issue is that…” she flips onto her back, staring at the faint Christmas lights strung up around her room, the soft diffuse lighting making her pause. She thinks back to the look of you on that kitchen floor, the way your eyes had lit up when you laughed, how your lips had tasted — sweet and intoxicating — against hers.

“I feel like… parts of her remind me of — of Cait.”

“Gee Wilikers, so you've gotta thing for ice queens that make questionable fashion decisions — please sis, this is not news. Not to me, not to Vander, not to the lady down the street who always tries to give us soggy croissants —”

Vi frowns, “What do you mean? And those croissants were just a little buttery —”

“Sweet god — you remember that one chick you were head over heels for when we were kids?”

Vi only frowns harder at the ceiling lights.

“You… mean the one with the long hair and —”

“Yes, the one you said looked like she could ruin your life?”

Vi makes a noncommittal noise, heat washing into her cheeks at the memory.

“I mean,” Vi muses, “she kinda did.”

Powder sighs, “Sis, we were twelve. Whatever. And then there was the basketball captain during your senior year —”

“She was like the hottest chick I’d ever seen up until that point!”

“Uh-huh — she also unironically wore crocs when she wasn’t on the court —”

“Hey, those shoes are comfortable —”

“They’re an affront to fashion and we both know it. But anyway — point being — why’re you acting surprised that you’re once again falling for someone that is A, fantastically talented at a thing, and B probably has mommy-issues up the wazoo?”

Vi swallows, the memory of your laughter ringing through her like church bells on a Sunday morning. She whines, tossing an arm over her eyes.

Powder laughs.

“Ohhh, I know that sound.”

“What sound?” Vi flips back over, squinting at her sister from her cracked phone screen.

Powder smirks, flipping an L-wrench between her fingers before pointing the straight end at Vi.

“The sound of a woman being completely and utterly pussy-whipped.”

Vi squawks, shooting up on her bed, frowning down at her phone.

“I — I am not pussy-whipped!”

Powder shrugs, dropping her eyes back onto her project, “Say what you will, but this is exactly what you sounded like when you first had a crush on that weird, turtleneck-loving mongoose —”

“What is it with you and turtlenecks? And I thought she was a horseshoe-crab? Now she’s a mongoose? They’re not even remotely similar —”

“Evil can come in all shapes and sizes —”

“She’s not evil —”

“Tell that to all her turtlenecks —”

“Okay, no what is it with you and turtlenecks —”

“I dunno! It’s just a vibe-thing, okay?” Powder drops her L-wrench and gestures towards the screen, her eyes wide even as Vi stares, nonplussed as her younger sister motions vaguely into the ether, “Like… what’s she tryna hide behind all those high necklines? And what does she have against the art and perfection that is the human collarbone — I mean —”

Vi nearly throws her phone across the room. She settles for screaming into her pillow instead.

Powder laughs, dusting off her hands and shrugging.

“All I’m saying is — this new girl, whoever she is — sounds like a better deal already.”

“How could you possibly know that? You know nothing about her.”

Powder hitches an eyebrow, “I know that she pretended to be your new girlfriend in front of horseshoe-crab-mongoose and her new button-cap mushroom of a sidepiece.”

“Button-cap — sidep— what the fuck —?”

Powder waggles her fingers, “Evil in all shapes, remember?”

Vi lets out another exasperated groan, “This was pointless —”

“It wasn’t! You just have to take her out on a date!”

“What?”

“You. Take skater-girl. On a date.”

Vi stares.

“B-but I can’t do that.”

“And… why not?” Powder tilts her head so far to the right she’s almost at 90-degrees with the camera.

Vi huffs out a breath, “Cause… the whole campus thinks we’re actually dating. So it’d be weird —”

“For you to take your fake girlfriend on a real date?”

“Exactly!” A pause. “Wait —”

Powder cackles, waving her hand.

“Lemme know how the date goes, sis! Oh! And try not fuck this one up, yeah? Wouldn’t want the whole campus to know that you fumbled an Olympic athlete, hm? Kay, love ya, bye!”

The Facetime call drops, and Vi’s left staring at a too-close image of her own bewildered face, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open. She blinks at her own reflection for a few more seconds before the screen fades to black and she’s left with nothing but the silence of her own room to keep her company.

She slumps back against the wall, kneading her eyes with the heels of her hands as she runs over Powder’s words.

Take your fake girlfriend on a real date.

But she can’t quite tamp down the strange giddiness that rises beneath her ribs at the thought.

She almost jumps out of her skin as her phone lights up again and she scrabbles at it, flicking it open only to see a single line of text from Jayce —

mel wants to talk.

“I don’t want to waste anyone’s time here so —” Mel laces her fingers on the cafeteria table, looking down the bridge of button nose as if she were interviewing a candidate for a consulate seat, not tucked into a far corner of the dining commons on a busy Thursday night.

Vi blinks, “Wow, not one for smalltalk, huh? And here I was hoping that we could chat about the weather or something.”

She glances at Jayce, who only throws her a helpless sort of shrug.

Mel ignores them both, her eyes sharp as she looks Vi over.

“What are your intentions with my friend?”

Vi’s eyebrows shoot up as she sputters, “M-my intentions?” Her gaze slingshots over to Jayce once more, and this time, he has the decency to look just a bit sheepish.

Mel’s cocks her head, clearly waiting. Vi sputters.

“W-what d’you — your friend was the one that came onto me —”

“She saved you from what looked like a terribly uncomfortable conversation with your ex,” Mel says, her tone so smooth and certain that for a second, Vi pauses to wonder if she might actually be able to simply speak things into existence with nothing but her conviction in her own words.

“She announced to nearly the whole school that we were dating!”

Mel sighs, “Yes, which is why I’m asking you — what are your intentions with her?”

Vi stares, heat now beginning to eat up the back of her neck ,”Well up until that happened, I didn’t have any intentions with her —”

“So now you do?” Mel’s voice is sharp.

Vi groans, throwing up her hands, “What? No! I mean —” she runs a hand through her hair, “I don’t know!”

Jayce leans forward, “Look, Vi — what Mel’s trying to say is —”

“I’ve never seen her like this before.”

Vi goes still. Jayce sighs.

“What… do you mean?”

Mel lets out a long breath, and for the first time, her flawless exterior cracks ever so slightly as she leans back, folding her arms across her chest.

“Ever since that party, she’s been… distracted. And her routine’s suffering because of it —”

Vi lets out an incredulous laugh, “You’re raking me over the coals because her little figure skating routine isn’t going well? Alright, I’m outta here —”

Vi tries to stand up, but Mel’s hand shoots out, quick as a flash, and when she catches Vi’s wrist, her grip is startlingly strong. Vi grunts, her arm jerking back as she glares at Mel.

“You don’t understand,” Mel says, and there’s a quiver like a hairline fracture in the low thrum of her voice that makes Vi pause, “She’s… she’s not as strong as people think she is —”

Vi scoffs, “Not sure that’s the word I’d use but —”

Mel shakes her head, “I know what people say about her, that she’s frigid — the ice princess, right? But I’ve known her since we were kids — she’s not like that.”

Mel’s voice softens, and Vi sinks back into her seat, watching as Mel pulls back her hand.

“She’s just… passionate and a bit naive —”

“Tch, really.” Vi rolls her eyes, but she can’t help the grin that threatens her lips at the memory of you, admitting to her on the kitchen floor of the party that you’re ‘not the best with impulsivity’, the soft noise you’d made at the back of your throat when she’d kissed you, how soft your skin had been beneath the hem of that wet dream of a dress —

“— this sport’s been her whole life,” Mel says, fixing Vi with an imploring look, “and whatever you did or didn’t say or do to her at that party… it’s got her in her head. And she’s not the type to fall in love easily —”

“Whoa, whoa, it was one kiss —” Vi balks at the word ‘love’ but Mel only pushes on, her voice once more taking on it’s lacquer-like shine, her eyes dark as a moonless night —

“I’m just asking you to please think about what you want out of this because…” she lets out a breath, leaning back once more, “it might’ve been just one kiss to you. But it sure as hell wasn’t just that for her.”

This is starting to get ridiculous, you think, for the fourth night in a row, sitting up in bed and glancing at the small LED clock currently blinking 12:38AM at you in a traitorous red light. You groan, scraping your nails against your scalp as you slump back into your blankets.

Moonlight pools cool and silver over your sheets, slit into slivers by the half-closed blinds.

You take a deep breath and try to clear your mind, but seven minutes later, you’re jerking back the covers to rummage around for a pair of running shorts and a sweater.

Ten minutes after that, you set off on your normal jogging route, one earbud thumping an upbeat EDM song as you let your thoughts wander. It’d been one week since the sorority party and the kiss in the kitchen. One week since Vi had nearly run out of that kitchen, looking as if she were about to be sick.

Your stomach churns. Were you really that terrible at kissing? It didn’t seem like she was having a bad time — warmth coils in the pit of your belly even as you try desperately to tamp down the electric tingle of desire that shoots up your spine every time you let your mind wander near the memory.

It’d been one hell of a kiss. But what you remembered most was the way Vi’s expression had broken open with laughter as she’d sat next to you, calling you princess, telling you that she was impressed. How bewildered she’d looked the second before you kissed her, how she’d moaned low and long when you ran your tongue across her lips. How she’d opened her mouth and let you in.

“Oh shit —” your foot catches on a small crack in the pavement and you stumble forward a few steps, catching yourself before you actually hit the ground.

“You alright there, darlin’?” a slimy voice calls from somewhere behind you, and you whip around to find a group of three men sauntering towards you, cigarette butts and empty beer cans scattered around their feet as they push up from the stoop they’d been loitering on.

“Uh yeah — fine. Thanks,” you say, taking a few steps back, quickly taking stock of your surroundings. It’s only a few minutes passed 1AM on a Saturday night, but the street you’re on is quiet, a small by-way between two residential neighborhoods, the row of houses to your right look foreclosured, their windows dark and boarded up, the low hedges in front of them overgrown and ill-watered.

“You sure? Don’t need a hand with nothin’?” Another one of the men asks, smirking as they advance on you, looking you up and down, their gazes nothing short of salacious. The third man chuckles, pulling a tiny switchblade out of his pocket.

“C’mon, dollface,” the first one says, opening his hands, “wanna keep us company for a little while? Promise we’ll show you a good time.”

Ice seizes your veins as you try to calculate how long it’d take for you to sprint to the nearest house that might have someone living in it. You stumble back half a step, ready to take off when a smear of red flashes by you and a sharp crunch sounds before one of the guys is skidding across the pavement, knocked out cold.

“The fuck —” the second man gapes at the red-hooded figure for a breath before he dives for them. But the figure’s too quick, ducking under his arm and catching him with a solid punch to the stomach that sends him reeling.

But as they pull back, the red hood slips off to reveal a shock of bright pink hair.

“V-Vi?!”

You squeak, jumping back as she turns towards the third guy, his face split in a nasty snarl, the switchblade glinting dangerously in his hand. Vi eyes the blade in his hand for a second before smirking, cocking her head.

“C’mon big guy — you wanna see how that ends?”

The man hesitates for half a second before yelling and swinging wide, but Vi’s fist connects with his jaw and he tips backwards, just as one of his friends is staggering back onto his feet, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes wild as he dives for Vi from behind.

You scream.

“Vi! Lookout!”

Vi’s elbow jerks back just in time to catch him in the chest, but he still manages to skim his fist along Vi’s cheek, and the impact jerks her head back. You let out another abortive shout as the knife-wielding man manages to catch Vi around the middle, grappling her even as she kicks out, her foot catching his friend on the chin and sending him to the ground again.

You look around frantically, eyes catching on a broken tree branch caught in one of the rusting fences — you scramble over and pull it free, heaving the surprisingly heavy branch behind you and swinging your whole body weight into it as you bring it crunching down onto switchblade’s calf.

He lets out a shout of pain, dropping to one knee, his grip loosening just enough for Vi to jerk her head back, butting him in the chin with her skull.

Dark red blood spills from his lips as Vi rips out of his arms and grabs for your hand.

You drop the branch and let Vi tug you behind her, the pair of you sprinting off till you reach the nearest through-street, the baseline thrum of car engines a welcome relief from the eerie quiet.

“What the hell were you doing out here so late?” Vi asks, rounding on you, even as her own chest heaves with the exertion.

You straighten up, pressing a palm to your stomach to stem the stitch twisting in your side.

“I — I was on a jog!”

“At —” Vi checks her phone, “1:17 in the morning?!”

You scowl, “I couldn’t sleep so I was trying to clear my head!”

“You know there are treadmills in our gym right? The gym that’s open twenty-four hours —”

“It’s not the same! And —” you cut off abruptly, slamming your mouth shut, your teeth worrying at your bottom lip.

“And what? God, holy shit — what were you gonna do if I didn’t show up?”

You crinkle your nose, sidestepping the question with, “What were you doing out so late, then?”

Vi blinks for a second before straightening up with a sigh.

“Doing the same thing you were.”

You throw up your hands, “Why’re you allowed to go running around at night, but I’m not?”

“Because I know how to lay a guy out when he tries to get fresh! Clearly, a skillset you don’t seem to share!”

“I could’ve outrun them…” you mumble, tugging at your sleeves.

Vi scoffs, “Right, and if you couldn’t?”

But your eyes catch on a cut along her eyebrow, the bruise blooming dark on her left cheek. You reach out a hand; she catches your wrist before you can touch her face, her expression guarded.

“You’re bleeding.”

Her grip loosens but she still shrugs you off, “It’s nothing.”

You frown, shaking your head. When she relaxes her fingers, you twist your hand around to catch her wrist instead.

“C’mon.”

“Uh… where’re we going?”

You lead her down the street, pausing at a crosswalk to look both ways even though the street itself is very much deserted.

“My place.”

Vi lets out a soft laugh, “Geez, princess. Are all you figure skaters this forward? Y’know usually, you’d take a girl out on a date first before inviting her home.”

You shoot her a nasty look over your shoulder.

“We’re already ‘dating’, remember?”

Vi’s smirk drops from her face, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. And by the time you reach the front of your building, she’s at a level with you, her arm hanging limp in your grip. You cast her a sidelong glance before dropping her hand and rummaging around for your keys.

“Hm. Nice place,” she says, looking around as you push into your apartment, tossing your keys in a turtle-shaped bowl by the door and toeing off your shoes. “Bit far from campus though, no?”

You head for the bathroom, flicking on the lights as you go.

“Yeah, but it’s closer to the rink — aha!” you pull out the first aid kit under the bathroom sink and make your way back into the small living room to find Vi standing awkwardly by the door. You jerk your head towards the couch.

“Sit.”

Vi sighs, eyeing the room over once more before kicking off her shoes and slumping down on the couch. You perch yourself in front of her, leaning in to check on the thin slash on her forehead.

“It’s not very deep but… I’m still gonna need to wipe it first.”

“Do your worst, princess.”

You roll your eyes, tearing open an antiseptic wipe with your teeth and reaching up to dab gingerly at the cut. Vi winces dramatically, chuckling when you give her another glare.

“So…” Vi says, in a bracing attempt to fill the thickening silence.

Your brow creases as you continue to wipe down the cut, flipping the wipe over to the clean side.

“Heard you’re training for the Olys… that’s… impressive.”

You sigh, putting down the now stained alcohol wipe and digging around for some neosporin.

“I have to qualify first.”

“Yeah? And what’s that look like?”

“Well… the quickest way to do that is to just be the best figure skater in the entire country.”

Vi lets out an incredulous laugh, “Oh yeah. It’s that simple, huh?”

You fix her with a look as you squeeze a tiny dollop of neosporin onto your finger.

“It is. But simple doesn’t mean it’s easy — hold still.”

You gingerly drag your finger across the cut, blowing gently before pulling back to tear open a bandaid.

“Barring that though, I basically have to consistently place within the top 3 at all the international competitions I participate in and… hope that the skating union thinks I’m good enough to represent the country.”

You press the bandaid to her forehead, leaning back to assess your work before letting your hand drop.

“Oh,” Vi breathes, watching as you fold the discarded bits of wrapping paper into smaller and smaller squares. “Damn, princess. You really are… good, huh.”

You let out a soft laugh, shrugging, “It’s… kinda the only thing I’ve ever been… good at.” You sigh, reaching into the first aid box for a cold compress, breaking the seal and shaking it in your hand to activate it.

Vi hums as you reach up to press the cold pack to her cheek, her hand catching yours before you can pull away completely. She doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches in your chest or the way your eyes go wide in the slant-wise light.

“Hm. You seem plenty good at getting yourself into trouble though.”

Her voice is low, husky in a way that catches even herself off guard. But you lick your lips and Vi can’t stop herself from glancing down at the soft pink flash of your tongue.

“Says the girl who bought her fists to a knife-fight,” but there’s no real bite in your voice, and still, your hand is poised beneath hers, pressed to the rapidly cooling pack on her cheek.

Neither of you seem to notice the steadily decreasing space between you, nor the rapid uptick of your pulse, nor the way your knee is somehow slotted between Vi’s legs, her free hand resting against your thigh.

“Where I grew up, a good pair of fists’ll take you much further than any fancy knife-work.”

You’re so close you can taste the heat of her words as they wash across your lips.

“Is this… the part of the night where you tell me you tragic backstory? Y’know, the one that makes you such a good hockey player?” you ask, grinning as Vi scoffs, her hand inching up your thigh till her fingers skim yours. She gives your other hand a squeeze, the one that’s still clutched beneath hers on the cold compress against her cheek.

“We really oughtta do something about that mouth of yours — it’s gonna get you into some real trouble some day.”

You tilt your head slow, your eyes caught on the dangerous curve of Vi’s mouth as you suck in a soft breath, her free hand linking with yours —

“And here I thought I was already in the realest kind of trouble I could find…”

Vi’s thumb skims along the soft pad of your hand and you wince, pain shooting up your arm as you jerk back.

“Ouch —”

“Sorry —”

You both look down and the moment fades from around you like a dissipating breath on a winter morning’s chill. She frowns down at your hand even as you try to tug it free.

“It’s nothing, I just —”

“Hold still,” Vi’s voice is still soft but stern as jerks your hand up to eye level.

A sharp splinter peaks out from the pad of your palm, just beneath your thumb and Vi sighs, dropping the hand holding the compress to her cheek.

“You got tweezers or something?”

You nod mutely, tugging away to grab a pair from your makeup bag and bringing it back.

“Guess I should be thanking you,” Vi says, frowning as she squeezes at the tender skin around the splinter, trying to get to a good angle.

“For what? You’re the one that saved me,” you say, your breath hitching as she nudges against the splinter with her thumb, her wincing as you let out a small whine.

“Shit, sorry — I mean — I would’ve been in trouble if you didn’t take that guy out with the branch — don’t move — I think I got it —”

“I just…” you shrug your free arm, watching as Vi tugs the small shard of wood from your flesh, a bead of blood collecting on your skin.

Vi chuckles, shifting back to flick the splinter from the tweezer head and hand it back to you.

“Just moved without thinking?”

You flush, nodding, rubbing at your hand, glancing anywhere but at Vi’s face.

The quiet gathers around you like smoke, swirling and thick till you can’t stand the weight of it anymore and turn back towards her.

“Look, I’m sorry I pretended to be —”

“Do you wanna go out sometime with —”

The pair of you speak at the same time and you freeze, staring at one another.

“Sorry, what?”

“No, you —” Vi breaks off, swallowing.

You shake your head, “I — you said —”

“Forget what I —”

You frown, “Did you just ask me out on a real date?”

Vi goes pink, pushing her tongue against her cheek as she glares at a blank spot on the wall.

“Not if you’re actually sorry for trying to be my fake —”

“There’s a really cute place off Centre street —”

Vi’s eyebrows hike up, a grin twitching at her lips, “Yeah?”

You purse your lips, heat crawling up your neck and kissing into your cheeks.

“They’ve got boozy cupcakes.”

Vi laughs, “Oh shit, yeah?”

“I’ve… always wanted to go but…”

“So why haven’t you?”

You swallow, the ticking, post-midnight quiet collecting sweet around the pair of you like honey.

“Th-they’re kind of big and — I’ve… I’ve never had anyone to… to share one with.”

“Kinda big, huh?” Vi asks, her voice licentious, her eyebrows waggling.

You give her a tiny shove, “Oh my god — nevermind —”

“Let’s do it.”

You blink, your lashes fluttering as Vi shifts back half an inch, sucking in a breath as if reminding her own lungs of the action of breathing. There’s a berry-stained darkness to her cheeks and a lost, liquid look to her eyes. You wonder if it’s just the dimness of your apartment but when she turns her gaze back onto you, you find yourself arrested in it’s light.

“Okay,” you breathe.

And Vi nods again.

“I’ll uh — text you — wait, do we even have each other’s numbers?”

You shake your head, watching as she digs her phone from her pocket.

“No but I —” you pause as your hand hovers over her proffered phone. Vi frowns.

“You… what?”

You take her phone and quickly punch in your number, hitting the save button and handing the phone back to her.

Vi glances down at your contact before shooting you a quick text.

You jump slightly, biting your lips as you flick open your screen, your cheeks staining a darker and darker shade of red as you flip your screen towards her.

“I might’ve… asked Jayce for your number.”

Vi stares at the saved contact — Violet <3

“Wh —”

“It was so that if anyone came up to me after that party to ask if we were really dating, I could —”

“Pretend to be my fake girlfriend better?” Vi finishes, smirking, even though her stomach flips inside her.

“Yeah… something like that,” you say, snatching your phone back, your eyes downcast.

Vi runs a hand through her hair, fisting it tight enough to sting as she backs towards the door. Her heart is thumping somewhere in the back of her throat, making a truly valiant attempt at leaping from her mouth and all she can think is that she needs to get out of here before she does something that she’s really going to regret.

“So… I should —” she gestures at the door.

“Yeah, it’s late — be careful — do you want me to call you a cab?” You push to your feet even as Vi shakes her head.

“Nah, I’ve — I can jog back — it’s not far —”

“Okay… if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, princess.”

The silence pools at your feet as you take half a step forward, a hand pressed to your chest, the other behind your back. Vi watches, her whole body tingling as she fumbles for her shoes, a heady drunkenness soaking into her skin that might be just her tiredness catching up with her or something else entirely.

“Kay — I’ll see you.”

You put up a hand and wiggle your fingers. Vi clears her throat as she pulls open the door and slips out, bringing the door shut behind her with a long exhale, sagging against it the second it’s closed.

You hiss out a breath, stumbling forward to press your forehead to the cool metal as Vi closes her eyes, her back braced against it on the other side.

You let your lashes flutter shut just as Vi forces hers open, and both of you murmur at the exact same time —

“Well, fuck.”

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yournightmary · 22 days ago

Text

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER ONE: SHUT UP AND KISS ME

violet; 4,711 words; fluff, enemies to lovers, fake dating, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, wlw, the gays can't communicate, college parties, toxic ex!cait, impulsive!reader, drama as all living fuck, no "y/n"

summary: in which you decide to go to yet another party vi's going to be at. consequences ensue.

a/n: i know its late but its still the 30th in cali!!! enjoy the ENEMIES part of enemies to lovers!!!! <3

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ IT TURNS OUT THAT Vi does, in fact, remember you. And, it also seems like she’s the type to hold a grudge.

Because three days later, when you’re running through a few off-ice warmups while the hockey team finishes up their morning practice, you distinctly hear her challenging one of her teammates to a race even as everyone else is clearing off the ice.

You groan, dropping back onto the bench and frowning as you start to lace up your skates.

“Great, now I’ve gotta skate on fucked up ice before the mid-day zamboni — really fucking great —”

“Got something you wanna say to my face, princess?”

Your eyes jerk up, and there’s Vi, standing not even a foot from you, her helmet tucked under one arm, her stick in the other, her hair a sweat-slicked mess that somehow still looks infuriatingly attractive. You narrow your eyes.

“Nope. Just… talking to myself.”

“I… don’t think so, sweetcheeks,” she says, taking a few steps forward even as you stand up. Like this, your eyes are barely level, your own skates giving you a solid few inches, but she still manages to look down at you as a smirk twists her lips.

You puff out a breath, feeling a wild thumping curling up your throat as you stare up at her, your fingertips going cold even as heat rushes into your cheeks.

“Fine,” you say, “you’re really that curious?”

Vi shrugs, “I mean, you seem to like dolling out unsolicited opinions so,” she pins you with a harsh look, “What’s another one to add to the collection, huh?”

You stiffen, and for a second, something breaks in Vi’s expression before it melds back into one of caustic curiosity. She looks like a beartrap sprung on a hair-pin trigger, her jaw clenched, her eyes hard.

“Huh, never thought you’d be such a glutton for punishment,” you say, the words dripping from you, slow as poison, and somewhere in the back of your mind, your fight or flight response is telling you that this is a bad, bad idea, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from taking half a step closer, even though Vi’s probably twice your size and can bench three times your body weight — “But then again, you did stay in a relationship with an emotionally manipulative bitch who swapped you out the second she could get her hands on someone better —”

“Shut the fuck up, you don’t know anything —!”

“Hey, hey!” A pair of large hands yanks Vi back just as she’s about to lunge towards you; another thinner pair of arms loops through yours, tugging you back a few steps.

“You stay the fuck out of this, Jayce!”

“Darling, what on earth is going on?” you turn to find Mel, her cheeks dusted in gold, her hands firm on your arms, as Jayce forcibly wrangles Vi back.

You swallow around the vitriol threatening your lips and shake your head, turning away from Vi.

“Nothing, just… I was annoyed that the hockey team always fucks up the ice after their practices —”

“Oh, you think we fuck up the ice?” Vi’s voice cracks like a gunshot in the vast rink, and several of the other girls from the hockey team have come jogging back, placing their hands on Vi’s shoulders to keep her from steamrollering into you. “You know how much precious practice time we’ve wasted filling up those massive holes you guys leave with your stupid little toe-pick jumps?”

You roll your eyes, anger flaring hot and high in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh, so sorry, didn’t know you guys could still see with the sustained brain damage you all must have from slamming into each other all the time.”

“Fuck you.”

You scoff, twisting back with a viperous smirk.

“In your wildest dreams, six.”

Vi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh… didn’t know you knew my number, princess.”

“It’s written on your face — or have all your previous hookups been so stupid they can’t even read —”

“And what kind of tomfoolery is this?”

Everyone freezes at the sound of Amara’s voice. You bite down on your lips and take a step back as the small, gray-haired woman strides through, her hands behind her back, her chin held high.

“Sorry, Amara — it’s nothing,” Jayce says, jerking Vi behind him as she tries to open her mouth to speak.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing to me,” Amara says, her words smooth as a river in spring thaw, and nearly just as frigid.

Guilt creeps up your spine as she scans over the hockey team with marked distaste.

“Perhaps I ought to let Vander know that his girls are once again causing a —”

“Don’t, Amara. It was — it was my fault.” You shake off Mel’s hands and slot yourself between Jayce and Amara, ignoring the the disbelieving snort from Vi.

Amara’s eyes land on you, and for a second, they soften. Still, she tilts her head, eyes sharp as a hawks as you twist your fingers behind your back.

“Your fault, darling?”

You nod, “Yeah, I — I was annoyed that they were carving up the ice, so I — I picked a fight —”

Amara sighs, “Yes… well, I can’t blame you, but you know it’s not good rink etiquette.”

“I know,” you say, hanging your head.

Amara tuts, “As long as you know,” she reaches up to pat your cheek before marching off towards the rink-side boxes to set up the music. Behind you, Jayce releases Vi’s arms with a sigh.

“Martyr,” Vi coughs as she shoulders passed you, flanked by a few of the hockey girls, casting dirty looks over their shoulders before disappearing into the locker rooms.

You close your eyes, take three deep breaths, and then step onto the ice.

“It was an ass thing to say.”

“As long as you know —”

“But I feel like she took it way too seriously, y’know?”

Jayce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he slumps down into the booth in the dining commons, shoving half an entire banana into his mouth as he pins you with a look.

“Or maybe, you can just apologize —”

You crinkle your nose, prodding at your yogurt bowl, toying with a spoonful of blueberry flavored granola.

“Can’t you just… like tell her I’m sorry or something?” you ask, pushing out your bottom lip in a signature pout. Jayce only swallows the rest of the banana before digging into a truly dauntingly sized ham and cheese sandwich.

“’m not doing your dirty work for you,” he says, his expression lighting up as Mel slides gracefully into the booth next to you, pressing a napkin into her lap.

“And what’s this about dirty work?” she asks, a teasing grin on her lips.

You sigh, “I’m asking very nicely —”

Jayce holds up a hand, “No, you’re trying to get me to apologize to Vi for you — which basically defeats the whole point of an apology.”

“No! It’s because I know you guys are like… platonic gym soulmates or — whatever —” you wave your hands through the air even as Mel laughs into her salad.

Jayce huffs, “Or,” he catches Mel’s eye, and you feel a distinct spate of unease work it’s way down your spine at the way Mel’s lips split into a devious grin.

“Or?” you prompt, setting down your spoon and sitting back, looking between the pair of them with mounting apprehension.

Mel gently places a hand on your arm, “You could just apologize to her yourself —”

“At the party this Saturday —”

“No — no way —” you put up both hands, “the last time I went to a party with you guys —”

“You got to make out with the hottest girl on the entire hockey team,” Mel soothes.

You bite your lips, eyes cutting down to your lap. You hadn’t told her. You hadn’t told anyone. So far as she and Jayce knew, the only slight against Vi you’d made is calling her ex a ‘manipulative bitch’, which — well.

“Right, and now she hates me.”

Mel sniffs, “You can’t be that bad at kissing. I refuse to believe it.”

Jayce snickers; Mel shoots him a glare. He reaches for the bag of free chips and pops it open with one hand.

“C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen? You offer her another kiss to make up for your little tantrum the other day?” Mel asks, flicking a thin, gold-laced braid over her shoulder.

You groan, sinking into your seat as you fold your arms over your chest, weighing the options.

You did feel bad for what you’d said. But you also tried to shield her from what you’re sure would’ve been much worse than what she’d gotten given Amara’s track record of tattling to Vander.

And then, unbidden, comes the memory of Vi’s sultry grin as she’d pinned you against the frat house door, her mouth inches from yours, the solid muscles of her torso pushing against yours as she’d leaned in and —

“— at a sorority house, so the space’ll be much nicer,” Mel promises, turning towards you again, her eyes expectant.

You blink, your mind catching up to her words a second later as you sigh.

“I — sure, fine — but I can’t stay too long. I’ve got Skate America in two weeks —”

Jayce ruffles your hair, “Yeah, so do we.”

You shove his massive arm off you with a half-hearted glare, “Yeah, but I’m not made like you guys. I can’t just literally skate into a podium. I actually have to practice.”

“Oh don’t get all shy now, little miss triple axel.”

“I’ve only landed it twice in practice, and I’m pretty sure one of them was underrotated —”

Mel shakes her head, “And there she goes again —”

“Always so humble —” Jayce adds.

You groan and bury your face in your arms, “Will you leave me alone?”

Mel laughs, “We will if you come to the party on Saturday,” she sing-songs, nudging you with her elbow.

Jayce slings an arm around your shoulders, shaking you slightly.

“And Vi’s for sure going.”

You peak up at him, “How… do you know?”

Jayce smirks, “Cause. Her ex is gonna be there.

You blink.

“Oh.”

Mel pillows her cheek on her palm, tapping her perfectly manicured nails along the table, a Cheshire-grin spread across her lips like warm butter.

“With her new girlfriend.”

You whip around towards her.

“Oh.”

This was a terrible idea, you think, as you step into the sorority house, tugging on the edge of your dress, the hem of which barely skims your mid-thigh, the modest, high-necked front contrasted with the plunging back line that settles in a graceful slope of material just above the curve of your ass.

“Quit fidgeting,” Mel says, slapping at your hand as you try once again to readjust the bottom of the dress.

“I can’t — I feel like I’m gonna flash the world — and it’s a tossup if it’s the front of the back!” you hiss, jerking the hemline of the dress down as it slowly starts to ride up your thigh again.

Mel tuts, “Please, as if this is anywhere near as short as the performance outfits that we have to wear —”

“That’s different!” you insist, reaching out to grab two cups of something and shoving one at Mel, “We’ve got tights on under those!”

Mel rolls her eyes, sniffing at the drink before making a face and dropping it off on a random surface. You take an absent sip of your own drink, gagging immediately at the taste.

“Eugh, oh god what do they put in those?” you ask, dropping your own solo cup on a table as Mel drags you through the shifting crowd.

The party’s already going in full swing, but she’d been right, the space is nicer — wider and less cramped, the ceilings high and the music less abrasive.

“Where’re we going?” you ask, even as Mel guides you towards the heart of the party and somehow manages to conjure up two glasses of what looks like champagne, handing one to you, and taking a sip of the other one herself.

“Finding Vi,” she says, to which you balk, shaking your head.

“Mel!”

She turns with an exasperated sigh, “What?”

“C-can’t we just —” you motion towards the party, “try to have a good time? I mean — maybe she’s not here — maybe she wanted to have a quiet night in —”

“Speak of the devil —” Mel’s face breaks into a grin as she spots someone over your shoulder and you whip around to see —

Caitlyn Kiramman, the veritable goddess of track and field, all dark hair and endless long legs, standing there with her new girlfriend Maddie Nolen, a cute, if slightly awkward girl, with strawberry blond hair cropped in a truly abominable bob-cut.

The room seems to part for them, Caitlyn tugging Maddie forward with their fingers laced, looking not so unlike the Queen of England, followed by her loyal procession of ginger-backed corgis.

You take a few steps back, watching them with raised brows, wondering what on earth Caitlyn might’ve seen in Maddie, given that she’d had Vi seemingly wrapped around her pinky finger just months before.

But then, you see Vi — her expression caught somewhere between hurt and barely scraped together bravado, her fists at her sides as Caitlyn also spots her, approaching with Maddie half a step behind.

“Fancy seeing you here, Violet,” Caitlyn says, her voice carrying over the crowd even as everyone tries to avert their gaze or pretend like they aren’t listening in.

Vi puffs out her chest, “Sure, yeah. Super fancy. What, d’you think I’d be banned from the sorority house or something?”

Caitlyn shrugs, “Something like that.”

Vi narrows her eyes, her knuckles going white, “Sorry cupcake, ‘fraid not even you can keep me from havin’ a good time.”

“So I see,” Caitlyn says. Maddie peers around her shoulder with wide eyes and a shy smile.

“Name’s Maddie, it’s nice to meet —”

“See you’ve already replaced me,” Vi says, folding her arms over her chest, her biceps bulging, the vein in her jaw ticking dangerously as she looks Maddie over.

Caitlyn smirks, “See you haven’t.”

Vi seems to deflate slightly at that, her arms coming loose, “Actually I —”

You find yourself moving before you can stop yourself, pushing through the gathering crowd till you can throw your arms around Vi’s neck, bowling into her with a simpering squeal of —

“Vi! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Vi’s expression morphs from one of shock to a momentary flash of suspicion as you meet her eyes and bat your lashes in what you hope is an inconspicuous way before turning towards Caitlyn and Maddie, a 100-watt smile hitched over your lips.

“Oh! And who’s this?”

Caitlyn narrows her eyes, looking you over with an imperialistic eye.

“Caitlyn — Kiramman… pleasure.”

“Oh wow! You’re the — the girl who’s really good at hurdles, right?” you say, even as Vi stifles a laugh at your side, her hand settling around your waist.

Caitlyn’s eyes harden as her lips thin into a pale line. Anyone who knows her would know that hurdles are her worst discipline, and that she’d dropped nearly every single one on her last major competition.

“And I’m Maddie… Nolen. So you must be —” Maddie reaches out, but not before Caitlyn takes your hand instead.

“The Ice Princess — our very own Olympic hopeful. Best of luck to you in the Grand Prix series this year. I heard you had something of a nasty fall early in your season last time… you oughtta be more careful this time around,” Caitlyn says, looking you up and down, even as you smile up at her, blissfully sweet and unbothered. Your cheeks are starting to hurt.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you flap your hand, crinkling your nose as you lean forward, using the motion to reach down and give Vi’s hand a soft squeeze, your eyes pinned on Caitlyn’s as you say —

“I never make the same mistake twice.”

And before she has the chance to respond, her jaw dropping open, you turn towards Vi with a bright grin, placing a palm against her chest, leaning right into her space.

“C’mon, let’s go get a drink, hm?”

“Y-yeah, princess — sure —”

You tug her away before the facade crumbles entirely, the pair of you dodging around curious eyes till you end up in the thankfully empty kitchen. Her hand pulls from yours the second you close the door behind you.

“What the hell —”

You hold up both your hands, falling back three steps to put some distance between you and her.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It — it just looked like…” you shrug, casting your eyes around the kitchen even as Vi huffs, folding her arms across her chest to lean back against the door, “It looked like you could use a hand, that’s all.”

“I didn’t need anyone to rescue me,” she snipes, her voice hardening around the edges.

You nod, “Yeah, I know. But…”

“But what?”

You swallow, turning your back to Vi as you pace around the large, marble-tiled kitchen, “I — I felt bad for — for what I said last time… so…”

You turn around just in time to catch Vi’s incredulous expression, seconds before she breaks into a sharp bark of laughter.

“Wow, my hero — my very own white-knight. Really, who needs Prince Charming when you’ve got —”

“Okay! I get it — you didn’t need saving — holy shit you don’t have to rub it in.”

You sigh, leaning up against the kitchen island, glaring down at a half-empty bottle of vodka sitting in the sink before reaching out to grab it and rummaging around for two empty shot glasses.

Vi watches you with an amused grin twitching at her lips.

Finally, you manage to find a few shot glasses tucked into the far corner of a cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, but your fingers don’t quite reach. And a second later, a body presses solid and warm to your back as Vi’s hand reaches in to pull two of the glasses out, placing them squarely on the counter.

She shoots you a lopsided grin as you watch her expertly pull two shots from the vodka bottle and slide one towards you.

“Mazel,” she smirks, tossing it back and smacking her lips.

You eye your own shot for a second longer before squeezing your eyes shut and tossing it back as well, immediately coughing, fighting to keep your gag reflex from taking over, pressing the back of your hand to your lips.

Vi’s laughter is loud, but not unkind as she reaches out to tug the shot glass from you, setting everything back into the sink.

“So. You’re felt bad, did you?”

You groan, dropping your head into your arms.

“I mean — yeah — it was —” you take a deep breath, bracing your palms against the kitchen island, eyes fixed on where your fingertips are slowly going white, “It was a shitty thing to say.”

“Mm. Which one? Mentioning my breakup right before I was about to kiss you? Or calling my ex a manipulative bitch?”

You wince, chewing on the inside of your cheek, though when you look up, it’s to find Vi smiling.

“Either? Both? Ugh… alcohol makes me —” you gesture at your head, wiggling your fingers as Vi watches, her smile sliding from amused into indulgent, “misplace the brain-mouth barrier a bit.”

“Yeah? And uh… do you skate drunk a lot? Or was that little exposition special just for me?”

You swallow, feeling the heat of the vodka creeping back up your throat as your cheeks prickle.

“That was…” you trail off, crinkling your nose as you cast about for a plausible response, but coming up empty, you sag against the kitchen counter, throwing up your hands, “I just — I’m not the best with impulsivity, okay?”

Vi chuckles, nodding, “So… I can see — I mean, even without the shouting match at the rink, that stunt you pulled back there with Cait —” she lets out a low whistle, shaking her head, “Gotta say, princess, I’m impressed. Pretending to be my new girlfriend in front of her new girlfriend? That’s… that’s ballsy.”

You let out another groan, sliding down the side of the kitchen island to sit on the floor, pulling your knees into your chest and glaring half-heartedly at the bottom of the fridge. A second later, Vi flops down to join you, an arm propped on her knee, her eyes caught on the shape of you, your pouty lips and the slope of your nose.

“Seriously though, when you made that hurdles comment — I almost lost it —”

You break into a bright peal of laughter, head thumping back against the cupboards as Vi allows herself a chuckle.

“Yes, yes — I’m kind of bitch. Point made,” you say, casting her a sidelong glance.

She shrugs, “Then I guess I’ve got a type, so…”

You bite down on your bottom lip, mulling over her words.

“So?” you ask.

She sighs, “So. What’s next?”

You frown, “Next?”

She fixes you with an incredulous look, “Yeah. Like — what comes after you so gallantly rescuing me from my oh-so-wicked ex by announcing that we’re dating in front of half our graduating class?”

You open your mouth, gaping at her.

A second passes. Then another.

Vi stares. Then, she bangs her head so loudly against the cupboards behind you you almost jump out of your skin.

“Come on! Are you kidding?! You’re telling me you did all this without any kind of plan?” She pushes to her feet seconds before you scramble up onto yours, frowning defensively in her direction.

“I told you! I’m — I’ve got an impulse problem and impulsivity doesn’t exactly lend itself to perfect foreplaning —”

But the pair of you break off as the unmistakable sounds of voices echoes down the hallway leading towards the kitchen. And in particular one voice — low and pitched and accented.

“Fuck —” Vi swears, looking suddenly stunned, her eyes wide, her whole body going rigid, “We’ve — we’ve gotta hide or something —”

You blink at her for a brief second before huffing out a breath and reaching up to jerk her down towards you. She barely catches herself against the counter, her hands braced on either side of your hips as you hiss against her lips —

“Oh c’mon — don’t be stupid —”

“What the hell are you —”

“Just shut up and kiss me —”

The door swings open behind you and laughter pours in, though it abruptly cuts off as Caitlyn freezes in the doorway, Maddie nearly smashing into her, and Mel behind her as everyone else jostles to try and see what the hold up is.

“Oh… whoops,” Maddie says, letting out an embarrassed chuckle as she tries to turn away from the sight of Vi and you caught in the throes of what looks like an intense make out session, Vi’s fingers digging divots into the skin of your hips, your fingers curling in her hair.

You let out a tiny whimper as Vi hoists you up onto the kitchen island, slotting herself between your legs, even as Caitlyn makes an affronted noise behind you, folding her arms.

“I see this room’s taken,” she says, voice flat and dangerous.

But Vi’s only response is to trail a hand up to your jaw, cupping it in her palm so she can slot her lips more comfortably against yours, letting out a satisfied hum at the way you soften into her as she sinks her teeth into you bottom lip.

Caitlyn scoffs, rolling her eyes even as Maddie tugs her back down the hallway. Everyone else jostles back into the main room as well, giggling and gossiping about this exciting new development.

Mel, though, clears her throat as she and Jayce share a look before closing the kitchen door behind them.

“Right, that’s enough you two —” she says, to very little avail.

Because somewhere between one breath and the next, you’d lost yourself to the feeling of Vi’s lips on yours, the heady, pulsing friction of her body as she cradles you against her, the way you can still taste the remnants of that vodka shot on her tongue as she licks into your mouth.

Faintly, you wonder if this might’ve turned out differently if you’d just kept quiet on that first night and let her kiss you in that dirty frat room.

But the thought is quickly dashed by a deep groan thrumming from Vi’s chest to yours as you lean back into the kiss, running your thumb down along her neck, pressing into the fluttering pulse point just below her jaw.

A whine curls up your throat as Vi’s fingers work beneath the hem of your little black dress, teasing at the skin of your thigh.

“Hey! Earth to horny lesbians!”

You pull back with a gasp, and Vi resurfaces as well, the both of you panting, your lips separating with a sound not unlike a plunger being released from a recently blocked sink. You feel your head spin, the room pressing in around you before expanding back out, even as Vi drags the back of her hand across her mouth, stumbling back a few steps.

“W-what?”

Jayce lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Really? That’s what got you?”

Mel sighs, rolling her eyes, “I think it’s time you explain yourselves.”

You lick your lips, hopping off the kitchen island even as Vi runs a hand over her face, her eyes strangely fractured, her cheeks dusted high with color.

“Well you were the one that said I should offer her another kiss to make up for — Vi? Where are you going?”

But Vi’s already making for the door, her shoulders hunched, her fists clenched at her sides. You take a few steps towards her but stop dead as she runs a hand through her hair.

“Sorry — I — I gotta go —” her voice is hoarse, and the look on her face when she glances over her shoulders at you — that more than anything convinces you to let her go.

You like to think that you’d seen experienced a good number of human emotions on the broad spectrum. Skating forces you to tap into a lot of them — anger, excitement, joy, sorrow, jealousy, vindication, passion.

But you’d never seen someone look so utterly broken.

“Wait, Vi —” Jayce tries to stop her but Mel places a hand on his arm, and Vi brushes passed them both, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway beyond without another word.

You sag against the kitchen island as both Mel and Jayce turn their eyes back onto you.

“Right.” Mel rounds on you even as you shrink back against the fridge, chewing on your lips.

Jayce groans, looking between you and Mel before marching over to the table and pulling up a few chairs.

“Everyone sit. If we’re gonna talk about this, we might as well be comfortable.”

You eye the chairs for a few seconds before sliding over and dropping into one of them.

Mel perches on the edge of another as Jayce leans himself against the dining table, arms folded loosely across his chest.

“So?” Mel prods.

You take a deep breath.

“So… at that frat party… when me and Vi were… supposed to kiss? Yeah, well… we… kinda, sorta… didn’t.”

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yournightmary · 23 days ago

Text

─── Ⅵ FIGURE EIGHTS

violet; 28,888 words; fluff and smut (at the end), semi enemies to lovers, fake dating, hockey!vi x figure skater!reader, ice dancers!meljayce, miscommunication, smau-intermissions, toxic ex!cait, simpgirl!vi, slowburn, the gays r bad at feelings, lots of making out that almost leads to something, emotional edging (for YOU lol), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, oral (r!receiving), slightly unhinged!reader, no "y/n"

summary: a hockey player and a figure skater kind of, sort of, not really, but then actually fall in love. what could possibly go wrong? (narrator: apparently, everything.)

a/n: YALL. yall. YOU. ALL. lmfao. i can't believe i finished this (i say, after writing any fic longer than 5k words). but i TRULY doubted for a second that i would bc as i kept writing, it kept... getting longer? i hope that this doesn't drag, and that you guys like it. it's really a fucking labor of love. like heavy emphasis on the labor. shoutout to @vifilms for being my emotional support, and to my irl bf for actually physically reading through like 90% of this fic out LOUD with me to make sure the dialogue doesn't sound awk. BUT ANYWAYS. pls enjoy and PLS tell me what u guys think!!!! the smau fake texts won't start till chapter three, but ! it's my first time making like.. fake texts so sldkfjsd.

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: party people

chapter one: shut up and kiss me

chapter two: fists to a knife fight

chapter three: love's dream

chapter four: for cup's sake

chapter five: don't hate the player (suggestive)

chapter six: six (nsfw)

─── TAG YOU'RE IT .ᐟ.ᐟ

pls comment below if you'd like to be tagged for this series! :) if you're already on my vi-taglist via my normal taglist link, then you're all good. if you only wanna be tagged for this series, comment below! pls pls have your age visible somewhere on your blog as this will be an 18+ fic!!!! thank you!!!

prologue: party people

─── Ⅵ IT STARTS WITH A GAME of spin the bottle — a college party post-game, the home team the exhalant victors, the crowds of adoring fans the worshippers at their beer-tower altars, doing keg stands and shot-gunning cans of cheap bud lite for an approving grin or a wink.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” you ask, jerking back as a drunken guy nearly topples into you, the red solo cup in his hand sloshing over onto the already sticky linoleum floor.

Mel sighs, “Because, darling, you promised me that you’d come out at least once if me and Jayce made it through the Challenger Series this year.”

She tugs you behind her, weaving through the crush of bodies till the cramped living room area opens onto a much larger patio, the mid-autumn chill cooling your skin.

“It was a joke,” you say, whining slightly even as Mel grabs what looks like an unopened hard cider from the table and presses it into your hand.

“Yes, and one that hurt my feelings,” Mel sniffs, turning her nose up, though a grin teases at her lips, “so to make up for it, you now have to stay at this party and have some semblance of a good time.”

And that was three and a half drinks ago, because sometime between then and now, you’ve found yourself pulled into an unwitting game of spin the bottle with what seems like half the entire hockey team, sitting next to Mel, her boyfriend Jayce on your other side, chatting animatedly with one of the girls hockey girls. You overhear the words “creatin” and “Bulgarian Squat” and decided that it’s time for you to tune out of the conversation.

“Vi, it’s your turn!”

Vi, your thoughts linger over the sound.

It’s a pretty name.

You glance up at the girl sitting across from you, Number Six — you’ve always known her as that, what with the tattoo on her cheek (there were rumors that it’s actually not real and she just reapplies one of those temporary tattoos every two weeks) and the fact that it’s her jersey number, it’s really not too hard to remember.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, laughing as she reaches for the empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle. Her right hand’s bandaged up and you can’t help staring at it. When you look up next, it’s to catch her watching you, your eyes meeting in a startling clash of raw contact — the cacophonous noise of the party dulling out to a thin whine somewhere at the back of your head as you stare at her and she stares right back.

You’d never noticed that her eyes, even in the dark, beneath the dim, flickering patio lights, reads mourning-dove blue, so subtle it’s almost gray, so sharp as she takes you in that your stomach drops from inside you. She smirks and twists her fingers expertly around the bottle, setting it whizzing.

You tear your eyes away, your breath sent astray in your chest by just that look alone. You frown at the spinning bottle, your mind abuzz with fragmentary thoughts you can’t quite string along for long enough to form a full sentence — eyes… her lips are pretty… wasn’t she dating… someone? who??? what’s her name again? something pretty —

“— right, ice princess, you ready?”

“Huh?” you jerk your eyes up from the bottle to find everyone watching you. From your left, Mel nudges you with a sanctimonious grin, her eyes flickering down to the bottle and back up towards —

“Go on!” she hisses, even as you blink uncomprehendingly down at the bottle pointing right at you.

Across the circle, Vi’s questioning smirk is all the answer you need as your alcohol-addled brain finally puts together the pieces.

“R-right…” you push up onto your knees, but something holds you back, a niggling feeling in the back of your brain as Vi’s smirk grows wide and she jerks her head towards the living room.

“Want a bit of privacy? Or… would you prefer an audience?”

Half the circle wolf-whistles at the insinuation, the other half roll their eyes, leaning back on their elbows as if to settle in for a long night.

You lick your lips, feeling your mouth scald dry.

“Privacy. Please.”

You follow Vi stiffly from the patio back into the stuffy house, her fingers closing around your wrist as she tugs you behind her through a long hallway splitting off from the main living room, branching into a series of what look like bedrooms. Half the doors are closed, illicit sounds echoing out from behind them, but Vi finds an empty one near the end of the hallway and pushes it open, leading you inside.

“Oh wow,” you say, looking around the room. It’s a typical fratboy’s room, full of suggestive posters, the floor littered with questionably laundered clothes.

“What, not your ideal setting for a makeout-sesh with a stranger?”

You frown as your eyes slingshot back to Vi, her standing feet from you, hands tucked loosely into her pockets, watching you with dark, firefly eyes.

“Thought we were just supposed to kiss once.”

Vi chuckles, closing the distance between you in a few quick strides, crowding you up against the closed door.

“Sure. We can do that. Or…” she makes no effort to hide the way her eyes flicker down to your lips, trailing back up in a line of fire that sizzles against your skin. “I could show you what a real good time looks like.”

Your breath crystalizes in your chest, and the strange, tickling feeling traces down the back of your head till it gathers, hot and unconscionable at the nape of your neck — a spin-click wheel of half-formed thoughts and images ticking by behind your eyelids as you try to remember why the hell this feels so wrong.

And then, it clicks, and you press a hand to Vi’s chest just as she’s leaning down to graze her lips against yours, the friction so delicious you almost lose your train of thought.

“A-are you sure this is a good idea? Didn’t you just break up with that track and field girl? Caitlyn?” you blurt out, a culmination of all the snippets of whispered conversations and half-caught glances of the pair of them across campus. The It-Girl Couple, people called them, the hockey team star and the track and field genius. They were hard to miss, and even harder to forget.

A moth-wing-flicker of emotions crosses Vi’s face as she takes half a step back, her expression morphing into one of shock, and then hurt, and finally, hard-lined disgust as she looks down at you with a thin-lipped grimace.

“Oh fuck you.”

She yanks you from the door, storming out without a backwards glance. You catch yourself against the half-made bed, your breath coming in heaving pants as your head spins. Guilt curdles in the bed of your stomach like spoilt milk, and it only takes you half a second to realize that of all the things to say, that probably was the worst possible choice.

You’d heard mention of the breakup, even if you didn’t have any stakes in this so-called game. It was harsh and messy and loud, and it had spilled across campus like a backed-up toilet, oozing foulness and stank across the grounds till not a single person was left unstained in the aftermath.

“Wait —” you stumble after Vi, but it’s too late. By the time you reach the patio doors, she’s already settling back into her place in the circle, an easy grin slung across her lips.

You swallow, pushing through the door to scurry over to Mel’s side. Mel beams at the flush in your cheeks, convinced (just like the rest of the circle) that it’d been one hell of a kiss, judging by how entirely breathless you are.

“Damn Vi, you gotta learn how to go easy on them figure skaters, hm?” Margot smirks, her eyes glittering as she looks you over, “look at the poor darling — she can barely breathe!”

Everyone laughs, and Vi flashes a convincingly satisfied smirk, shrugging up a shoulder. You glance at her, only to shiver at the arctic ice behind her gaze as your eyes catch once more.

“What can I say? Easy isn’t a setting I come programmed with.”

You duck your head as Vi casts you one more frigid look before turning to laugh at something a teammate has just said, and the circle devolves into good-natured banter and pocket conversations. You gulp around your too-dry throat and pluck Mel’s drink from her hand, tossing the rest of it back in a single gulp. She blinks at you, eyes wide.

“Darling, are you —”

“I — I’m fine just — it’s — I think I’m gonna head back.”

Mel frowns, “Are you sure? I mean —” she looks towards where Vi’s been pulled into an impromptu arm-wrestling match with some dude from the football team, “you could try and —”

You shake your head, “No, I — I think I’m good. I had a good time, I just —” you run a hand through your hair, “I’ve got practice tomorrow and Amara’s gonna murder me if I get there late.”

Mel stares for a second before relenting, a soft sigh on her lips.

“Alright, alright — go on then. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, yes?”

You give her a tight-lipped smile, reaching out for a quick hug before ducking out of the party, skirting the edges of the growing mosh pit forming in the living room till you finally find yourself out on the front steps again.

You close your eyes for a second, pressing your back to the frat house door, feeling the dull thump of the music inside reverberating through the thin wooden frame as you breathe in and out.

You can still taste the heat of Vi’s breath on your lips, feel harsh sting of ice as she’d caught your eyes after. The chill air, once refreshing, pebbles your skin and an involuntary shiver shakes down your spine. You wrap your arms around yourself and give your head a good shake.

Whatever, you think, stepping off the porch, casting your eyes up at the star-strewn sky, a whisp of warm breath fogging up the air before you.

Not like it’ll matter. Bet she won’t even remember me after tonight.

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yournightmary · 28 days ago

Text

i need to write some headcannons but i have no idea what the people want. send requests!!

(preferably for Ellie and Vi)

#lesbian #wlw #the last of us #ellie williams x reader #arcane #arcane x reader #the last of us x reader #ellie williams #vi arcane #vi arcane x reader

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yournightmary · 29 days ago

Note

vi x reader angst where reader and vi had something before lockup (maybe reader was desperately looking for her/a body for years and never got with anyone else because they loved vi). first time they see vi again, they’re kissing cait. vi has to make a choice (mayhaps someone tells vi how much, how long and how deep reader still loves vi)

SORRY THIS ASK IS LONG BUT NO ONE WRITES VI X CAIT X READER ANSGT AND IM FEENING FOR ITTTT CA

I’VE LOVED YOU FOR SO LONG | vi x fem!reader, angst, squint of fluff, wc: 10k | masterlist

content warnings: not much! angst!!!, brief caitvi, childhood friend!vi, firelight kinda!reader, tiny mention of blood, bit of an open ending, uhhhhh ….

note: sorry this took so long but i hope u like it! (struggled a bit with the ending so i left it kind of open and hopeful :P

Growing up in the Lanes was never easy. The air was always thick wit smog and desperation. But somehow, in the middle of all the grime, there were moments of light—moments that felt almost normal… sweet, even.

For Vi, those moments often came when she was with you.

You were the kind of person who seemed to radiate something soft, something pure, even in a place as unforgiving as here. You were always helping someone—patching up a scraped knee, sharing what little food you had, or offering a warm smile that could ease even the sharpest edges of the Lanes’ harsh reality. Vi, on the other hand, was tough as nails, like she always was. But when it came to you, that toughness often cracked, revealing a gentler side that few people ever got to see.

You met when you were both kids, barely old enough to understand the full weight of the world you were born into. Vi had just finished scrapping with a group of older kids who had tried to steal a loaf of bread from Powder. Her knuckles were bloody, and her lip was split, but she wore her bruises with pride as she swaggered down the street.

Then she saw you—someone small and delicate crouched beside a stray cat with a limp, gently wrapping its leg with a strip of cloth you’d torn from your own sleeve. Vi had stopped in her tracks, her usual bravado faltering as she watched you work with such careful concentration. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen anyone show that kind of… tenderness.

“Hey,” she had said, her voice rough but curious, “what’re you doing?”

You looked up at her, your eyes wide and a little startled, but then you smiled. “Helping,” you said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

From that moment on, Vi couldn’t seem to stay away from you.

She’d show up wherever you were, always with some excuse—she was just passing through, or she needed your help with something, or she was making sure no one was giving you trouble. In truth, she just liked being around you. You didn’t flinch when she got into fights, didn’t scold her for her temper or her stubbornness. Instead, you had this way of looking at her, like you could see past all of that to the person she really was. And Vi, who had always felt like she had to be tough to survive and protect her family, found herself wanting to be softer when she was with you.

The two of you became inseparable, spending your days exploring the winding alleys and hidden corners of the Lanes. Vi would teach you how to throw a punch, insisting that you needed to know how to defend yourself. You’d laugh as she guided your fists, her hands warm and steady against yours, though she always ended up pulling her punches when it came to sparring.

“Can’t risk messing up that pretty face of yours,” she’d tease, though her voice would always carry a hint of something serious, like the idea of you getting hurt was unbearable to her.

“You’re an idiot,” you’d say back.

And she’d laugh, nudging you playfully against your shoulder, her all ears red as she looked at you, “But I’m your idiot.”

You, in turn, taught Vi the value of kindness, though you didn’t do it with words. You did it with your actions—with the way you’d stop to help a stranger, even when you didn’t have much to give, or the way you’d bandage up Vi’s cuts and bruises after a fight, your touch so gentle it made her chest ache. She’d sit there, watching you work, and wonder how someone like you could exist in a place like this.

And it also helped that Powder adored you too.

She’d often tag along on your adventures with her wide-eyed curiosity. You had a way of making her feel seen, of treating her like she was just as capable and important as the rest of you, and that meant the world to her. Vi loved watching the two of you together, the way you’d laugh and tease each other, the way you’d patiently explain things to Powder when she didn’t understand. It made Vi’s dreams of a better life feel almost tangible, like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something more than survival.

And then there were the jobs… or whatever she could get from Ekko.

They were never easy—running contraband, sneaking into places she had no business being. Vi loved the adrenaline of it, the thrill of a plan coming together, but there was always a part of her that thought about you while she was out there. She’d see something—a trinket, a piece of candy, a flower growing stubbornly in the cracks of the pavement—and she’d think of you.

She started bringing things back for you, little gifts she’d pretend didn’t mean anything. The first time, it was a shiny button she found while breaking into a some storage room. It was small and completely useless, but it was the kind of thing she thought you’d like. She tossed it to you when she came back, trying to act casual.

“Found this,” she said, her voice gruff. “Figured you could use it for… I don’t know, something.”

You’d looked at her, a little confused at first, but when you smiled and said, “Thanks, Vi,” she felt something warm settle in her chest.

After that, it became a habit.

She’d bring you scraps of fabric, little bits of wire and string, or a half-broken gadget Powder thought she could fix up for you. Once, she brought you a single daisy she’d found growing in a crack on the edge of the Lanes. She’d nearly crushed it during the job, and when she handed it to you, she was so embarrassed she couldn’t meet your eyes.

“It’s just a flower,” she mumbled, scratching the back of her neck. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

But you always did. Vi would pretend it didn’t matter, but her ears would turn red, and she’d fumble with excuses about why she’d brought you something in the first place.

She didn’t know how to say what she was feeling, didn’t even fully understand it herself. All she knew was that you made the Lanes feel a little less bleak, a little less hopeless.

And as the years passed, the your relationship with Vi only grew stronger. There were always moments when the certain feelings between you became almost impossible to ignore—like the time you patched her up after a particularly nasty fight, your fingers lingering on her cheek as you wiped away the blood, telling her firmly to always be careful, as your eyes search hers. Or the time she caught you staring at her with that soft look in your eyes and she felt her cheeks flush, her confidence faltering as she looked away, muttering something about how you shouldn’t look at her like that. You’d raise an eyebrow in response, then just laugh softly.

But neither of you ever said anything outright. Instead, you found comfort in the smaller things—stolen glances, the way your hands would brush against each other as you walked side by side, the way Vi’s walls would melt away when it was just the two of you.

You were more than just a friend. You were her safe place, her reminder that there was still good in the world, even in the darkest corners of the Lanes. And for you, she was your protector, your anchor, the person who made you feel like maybe you weren’t as fragile as the world wanted you to believe.

But the Lanes always had a way of taking everything good and twisting it into something painful.

The night everything went to shit was the last time life in the Lanes felt even remotely bearable. It had been tense from the start. Vander was gone, taken by Silco, and Vi’s face was set in that grim determination she always wore when she was trying to be strong for everyone else. You knew she was scared, no matter how much she tried to hide it.

You were in the back room of the Last Drop, pacing. Vi had told you to stay put, her voice sharper than usual, her gaze practically boring a hole through you.

“Don’t follow us,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Just… stay here. Look after Powder, okay? I can’t worry about you and her while we’re out there.”

You wanted to argue, to tell her you could help, that you weren’t as fragile as she thought you were. But the look in her eyes stopped you. So, you nodded, biting back the words you wanted to say, and watched her leave with Mylo and Claggor.

Powder sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, clutching one of her gadgets like it was a lifeline. She kept glancing at the door like she was expecting Vi to come back at any moment, triumphant and unscathed.

But you both knew better.

The hours dragged on, the silence between you and Powder filled only with the occasional sound of glass breaking in the distance or the low hum of Zaun’s underbelly. You tried to keep your hands busy, cleaning up the room, organizing scraps of whatever was lying around. Anything to stop your mind from racing. Powder didn’t really say much; she just watched you with wide, anxious eyes, her fingers fidgeting with the gears of her monkey bomb.

Eventually, exhaustion began to creep in. You figured you were working too much. You remembered Vi’s words in your head, telling you that she’s always careful, that she’ll always come back to you. And you tried to stay awake, tried to keep an eye on Powder like Vi had asked, but your body betrayed you.

Powder had been quiet the whole night, but as you drifted off, she glanced at you. She hated being left behind, hated the way Vi always told her to stay because she wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t capable enough. She wanted to prove herself, to show that she could help, that she could save them. And with you asleep, curled up in Vi’s bed, she saw her chance. Quietly, Powder slipped off the couch, grabbing her monkey bomb and a bag of supplies. She hesitated for a moment, looking back at you. She didn’t want to leave you, but she couldn’t sit there and do nothing.

Not when Vi needed her.

She crept out of the room, careful not to make a sound, and disappeared into the shadows.

The first thing you noticed as you stirred was the faint, low rumble of something distant but violent—a sound that felt like it rattled through the very walls of the Last Drop. You blinked, eyes fluttering slowly as you pushed yourself up. The second explosion was sharper, louder, and your heart leaped in your chest. It was a sound that didn’t belong to the Lanes.

Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of the room. Everything felt too still now, too quiet, except for the faint aftershock of what you had just heard. You rubbed at your face, trying to shake off the grogginess, and then you noticed it—bright, electric blue sparks flickering in the distance, visible through the small, grimy window. Your stomach dropped as a sense of dread washed over you. Your breaths came quicker now, shallow and uneven, as you sat up fully, scanning the room.

“Powder?” you called out softly, your voice hoarse from sleep.

You looked around, the familiar clutter of the space offering no sign of her.

“Powder?” you called again, louder this time, but the silence that followed made your chest tighten.

You stumbled to your feet, nearly tripping over a discarded piece of scrap on the floor. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign that she was still there—a glimpse of her small frame huddled in the corner, the sound of her fidgeting with one of her gadgets.

But there was nothing.

The couch where she’d been sitting earlier was empty, the blanket you’d draped over her crumpled and abandoned. The faint smell of oil and metal lingered in the air, but it was missing the warmth of her presence.

“No, no, no,” you muttered under your breath, your mind racing as you pieced together what must have happened.

You remembered the way she had been clutching that monkey bomb earlier, the way her eyes had flickered with something desperate and restless.

She left.

Your knees nearly buckled as you made your way to the window, pressing your palms against the cold glass. The sparks of blue still flickered in the distance, bright against the dark, polluted haze of the Lanes. The explosions hadn’t stopped, and now there were faint trails of smoke rising into the air.

“Powder,” you whispered, the weight of her name heavy on your tongue.

She had gone after Vi, you were sure of it. The thought hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. She was out there—your sweet, fragile Powder—in the middle of whatever chaos was unfolding.

And Vi… Vi had told you both to stay behind.

Now, you were running as fast as you could.

And when you got there, everything was on fire.

Buildings were crumbling under the weight of the flames, black smoke billowing into the sky and choking the air around you. The heat was suffocating, stinging your eyes and making it hard to breathe. You stood there, frozen, your wide eyes scanning the devastation. The ground was stained with dark, wet streaks that gleamed in the firelight—blood. It was everywhere, smeared across the cobblestones, trailing through the debris, pooling in some places as if marking the spots where someone had fallen.

But there were no bodies.

No sign of Vi. No Mylo. No Claggor. No Powder. Just… nothing.

Your chest heaved as you tried to take it all in, your mind struggling to make sense of the chaos. The silence was deafening, broken only by the relentless crackle of flames and the occasional groan of a collapsing structure. You called out for them. You spent hours waiting, searching and trying.

But, there were no voices, no footsteps, no cries for help.

Just emptiness.

Nothing.

The days blurred into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. Time moved forward, but you stayed stuck in the same moment—the night everything fell apart. The fire, the blood on the streets, the faces of everyone you loved burned into your memory like scars you couldn’t erase. It didn��t matter how much time passed. You never stopped seeing them. Never stopped feeling the weight of their absence.

Life in the Undercity didn’t wait for grief. It didn’t give you the chance to sit still and process the ache in your chest or the emptiness that had swallowed your world whole. The streets you grew up on were darker now, quieter, yet somehow more dangerous. Shimmer twisted its way into every crack and corner, poisoning the air you breathed.

You still had Ekko. He stuck close, as much as he could, and you were grateful for him in ways you couldn’t put into words. But even with him around, the loneliness lingered anyway.

Nights were the worst. The silence of your small, dimly lit room pressed down on you, and your mind replayed every memory of Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor. Sometimes, you could almost hear their laughter echoing in the distance.

Almost.

You never stopped looking for her.

At first, it was constant. Every waking moment you scoured the streets, searching for any trace of her. You asked anyone who would listen if they’d seen her, but no one had. Not a single person could tell you where she had gone or what had happened to her. Some said she was dead. Others said she’d been taken topside, to Piltover’s dungeons. You didn’t know which was worse.

You looked for Powder, too. Sometimes, you felt like you’d seen traces of her somewhere, certain colors she liked, drawings on the wall… It was like she was there, but she wasn’t… like she didn’t want to be found.

And years passed, but the hope never left you. Not fully. Even when the streets seemed colder, even when Ekko begged you to stop putting yourself in danger, you kept searching. You’d walk the streets at night, hood pulled tight over your head, hoping to catch a glimpse of her pink hair or hear her sharp voice in the crowd. Every time you saw a tall figure in the shadows, your heart would leap, only to sink seconds later when it wasn’t her.

You wondered, sometimes, if she was looking for you too. If she was out there somewhere, wondering what had happened to you. If she missed you the way you missed her. Those thoughts were the only thing that kept you going on the hardest days.

The Undercity changed around you. The shimmer trade grew stronger, its effects spreading like a disease. People you’d known your whole life turned hollow, their eyes glassy, their voices slurred. Survival became harder with each passing day. But even as the world around you crumbled, you held onto the memory of Vi.

Her voice. Her laugh. The way she used to look at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention, as if you were something more than just a friend. The way she used to bring you small, silly things from her jobs—half the time things she swore she’d found by accident, even though you knew better.

You missed her so much it hurt.

Then, one night, Ekko came to visit you.

He had news about Powder.

He’d seen her, he said. And it didn’t make sense at first.

He sat across from you in the dim, flickering light of the small hideout you’d both retreated to. His voice was almost hesitant, but heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. Regret? Anger? Grief? Maybe all three, twisted together in a way that made him seem older than he was, like the years had weighed heavier on him than they should have.

You were hunched over, elbows resting on your knees, your face buried in your hands. It had been another fruitless day, searching for a ghost you weren’t sure even existed anymore. Your body ached, your head throbbed, and the emptiness in your chest felt like it might swallow you whole.

And then Ekko said it—he said her name.

“Powder… she’s not the same anymore.”

At first, you thought he meant something else. Maybe she’d grown up like the rest of you, toughened by the streets and the weight of survival. Maybe he’d seen her, and she was angry, distant, bitter about the past. You could’ve handled that. You could’ve understood that.

But that wasn’t what he meant.

“She goes by Jinx now.”

You lifted your head slowly, confusion knitting your brow. “What are you talking about?”

Your voice was sharp, tinged with a nervous laugh that didn’t quite land.

“Powder wouldn’t call herself that. That’s not… that’s not her.”

Ekko’s gaze didn’t waver. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his expression hard but laced with pain. “It is her. She’s with Silco now.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “She wouldn’t—she’d never—”

“She’s different, (Y/n).” His voice cracked, just barely, but enough to make you flinch. “She’s not the kid we knew. Silco got in her head, twisted her up. She’s… dangerous now.”

You sat back, your body rigid, your mind spinning. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Powder was sweet, shy, maybe a little clumsy, but always full of love and hope. Powder adored you. Powder idolized Vi. She’d never turn into someone like… like that.

“Where did you hear this?” you demanded, your voice low but trembling. “Who told you?”

“I saw her,” Ekko said flatly. “It’s her, (Y/n). She’s been running with Silco’s people for years. She’s the one behind half the chaos in the Lanes right now. You’ve heard about the explosions, the heists—the people disappearing. That’s Jinx.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.

“That’s Powder.”

You stared at him, the words refusing to sink in. It felt like someone had ripped the ground out from under you, leaving you floundering in freefall.

“You’re wrong,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Powder wouldn’t… she wouldn’t do that.”

“I wish I was wrong,” Ekko muttered, his voice thick with bitterness. “But I’m not. She’s gone. The Powder we knew—she’s gone.”

“No,” you snapped, louder this time, anger rising to the surface as your chest tightened with panic. “She’s not gone. She’s just… confused, or scared, or… something. She wouldn’t just…”

Ekko’s face softened, but his eyes were filled with sadness. “I thought the same thing when I first saw her. I wanted to believe she could still come back, that maybe I could fix it. But she’s too far gone. Silco’s got his hooks right into her. She’s not the kid we grew up with anymore. She’s…”

He paused, the words catching in his throat.

“She’s dangerous.”

You shook your head again, your hands trembling as you pressed them against your thighs. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Powder was your friend, your family. She was bright and sweet and full of so much love. She wasn’t… she wasn’t a monster.

The thoughts clung to you every night. Powder—Jinx—had become someone unrecognizable, and you couldn’t stop the questions from flooding your mind. What would Vi think if she knew? Would she be disappointed in you for not doing more, for not stopping Powder before it was too late? Would she think you’d failed her?

Vi. Her name echoed in your mind. You missed her in a way that was so all-encompassing it became a part of you. You missed the way she used to tease you, the way she’d smirk like she had the world figured out, even when she didn’t. You missed patching her up after a fight. You missed how she’d smile at you, telling you that things to brighten your day. You missed everything.

It was only recently that you realized why the ache felt so sharp, so endless. You loved her. You’d loved her for years, even if you hadn’t admitted it to yourself until now. It was why you couldn’t let her go, why no one else had ever been able to fill the void she left behind.

People had tried. There were a few who flirted with you, a few who asked you to dinner or drinks. But you’d always brushed them off, always found an excuse. None of them were her. None of them had her fire, her strength, the way she made you feel seen and safe all at once.

The years hadn’t been kind to you, but you’d done your best to survive, to keep going even when it felt like the world was crumbling around you. You’d thrown yourself into helping Ekko and the Firelights, finding purpose in their mission even when you felt lost.

You patched them up when they were injured, your hands steady as you cleaned wounds and wrapped bandages. You shared what little food you had, sometimes going without so they wouldn’t have to. You became someone they could rely on, even if you didn’t always feel strong yourself.

But that strength went away a couple months later—the day you saw her again. It was something you didn’t prepare yourself for. You hadn’t expected it at all.

The sunlight filtering through the cracks of the hideout’s makeshift roof caught on the edges of your hair as you worked, pulling ripe fruits and vegetables from the small garden that the Firelights had nurtured in secret. The air was damp but fresh, filled with the earthy scent of soil and the faint hum of life. You liked working in the garden—it gave you a moment of peace, a small break from the weight of everything outside.

When you were done, your hands were covered in dirt, and a bead of sweat traced its way down your temple. You wiped your brow with the back of your arm, sighing softly. A few of the others nodded at you in thanks as they carried the baskets of food away. You stayed behind, crouched by the water pump, scrubbing the grime from your hands and under your nails.

The cool water washed over your skin, and for a moment, you let yourself pause, closing your eyes as the sound of the stream drowned out your thoughts. But it didn’t last long. The quiet never did.

Once you were cleaned up, you shook off the weariness and decided to find Ekko. You’d been meaning to talk to him about something—or maybe you just wanted to hear a familiar voice. The hideout could feel suffocating at times, even though it was a sanctuary for many. Ekko had a way of cutting through it, reminding you that there was still something worth fighting for.

But as you made your way through the winding halls of the hideout, you stopped short, your breath catching in your throat.

In one of the side rooms, barely lit by the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the cracks, you saw them.

A girl with blue hair stood close to another figure, her delicate fingers brushing against the cheek of the person in front of her. You couldn’t make out their faces at first, your mind taking an extra second to register what you were seeing. But then the pink hair caught the light, vibrant even in the dim room, and your chest tightened.

Vi.

Your Vi.

And she wasn’t alone.

The blue-haired girl leaned in, her lips brushing against Vi’s in a kiss so soft, so tender, that it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Vi didn’t pull away, her hand resting gently on the girl’s waist, her shoulders relaxing in a way you hadn’t seen in years.

You froze, rooted to the spot, your feet unwilling to carry you forward—or away. Your mind raced, a thousand thoughts clamoring for attention, but none of them loud enough to break through the sudden ache in your chest.

She was here. She was alive. But she wasn’t yours.

You didn’t know whether to cry out, to step into the room and demand an explanation, or to turn and run before they could see you. You wanted to be happy that she was safe, but all you could feel was the slow, creeping weight of heartbreak as it settled over you.

Because in that moment, it was clear—Vi wasn’t yours to miss. Not anymore.

“You have some explaining to do.” The words feel foreign on your tongue, but they spill out before you can stop them.

You stand at the threshold of Ekko’s lab, chest heaving, heart racing in disbelief. The image of Vi with another woman—kissing her, holding her—flashes in your mind and it’s all too much.

Ekko stands abruptly, looking as startled as you feel. His eyes widen, and his hand instinctively scratches at the back of his neck, a nervous tick you’ve known him to do since you were kids.

“I—I was gonna tell you today,” he stammers, voice cracking slightly as he fumbles for his words. “We just got her last night… when we ambushed Jinx…”

Your breath catches, a knot of frustration and hurt tightening in your chest. “You ambushed Jinx? And now you’re bringing Vi back in like this? Without telling me?”

The words come out harsher than you intend, but it doesn’t matter right now. Your mind is spiraling.

Ekko holds up his hands, trying to calm you, his gaze softening. “I was going to tell you! I just… After everything with Jinx… I didn’t know if she was someone I could trust yet.”

His words hit you like a slap, and for the first time since you walked in here, a part of you slows down. After everything that happened, Vi could very well be someone you couldn’t trust. Someone who might have changed in ways you couldn’t understand. It stings to admit, but the doubt starts to creep in. You know Ekko—his loyalty runs deep, but he’s also careful. He always has been. You take a step back, your fists uncurling as you exhale sharply.

You swallow your frustration and let the silence settle between you, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Can we trust her?

The question hangs in the air, unspoken but felt, before you finally speak it.

“So… can we?” Your voice is quieter now, more hesitant. You want to hear reassurance, but you’re not sure if it’ll come.

Ekko doesn’t answer immediately. He exhales, a long, drawn-out sigh that betrays a weariness you hadn’t noticed before. When he finally looks up at you, his gaze holds something you hadn’t expected—a tenderness, a vulnerability. His lips curl into a small, almost wistful smile, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s seeing something you can’t.

“I think so,” he says softly, his voice quiet but steady. “I think we can.”

You sigh, blinking a few tears away.

“Who’s that… that girl she’s with?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper, though your heart is pounding in your chest.

You keep your eyes on the floor, unwilling to meet Ekko’s gaze, because the truth feels like it might crush you. The girl you’ve loved for as long as you can remember, is with someone else now. And it’s hard to wrap your mind around it, let alone confront it head-on.

Ekko’s silence stretches out for a moment, the room growing thick with the tension that neither of you knows how to ease. But then, slowly, his eyes soften, and you can hear the careful way he breathes in, like he’s about to tell you something heavy. His voice is gentle when he speaks, like he’s trying to cushion the blow without sugarcoating it.

“Her name’s Caitlyn,” Ekko says, and there’s a noticeable pause before he continues, as though he’s gathering his thoughts, picking out the right words. “She’s… She’s an enforcer, but…she’s different. I don’t think she’s on Silco’s side.”

Your stomach tightens at the mention of Caitlyn’s name, and you can feel a bitter knot in your throat.You finally glance up at Ekko, your eyes searching his face, desperate for any trace of what this means.

“Are they…?”

Ekko looks at you for a long, quiet moment, like he’s weighing your reaction against his own thoughts. He doesn’t look at you with pity, though; there’s no judgment in his gaze. Just understanding.

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice low. “But I think Vi’s been through a lot. And Caitlyn… I don’t know what they have, but I can’t pretend I understand it. I’m still trying to figure out where Vi stands with all of this… All I know is Vi wants her sister back.”

You can’t look at Ekko anymore. The pain of it is too much, a heavy weight that presses down on you like the sky is collapsing. You back away, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, your hands trembling slightly.

“I thought… I thought she’d come back for me, for us,” you say softly, almost to yourself. The bitterness in your voice is unmistakable.

Ekko doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but you can feel the weight of his sympathy.

Finally, he speaks again, his voice quieter, softer. “I don’t think she’s forgotten you. I think she’s just trying to figure out everything for herself… Besides, she was… actually wondering if you were still around.”

“She was?” Your voice is quieter than you intended, almost shaky as you try to grasp what he just said.

Ekko nods, though his face is filled with something close to guilt, like he knows how this news might break you. “Yeah. She asked about you when she came in… said she didn’t know what happened to you after… everything.”

You let out a shaky sigh, your chest tightening at his words. The weight of it presses down on you, sinking deep.

“Where has she been… all this time?” The question slips out quietly before you can stop it.

Ekko hesitates, his eyes softening as he looks at you. There’s a long pause before he finally answers, each word like a slow puncture to your heart. “Stillwater.”

The name hits you like a punch to the gut. You freeze, unable to process at first, the words echoing in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull. It’s a place that steals everything from you, even the will to remember who you were before. Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Vi… Vi was there?

The thought twists something deep inside you, like a sharp ache that spreads through your chest and down into your stomach. It felt impossible to imagine Vi—your Vi—there. The strong, fearless girl you grew up with, the one who fought for every scrap of life she could hold onto. The thought of her, trapped in that hellhole, stripped of the fire that had always burned in her… it’s unbearable.

“You should… probably be talking to her about all of this.”

You freeze at Ekko’s words, your heart pounding in your chest. The thought of speaking to her again, of standing face to face with her after all these years, makes your blood run cold. Your chest tightens, and suddenly, breathing feels like a chore.

“I…” You try to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat.

What could you say to her? After all this time? The distance between you both feels impossibly wide now, like a canyon you’ll never be able to cross. The thought of seeing her, of facing the reality of what’s changed, of all the years that slipped through your fingers—it paralyzes you. You want to see her. You want to run to her and hold her, tell her everything you’ve kept locked away for so long, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not ready for that.

Your hands are shaking now, and you clutch at the edge of the table for support, your palms slick with sweat.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you say.

Your voice cracks under the weight of your own fear. The thought of facing Vi, of seeing her and realizing how much has changed, of feeling the space that’s grown between you both—it feels impossible.

Ekko watches you, his expression softening with understanding, but there’s something else in his eyes, something unreadable.

“I get it,” he says quietly, taking a step closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to rush into anything. I know you’ve been carrying this around for a long time.”

But the truth is, you don’t just carry the weight of all that time apart—you carry the weight of your own fear. Fear that she’ll see you as a stranger. Fear that you won’t know how to talk to her anymore. Fear that everything that once felt so easy between you and Vi will have changed beyond recognition. The thought of her not loving you anymore, or of you not being able to love her the same way, makes your stomach churn.

You bite your lip, unable to finish the thought, as your mind races in a thousand different directions.

“Does she know I’m here?”

Ekko’s gaze shifts, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He looks like he’s struggling with something, something he doesn’t want to say, but he knows he has to. He shifts on his feet, a sigh escaping him as he scratches the back of his neck again, the tension in his posture telling you more than his words ever could.

“I… I told her you’re around,” Ekko finally says, his voice soft but weighed with caution. “Not here exactly, though. I wanted to warn you before…”

Before everything changes.

But a knock at the door stills the air in the room. It’s sharp, sudden, and it cuts through the heavy silence that’s settled between you. You don’t move at first and Ekko hesitates for a moment, then turns, just as the door creaks open.

And then, there she is.

You freeze, unable to breathe, unable to move as your eyes lock onto hers. It’s like the whole world stops for a moment—your heart, your thoughts, everything. She’s standing there, in the doorway, her eyes wide as they sweep over you. It’s as if she’s seeing you for the first time, like she can’t quite believe you’re here. That you’re real.

Her gaze flickers across you—your eyes, your face, the way you’ve changed over the years. You can see the shock in her features, the way her breath catches for a split second before she can speak.

“(Y/n),” she whispers, her voice raw, as if the sound of your name in her mouth is a shock to her as much as it is to you.

There’s a long pause. Neither of you move, neither of you speak, as if neither of you knows how to start, what to say. Vi stands there, her eyes fixed on you, and you can see the wheels turning behind her expression. She doesn’t look the same as the girl you once knew, but her eyes—those blue eyes—are still the same, full of emotions you can’t quite place.

Vi’s eyes trail down your form, and you can see her struggling to hide the way her gaze softens as she takes in how you’ve grown, how you’ve changed. You’re different now—more than just the girl she once knew in the Lanes—but somehow, at the same time, you’re still the same person. The one who was always kind, always caring. The one who had a heart too big for the world they were in.

You watch as her eyes linger on you, not saying a word, just staring. A small breath escapes her lips, like she’s struggling to hold back some emotion, some surge of feelings that are too heavy for her to put into words. She opens her mouth to speak, but then closes it again, like the words are stuck inside her.

“I, um… I have work to do, Ekko.” Your voice cracks, and you can feel the tears stinging at the back of your eyes.

You tear your gaze away from Vi, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to break free. The weight of everything, of all the lost time, of everything you thought you had buried, feels like it’s crashing down on you in waves.

You can’t look at her anymore. Not like this. Not when everything in you is screaming to hold her, to ask her why she left, to beg her to stay. But you can’t. Not yet. Not when the hurt is still so raw.

You turn quickly, brushing past Vi with a sharp movement, your steps frantic, but trying to remain composed. Your heart races in your chest as you feel the heat of her eyes on your back, but you don’t look back. You can’t. The moment you do, you’re afraid you’ll break, and you can’t afford to break now.

The door slams shut behind you, and you can hear the soft echo of your hurried footsteps fading as you walk away. You don’t look up, don’t let yourself feel the weight of the emptiness in the room, even though you know it’s all there.

But you’re not ready. Not yet.

Ekko watches the door for a moment, his gaze thoughtful and a little sad. He doesn’t say anything, knowing that nothing he could say will ease the tension in the room.

Vi stands there, still frozen, her mind processing everything all at once. The way you walked out, the way you didn’t look back, how quickly you shut yourself off. She swallows hard, as if trying to force her emotions to settle. But they don’t. They’re all tangled up in her chest. She wants to go after you. She wants to explain.

“(Y/n)…” Vi whispers the name, barely above a breath, as if saying it out loud will somehow make it real, bring back the girl she thought she had lost forever. “She’s… grown.”

“We all have.”

His eyes flicker to Vi, his expression unreadable. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words, but nothing feels quite right. He knows how this is going to land—knows it’s going to hurt, even though he wishes it didn’t have to be this way.

“I think she saw you and Caitlyn,” he says quietly. “Together, I mean.”

Vi’s body stiffens at the mention of Caitlyn’s name, her eyes snapping to Ekko in disbelief. The shock is instant, followed by a sharp pang of guilt that twists in her chest. Her mind races, trying to make sense of the situation—of the way you had looked at her, of how you had walked out without saying anything more, as if something between the two of you had shattered. And now this. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words get stuck, tangled in her throat.

Ekko slumps back in his chair, his fingers tapping restlessly against the worn surface of his desk. He doesn’t know what to say to either of them. His gaze remains fixed on Vi, her posture still stiff, eyes distant.

“She thinks you’re together…” Ekko looks at Vi with curiosity. “Are you?”

Vi’s heart stutters in her chest, and she looks away quickly, swallowing hard.

“No,” she answers, almost too quickly. “No, we’re not together.”

Her voice wavers slightly, the truth of her feelings suddenly coming to the surface, uninvited but undeniable. Caitlyn is kind and gentle, but it’s never been like that with her. She only met her this week. Vi doesn’t know what it is, but it’s not love—not like what she’s felt, and still feels, for you.

The kiss was… a moment of comfort, of trying to hold onto something familiar in a world that’s changed beyond recognition. It meant nothing. Or at least, it shouldn’t have meant anything. But now, knowing that you’d seen it, knowing that it might hurt you—it stings. And it stings more than she’s willing to admit.

Ekko watches her for a moment and sighs. He knows Vi well enough to see that flicker of something in her eyes, that far-off look, the hesitation that’s always there when she’s thinking about you.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he mutters, “But you do need to talk to her.”

Vi nods slowly, her gaze flicking toward the door again.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, almost as if to herself. “I know. I just… I don’t know what to say. It’s been so long, Ekko.”

Ekko exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair. “She looked for you, you know. She hasn’t stopped. And she’s been alone for a long time too, Vi. She deserves to hear it.”

Vi doesn’t respond. The words hit her harder than she’s willing to admit. She knows Ekko’s right, but the fear of rejection still clings to her like a shadow. She’s afraid of what will happen if she faces you, afraid of seeing that disappointment in your eyes, hearing the anger in your voice. Afraid that even if she tries, it won’t be enough.

She takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settling in her chest.

“I’ll go find her.”

The climb to the top of the tree feels longer than it should, but Vi knows she’s stalling. Her hands grip the wooden edges tighter than they need to as she hauls herself up, each rung feeling like a step closer to a moment she’s not sure she’s ready for. Ekko’s words still echo in her head—She’s probably already up there, and needs the space, but… she deserves to hear from you.

And now, standing at the edge of the makeshift platform high above the Firelights’ hideout, Vi spots you. You’re sitting near the edge, your legs dangling over, one hand resting loosely on the ground for balance. The jukebox below hums softly, sending the faint notes of a melancholy tune drifting up through the cool night air. The lights of the community twinkle far beneath you, and the laughter and chatter of the people below seem like they belong to another world entirely.

Vi freezes for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. You haven’t noticed her yet, and she’s glad for it because it gives her time to take you in.

It’s been years since she’s seen you like this—quiet, lost in your own world. There’s something familiar in the way you tilt your head as you gaze out at the lights below, something achingly reminiscent of the person she remembers from all those years ago. She can’t help but wonder if you’re still the same in other ways, too. If you still laugh at dumb jokes, or hum to yourself when you’re deep in thought. If you still carry that kindness in your heart, despite everything the world’s thrown at you.

But there’s also something different, something that makes her chest ache. You look older. Wiser, maybe. More beautiful than she remembers, though she feels like that’s impossible, because she’s always thought you were the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

God, you’re beautiful. The thought hits her so suddenly that it makes her chest ache. It’s not just the way you look, though that alone would be enough to leave her speechless. It’s everything about you—the way you seem so untouchable and yet so heartbreakingly human all at once. She feels like a fool for standing here and staring, but for the life of her, she can’t seem to look away.

And then there’s the way the moonlight catches on your face, illuminating the faint shimmer of unshed tears in your eyes. Vi doesn’t even need to see your expression to know what you’re feeling.

For a long moment, she just stands there, unsure of what to do or say. She wants to run to you, to pull you into her arms and tell you she’s sorry, that she’s here, that she’s not going anywhere this time. But she knows it’s not that simple. It’s never that simple.

Finally, she takes a hesitant step forward, her boots making a soft thud against the wooden planks. You stiffen slightly, your head turning just enough to catch her in your peripheral vision. You don’t say anything, but the way your shoulders tense tells her you’ve already guessed it’s her.

Vi hesitates again, her heart pounding in her chest as she moves to sit beside you. She doesn’t get too close, leaving enough space between you that you won’t feel trapped, but close enough that she can see the way your fingers grip the edge of the platform like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

For a few seconds, the silence between you is unbearable. Vi glances at you from the corner of her eye, her mouth opening as if to speak, but the words don’t come. She’s never been good at this—talking about feelings, finding the right thing to say.

But as she watches you, she knows she has to try.

“Nice spot you’ve got here,” she says, her voice softer than she intended. “It’s quiet… Beats the chaos down there.”

It’s not much, and she knows it. She winces at how lame she sounds, but she’s not sure she trusts herself to say anything more. She’s afraid if she does, it’ll all come tumbling out—the guilt, the regret, the years of wondering what could’ve been if she hadn’t been taken, if she’d fought harder, if she’d found a way back sooner.

You don’t respond right away, and she can’t tell if it’s because you’re ignoring her or because you just don’t know what to say either. She glances at you again, her eyes lingering on the curve of your jaw, the way your lashes cast faint shadows against your cheeks.

You’re so close, but it feels like there’s an entire world between you.

When you finally do speak, your voice is so soft, almost drowned out by the music drifting up from below. “It’s always been my place to think. To get away… I have Ekko to thank for it.”

Your words are simple, but they carry so much weight, and Vi feels the knot in her chest tighten. She wonders what you’ve been thinking about up here all this time. If you’ve been thinking about her. If you’ve been wondering where she’s been, what she’s been doing, why she never came back.

“I can see why,” Vi says, trying to keep her tone light even though her heart is pounding. “It’s got a hell of a view.”

She means the lights, of course, the way they twinkle below like stars scattered across the ground. But as she says it, she realizes she’s not looking at the lights at all. She’s looking at you.

You finally turn to look at her, and the look in your eyes nearly breaks her. There’s so much there—pain, anger, sadness—but there’s something else, too. Something softer. Something she doesn’t think she deserves but hopes for anyway.

“I didn’t think you’d come up here,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi looks at you, her throat tight, and she wishes she had the courage to tell you the truth. That she’s here because she couldn’t stay away. That she misses you.

Instead, she just nods, her voice low and a little rough when she finally speaks. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to.”

You look away again, your gaze returning to the lights below, and Vi knows she should say more, but she’s afraid. Afraid of making things worse. Afraid of losing whatever small chance she might have left to fix things.

She looks at you softly, “How have you been?”

You don’t answer right away.

The silence lingers. Vi shifts slightly, her body aching to close the distance, to somehow make things right, but she doesn’t move.

Then, it’s you who breaks the quiet after a short while, your voice soft and tentative, almost as if speaking too loudly might shatter the everything around you.

“It’s hard to think about you in prison,” you say, the words stumbling out of you before you can stop them.

Vi stiffens at the mention of it. Her chest tightens, as though she’s been struck, but she doesn’t look at you, doesn’t dare.

“I know it must’ve been hard,” you continue, your gaze still locked on the flickering lights below. “Being in there… for so long. I can’t even imagine how it felt. It must’ve been… suffocating.”

Vi can hear the way you say it, that compassion in your voice that makes her want to crumble. You’ve always been so gentle, even when the world around you was anything but.

The memories are sharp, jagged shards of regret that pierce her chest whenever she lets herself think about it. The days in that cold, lonely cell feel like a lifetime ago, but the scars—physical and emotional—are still fresh. The world had felt like a cruel, unyielding force back then. Every day in prison, every blow to her body, every quiet, restless night, had worn away the person she used to be. She couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be carefree or loved.

“I was so… lost,” Vi mutters quietly, her voice rough from the weight of years. “I spent so long… thinking about all of you, of Powder… of the mistakes I made. If i had just… If I hadn’t stepped away for one moment, maybe I would’ve still been here… Here with Powder…. Here with you.”

You glance at her then, just a flicker of movement, your eyes soft with something like pity—but more than that, something else that Vi doesn’t have the courage to name. She knows you see her now, not the image of the girl who left, but the one who came back. The one who is trying—trying, at least—not to destroy everything around her with the weight of her mistakes.

Vi’s voice breaks the silence again, this time with something raw in it, something almost painful. She shifts slightly, her hand twitching by her side, wanting to reach out but holding herself back.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was in there,” she says quietly, her eyes searching your face for any sign of recognition. “The thought of you… It helped get through most of my nights. I tried to dream of you... tried to imagine what you were doing, where you were… how you’ve grown... how much prettier you probably got. I kept telling myself, ’Maybe when I get out, maybe when I find a way out, I’ll find you again.’”

She stops, her gaze falling to the ground between you both as if ashamed to even say it aloud, as if admitting the depth of her thoughts all these years will somehow make them real. But it’s there, the longing she’s buried in the back of her mind, too painful to confront but too strong to ignore.

Vi continues, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “I wondered if you thought of me, if you looked for me. If you still cared… if I even mattered to you anymore.”

You stay silent as she speaks, your chest tight with something you can’t explain. The words sting in a way you’re not prepared for, like a wound reopened, and yet there’s something strangely soothing about them, too. The fact that Vi—after everything, after all this time—had thought of you… It almost doesn’t seem real.

But you say nothing, your gaze fixed ahead, unable to meet her eyes. You wonder if it’s better this way. If silence is all you have left to offer her now. Maybe it’s easier to listen than to speak, to keep everything bottled up inside where it won’t spill over and make a mess of things.

Vi takes a deep breath, her eyes shifting between the two of you, silently asking for something, anything that might make her feel less alone in this moment. But you don’t give her the answer she’s hoping for.

For a long while, neither of you speaks. The wind brushes past you, making the leaves rustle in the trees around the hideout. Below is quiet, almost peaceful, and the sound of distant voices and music fades into the background.

Vi watches you carefully, her eyes searching for something in yours, but she doesn’t push. She knows better than that. She knows that the years have changed you, just as much as they’ve changed her. She knows she can’t expect you to just forget everything, to instantly trust her again. But she hopes, more than anything, that there’s still something left between you both, something that could grow again.

“I saw you with her,” you say. “Ekko said her name is Caitlyn.”

Vi’s eyes widen at the mention of Caitlyn, her heart stopping for just a moment. The words seem to hang in the air between you both, heavy and charged. She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out at first, as if the truth of its too much to swallow.

You feel her hesitation, the way she tenses, and it hits you in a way you weren’t prepared for. It feels like a sharp, cold pang in your chest. There’s a rawness in your voice that you didn’t even realize was there.

The way you say it feels like it cuts through the silence between you both. Vi looks at you then, eyes wide, searching, but she doesn’t speak. She knows she owes you an answer, but what answer could she give you? How could she explain everything that’s happened in the time between your separation and now?

After what feels like an eternity, Vi swallows hard, her throat tight. She looks away, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

“It’s not what you think,” she says softly, almost too quietly, the words coming out slow and hesitant. “I… I didn’t want it. She was just… trying to comfort me.”

Vi’s mind drifts back to Caitlyn, and she can’t help but sigh. She thinks Caitlyn’s a good person—for someone from topside. There’s a softness to her, a kindness that reminds Vi of the people she used to know back when things were simpler, when she wasn’t caught between the rubble of the Lanes and the ghosts of her past. But despite Caitlyn’s goodness, Vi knows one thing, something deep in her heart that she can’t escape: no one could ever be you.

No one could replace you. The girl she grew up with, the girl she used to dream about, the girl who haunted her thoughts long after she had fallen asleep. Vi’s chest tightens at the thought. The kiss with Caitlyn, the one you saw—it’s nothing more than a hollow moment, something that never should’ve happened. She wanted it to be you.

Vi shudders slightly. The kiss, the way Caitlyn’s lips felt against hers, it was nothing like the memories of you. Nothing like the way your hand used to fit in hers, how your laugh could fill a room with warmth, how you made her feel like she was worth something. Caitlyn could never make her feel the same way you made me feel, could never replace the way you made her feel alive, like everything in her life had a purpose.

“I couldn’t…” Vi murmurs to herself quietly. “I couldn’t feel that for anyone except you.”

Her hand slowly reaches out, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as they brush against yours. Her touch is gentle, careful, despite the roughness of her calloused palms, worn from years of fighting, of surviving. She holds your hand like she’s afraid you’ll slip away, like if she lets go, you’ll disappear, and she’ll be left with nothing but the echoes of a time she can never get back.

Your eyes instinctively shift to your hands, the same hands you once held as children. You remember how easy it was, how natural it felt when you were younger, sitting side by side in the dirt or on the roof of the Last Drop, fingers intertwined like nothing could ever pull you apart. Back then, it felt like the world was small, and nothing could hurt you as long as you were together.

But now—now, everything has changed.

Her fingers curl around yours, and the warmth of her touch sends a wave of memories flooding back—soft laughter, secret glances, the way her eyes would linger on you when she thought you weren’t looking. You blink, trying to keep the rush of emotions in check, but it’s hard when every inch of you feels like it’s trembling.

Vi’s eyes flicker to the ground below for a moment, her cheeks suddenly flushed, the soft red hue creeping up to her ears. It was that same familiar blush that’d show during the times she’d gift you a tiny present from those adventurous jobs she was in. She’s so close now, you can hear her breath hitch slightly as if she’s gathering the courage to speak words that she’s kept locked away for far too long.

“I’ve always loved you, you know,” she said finally. “I never got the chance to tell you…”

The words tumble from her mouth, quiet and unsteady, but every one of them feels like it’s been etched into her soul for years. She looks up at you, the faint redness still coloring her face as she holds your hand.

“I’d really like to make for the time I lost with you.”

The noise from the jukebox below, faint music playing through the speakers, the distant chatter of the Firelights—it all fades away, drowned out by the thundering silence between you both. You stare at her, your heart racing, a million thoughts running through your mind, but none of them can fully process the weight of what she’s just said. You feel the tears burn at the back of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You just stare at her—really look at her—like you haven’t in years.

Vi’s ears are bright red now, her gaze flicking away nervously. She’s never been good with things like this, always hiding behind her strength, her toughness.

And now, it’s all laid out in front of you.

She’s always loved you.

You swallow hard, your hand squeezing hers as you finally manage to find your voice, even though it feels as if it’s been taken from you for so long. You’re not sure if you want to speak, if you’re ready to speak, but it doesn’t matter.

A single tear slips down your cheek, catching in the moonlight that spills across the roof. You huff, your breath shaky, and quickly turn your head, trying to wipe it away before Vi can see.

But you’re not quick enough.

Vi’s blue eyes are already on you, her gaze soft, understanding, and something deeper, something tender that makes your heart ache even more. She doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you quietly, her thumb gently brushing over your knuckles as she holds your hand tighter.

The silence stretches between the two of you, but it doesn’t feel heavy. It feels like the beginning of something, something you both need but are too afraid to admit.

“You’re such an idiot,” you murmur, your voice unsteady as you try to hide the way your chest tightens.

You shake your head, still unable to fully meet her gaze, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. The sting of the tear on your cheek fades as you try to swallow down the lump in your throat, but it’s useless.

Vi’s lips twitch, just a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’s always known how to make you smile, even when everything else around you seemed to be falling apart. Now, it’s the same thing. She’s still that person who knows how to make your heart feel lighter, even in times like this.

“I know.”

Her voice is soft, almost teasing, but there’s no mockery in it, only the acceptance of your words—because she’s heard them before. She’s known, deep down, that you always thought she was an idiot, that she was reckless, that she made mistakes.

But none of that mattered.

She’s always loved you. And you’ve always known it, even if you didn’t want to admit it at first.

She scoots closer to you, the space between you shrinking as she leans in, her body warm against yours. You can feel the weight of her presence beside you, the soft strength that always made you feel safe. Her hand tightens around yours, pulling it into her lap, and you let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as if you can’t bear to look at her yet.

But her touch reminds you of who you were before everything fell apart, before the years, the distance, and the pain.

“I know,” she repeats softly, her smile growing. She brings your hand up to her lips, softly pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, the red still staining her ears as she nudges you with her shoulder.

“But I’m your idiot.”

And you want to laugh, want to smile and tease her like you used to, but instead, you just sit there. Just breathe.

Vi is here. She’s real. And she’s never stopped loving you.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re ready to love her back the way she’s always wanted you to.

ty for reading! | masterlist

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yournightmary · 1 month ago

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i miss my wife (ellie williams)

#lesbian #wlw #the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams headcannons #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fluff

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yournightmary · 1 month ago

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i am going crazy

✶ PUCK IT. hockey player!vi

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yournightmary · 1 month ago

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wanna be yours — vi (league of legends) !

⟢ synopsis. in the gritty underbelly of zaun, you find yourself entangled in the life of a new pit fighter: vi, a hardened fighter who wears her pain like armour. as a medic working in the fighting pit, you are tasked with patching up her wounds after matches, and you realize that while you can heal vi’s injuries, you can’t mend the broken pieces of her heart that belong to someone else.

⟢ contains. afab!reader, arcane!vi, feminine characteristics, angst, lesbians, lots and lots of longing, kinda enemies to lovers (but worse), nsfw, fingering, 17+ kinda explicit.

⟢ word count. 15.2k+

⟢ authors note. i spent the last few weeks working on this fic and i am really happy with how it turned out!! eek!! happy reading!! <3 :)

You’ve grown used to the sight of blood.

It streaks across the tiled floor in dark smears, trails on the edge of your workbench, and stains the tattered cloths shoved into the waste bin. The scent of copper lingers in the air, mingling with the faint tang of disinfectant.

You’ve made it work, though. You have to.

Your bench is lined with the tools: sutures, gauze, tape, and a half-empty bottle of antiseptic you’ve been meaning to replace. You keep it organized, and meticulous because chaos out there demands control in here. The pit fighters appreciate it, and you, in their own way. There’s always a pep in their step when they leave your little corner, heading to the bar with fresh bandages and a story to tell.

Some linger longer than they need to, chatting while you clean up. The regulars know your rhythm—when to crack a joke to ease the tension or when to stay quiet and let you focus. The brawlers come to trust you, and trust is hard to come by lately.

Maybe it was because you weren’t trying to punch the lights out of their eyes.

The room itself is far from perfect. Cramped, poorly lit, and barely adequate, it feels more like a storage closet someone forgot to clear out than a proper medical station. You’ve done what you can to make it your own. A few paintings hang crookedly on the walls—cheap prints, but bright enough to cut through the gloom. Candles flicker in the corners of your desk, casting a soft glow that doesn’t do much for the lighting but makes the space feel warmer, more welcoming.

The pit fighters notice. They never say much about it, but you catch the way they relax when they sit down, their shoulders loosening just slightly as the room wraps them in its quiet. It’s your small rebellion against the harshness of Zaun, a reminder that even here, there’s room for gentleness.

Sometimes they repay that gentleness in their own way—a drink after a fight, a nod of thanks, or a protective presence when the streets get dangerous, walking you home. You’ve been here long enough to know that loyalty is rare in Zaun, but somehow, you’ve earned it.

The fighting arena roars with life, the crowd’s cheers rumbling through the walls like distant thunder. Tonight’s fights have been loud—louder than usual. People running around with their coloured tickets based on who they were betting on. You glance at the clock.

There’s been a buzz all week about a newcomer, someone fresh and untested.

Vi, they call her.

Scrappy and wild, with a chip on her shoulder and fists to match. The kind of fighter who comes in all swagger and leaves in pieces.

You haven’t met her yet, but the bookies’ chatter alone has you bracing yourself. First fights are always the worst—too much pride, not enough sense.

The door rattles, hard enough to make the jars on your shelf tremble and you can hear muffled shouting from the other side.

It slams open, rattling on its hinges, but you don’t look up right away. Your focus is on threading a needle carefully through the gash along the side of Ryker’s jaw—a nasty wound from an earlier fight. Ryker’s been coming here for years, but never with complaints. He’s one of the good ones, fighting not just for himself but for his daughter, scraping by on the cash these matches earn him. He sits hunched over, still radiating the heat of adrenaline.

“Don’t fucking shove me,” a voice grumbles from the doorway. “Fuck off, Loris!”

Your attention shifts to the two figures stumbling into the room. One of them—a broad-shouldered man with a face like he’s eaten rocks for breakfast—could easily pass for one of the fighters. But it’s the girl he’s dragging by the arm that catches your eye.

She’s all jagged lines and sharp edges, her messy, dark pink hair sticking up in uneven tufts. Blood drips lazily from her nose, smudging against the back of her hand when she wipes at it, and her scowl is carved so deep it feels like her only expression.

“I don’t need a medic,” the girl—Vi, you hear the man mutter—snaps, yanking her arm free. “I need a drink.”

“Protocol,” He replies flatly, giving her a shove that nearly sends her sprawling.

Vi catches herself with a stumble, shooting him a glare before surveying the room with obvious disdain. Her gaze lands on you, and her lip curls faintly. “This it? Cozy,” she mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

You ignore her, focusing on the final stitch on Ryker’s jaw. “You can take a seat,” you say evenly, nodding toward the empty couch by the far wall.

“No thanks,” Vi shoots back, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. She leans against the wall instead, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Too proud to sit down, blue belly?” Ryker mutters, casting a sharp glance from his seat. His voice is low, edged with a warning. “Or has the guilt of hunting your own finally caught up with you?”

“Ryker,” you say softly, your tone a quiet scold. The last thing you need is a fight breaking out here.

But his words make you look at Vi more closely. Her features are familiar, in a vague, nagging way. It clicks as you take in the hard set of her shoulders, the stubborn way she holds herself, and the bruises already blooming across her cheekbone. A new batch of enforcers had swept through Zaun a few weeks back, leaving havoc and clouds of Grey in their wake. They’d brought their brutality, painted their violence into the walls of the city, and then disappeared like ghosts, leaving Zaun more broken than before.

That’s how it usually went with them.

However, you had never heard of someone from the undercity becoming an Enforcer before.

Vi scoffs, slurring her words just slightly. “I don’t know—d’you wanna find out?”

You pause, needle halfway through a stitch, tension coiling tight in the air. “Don’t,” you warn softly, already sensing where this is headed.

Ryker shifts forward on the bench, his battered knuckles flexing. “You wanna go another round?”

Vi pushes off the wall, stepping closer. “You wanna lose again?” she challenges, her voice low and sharp.

“That’s enough,” you snap, moving quickly to step between them. Loris mirrors your movement, his larger frame serving as an immovable barrier.

“Sit. Down,” Loris growls at Vi, his glare enough to make her hesitate. With a huff, she leans back against the wall again, though her fists remain clenched in her jacket pockets.

You shake your head and turn back to Ryker, finishing the last stitch with practiced ease. “You’re done,” you tell him, rummaging through your cabinet and handing him a small bottle of pain meds. “Keep it clean, change the bandage twice a day, and stay out of trouble—for your sake and your daughter’s.”

Ryker stands slowly, still throwing a glare Vi’s way. But his expression softens when he looks at you. “Thanks,” when he says your name, his voice is warmer than before. “You’re too good for this place.”

You offer him a faint smile. “Take care, Ryker.”

He leaves, brushing past Vi with a grunt, and the room feels quieter—tense but quieter. You turn your attention to the newcomer, who’s leaning against the wall, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, tracking your every movement.

“Alright,” you say, already washing your hands and gathering fresh supplies. “Your turn.”

Vi doesn’t move from the wall. “I’m fine,” she insists, “patch up the ones who actually need it.”

Your gaze flicks over her—the bloody nose that’s started to run again, the gash seeping through her sleeve, and the raw swelling on her knuckles. “Sit,” you say, your voice firm.

She doesn’t budge.

You meet her gaze, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably long, a quiet standoff neither of you seems willing to break. Your fingers tap once against the counter, but your glare doesn’t waver. You won’t repeat yourself.

Loris, the man who dragged her in, steps forward with a roll of his eyes, giving her a nudge with his elbow. “Sit down, Vi.”

She winces at the pressure on her back, her bravado faltering for just a split second. With a low grumble, she finally drops onto the bench, slouching with exaggerated indifference, her arms crossing tight over her chest.

You grab a clipboard and step closer. She watches you like you’re some kind of nuisance.

“Name?” you ask, clicking your pen.

“Vi,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on the far wall.

“Vi what?”

“Just Vi.”

You suppress a sigh. “What’s your full name?”

“I said, just Vi.”

There’s an edge to her tone, enough to make you glance up. Her jaw is set, her expression daring you to press the issue. You don’t. Instead, you scrawl it down and move on. “Fine. Age?”

“Old enough to fight.”

Your pen stills mid-note, the corners of your mouth tightening as you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Of course, you are,” you say dryly, setting the clipboard aside with a little more force than necessary. “Alright, let’s start with the obvious,” you say, gesturing at her face. “Your nose is bleeding. Tilt your head back.”

Vi’s brow arches like you’ve just said something funny. “I said, I’m fine.”

“And I said, tilt your head back,” you reply, your voice steady but no less firm.

Her gaze sharpens, a flicker of defiance lighting in her eyes, but she tilts her head back with a dramatic huff. “Happy?”

You ignore her tone, stepping closer to inspect the injury. The faint scent of sweat and iron lingers between you, and for a moment, you notice the heat of her skin where your gloved fingers gently tilt her chin.

“Doesn’t feel broken,” you mutter, reaching for a clean cloth to dab away the blood. She flinches as the fabric touches her skin, her muscles twitching under your fingers. “Relax,” you say softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she mutters.

Your hand falters, just briefly. There’s a weight to her words, a sharpness you weren’t expecting, but you push past it. “Well, I mean it,” you reply quietly.

Her silence stretches as you work, less hostile but no less charged. The closer you look, the more details you notice: the faint scars lining her skin, the inked letters etched into her cheekbone, the edge of a tattoo just barely visible beneath her collar, and the faint shine of her silver nose ring.

“Jacket off,” you say, gesturing to the gash on her arm.

Her gaze snaps to yours, wary and sharp. “Why?”

You give her a flat look. “Because I can’t stitch it through fabric.”

For a second, she doesn’t move, her body tensing as if bracing for something. Then, with a muttered curse, she shrugs out of her jacket, tossing it onto the bench beside her.

Her arms are a mess—old fighting hand wraps soaked with blood and dirt wrapped tightly around her forearms. You offer to replace them, but she cuts you off. “I’ll do it myself.”

You let it go, focusing instead on cleaning the fresh wound. Her muscles tense every time you touch her, but she doesn’t flinch again. “You can relax, you know,” you say, trying to sound light. “I’m just trying to help.”

Vi lets out a bitter snort. “You’re not the first to say that.”

You pause, but you don’t press. She’s lashing out on you. That’s the most you can make of it.

The silence stretches again as you stitch the wound, her eyes watching you closely, unreadable. When you finally glance up, your movements stilling, she shrugs.

“What?” you ask, unable to help yourself.

“Nothing,” she says, leaning back.

You hold her gaze for a beat longer before shaking your head and returning to your work, wrapping the freshly stitched wound with clean bandages. She stays quiet, watching until the silence becomes heavy again.

Then, without warning, she speaks, her voice quieter but cutting. “You know, you’re wasting your time on these people. Half of them wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

The words hit like a punch, sharper than anything she’s said before. You freeze mid-motion, your fingers hovering over the bandage as you process her bluntness. Slowly, deliberately, you resume wrapping her arm, tucking the end of the bandage into place with more care than you think she deserves at that moment.

“Good thing I don’t do this for their gratitude,” you reply evenly, though the edge in your voice betrays a flicker of irritation. You’re trying not to let it get to you.

She’s new. Clearly, she’s fighting off some kind of pent-up frustration. She must have anger issues or something. You wonder how many hits Ryker got on her before she knocked him out.

Her chuckle is low and humourless, more of a scoff than anything else. “Right.”

You hope he got a solid six or seven punches in.

You step back, peeling off your gloves with a deliberate snap. There’s a moment where you consider saying something more, but you swallow the impulse. Professionalism, you remind yourself.

“You’re all set,” you say curtly, gathering up the soiled supplies. “I’d suggest taking tomorrow off. You know, to let the wound heal before you go back out there.”

Vi grabs her jacket, standing in a single fluid motion. She doesn’t look at you when she replies, her tone casual but dismissive. “I’ll live.”

You wish Ryker had broken her nose.

You shake your head, already turning back to tidy your workstation, unwilling to watch her saunter out.

Loris, standing by the door, offers you a small, almost apologetic smile. “Thanks,” he says, his voice warmer than hers ever was.

You manage a smile back, but it’s shallow, worn. The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone in the cramped room. The exasperation settles in like a weight, not heavy but persistent.

For a moment, you stand there in silence, staring at the supplies on your counter. You shake your head again, this time at yourself.

What the fuck is her problem?

You know you shouldn’t be surprised when Vi stumbles into the medic room again the very next day. The fights at Antis’s brawling ring are infamous for their relentless schedule, especially on weekends when the bets come pouring in before sundown. It’s barely dusk now, but the underground buzz is already unmistakable—the muffled cheers and jeers vibrating through the walls.

Vi comes alone this time—or at least she leaves Loris waiting outside the door. You catch a brief glimpse of him through the crack in the door, leaning against the wall with a drink at his lips, shaking his head like this is just another day for him.

The door slams shut as Vi shoulders her way in, her boots heavy against the floor. She’s holding one hand against her face, blood dripping sluggishly through her fingers and trailing down her arm.

You have to bite back a smile at the sight.

She’s ditched her jacket, and the sleeveless collared top she’s wearing looks like it’s seen more fights than she has—worn thin, patched up in places, and stained with a lifetime of blood and sweat. Her hand wraps are shredded and still filthy, hanging loosely around her forearms. The gash on her arm has reopened, the stitches torn apart as if they were never there to begin with.

You take all of this in within seconds, and something tightens in your chest—a mix of frustration and satisfaction. “You can’t fight back-to-back nights,” you say, your voice sharper than intended as you grab your gloves and a fresh set of supplies.

Vi grunts, brushing past you to sit on the bench. “I can do what I want,” she snaps, her words muffled by her hand still pressed to her face. Her defiance is unshaken, but the tremble in her shoulders gives her away. She’s hurting.

Now you start to feel bad. But just a little bit.

You’ve seen this before—new fighters crashing into the medic room with the same mix of bruised pride and bloodied skin. They fight like there’s no tomorrow, each punch is thrown carrying something more than just adrenaline. Some fight for money, some for escape, and others just because they don’t know how to stop. There’s always a reason. You can’t help but wonder what—or who—Vi is fighting for.

With a quiet exhale, you turn to the counter and grab your supplies. The clatter of tools fills the silence as you steel yourself for the inevitable pushback. “Let me guess,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at her. “Antis needed someone to keep the bets high, and you couldn’t say no.”

Vi drops her hand from her face, and for the first time, you see the full extent of the damage. A deep bruise blooms across the bridge of her nose, nearly swollen shut in one eye, while blood smears across her mouth and drips down her jaw.

She glares at you through the mess, her voice sharp. “It’s none of your business.”

“No,” you admit, stepping closer and gesturing for her to tilt her head back. “But I’m the one who has to patch you up. So humour me.”

She scoffs but tilts her head back, letting you inspect the damage. Up close, the bruise looks worse—angry and dark, already spreading across her pale skin. Her nose isn’t broken (unfortunately), but it’s close, and the blood smeared across her upper lip makes her look like it’s been bitten off. You grab a clean cloth and start wiping the blood away. Your movements are brisk but careful, and she winces slightly as you press the cloth to her skin. Still, she doesn’t pull away, just sits there stiff and unyielding.

“You’re going to tear open the stitches every time you fight like this,” you mutter, reaching for the antiseptic. “You’ve gotta take it easy. I know how these guys fight out there—”

“I don’t need your pity,” she cuts in, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Not pity,” you reply, keeping your tone even. “Just words of advice.”

“I don’t need that either,” she snaps, her jaw tightening as you dab antiseptic on the wound. “Just patch me up so I can go. I’m only here because Antis won’t clear me for my pay otherwise.”

“Yeah, it’s protocol,” you say, capping the bottle and setting it down beside you.

“It’s stupid.”

“It was my idea.”

Her head jerks slightly, her eyes flicking toward you for a beat. There’s something almost vulnerable in her expression before she quickly looks away. She doesn’t answer right away, her gaze fixed firmly on the far wall. When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter, almost bitter. “...Still stupid.”

You smile faintly as you reach for fresh bandages. “Yeah, well, stupid or not, it’s keeping people alive. Even stubborn ones like you.”

Stubborn is definitely a nicer word than what you really want to say.

She doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between you as you unwrap the old bandage around her arm. Her fingers twitch against her thigh, like she’s itching to leave, but she stays seated, her posture rigid. You can’t tell if it’s pride or exhaustion keeping her there—or maybe both.

For the rest of the session, Vi is quieter than usual. Her sharp retorts are replaced by a heavy silence that seems to weigh down the air in the room. Outside, the muffled roars of the crowd echo through the thin walls.

As you work to clean and re-stitch her arm, you glance at her every so often, noting the way her jaw tightens and her fingers tap restlessly against her thigh. It’s like she’s bracing for a blow that might never come, her body constantly coiled, ready to spring.

You take a step back, pulling off your gloves with a snap. “You’re good to go,” you say, your voice softer now. “But you need rest.”

She snorts, grabbing her jacket off the bench without looking at you. “Can’t rest. I’m on a winning streak.”

You arch a brow. “You’ve only been here two days. I wouldn’t count that as a streak.”

“Don’t really care what you think.”

“You should. You’re sleep-deprived, by the way. Your eyes barely focus. Get more sleep. And you need to drink more water.”

Vi huffs a dry, sarcastic laugh, “Sure, doc. Whatever you say.”

You want to argue, but she’s already out the door, leaving behind only the faint scent of iron and the lingering weight of words left unsaid. Loris nods at you through the open door as she stalks past him, his gaze flicking back to you briefly.

The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone with the distant hum of the crowd and the bloodstained bench. For a long moment, you just stand there, staring at the scraps of torn bandages scattered on the floor, the mess she left behind.

It’s not long after that you learn her name is Violet.

The knowledge of it nearly makes you laugh.

Violets. You’ve never actually seen them, but a friend of yours, a painter, once gifted you a piece featuring soft, delicate purple blooms. It hangs over your bedside table, a rare touch of beauty in an otherwise bleak city. You like to imagine those flowers are violets, though you’re not entirely sure. Flowers aren’t exactly a common sight in Zaun.

The irony of her name strikes you every time you think about it. Violet. There’s nothing soft or delicate about her—not the way she fights, nor the way she speaks to you.

She didn’t tell you her name herself, of course. That would require her to speak more than three sentences in your direction, which feels like an impossible feat. No, funnily enough, it was Loris who let it slip, though you suspect he knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t much of a ‘slip’ rather than straight-up telling you her name.

It happened a night at a bar near your work. You’d gone with some friends, seeking a much-needed reprieve. The bartender, a friend of yours, had slipped you a couple of free drinks, and in a haze of warmth and exhaustion, you noticed Loris at the bar. He looked out of place, all gruffness and silence amid the lively chatter, so you invited him to join your table.

Several drinks in, your curiosity got the better of you. You leaned closer to him, your voice barely cutting through the music and chatter as you asked him about his pink-haired friend.

Loris wasn’t much of a talker, you realized. He’d spur out a few words or two, maybe a grunt or nod.

Loris made a face, his usual stoic front slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of amusement. He leaned in, his breath heavy with the scent of cheap beer, and gave a rare grin. “Sleeping,” he said simply, before adding, almost as an afterthought, “Her name’s Violet, by the way.”

Violet. You didn’t expect that, and it must’ve shown on your face because Loris chuckled softly.

It doesn’t take long for her name to start climbing the ranks at Antis’s. Fighters and spectators alike talk about her with equal parts fear and admiration. “Antis’s money-maker,” they call her, and it’s not hard to see why. When word spread about the unbeatable pink-haired girl, business began booming. Crowds flooded in, the promise of blood and spectacle drawing them like moths to a flame.

At first, she was just another new fighter, opening matches against scrappy, overconfident rookies. But that changed quickly. Within weeks, she was headlining brawls, her name alone enough to pack the stands. She didn’t just win—she dominated, often taking on two, three, even four opponents in a single night. And you? You kept count. You had to.

She tore through supplies faster than you could restock them. Bandages, antiseptics, meds—all of it consumed at an alarming rate. You’ve patched her up more times than you can count. But what stands out most isn’t just the state of her after a fight—it’s what she leaves behind.

Her opponents don’t come to you for minor injuries. No, they stumble in half-broken, their faces smashed and unrecognizable. Each night growing worse for wear. She fights with a ruthlessness you’ve rarely seen, a fury that feels almost personal. You can’t help but wonder what drives her. Is she trying to make a point?

She’s changing, turning into something the crowd craves. Her old, worn clothes have been replaced—black jeans, already ripped at the knees, and a sleeveless black tank that clings to her frame. She’s losing pieces of herself, or maybe just hiding them.

You still can't believe that there's a girl named Violet out there beating the shit out of people for money.

One day, you accidentally walk into her in Antis’s office. You’re here to drop off some invoices for medical supplies, your mind preoccupied with balancing the clinic’s dwindling stock against the rising demand. But when you open the door, you find Vi and Antis inside, deep in conversation.

Antis looks up first, his sharp eyes narrowing at your intrusion. “You’re early,” he grunts, though there’s no real annoyance in his tone. If anything, he seems amused. “Perfect timing. We were just talking about her look. What do you think?”

Vi shifts uncomfortably, her arms crossed over her chest. She doesn’t meet your gaze, her expression unreadable. You glance between them, caught off guard. “Her… look?”

Antis gestures to Vi with a sweep of his hand, his grin wolfish. “Yeah. Gotta sell the whole package, y’know? The crowd loves her, but they’ll eat up a good aesthetic, too. We’re thinking something that screams ‘unbeatable.’ Right, Vi?”

Vi’s jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, you think she might snap at Antis. But she doesn’t. Instead, her gaze flicks to you, like she’s waiting for something—your reaction, maybe, though you can’t figure out why it matters.

You clear your throat, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “She doesn’t need to change anything. She’s already pretty... unforgettable.”

Antis’s booming laugh fills the room, but you barely hear it. Your focus is locked on her. Something flickers in her eyes—a fleeting softness, vulnerability, gratitude, maybe?—before she schools her expression and looks away. You tell yourself it’s nothing, just a trick of the dim light.

A few days later, she shows up in the medic room again. But this time, it's different—she’s not limping in, not dripping with sweat or covered in bruises. She’s just there, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual air that catches you off guard. Her knuckles brush the doorframe absentmindedly as if she’s unsure whether to knock or let herself in.

“Do you need something?” you ask, glancing up from where you’re restocking the shelves. “Are you hurt?”

She shrugs, pushing off the door and stepping inside. “No, just… it’s quiet in here.”

Your brows knit together. Quiet?

She didn’t seem like the kind of person to seek out quiet, especially not in a place like this. “You came all the way here because it’s quiet?”

“Yeah,” she says simply, her tone flat, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She grabs the chair from your desk, spins it around, and sits backward on it, resting her arms over the backrest. “Problem?”

“No... it’s just…” You trail off, unsure how to articulate the strangeness of it. Instead, you turn back to organizing supplies, aware of her eyes on you. “Never mind.”

These visits became more frequent whenever she didn’t fight. And she even stays back for a bit after you patch her up. Sometimes she speaks, but more often than not, she doesn’t—simply sitting in that chair, letting the distant noise of the arena, the cheers and shouts, fade into the background. She’ll stare at the walls or absentmindedly tap her fingers against the chair’s edge, lost in thought, but there’s a serenity about her, an unfamiliar stillness that you start to recognize.

She never tells you what brings her in—if something is weighing on her mind or if it’s just a need to escape the chaos. And you don’t ask. Instead, you begin to anticipate her visits, a strange comfort taking root in the space between you.

The conversations are sparse, but you begin to notice the small things: the way her body relaxes when she settles into the old couch, the weight lifting from her shoulders as she stretches out, the way she’ll let herself drift off into a light sleep. It’s almost like you’re giving her a moment of rest she didn’t know she needed.

Vi strides in, her steps heavier than usual, and tosses a small, overstuffed bag of coins onto your desk. You recognize it immediately—one of the payout sacks Antis gives to the fighters, filled with their share of the betting pool. This one looks heavier than most, jingling with an unmistakable weight as it lands right on top of your paperwork. You pause, your pen hovering midair, and stare at it.

Her grin spreads as she catches the look on your face—wide-eyed and mildly incredulous. “Don’t worry, it’s not for you,” she teases, her tone light and mocking.

You roll your eyes, setting the pen down with an exaggerated sigh. “This from your fight last night?”

Vi nods, her grin twisting into something sharper, a little more wicked. “Some of my best work,” she replies, her voice carrying the faintest edge of pride.

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as your gaze sharpens on her face. “I don’t know,” you counter dryly. “He broke your nose, and the whole side of your face is swollen. Doesn’t sound like your best to me.”

Standing up, you step closer, brows knitting together in concern as you get a better look at the mess of bruises she’s sporting. Without thinking, your hands lift, reaching toward her face to assess the damage.

Vi flinches. It’s quick, almost imperceptible, but enough to make you hesitate. Your hands hover in the air, faltering. “Sorry,” you murmur, your voice soft.

She coughs awkwardly, shifting her weight. “No, uh—no. It’s fine,” she says, a little too fast.

This time, when you move again, she doesn’t flinch. She lets you gently brush your fingers over the swollen, splotchy skin along her cheekbone and jaw, and you feel the heat radiating off the inflamed area. Your touch is careful, clinical, but you can’t help wincing at the sight. “You’re kidding yourself if you call this your best work, Vi” you mutter. “Did you even ice this like I told you?”

Her eyes roll so hard you’re almost worried she’ll sprain something. She grabs your wrist—not roughly, but enough to lower your hand—and shrugs. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

You give her a deadpan look. “I did.”

Her smirk returns, a little more genuine now, though she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sits on the edge of your desk and starts digging absently through the bag of coins, her fingers brushing over the shiny hexes and cogs. She doesn’t pull anything out, just lets her hand linger there.

“I brought you food,” she says suddenly, her voice casual.

You blink, momentarily thrown. “Food?”

She lifts a greasy paper bag into your line of sight, and you realize you hadn’t even noticed it when she walked in. “Yeah, you know. The stuff you eat when you’re hungry.”

“Okay, asshole,” you mutter, but the corner of your mouth quirks up despite yourself.

She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Got it for Loris and I, but he’s, uh… busy. Doing... someone else.” Her tone is flat, like she couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something there—an edge of amusement, maybe. “So, more for us.”

You watch her for a second. You like to think that you can see right through her sometimes, that you can read her, but as usual, she’s an enigma. There’s something in the way she said us that makes your chest feel a little lighter, but you don’t let it show. “Thanks,” you say simply.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” she shoots back. There is kindness she tries to hide, though it’s written all over her expression.

She settles onto the old medical bench, pulling out boxes of food from the bag. You wince internally at the sight, thinking about the number of people who’ve bled, puked, and worse on that very bench. Just hours ago, Vi had been sitting there herself, nose snapped out of place, grinning through bloody teeth and swollen lips and teary eyes. Now, she’s perched there like it’s nothing, tearing into her meal with that same reckless ease she carries into every fight.

“Is this where I’m supposed to remind you how unsanitary this is?”

She shrugs mid-bite, unbothered.

You don’t bother arguing. Instead, you take the box she pushes toward you and settle in. The two of you eat in silence.

The days begin to blur into one another as Vi’s visits grow more casual. At first, you barely tolerated her—a pit fighter like so many others, bruised and bloody and reckless, shuffling into your medic room with the same bravado they all wore like armour. But somewhere along the way, you start to realize you actually don’t hate her company.

And as Vi continues her rise with pit fighting, you realize you also like to take care of her afterwards, even if it is your job or not. Each fight ends quicker than the last, her victories coming faster and fiercer. With every knockout, her confidence blooms—bold, intoxicating.

You’ve always been able to tell why people fight. Some thrive on the violence, seeking it out like a drug, their eyes lit with a manic fire that never seems to dim. Others do it out of desperation: to keep a roof overhead, food on the table, some semblance of stability in their lives.

At first, you were certain Vi belonged in the first category. The way she took punches, how she barely flinched when you patched her up—she didn’t just endure the pain. She absorbed it. Relished it. She wore her scars like trophies, and it almost seemed like she was chasing something more with every bruise and break.

But then you started noticing other things. How her clothes, once old and frayed, began to look newer. The leather jacket she bought just last week, the new earrings glinting against her skin, the sturdy boots she’s traded her worn ones for. Loris mentioned she moved out of his apartment recently and got her own place, though most of her money seemed to go toward booze.

You realize that fighting for Vi isn’t just about survival or enjoyment. It’s an outlet—a way to lose herself in the chaos and the violence, to drown out whatever it is she doesn’t want to face.

One night, you do something you’ve never done before: you buy a ticket to one of her fights. You’ve seen enough carnage in the medic’s room to last a lifetime, but something about Vi pulls you in, like gravity. The crowd is as raucous as ever—cheers, boos, the metallic clang of Antis’s bell marking the start and end of each match. You don’t join in the noise. You just watch, feeling out of place among the spectators who are here for the bloodlust.

And then Vi steps into the ring.

It’s the first time you’ve seen her fight, and it’s nothing like you imagined. You’d seen the aftermath—the blood, the bruises, the broken bones—but witnessing her in action is something else entirely. She’s skilled, fast, brutally efficient, her punches calculated yet devastating.

The man she’s up against is nearly twice her size, but it doesn’t matter. She ducks under his swing with ease, her fist connecting with his jaw in a single, bone-crunching motion that sends him sprawling. The fight is over in less than a minute, and the crowd roars its approval.

Your eyes linger on her, unable to look away. Her back is to you, sweat gleaming on her exposed skin, highlighting the intricate tattoo that snakes across her shoulders. When she turns, she seems to know exactly where you are, her gaze locking onto yours even in the chaos of the crowd.

Your breath catches. The rise and fall of her chest, the bead of sweat tracing down her neck, the raw, undeniable power in her every movement—it’s overwhelming.

Something stirs deep inside you, hot and wanting.

You leave before her second fight starts, slipping through the crowd and into the tunnels. The line waiting for you in the medic room feels endless, yet the blur of bruised faces and bloody wounds can’t distract you. Vi’s image lingers—sweat on her skin, her breath heavy after the fight, and the way her eyes found yours in the crowd.

You never bring it up, and Vi doesn’t either.

But something changes.

That night, as you treat her wounds again, it feels different. She’s quieter than usual, her usual cocky smile missing. You notice how her eyes linger on your hands as you work, following the glide of your fingers over her skin.

Your gloves feel thinner tonight, or maybe it’s just your imagination. You’re hyperaware of every small movement—how her skin feels warm under your touch, the sharp contrast of the calluses on her knuckles against your palm when you steady her hand to examine it.

She doesn’t flinch when you press a damp cloth to the gash on her temple. Normally, she’d tease you, mutter something about your bedside manner, or complain about the sting even though the both of you know she can take it. Instead, she just watches you, her gaze unwavering.

It’s almost unbearable.

Sweat, blood, and alcohol. That is what she smells like. Thick and hanging on your tongue like smog.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you finally say, your voice softer than you intended.

Vi’s lips quirk, but it’s a faint ghost of her usual grin. “Just tired, I guess.”

It’s a lie, and you both know it.

You focus on cleaning the cut, trying to steady your hand. But her closeness throws you off. She’s sitting on the edge of the cot, her knees brushing against your thighs whenever she shifts. The room feels smaller.

“Almost done,” you murmur, though it feels like you’re saying it more to yourself than her.

Vi tilts her head slightly, giving you better access, and the movement draws your attention to the curve of her jaw. There’s a bead of sweat lingering there, catching the dim light, and you have to force yourself to look away.

“Take your time,” she says.

Your fingers pause for just a second before you continue cleaning the wound. Her words hang in the air, charged and heavy, and you wonder if she knows how they’ve started to affect you. You reach for the bandages, your hands brushing against her skin again. Her breath hitches—just barely—but it’s enough for you to notice.

“There,” you say, pulling back slightly. “Done.”

But your hands linger for a moment too long, your fingers still ghosting over her cheek. You’re not sure if it’s you or her that doesn’t pull away first.

Vi’s eyes are on you again, darker now, and the air between you crackles with something unspoken. You don’t know if it’s the proximity, the adrenaline still lingering from her fight, or the way her lips part slightly like she’s about to say something—but you can’t take it anymore.

“I should clean up,” you say abruptly, turning away to gather the used bandages and cloths.

For a moment, she doesn’t move, and you think she might say something to stop you. But then you hear the rustle of her leather jacket as she stands, the creak of the cot as her weight leaves it.

“Thanks,” she says.

You glance over your shoulder, just in time to see her slip through the door. She doesn’t look back.

Her visits dwindle after that night. Fewer and fewer until she stops coming altogether. She starts fighting nights back to back, ignoring protocol and refusing to see you after each one.

You try to shake it off.

To ignore it until you can't.

And then you visit her one day.

It’s not in the medic room or the fighting ring. It’s at her door, and it’s jarring, her address scribbled on a small piece of paper that Loris gave you.

You can’t tell if Antis is pushing Vi to fight more or if Vi willingly puts herself through it every day. She is always in rotation, more so than any other fighter. It’s gotten to the point where people are betting on how long Vi could remain undefeated.

You hate how you immediately perk up when her door opens.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice low and guarded.

Her hair is black, dripping wet and staining her pale shoulders with inky streaks. The change startles you, but what’s more disarming is the sight of her like this—stripped-down, raw. Bandages are wrapped haphazardly around her chest, serving as an impromptu shirt. Her arms, usually hidden beneath gauze and gloves, are bare, revealing the countless scars that crisscross her skin. You can kind of see where her tattoos start and end. You think they’re beautiful.

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come. Why are you here? For some reason, you hadn’t thought much about it before knocking. Now, standing here in her doorway, it feels like a mistake.

You’re not really friends.

“Uh,” you stammer, fumbling for an answer. Your gaze keeps straying to her hair, the stark black making it look longer, heavier. The pigment stains her hairline, dripping in uneven streaks along her temple. You notice how the damp strands cling to her neck, how the water pools in the hollow of her collarbone. It feels intrusive to look, but you can’t help it.

She’s staring at you, her shock quickly shifting to irritation. “You gonna stand there all day, or what?”

“I—your hair,” you blurt out. “It’s… different.”

She scoffs, brushing past you as if you’re not worth the effort of a proper reply. The door swings open wider, an unspoken invitation—or maybe just a lack of concern if you follow. You hesitate, then step inside.

Her apartment is small and dim, almost claustrophobic. The air is stale and thick with a faint tang of alcohol. The small bed in the corner is unmade, the sheets rumpled and half-pushed onto the floor. A punching bag hangs in the center of the room, its surface worn and cracked from overuse. There’s a stack of clothes shoved into the corner, and a few empty bottles litter the floor near the bed.

But it’s the quiet that hits you the hardest. It’s so different from the loud, chaotic energy she carries at the ring or the silence in the medic room. Here, everything feels muted, almost sad.

“You dye it yourself?” you ask, trying to fill the awkward silence as she settles onto the edge of the bed.

She glances at you, the bottle in her hand tipping slightly. “Yeah.”

“Antis didn’t make you do it?”

Vi snorts a small, humourless sound. “No. He suggested green.”

You try to picture her with green hair and fail. “Why black?”

“Needed a change,” she says simply, taking a swig from the bottle. The way she winces as she swallows tells you it’s not her first drink tonight. “Why are you here?”

The bluntness of the question knocks you off balance. For a moment, you forget. Then the weight of the box in your hands reminds you. “Oh, uh, I brought you some new hand wrappings. I saw them at the store and thought you could use them since yours are... shit. Yours are shit.”

Her eyes snap up to yours, something unreadable flickering in them before she looks away. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” you reply, though your voice feels stiff and awkward. You shift your weight, unsure whether to stay or leave. Her gaze returns to you, steady but unreadable, and you feel the strange urge to say something—something meaningful.

“You... you okay, Vi?” you ask softly, not even sure why the words come out. You immediately want to take it back.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You look at her, really look at her. Not in the way you do at work, but right now, as a friend(?), guest(?) in her space. The dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she grips the bottle of cheap beer as if it’s the only thing keeping her upright. She looks… tired. Beaten down, in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice quieter now, careful. “I guess you just… you haven’t come by in a while. It looks like you need a good patch up again, no? Don’t worry, I won’t charge.”

The words sound too casual, too light like you’re trying to make a joke—and you are, but you can see the way her face stiffens after you say it. The faint bruises on her face, the bandages on her arms and hands, they’re a clear sign of how badly she’s been pushing herself—she’s been taking supplies from you without checking in, and you’ve noticed. You know she hasn’t gotten her pay yet. You haven’t had the chance to clear her for it since she stopped coming by after fights. It’s a faint sore spot between you both, an unspoken thing she won’t acknowledge, but you know she’s not getting the care she needs.

For a moment, her face hardens, and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line, if she’s going to snap at you. Instead, she just stares at you, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure out what your angle is.

You feel her gaze like a weight pressing down on you, making your skin itch.

Then, she exhales slowly, the tension in her posture easing just a fraction.

“I’m fine,” she says finally, though the words lack conviction. She shifts, setting the bottle down on the floor. “You done?”

You’re about to say something else—maybe ask again, maybe push for more—but then you realize it’s not your place. You step back, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “Yeah.”

You place the box of hand wraps on the counter, but your hands feel clumsy as you do. You want to say something more, something comforting, but the words stick in your throat. “Good luck tonight, Vi.”

She doesn’t respond right away. You turn to leave, your feet dragging slightly, unsure if you should even be leaving at all. It feels like there’s something more to say.

Just as you reach the door, her voice stops you. It’s softer than you expect, quieter, almost hesitant.

“Thanks.”

As you walk down the hallway, the ache in your chest lingers, a nebulous knot of worry, pity, and something else you can’t quite pin down. It tightens with each step, and you wonder, not for the first time, what weight Vi carries with her—and why it feels like it’s starting to settle on you too.

You shake it off, reminding yourself that you're not working this weekend. A rare luxury. Vi doesn’t need to know, and honestly, you doubt she’d even care. If anything, she’d probably be glad to be rid of you for a few more days.

That’s what you tell yourself.

The next time you’re sitting in your cramped little medical room, fussing over how some of the things on your desk are now out of place, the door creaks open just a sliver. You pause, mid-motion, and glance at the shadow shifting on the other side. When whoever it is spots you, the door swings wide with an almost violent energy, smacking against the wall behind it.

“Hey,” Vi stumbles inside, the loud thud of her boots and the echoing cheers from the fighting pit outside spilling into the room with her.

You stand abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor as you take her in. “Vi?”

It takes you a second to recognize her. The black hair throws you off again, though the pink is already creeping back into the ends, the dye washing out like it’s given up trying to keep up with her. Paint smears her face—thick streaks running from her eyes down to her chin like some warped battle mask. She’s gripping a large bottle in one hand, cradling it as if it’s precious, her knuckles stained red.

Her smirk is crooked, her words slurred. “Won’t believe it,” she drawls, letting herself fall unceremoniously onto the old, battered couch in the corner. The springs squeak loudly in protest, and she almost knocks over one of your carefully hung paintings. “Hey.”

You frown, stepping closer. “Are you drunk?”

Her smirk widens, playful and defiant. “No.”

“No?”

“I just won,” she says, like that explains everything. “Again. Beat that big guy—metal jaw. You know the one. Knocked it clean off.”

She’s grinning like she just told a funny joke, but you don’t laugh. Fighters don’t go into the pit drunk, at least not that you’ve ever seen. They also don’t win, which is why Antis is strict about that; drunk fighters are bad fighters, and bad don’t bring in any money—he’ll kick anyone out who even smells like shimmer, let alone someone stumbling around with a bottle of booze.

You move closer cautiously, studying her.

She sits up straighter as you approach, her hair falling messily across her face. You catch a glint of her blue eyes through the strands—sharp, even with the haze of alcohol dulling the rest of her. Her gaze flickers down to her bloodied knuckles, and so does yours—red seeps through the white of her hand wraps, staining them in uneven patches.

She murmurs something, but it’s too soft to catch.

“What?”

“You weren’t here.”

Her words surprise you.

“Yeah,” you say, unsure how else to respond.

“Four days.”

“I know.”

“Why not?”

You hesitate, caught between wanting to downplay your absence and knowing she’ll see through it. “I’ve been busy. I have a life outside this place, you know that, right?”

“Right,” she mutters, though there’s something bitter in the way she says it.

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers gripping the bottle loosely. She stares ahead, her face unreadable, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly quiet despite the muffled roar of the crowd outside. You’re counting the seconds until someone from the pit shows up looking worse for wear, but she just sits there, unmoving.

Finally, she speaks. “Loris and I are going out for drinks at the bar next door.”

“More of them?”

She scoffs, but there’s a faint smile playing on her lips. “Fuck off. I was gonna invite you.”

“You want me there?”

“Sure,” she shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “Since you and Loris are so close.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing a plastic bag and filling it with ice. “Oh, yeah. Best friends. I thought you knew.”

She grins at that, her expression lazy but amused as you press the makeshift ice pack to her cheek. She winces, hissing under her breath, but doesn’t pull away. The familiarity of the moment settles between you, a rhythm you hadn’t realized you missed. You didn’t know how much you liked being around her, with all her flaws and quirks, until it was gone.

When she stands to leave, there’s a lightness to her movements. She pauses at the door, glancing back over her shoulder.

“But you’re coming, right?” she asks, her voice softer, less guarded.

You nod, tugging absently at the rings on your fingers. “Yeah. I’ll stop by after I finish up here.”

Her smile catches you off guard. It’s not the smirk or grin you’re used to—it’s warmer, something you’ve never seen before. “Good.”

And then she’s gone, leaving you alone in the stillness of the room. The ache in your chest hasn’t gone away, but it feels different now, lighter somehow, settling into the pit of your stomach like a flutter of butterflies.

You can’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried.

Your night stretches on, each task blending into the next. Stitches to pull, bruises to ice, concussions to monitor. This is your rhythm—calm, focused, efficient. You don’t dwell on the blood staining your gloves or the bruised faces looking back at you. Usually, there’s a detachment, a quiet understanding between you and the fighters. You help them, and they leave.

But tonight feels different. The weight of the work presses a little heavier, the hours crawling by as the thought of Vi’s smile keeps replaying in your head. You remind yourself to focus, to get through the line of battered fighters who rely on you, but every second drags, making your usual rhythm feel offbeat.

It’s not just Vi’s smile—it’s the invitation, her softer tone, the way she paused at the door like your answer mattered more than usual. You don’t let yourself overthink it, but you do catch yourself checking the time more often than you’d like.

When the last fighter leaves, mumbling a tired thank-you, you exhale in relief. The medic room is quiet now, the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air. You pack your supplies, stuffing gloves, gauze, and a few stray pins into your cabinets. The bathroom across the hall catches your eye as you pass, and for once, you pause.

The bathroom is dimly lit, the bulb above buzzing faintly as it flickers. The mirror is cracked in one corner, the surface smudged and grimy, but it still reflects more of you than you’re ready to see. Your sleeves are stained, and your hands are scrubbed raw but not clean enough. The uneven greenish light only makes you look worse, casting harsh shadows on your face.

You roll your sleeves up and run water into the sink, trying to scrub the splotches from your clothes. The water’s cold and your hands ache from the effort, but it feels worth it—like a small chance to put your best self forward. You straighten your shirt, brush off your jacket, and fix your hair as best as you can.

It’s not enough.

It’ll never be enough for a bar full of fighters, let alone for her. You think about going home to change, but it’s already late, and the idea of missing her is ridiculously unbearable.

Clutching your jacket tightly, you step into the downpour outside. The rain pelts against your skin, soaking through your boots as you jog the few steps to the bar. The hum of voices reaches you before the neon glow of the sign above the door does.

Inside, the place is alive.

Most of the crowd from the arena spills into the corners of the bar, still riding the high of the night’s fights. Tables are crammed with victorious fighters and their friends and sponsors, their voices rising above the heavy bassline of a song playing in the background. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, beer, and the faint tang of spilled liquor.

The dim lighting casts a warm, golden hue over the room, softening the rough edges of the crowd. People laugh, shout, and toast to victories. Some are already slumped over the bar, lost in exhaustion or celebration.

Your eyes scan the room, searching for her. Instead, you spot Loris first—his brick-like frame standing out even among the chaos. He’s leaning casually against the bar, arms crossed, but his face lights up when he sees you.

He waves you over, and you weave through the crowd, dodging dancing bodies and familiar faces who call out greetings as you pass. Your heart beats faster, a mix of nerves and anticipation, as you approach.

“You made it,” Loris says, his grin wide and genuine.

You huff, brushing a damp strand of hair out of your face, but you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Hi.”

Loris gives you a nod, his usual gruffness softened just a bit for you. He calls the bartender over, jerking his chin toward you to signal it’s your turn to order.

You glance at the menu briefly, though you already know what you want. After placing your order, the two of you settle into a quiet rhythm. Loris doesn’t seem like the type to fill silence for the sake of it, and you don’t mind. There’s a strange comfort in his presence.

You find yourself scanning the crowd without thinking, your eyes searching for pink hair at first, a flash of brightness that would stand out even in a place like this. Then you remember her hair is black now. Your eyes adjust, searching instead for the sleek leather of her jacket or the familiar glint of its spikes catching the dim, shifting light.

The bartender sets your drink down in front of you with a solid thud, breaking your focus. Your heart skips a beat, and you reach for the glass more out of reflex than thirst. The cool edge of it presses against your palm, grounding you.

“Happy you’re here.”

Loris’s voice cuts through the noise, low but steady. You look up at him, caught off guard. His eyes remain fixed on his drink, but there’s a weight to his words that makes your chest tighten.

“Maybe it’ll keep Vi from doing something stupid,” he adds after a beat, his tone rough but not unkind.

Your eyebrows knit together as you bring your glass to your lips. The liquor burns on the way down, but it’s nothing compared to the unease settling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Loris hesitates, his fingers drumming against the counter as he considers his words. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, almost reluctant. “She gets into fights sometimes.”

Your stomach sinks further. “Here?”

“Only happened twice,” he says quickly like it’s supposed to make you feel better.

“Oh.” You set your drink down, your fingers lingering on the glass. “Why?”

Loris exhales through his nose, his shoulders shifting as if the question itself is a burden. “Dunno. She won’t talk about it.”

You blink, caught off guard. “She doesn’t seem…” You trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.

“Like a drunk?” he finishes for you. “She’s good at hiding it, most of the time. But she’s been drinking more. Gets worse when she’s stressed.”

You bite your lip, your fingers tightening around your glass. “Stressed about what? Fighting?”

He shakes his head, never answering. “She’s stubborn as shit, you know that. But something’s been eating at her, and I don’t think she knows how to deal with it.”

The words hang between you as the clamour of the bar continues around you. You glance down at your drink, the amber liquid catching the dim light, and take another sip. It doesn’t burn as much this time, but it doesn’t settle the knot in your stomach, either.

“I can keep an eye on her,” you say quietly, more to yourself than Loris. “She’s not supposed to be in the pit intoxicated anyway.”

He nods, a faint hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes. “She’s lucky to have you.”

The comment catches you off guard, and you look at him sharply, but he’s already turning back to his drink. You swallow, your cheeks warming for reasons that have nothing to do with the alcohol.

You look away.

And then you spot her.

Vi pushes her way through the crowd, a storm parting the sea of bodies on the dance floor. Her scowl deepens as she brushes off someone’s outstretched hand, her movements sharp, purposeful. The smudged paint on her cheeks—likely streaked from the rain—gives her the appearance of someone worn down by more than just the weather. Faint lines trace across her face like tears.

Your eyes trail to her arms, bare and flexing slightly as she adjusts the leather jacket slung over her shoulder. The spikes catch the dim, flashing lights of the bar, their edges softened by the haze of the room. In her other hand, she grips a glass of something amber and strong.

Your heart jumps, and you realize you’ve been staring when her gaze lifts to you. For a moment, she pauses in her tracks and just looks at you, her eyes scanning your face as if confirming you’re really here. Then, she grins—a slow, crooked thing that tugs at her lips and sends your pulse hammering in your chest.

The smile is lazy but unmistakably pleased.

She changes course, heading straight for you.

She doesn’t look drunk—not like before—but the memory of her swaying slightly in your medic room comes rushing back. You don’t miss the way her drink is already nearly empty, or how smoothly she downs the last of it before setting the glass on the bar with a clink.

When she reaches you, the faint scent of rain and leather clings to her, mingling with the sharper tang of alcohol.

“Hey,” Vi says, your name rolling off her tongue in that low, slightly rough voice of hers, and she leans against the counter next to you.

“Hey,” you grin, trying to keep your voice light even as your pulse races and Loris laughs at you. “You seem surprised to see me.”

“Not surprised,” she replies quickly, her eyes flicking to yours and then away, her smirk faltering for just a second. “Just… glad.”

The simplicity of her words sends your thoughts scattering, but before you can respond, she tilts her head toward your glass. “What’re you drinking?”

You lift it slightly, letting the dim light catch the remaining liquid. Vi eyes it for a moment, nodding in approval. “Good choice. Finish it.”

You blink, “What?”

She nudges your elbow lightly, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Come on. You’re here to have fun, right? Finish your drink, and I’ll show you what that looks like.”

Her tone is playful, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of sincerity beneath it. You hesitate, then take a longer sip, her expectant gaze making it impossible not to comply. The drink burns a little less this time, and when you place the empty glass down, she’s already holding out her hand.

“Come with me,” she says, and it’s not really a question.

Her fingers are warm when they curl around yours, her grip firm and steady as she leads you toward the heart of the bar. The crowd thickens as you move closer to the dance floor, the music pounding louder with every step. The bass thrums through the floor, climbing up your legs and settling in your chest, and the swirl of bodies around you becomes a blur of movement and heat.

Vi doesn’t let go of your hand, even as she turns back to glance at you, a faint smile pulling at her lips. For the first time in a while, there’s a lightness in her expression, a spark of something you’ve missed seeing.

Her usual confidence is there, but it’s softened, almost shy. You follow her lead, feeling awkward at first, but her laugh—low and husky—eases some of your nerves.

The two of you move together amidst the shifting pulse of the dance floor, the heat of the crowd wrapping around you like a living thing. You’re acutely aware of every brush of her fingers against yours, the subtle way her body angles toward you as if she’s drawn to your orbit.

You’re staring at her, looking at the few freckles on her cheeks you can still see under the smudged paint, at the pink ends of her dark hair, at the way her leather jacket has found itself back on her shoulders, muscular arms hiding inside the sleeves.

You think you’re a little obsessed with her.

The question forms on your lips before you can stop it. “Why did you stop coming by?”

Your voice is soft, barely carrying over the music, but it’s enough. Her gaze sharpens as she hears you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face.

“I like taking care of you, Vi.”

For a moment, she freezes. Then, almost imperceptibly, she steps closer. Her hand slides to your waist, the calluses on her fingers warm against the thin fabric of your clothes. She doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, her thumb brushing against your jaw, coaxing you to look at her.

Her eyes search yours, hesitating just long enough for you to realize what’s about to happen. Her breath, warm and faintly tinged with alcohol, fans across your lips, and a shiver runs down your spine.

And then she kisses you.

It’s quick at first, almost testing the waters—a soft brush of her lips against yours that leaves your breath caught somewhere between your heart and throat.

You pull away from her, face burning, when you notice her eyes are still closed, only to flutter open questioningly. Bright, piercing blue meets yours, and for a moment, you see panic flare in her expression.

“Fuck,” she mutters, running a hand through her rain-damp hair. “Fuck, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” The word comes out instinctively, you cannot get rid of that stupid smile on your face. “No, don’t apologize.”

Your fingers find their way to the lapels of her jacket. Her face scrunches up, caught somewhere between hope and disbelief, but you’re not looking at her eyes anymore. You’re focused on her lips, on the faint scar cutting across the corner of her mouth.

You tug her closer.

You kiss her back.

She exhales sharply against your lips, the sound half a gasp, half a groan, as her hands come up to cradle your face and the nape of your neck. It’s as if something inside her has snapped, all her restraint slipping away as she pours herself into you.

The world around you dissolves—the music, the crowd, the cacophony of Zaun’s nightlife fading into a muted hum. It’s just her, her warmth and her touch, her breath mingling with yours as she holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring her to the moment.

Her lips move against yours with a fervour that borders on desperation, her hands mapping out the curve of your waist, the small of your back, your hips, and your ass with her eyes closed. She’s eager to have you close, to feel you.

You respond in kind, your hands sliding up her abs, your fingers tangling in her hair, tugging slightly as her groan vibrates against your mouth.

The sound she emits makes your head spin. Vi’s warmth is all-consuming. A tangle of heat and want that leaves you both breathless by the time she finally pulls back, her forehead resting against yours.

“I need to—” she starts, her voice hoarse and trembling. She glances around, as if suddenly aware of where you are. “Let’s go somewhere. Outside.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, her hand finding yours again as she guides you through the crowd. You barely register the shift in the air until you’re stepping into the rain-soaked streets of Zaun.

The alley she leads you into is dimly lit, the flicker of a neon sign casting faint, wavering light against the wet pavement. The rain is light but steady, cool droplets clinging to your skin as she turns to you, her chest rising and falling like she’s been running.

Her gaze is intense, unwavering, as she steps closer, crowding you against the brick wall. “You’re making me crazy,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough. Her hand cups your jaw, her thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along your cheekbone.

“I could say the same,” you admit.

And then she’s kissing you again, this time with a fervour that leaves no room for hesitation.

It’s embarrassing how fast you tangle together after this, melding together into a pathetic heap out on the sidewalk for god and everyone in this podunk city to see. This time, you note with a ticklish glee settling in your stomach, your lips moving in tandem. They slit against each other with ease.

The rain seeps into your clothes, cold against your skin, but Vi’s touch is fire. Her hands are everywhere, rough and sure as they explore your body, pulling you closer, as if afraid you’ll slip away.

You thread your fingers through her hair, pulling her to you, matching her passion with your own softness. She groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, your tongue brushing against hers in a slow, deliberate caress.

Her grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into damp fabric as she presses you harder against the wall. The rain patters around you, mingling with the sound of your ragged breaths, the occasional distant noise of the bar fading into irrelevance. She parts your thighs with one of her own and places a steadying hand right next to your face. She takes you in, wholly and completely and you let her.

The rain beats down relentlessly, plastering your clothes to your skin, but you barely notice it. Not when Vi is kissing you like this—like she’s trying to consume you like she’s been starving for this. Her body is warm, her lips are hot, insistent, and messy against yours, her teeth occasionally graze your lower lip in a way that sends shocks through your entire body.

Breathy moans expel from your mouth in tandem with curses as her leg creates delicious friction against the lace of your underwear.

“Vi,” you manage, though it comes out as more of a broken whine, breathless and desperate.

Her name on your lips pulls a moan from her, low and guttural, and the sound is enough to make your knees weaken. You think you might collapse if she weren’t holding you so tightly.

Your head spins. You feel like you’re dissolving, every nerve alight as you lose yourself in her touch. Your lungs burn, screaming for air, but you can’t pull away. You don’t want to. Instead, you cling to her, fingers tugging in her hair.

It’s overwhelming—her heat, her strength, her desperation. She’s chaos and want, all Violet and nothing else, and you’re caught in her pull, like a leaf tossed about in a gale. It terrifies you, the way she consumes your thoughts, your senses. It feels like being set aflame, every kiss, every touch fanning the fire until you’re sure you’ll burn to ashes.

Her hands slide lower, shoving into the back pockets of your pants, and she grips you firmly, guiding your hips to rock against her. The movement is deliberate, slow at first, but the friction makes you whimper, a sound that seems to drive her further. Vi pulls you closer, dragging your body against hers in a way that makes you shudder.

Your breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, each one punctuated by her low moans. You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this—untethered, your body moving on instinct as you grind down against her leg. Her hold on you tightens, fingers digging into you, her strength reminds you of all the noses she’s broken, all the wounds you had to tend to because of her. The thought makes you dizzy, makes you crave her more.

Vi’s hips roll up into you, meeting your movements with a messy rhythm that leaves you trembling. The heat pooling in your stomach builds steadily, like a fire that refuses to be sated, even under the torrent of rain.

You let your hands wander, sliding up the hard planes of her stomach, your fingers tracing the ridges of muscle through her soaked bandages. You’re struck by how solid she feels, how strong, and it makes your chest tighten with something you can’t quite name. When your palm presses lower, cupping her over her pants, she keens—a quiet, needy sound that has you aching to hear it again.

Oh, you want her to do that again, you’re going to make her do that again.

Her grip on your hips becomes almost bruising, her breath coming faster as she sighs into your mouth. “Fuck,” she mutters, the word a rough exhale that sends a shiver down your spine. And then, barely audible, she mumbles, “Cait.”

You falter, the word barely registering over the storm and your own pounding heartbeat. It’s unfamiliar and foreign, and it sticks in your mind like a splinter.

Her lips are on yours again, insistent and wild, her teeth catching your bottom lip as her hands slide up under your shirt. Her fingertips are warm despite the rain, leaving trails of fire along your skin as she pushes the wet fabric higher. You shudder under her touch, goosebumps rising in her wake, your body arching instinctively toward her.

Your mind is a tangle of emotions and half-formed thoughts. You’re hyper-aware of everything—of the rain soaking through your clothes, the way her breath mingles with yours, the quiet groans she can’t seem to hold back.

She moves with purpose, her lips finding the sensitive skin along your jaw, then lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Each touch sends a fresh wave of heat through you, making it harder to think, to breathe.

Your fingers are clumsily slipping into her underwear and then you’re there, fingers brushing right against her clit—she’s so wet that your fingers brush right through her folds, gliding like silk.

“Vi,” you whisper again.

Her answering hum vibrates against your skin, and she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes are half-lidded, the blue of them dark and turbulent, like the sea during a storm.

You lean in, pressing your lips to the sensitive spot just below her jaw. It’s a place you know well, one you’ve touched countless times in the dim light of your medic’s room, dabbing at bruises and wiping away blood. Each time, she’d jerk away ever so slightly. Now, you press your lips there with the same precision, but the sense is wholly different.

She shifts beneath your touch, her breath hitching as your mouth moves deliberately along her neck. The breathy moans she leaves by your ear fuel you, spurring you on as you focus on the rhythm of her breathing, the way her body responds to you.

“Good,” she mutters, her voice rough and uneven. “Fuck, feels so good.”

Her hand moves beneath your shirt, her palm rough and calloused against the softness of your skin, digging under your bra. She cups your breast, her thumb brushing over your nipple, and the sensation sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric. Her other hand tangles in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make your scalp tingle.

It aches, but you’re smiling, even as the rain continues to pour, soaking through your clothes and plastering your hair to your face. You sneak a glance at her, and the sight nearly undoes you. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her dark lashes clumped together with rain and dark, smudged makeup against pale, bruised skin. Her lips are parted, searching for something—your lips, your skin, something to kiss.

You don’t make her wait. She bites at your neck, teeth grazing your skin, and you gasp, your hand instinctively moving to her hair. You tug, and the sound she makes—a guttural, desperate moan—sends heat pooling low in your stomach.

She mutters your name, her voice soft yet filled with a hunger that shakes you to your core. There’s a plea disguised in her tone, a silent plea to give her everything, to let her take all you have to offer.

And you will. You’ll give her everything. Your time, your care, your thoughts and prayers, every piece of yourself. Your leg, an arm, the air you breathe, and the food you make. You’d give her your heart, too, if only she’d take it.

Her body trembles against yours, her chest heaving as her breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts. You can’t tell if it’s from the cold rain seeping into your bones or from the way your fingers move against her. You trace light circles over her clit, teasing, testing, and the way she reacts—hips jerking, her hands clutching at you desperately—you think she wants your warmth, and you hope that is what she chases after.

When you slip a finger inside, she gasps, her voice breaking into soft, fractured sounds that make your chest ache. It takes a few tries, careful adjustments to find the spot that makes her fall apart, but when you do, it’s like a floodgate opens. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her body tensing beneath your touch as she winds tighter, tighter—

“Cait…” The same name from before slips from her lips like a whisper at first, so faint you almost miss it.

Then she says it again, her voice catching on the syllable, and your world tilts.

“Cait… Cait…” she chants, the name tumbling from her lips in fervent prayer, each utterance cutting through the haze that had clouded your mind.

It tastes bitter. Bitter like the alcohol still lingering on her breath. Bitter like the realization sinking into your chest.

You freeze, suddenly sober.

Your hands falter, and Vi doesn’t seem to notice at first, still panting, still trembling, her forehead pressed against yours. The furrow in her brow deepens when you pull back, untangling yourself from her arms.

“What—? Why’d you stop?” Her voice is hoarse and confused, the desperation still thick in her tone.

“Who’s Cait?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

“What?”

Vi blinks, her face a mask of confusion before her expression shifts. Guilt flashes in her eyes—raw and unguarded. It’s a look you’ve seen before, maybe once or twice.

“You keep calling me ‘Cait.’” You can’t meet her gaze as you say it. Your chest tightens, your throat burns, and suddenly, the space between the two of you feels suffocating.

You reach for her hand still under your shirt, running your thumb over her split knuckles. It’s a gesture that feels too tender now, and you pull her hand away from you, stepping aside to put distance between your bodies.

“I don’t know…” Your voice cracks as you say it, your mind grasping for anything to make sense of this moment.

“Shit. Shit.” Vi curses under her breath, running a hand through her wet hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—Cait’s just… someone I used to know, alright?”

The rain pours harder, the chill sinking into your bones as you cross your arms tightly against your chest. You glance down the alley, to where the streetlights cast faint glows on the wet pavement. Anywhere but her face.

“Um… I think I need to go,” you mumble.

“You just got here.” Her voice is low and unsure, and it makes you stutter for a moment. She takes a step toward you, one hand lifting as though to touch you, but she freezes mid-motion, her fingers curling into a fist.

“I know.” You force the words out. “But it’s been a long day.” You take a step back, and then another.

“Please.” Her voice cracks on the word. “Don’t leave.”

You pause, your breath hitching at the desperation in her tone. It tugs at something in your chest, something that still wants to turn around, to reach for her and say everything is fine. But it’s not fine. Not anymore.

“Vi…” Her name feels raw on your tongue. “You’re drunk. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

“No.” She cuts you off, the panic in her voice sharp enough to pierce through the rain. “No, don’t say that. I’m not drunk—”

“You are.”

Her words are rushed, and frantic, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as you. You shake your head, stepping back again, the cold of the brick wall scraping against your palm as you steady yourself.

“You’re clearly not in the right state of mind right now,” you say, your tone firmer this time. It feels like a lie, like a mask you’re slipping on to hide the crack forming in your resolve. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Just… rest easy. You fight early tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a sound halfway between a sob and a growl, her hands clenching at her sides. “Fuck. Fuck!” The frustration explodes out of her as her fist slams into the brick wall beside her, the dull thud reverberating in the air.

The sound makes you flinch, your shoulders stiffening as you start walking away. Her voice chases after you, raw and broken, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back.

Your lips burn where her mouth had been, a phantom heat that refuses to fade despite the freezing rain. You wipe your hands against the damp fabric of your pants, but the scent of her lingers—smoke, leather, and something wholly hers. It clings to you like a ghost.

The sunlight catches you off guard the next morning. It filters in through the grimy window of the medic room, cutting golden beams through the usual haze of smog. The light feels almost intrusive, prying into the shadows you’ve grown accustomed to.

You glance at the old clock on the wall, your eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Last night replays in your mind like a broken record—Vi’s voice, raw and regretful, the taste of her still lingering on your lips, and that name, Cait, slipping like a shard of glass between your ribs.

Outside, the faint hum of Zaun waking up filters through the walls. Fighters pass by the door, their voices carrying muffled excitement or hushed murmurs about Vi’s loss.

“She’s never been this off her game,” someone says as they pass. “Wonder what’s eating her.”

You tighten your grip on the bandage roll in your hand, trying to ignore the way your stomach clenches.

The sunlight persists, illuminating every imperfection in the room—the cracks in the walls, the scuff marks on the floor, the faint stains on the counter. It’s the first time you’ve seen this much light down here, and yet it only seems to highlight everything you want to forget.

You try to focus on your work, lining up supplies that don’t need organizing, folding bandages that don’t need folding. You think about how Vi’s presence, chaotic as it was, had somehow made this job bearable. Her grins, her dry wit, the way she sat in that chair like it was her throne—it had all made this dim room feel a little less oppressive.

But today, the chair stays empty.

Word of her loss had swept through the Pit hours ago. Even the ones who bet against her—out of spite or fear—seemed shocked. You’d caught snippets of conversations, whispers about how Vi had gone down hard, how her opponent’s hit had landed with a sickening crack that echoed through the arena.

Ryker confirmed the details when he came in, his voice low as he described the sound her body made hitting the floor. The image had stuck with you, sharp and unrelenting, as you waited.

You expected her to show up the way she always did—bleeding but defiant, swaggering in with that cocky grin, already downplaying her injuries. But as the hours stretched into evening, the worry settled deeper.

Maybe she’d gone straight to the bar again, skipping protocol out of spite. You wanted to believe it, even if it wasn’t fair. If anyone had the right to be upset, it should be you.

You paced the cramped room, the sound of your boots scraping against the floor the only thing keeping you grounded. You told yourself you didn’t care—it wasn’t your job to chase after fighters who wouldn’t take care of themselves. But deep down, it stung.

The thought of her turning back to old habits—of her brushing you aside like you never mattered—settled in your chest like a bruise you couldn’t rub out.

And then the door creaks open.

Vi steps inside, her silhouette framed by the soft, golden light spilling through the window behind her. She hesitates in the doorway, a shadow of her usual self. Her confident swagger is gone, replaced by a tired, battered figure. The black paint streaked across her shoulders has smeared into her skin, blending with dried blood and sweat. Her leather jacket hangs heavily from her hands, and her makeshift top is damp, torn in places, and caked with dirt.

Her face tells the rest of the story. A swollen eye, a nose bent at an angle that makes you wince just looking at it, and a constellation of bruises across her cheekbone and jaw. Blood has dried in crusty patches along her hairline and temples, merging with the remnants of the black paint she hadn’t bothered to wash off.

She lingers there, gripping the edges of the doorframe like she’s bracing herself for rejection. You’re about to speak when her gaze finds yours, cutting through the silence like a knife.

“Hey,” she says, her voice scratchy and low.

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, willing your tone to stay steady. “Took you long enough,” you say lightly, turning toward the counter to grab the salve and bandages.

When you glance back, the ghost of a smirk flickers on her lips, but it vanishes just as quickly. She steps further inside, lowering herself into the chair with a muted groan. There’s no quip this time, no offhand joke. She just sits there, shoulders sagging, staring at her bloodied hands like they belong to someone else.

You pull on your gloves, the snap of latex breaking the silence. “What happened?”

Her shrug is stiff, “Guess I wasn’t fast enough.”

There’s an edge to her voice, sharp and bitter. It’s self-directed, steeped in frustration, and it takes you by surprise. You soak a cloth in antiseptic and step closer, gently dabbing at a jagged cut above her eyebrow. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” you ask, your tone soft but firm.

Her jaw tightens, and her hands curl into fists on her lap. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

You pause mid-motion, your hand hovering just above her skin. Her words feel like a slap, and you’re not sure if the sting comes from the accusation. “I still like to take care of you,” you say quietly.

Vi scoffs, the sound is humourless and tired. “That’s your job.”

“Yeah, but,” you counter, meeting her gaze head-on. “I like doing it.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken between you. Her shoulders tense as she processes your words, her eyes darting away like she can’t bear to look at you.

You try to focus on cleaning her wounds, “You should’ve come earlier. You shouldn’t do this to yourself.”

“Why not? Seems to be what I’m good at.”

Her words strike a chord, a pang of hurt and anger swirling in your chest. You step back, giving her space as you set the cloth down. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on her hair, painting her in a halo of gold. She looks almost ethereal, and it breaks your heart, because you know she doesn’t see it.

“Vi…” You hesitate, unsure of what to say.

She looks up then, her eye searching your face. Her voice cracks when she speaks. “I don’t get it. I’m a jerk, right? Always have been to fucking everyone, even Loris and my sister and I... I mean, I’ve been a dick to you since day one. Why don’t you just… let me fuck myself up?”

“I’ve thought about it,” you admit, a hint of teasing laced in your voice. “But then I’d be a pretty shitty medic, wouldn’t I?”

Her lips twitch upward again, but it doesn’t quite stick. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice so quiet you almost miss it. “For everything.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I didn’t mean to…” She trails off, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The sincerity in her voice twists the knife deeper, but it doesn’t change the truth. “It’s okay,” you manage.

“No, it’s not.” She finally looks at you, her blue eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Shame? “I… You deserve better than that. Better than me.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. “You’re being dramatic. I’m fine, really.”

Vi shook her head, leaning back against the chair. “You’re not. You’re just too good to say it.”

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning. You can see the pain in her expression, the regret and the sorrow, but there’s something else, too—a longing that mirrors your own.

But it’s not enough.

You step back, and the distance between you feels like miles. “You should rest. I gotta fix your nose.”

Vi nods, leaning back in the chair. The sunlight catches on her bruises, highlighting every mark, every scar. She looks like a warrior, battle-worn and beautiful, and you know you’ll never forget this image of her.

As you work in silence, you can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if things were different—if whoever Cait was didn’t haunt her, if she could see you the way you see her.

But deep down, you know the answer.

She’ll never be yours.

But you’ll always be hers.

When you finish, Vi hesitates for a moment longer than you expect, her movements slow and deliberate, as though she doesn’t know where to go next or what to do. She stands, and the way her shoulders rise, like she’s summoning what’s left of her strength, makes your heart ache.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Of course. It’s what I’m here for.”

As the words leave you, they feel hollow. You want to reach for more, to say something else, to make her understand. You want to scream, to tell her that you could be enough for her if she’d just let you. You could make her believe that she’s worth more than the pain she’s carrying. But instead, all you do is smile. It’s soft, strained, and bittersweet.

She doesn’t meet your eye as she turns toward the door. You watch her move, each step deliberate, like she’s carrying an invisible weight. For a fleeting moment, it’s as if she’s pulling the room with her, dragging everything back into the shadows.

And then, she’s gone.

The door clicks softly behind her, leaving the room eerily silent. You sit back in your chair, the quiet pressing in around you like a heavy fog. The warmth from the light seems to linger, but it doesn’t reach you anymore.

You sit back in your chair, staring at the empty space. The room feels colder and quieter, and you realize that, no matter how much you wish otherwise, she’ll always carry pieces of someone else with her.

2K notes · View notes

yournightmary · 1 month ago

Text

STICKY SITUATION

⎯ ୨୧ pairings: fake dating! vi x reader

⎯ ୨୧ content: mentions of alcohol, college au, lying, swearing, fake dating tropes used, lowercase intended, not proofread, wc 3.5k

“no telling anyone, i’ll be coming to all of your hockey games and after parties, and absolutely no tongue when kissing.”

you looked up at vi for reassurance after reciting the pink-written “rules” paper in front of you. the pinkette hummed, muscular and defined arms moving from their position draped over the top of the couch to her manspread knees as she shifted to lean slightly forward.

caitlyn kiramman and violet lane were officially over. it was assumed to be a mutual breakup that both parties would grieve on for the appropriate amount of time, but the soft launch the pinkett awoke to on caitlyn’s story the next morning spoke otherwise. maddie nolen. getting with the woman she told vi “not to worry about” was low, all vi could do was go lower.

and so she enlisted you. stunning, charming, intelligent, an all-rounder. the way caitlyn clung onto her ex-lover for dear life when you were around, as if vi were a mere moth and you were light. if anyone would give the “mongoose”, as vi called her, a run for her money, it’d be you.

“it’s a solid contract, for now.” she agreed. her eyes lingered on yours for a moment before flickering to her dorm window, the absence of light prompting her to lean back once more and speak. “it’s late, y’know. why don’t you stay the night?”

you paused on your way to stand before finishing the movement. “charming, really, but you don’t have to offer that, vi. i’ll walk back to my building. thanks thoug-” the girl drowned out your words with her reassuring ones.

“stay,” she simply insisted, backtracking as a beat passed and she had yet to explain. “it’d look good for the deal, y’know? besides.. we have some details to solidify.” as she finished speaking she lifted a hand and waved you over with only two fingers.

you set your bag back down and scoffed at the action. “i’m not a dog.” your feisty claim was cancelled out by the way you followed her command like a puppy.

you sat on the couch next to violet. closer than usual, but still too far for her liking. the hockey player rolled her eyes, a hint of a smirk crossing her face. “not there, honey.” you furrowed your brows, looking around to see what could possibly be wrong with your arrangement. “then where am i supposed to sit?”

vi’s hint of a grin attempted to stay hidden, tongue poking the inside of her cheek as she leaned over and grabbed your hips to flip you to straddle her lap on the couch.

“where it’s easiest for me to give you a hickey.”

you laughed, shaking your head and using your arms to lean back from vi’s chest. at the sound of silence in the room your smile dropped, staring at the girl eyeing you expectantly.

“you’re serious?” you asked louder than intended, mouth agape as the girl moved her hands to rest at your hips. “people won’t believe we’re a couple just because we said so,” she started. “especially not caitlyn, she’s too smart..” you added, beginning to understand her perspective.

“exactly,” she whispered, leaning in. “b’sides, we need to practice.”

vi leaned in, caressing the back of your head to hold you closer as she latched onto the side of your neck. she placed a gentle kiss before sucking a bit harder. you hummed as she slid a hand up to hold your hair before detaching from your neck with a pop.

“there.” she spoke softly, eyeing the red and purple love bite forming. “perfect."

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“perfect,” you smiled, picking up the letterman jacket vi placed in front of your position on the bed. “violence” was written on the back rather than her last name. clad in nothing but a t shirt and shorts as pajamas, you slid the jacket on to see how it fit. as you adjusted it and fixed your hair, vi walked up to her bed and held up her phone.

“smile,” she spoke quickly, snapping a photo of your soft smile and slightly confused eyes.

“what was that for?” you muttered, watching vi’s frame as she sat next to you and turned her screen.

already posted on vi’s snap story was a photo of you, sat on her bed, legs appearing bare as the girl’s letterman and oversized tee covered your shorts. the text on the screen read “post ‘workout’”.

“vi!” you sputtered, letting out a gentle laugh as you hit her shoulder and earned a playful grin from the girl. “hey- now we’re on the map.” the pinkett reassured you with a smug look as she opened the various messages responding to the story.

‘ITS NINE IN THE MORNINGG’ ‘crazy work’

you felt the girl’s gaze on you as you watched the reactions roll in with an amused smile. fellow classmates praising vi for ‘making a move’, saying how cute you two look together, even claiming to have ‘known this would happen all along’. for a moment, you let yourself forget it was all pretend.

a veiny hand placed itself on your thigh, making you flinch at the sudden contact. you looked to violet, eyes locking in the moment before ridding of the tension.

“see that? we need’a get rid of that.” she grinned.

you scoffed, flicking her hand off of you as you stood and rid yourself of the thick letterman. “nothing in the contract says you need to grope me,” you teased, hands on your hips as you turned to pick a shirt from vi’s messily folded space.

“gro- what?” she scoffed, caught off guard as she attempted to defend herself. “nobody’s gonna believe we’re a couple if you jump every time I lay a hand on you!” the girl huffed, her gaze turning every which way before leaning back on her forearms.

you only hummed as she continued to talk, turning with your back to her as you grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head.

vi‘s words died in her throat, eyes widening at the line of your back. your smooth skin and pearly smile blinded her as you turned your head, picking up one of her shirts.

“what? nobody's gonna believe we're a couple if you choke up when you see my body." your cocky smile filled your face as you turned away from the girl.

"by the way, you're drooling."

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“ew, you fucking drooled!” jinx’s loud laugh drowned out the room as she scolded her boyfriend, despite the roaring party atmosphere. all throughout the frat house was a crowd of students looking to get wasted, heaps of alcohol, and bad decisions waiting to happen.

“i did not!” ekko defended himself, wiping away any possible evidence from his lips. you giggled at the two and leaned into the strong arm wrapped around your waist. after a few days of casual pda across campus to keep up the act, vi was finally able to touch you without you scolding her about ‘the contract’ or making a gasp that she found adorable.

she figured an arm wrapped around your torso was appropriate after the third guy in a row came up to you and asked to dance. you figured this was a good way to warn people off so that she didn’t threaten anyone else and get jayce to ban them from the frat.

“alright, another! i wanna be moving out there tonight,” jinx exclaimed, picking up a liquor, pouring two shots, and stopping over the third glass. you had already opted out on alcohol, so the blue haired girl’s gaze trailed to her sister. “vi? you pregnant or something? haven’t touched a glass yet. i’m worried.” the girl teased, tilting her head.

“ha ha,” vi rolled her eyes playfully, her grip on you becoming present once more as she spoke. “can’t. i’m drivin’ honey home tonight.” the younger girl fake gagged, downing her shot with her boyfriend following in suit. as the couple continued their antics, vi leaned into you. the space between you thinned as you grew to feel her soft exhales on the back of your neck. “look to your left, at the end of the couch.” her words were hushed to a sneaky whisper that kissed your ears as she kept your body warm with her proximity.

you obeyed, holding back a smile as you peeked to your left. a girl, decorated in blue locs, was staring back at you with stars in her eyes. she blew you a kiss that was mentally intercepted by vi with a scoff. “more competition.” you teased, turning your head to face hers.

“y’know, if i’d known you attract this much attention-” you cut her words off, bringing your hand up to fix a pink strand of hair that’d fallen in front of her face.

“you’d have what? chosen another girl to torture with your silly ex drama?” you hummed.

the pinkett snickered, cocky smile painting her face as her grip on you tightened ever so slightly. “not a chance.”

the moment between you fell silent and soft despite the roaring music surrounding before jayce’s smiling face filled your vision. “evening lovebirds,” the man grinned, taking a shot from the jinx’s hands and downing it while she groaned with anger. vi smiled, thumb tracing patterns absentmindedly along your hip. “shouldn’t you be losing a game of beer pong right about now?” she teased her friend.

“hah, no.” the sarcastic response made you giggle, fanning your face gently with one hand as the room’s air only became stiffer at the arrival of more guests. “mel and i are hitting up the hot tub with some.. other guests.” he lifted another shot glass, this time one that powder poured for him.

getting some fresh air sounded so good right now.

vi hummed while letting her hand slide off of your waist, her touch just grazing over your lower back before sticking her fist in the pocket of her baggy jeans. without speaking, she tilted her head and raised an eyebrow in question.

“yes please.” you begged, already handing your phone to jinx to watch over. most likely a decision you and your phone storage will regret later, but that was a future problem. jayce let out a chuckle, flashing his pearly whites before setting his last shot glass down and waving you and vi to follow.

your hands intertwined, jayce leading you who’s hands embraced both his and vi’s. the man pulled you both through the drunken community and let go to exit through the decorated doorway. the colorful lighting dimmed and was replaced by the blue hue of the pool and light from the night stars. jayce found mel’s gaze from across the space, a grin growing on the frat member’s mouth. he hastily removed his shirt and shorts, tossing them onto a table by the poolside. “just join us when you’re ready!” he rushed out, jogging over to his lover.

vi let out a sharp “hah”, muttering something about talis being “pussy whipped”. you only smiled, turning to the side as you fixed your arms across your torso and lifted the cropped top over your head. vi’s playful mutters died in her throat, and a soft “oh” was born. that ‘stripping practice’ wasn’t much help.

she hoped and prayed you’d suggest giving it another try.

two sets of clothes fell, every fabric hitting the floor adding to the heavy pile of tension, one too complex and thick to cut with a knife. the two of you hummed, taking each other in as your gazes travelled up and down with heavy lidded eyes.

rather than a knife, jayce’s call to you from across the landscape successfully dissipated all conflicting and curious thoughts. momentarily. “yo, what are you waiting for!”

the pinkette’s lips curled into a smile, her arm finding its resting spot around your waist. you exchanged no words as your feet moved with purpose, anticipating the feeling of the steamy water that would soon encase and soothe your body for the time being.

or not.

“violet?”

it wasn’t your mouth that spewed the name. you radiate love, the way in which you called out vi’s name warmed her and provided an indescribable feeling. it was said cold, surprised, and almost with distaste.

“caitlyn.” vi’s response was equally distant, a hint of shock at the end. the newfound emotion quickly switched to anger as she turned to the man looking like a deer in headlights. “jayce..” her voice was low, a warning.

wide eyes flickered between the past lovers before swaying to his immediate left. “mel?” he called for help, the woman only laughing as she relaxed into the warm water. “you’re on your own.”

the ginger girl at caitlyn’s side looped an arm around her bicep, squeezing gently to grab her attention. “let’s go, yeah?” she tried, but the woman didn’t budge.

you scoffed, a snarky remark on it’s way to sneak past your lips when jayce interrupted. “hey- okay wait wait!” he started, gaze travelling between the girls. “i know how tense everything is right now, but i care about both of you. i hate having to choose sides or run back and forth to be with you guys. can you at least try to be civil tonight?”

the loudest silence fell upon the group, you and maddie not daring to make a face until your lover– or faux one decided.

“fine.”

the night progressed as jayce dreamed. vi sat with you on her lap, your skin plush against one of her thighs, her arms wrapped around your waist as the water threatened to take you away. she suggested it was the “easiest position to whisper in your ear discreetly”. you were on top of her before she thought of the explanation. maddie and caitlyn sat directly across the hot tub, the ginger holding onto one of the bluenette’s biceps in hopes of calming the annoyed look that covered her face. mel and jayce, ever the mediators, carried the tense conversation to the best of their abilities.

after a draining thirty minutes of passive aggressive disses, everyone nodding and pretending to understand jayce’s technological talks, and you standing your ground during an intense staring contest with maddie, you’d had enough.

“oh it was disastrous. then of course i had to miss a couple days as i was ill with a cold–” caitlyn’s story was drowned out as you spoke up with a smile sweet enough to cause a toothache.

“really?” you tilted your head. “i heard you got mono after a party,” you hummed, voice laced with fake concern. you had no clue if the claims were true, you were just tired of her talking.

the bluenette’s eyes widened only slightly, her mouth slightly agape. maddie turned her head, a brow gently furrowing in suspicious confusion. “but.. i didn’t have-”

“well that’s what happens when you’re freed from a past situation that was unskilled in such acts.” caitlyn spoke over the girl. her gaze flickered over to vi and back to jayce who was desperately praying to change the topic. you bit your tongue with a small scoff under your breath, vi’s muscular arms tensed their grip around you subconsciously before relaxing at the thought of an idea.

“you wanna crash this shit?” vi whispered, words kissing your ear with her lips just inches away. you nodded your head with desperate eyes.

she tapped on your leg below the water, making you turn your head and torso ever so slightly towards her. without warning, her lips crashed into yours, arms adjusting their position to hold your waist. “keep going,” she whispered between one of the many kisses. your hands trailed up to tangle in her hair, gently gripping as you felt the pinkette softly bite on your bottom lip. your mouth opened just enough from shock that the muscular girl could slide her tongue in, allowing it to get tangled with and slide against yours.

fuck.

you allowed all of it to happen. the way her hands slid up and down your side, the way her lips encased and warmed yours, the way her tongue explored every inch of your mouth, the way mel and jayce noticed in shock and amusement, and the way caitlyn and maddie looked as though they’d explode within the next second.

you did anything but stop, hardly listening as caitlyn scoffed, letting out an “unbelievable” as her and maddie climbed out of the hot tub and stormed off. it wasn’t until mel questioned “was this display for us or them?” that you pulled yourself from vi with a cheeky smile. you didn’t miss the way she followed after your lips.

the pinkette flashed that infamous smirk, apologizing to mel and jayce with a laugh before leaning in one last time to whisper in your ear, “good job, honey.”

your heart raced at the comment, but it didn’t stop you from pushing the girl back with an almost-serious expression on your face. “you broke the contract!” you exclaimed, pressing an accusatory finger to her chest.

it wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy it, like you didn’t slide your tongue along hers as she claimed your mouth.

it was the fact that every time you moved further in this fake affair, you grew more worried. the fact that all of your firsts with her would be fake tugged on your heart strings. and when the drama boils over, what would happen between the two of you? in your mind, as your tongues entangled, so did your hearts.

vi choked on her words, searching for an explanation. why did she do that again? she couldn’t help herself. not good enough. oh, right. “i told you! couples-”

“contract?”

the two of you froze, turning back to jayce and mel who eyed you suspiciously.

fuck.

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“fuck,”

jinx huffed out under her breath, barely audible with the loud bundle of students in the surrounding stands. “it smudged again!” the girl whined, looking into the camera of her phone as she attempted to fix a line of eye black on her face. mel chuckled, muttering a “give me that,” as she held the girl’s face and evened out the line with a tissue.

it was nearing the end of the second intermission, with your school and the neighboring university tied. the three of you had spent two hours picking out the best bottoms to match your lovers’ jerseys that covered your body, tying the perfect blue and white ribbons in your hair, and decorating yourselves with body paint. jinx, apart from the messy lines on her cheekbones, painted little blue doodles on her legs. mel simply painted jayce’s number on her cheek. you drew two pink lines under your eyes, along with vi’s name perfectly placed on the front of your thigh.

a loud whistle blew seconds before the players skated back on the ice, fans cheering and clapping as they anticipated a win for their respective team. you only cared about finding the player with the intimidating name plastered on their back: “violence”.

the game flashed before your eyes, screaming and squealing along with the girls whenever one of your companions got the puck. 6-6. 6-7. 7-7. excitement and anticipation in the atmosphere only rose as the teams skated back and forth across the ice.

the anticipation distracted you. distracted you from your conflicting feelings, vi’s curious actions, the fact that you didn’t have to be dressed like this as caitlyn nor maddie were present, the worry of this deal coming to an end, the terrible fact that you were worried, and the terrifying idea of telling her how you really felt once the game came to an end.

7-7. 7-8. 7-9. time!

the stands erupted into cheers as ekko slammed the winning shot. powder jumped up and down while you and mel laughed at the girl’s glee before cheering along with her.

“they usually take a minute, showers and all.” mel informed you as you waited for the players to exit the locker room. the two girls found a spot on a bench while you paced back and forth. it’s fine. it’s fine. does she really need to know?

“honey?”

the sweet voice startled you, prompting you to turn, the fast-moving pink haired girl still clad in her uniform filling your view. “vi?” you smiled, only taking two steps before the girl reached you. “what’s– huh?” you choked on your words as the girl wrapped a hand around your waist, the other coming up to cup your face.

“have t’ do this before the adrenaline wears off,” she muttered with determination and a haze in her eyes. before you could respond, she leaned in, lips connecting like puzzle pieces. the kiss wasn’t rough or showy like the others, it was needy and real. she kept you in a trance, minds, bodies, and mouths connected until powder’s complaints pulled you out. “jeez, breathe!”

the girl’s annoyance caused you to giggle, allowing you to feel vi’s smile against your lips before pulling back.

her face, only inches away, sent a numbing and fuzzy feeling through your brain and body. the look in her eyes as she soaked in every detail from your puffy lips to wide and love-struck orbs had you all but melting.

oh.

©silknspice

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