yournightmary

[yournightmary]

i miss my wife (ellie williams)

[yournightmary]

i am going crazy

✶ PUCK IT. hockey player!vi

[yournightmary]

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.

[yournightmary]

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."

 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“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. 

 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“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

[yournightmary]

how i spend my free time

[yournightmary]

Vi NSFW!Alphabet

content warning:: nsfw obviously, not proofread because it’s painful, badly written maybe idk?

AN:: i’ve had 42 hours on cai last week. i am not okay

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ she’s the sweetest. it’s like all of her tough girl walls are crumbling and she becomes a literal teddy bear. cuddling and talking is a must, a shower if you’re up for it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ on herself she likes her arms the most, it’s a simple decision. it’s the strongest part of her body. she’ll stand in front of the mirror and just flex with a shit eating grin. also loves the way her muscles and veins pop out when she’s fingering you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ on you- and i’ve already talked about this- she loves your thighs and ass. could not pick one or the other, they come as a package. she’ll kiss, bite and lick your thighs every time she goes down on you. and if you wear clothes that accentuate your curves? get ready to get your ass slapped every time she walks by you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ i don’t think she’s a squirter. not matter how many times you try, how much water she drinks or the position- she just won’t. which is totally normal!! she does get really wet really easily though.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ she would really like it if you got a tattoo specifically for her. maybe her name or a few of those cogs she has herself. not so everyone could see it and know you’re hers, nuh uh- she’d want it to be somewhere hidden, like on your ribcage or low on your hips. just for her to see and know about it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ she definitely missed out on a lot of things when she was younger, maybe had a few hookups or a prison wife along the way. she might stumble around, not really knowing what to do- but what she lacks in experience she makes up with enthusiasm.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ either something where she can see your face or see your ass, depends on what you want more in the moment. ideally though? cowgirl in front of a mirror so she can look at both of her those things.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ it all depends on the mood. you were play fighting and it turned into fucking? she’s giggling and throwing jokes left & right. you were away for some time and she finally gets to touch you? there isn’t a single word coming out of her mouth (other than praise maybe) because of how focused she is on making you feel good.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ HAPPY TRAIL.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ she’s not really the one to shave or even trim. she’s got good hygiene and it’s not like hair=dirty or disgusting. the hair is a darker than the one on her head, obviously, but it still has that fuchsia undertone.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ very, very romantic. it one of her ways to show you just how much she loves you, so she tries her best.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ she doesn’t really masturbate, which is surprising with how horny she is. if she’s really desperate and you’re away or not in the mood, she’ll just rub one out- nothing else.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ she’s not really that kinky… she does like to manhandle you a bit more than she would like to admit. it’s just the way she can turn you into putty (and that you trust her enough to do it) that gets her going.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ anywhere in your home. she isn’t really into the idea of getting intimate outside of her own space.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ everything and anything about you. just the idea that she’s the one making you feel this good, pulling those sounds out of you, that you trust and love her enough to do those things- it’s the best she could ask for. her goal in life is to make you happy and she will achieve it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ she hates the idea of doing something to intentionally cause you pain. she hurt enough people in her life- she’s not gonna do it to you, even if you beg.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ she’s getting the ‘best carpet muncher’ award, no questions asked. she loves to give, doesn’t mind receiving. she gets messy with it- i’m talking kissing, licking and even slurping. if you’re up for it she’ll even properly fuck you with her tongue.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ she’ll give you whatever you want and she’ll give it good. to her it’s all about pleasing you, so her needs and wants go to the back of her mind.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ sure, why not? if any of you feel the need but don’t exactly have the time, she’s more than fine with it. she does like to take her time though, so they’re not more usual than normal sex

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ experiment- yes. take risks- ehh, not really. she doesn’t want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable by accident, so usually she’ll stick to what she knows. but if you want to try something she’s more than willing.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ do i even need to say anything? she can go at it until your legs are shaking, your face is stained with tears and there are no legible thought in your head. she herself doesn’t last very long. she was deprived of that kind of touch for so long that she can cum from the simplest things.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ she has a strap and she will not let you use it on her. she just doesn’t find that comfortable. maybe has a small bullet vibrator she received as a gag gift or bought out of curiosity- it’s for both you and her.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ oh my fucking god she’s such a tease. literally the book definition. loves to hear you beg and to see your hips chasing after her touch. but if you try to do the same to her? oh- she’s blushing and shying away from you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ usually she tries to hold back her noises but does a shitty job at it. and when the strap comes in? she’s whining like she’s actually fucking you with her dick

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ in my head she is not a sub i’m so sorry guys. i just can’t see it. at all. she’s a switch leaning dom at best.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ she is strapped the fuck up, you cannot convince me otherwise. but i feel like she would wait and buy the strap once she’s actually with you, just so you could pick exactly what you wanted. she chose the color though- it matches her hair.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ very high, but in a giving way, not receiving. she can do it all day, every day. not even letting you get out of bed.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ it all depends on the day. sometimes she’ll fall asleep right after taking care of you, sometimes she’ll stay up for hours cuddling and pillow talking with you.

i’m a virgin

[yournightmary]

wdym arcane is over?

[yournightmary]

Vi HCs

content warning:: i guess there’s some angst? but it’s arcane so it’s nothing new

AN:: just a mix of different headcannons to get me through season 2.

pitfighter!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I’m sorry but she smells so bad. I’m not talking about a little stink- she smells fucking rancid. It’s a mix of sweat, alcohol, blood, hair dye and sometimes even puke. I don’t think she even showers properly, she just runs a wet towel over her body and calls it a day.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She dyes her hair with the cheapest hair dye in front of her cracked mirror- that’s why it’s so shitty. Doesn’t buy enough and ends up not covering her ends every single time.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Barely has any clothes. Owns 3 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts, all of them ragged and stained. Doesn’t even wear the shirts most of the time, she just wraps her chest with bandages.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ At first she didn’t want to do the eyeliner thing but a few fellow fighters told her it’s something to be recognized and remember for. For the first few times she actually payed attention to how she’s applying it, but after that she said fuck it and just slapped it on. Also she doesn’t use proper eyeliner, maybe something like water-activated face paint.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Really craves touch. She’ll glue herself to random girls (bonus points if they have dark blue hair) at bars and blame it on being drunk. Nothing sexual, just plain affections.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Her every day looks the same. Wake up in the middle of the day, sulk on the shitty mattress that she calls her bed, work out, put on her make up, head to the pit, drink till the morning. There’s literally no difference in them.

young!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I don’t know where i’ve read it I think it was like an interview or something but she’s literally just a girl. She didn’t want to be the strong fighter that everyone knows not to mess with, but that’s who she has to be to survive in the Undercity.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Definitely gave music a try. Like be so fr, she has a saxophone on her bed. Maybe she found it on a job and thought it was too cool to sell. Always wanted to play guitar but it was out of her price range.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She knew she liked girls from very early on and so did everyone around her. She didn’t hide it from anyone, there was literally no reason to. In season 1 you can even see she has a poster of a half-naked woman next to her bed, like come on now.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I’ve seen people saying that she doesn’t know how to make food but hear me out. I think she’s actually a pretty good cook due to her being the ‘caretaker’ when Vander couldn’t do it. Definitely cooked for Powder when she woke her up in the middle of the night because she was so hungry it was bordering on being painful.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She cuts her own hair. One time she fucked up so bad she had to shave her whole side and it just kind of stayed with her.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Never does anything for herself. Whenever she finds something- like clothes or food- she gives it to someone else. Always makes sure the others have enough before she takes something for herself.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She feels so guilty after stealing stuff from other people. She’s not stupid and she knows how hard life in the underground is, and that it justifies her actions but still- she’ll roll from side to side instead of sleeping, thinking about how much of a shitty person she is.

dating!Vi

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Literally the best girlfriend out there and I will die on this hill.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s so touch-starved it’s unbelievable. When she was a teen she didn’t really experience anything relationship-like and then she got locked up for a few years. She’ll always have her arm around you, her hand on your hip or waist.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Oh my god her hugs are so good ahhhh. It’s just like being wrapped up in a warm blanket. Really likes to give hugs from behind too.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves cuddling, especially if it involves her lying on top of you. She doesn’t need any pillows if she has you and your lap, stomach or chest.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She is such an acts of service girl. And it goes both ways! If you make her dinner or plan a whole date by yourself she’ll feel so loved.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She stares so much it’s borderline creepy. She’ll just look at you in silence for a few minutes before turning her head away with a smile, thinking about how lucky she is to have you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ You’ll be cuddling with her before sleep, scratching her back or scalp for the whole time. Once you think she’s asleep you stop and she immediately looks up at you with furrowed brows, asking why you stopped.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ While she is proud of her physique and stuff she does feel self conscious about her hands. Mostly because of all the scars and bruises, maybe a little because of how manly they look.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She was a victim of being treated like a guy because she’s more masculine presenting than feminine. Pay for her food at a restaurant, do her makeup, tell her she looks pretty not handsome.

[yournightmary]

So like… arcane season 2 is out. I want to give you something but I genuinely can’t bring myself to write fics, so you can request character.ai bots here on tumblr :)

I find them easier to make and also a lot more fun, since I can use them myself. My username on cai is the same as here, btw

[yournightmary]

⠂☆ Vi SFW & NSFW HCs

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ tws/content warnings: nsfw towards the end :) not rlly proofread, a bit more modern au, lowercase intended

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ a/n: I’m still working on the story I wanted to post today but I wanted to put something out. so here are a little bit of my vi head cannons! this is lightly proofread with no organization tbh :>

☆ SFW/NSFW MIX

˚. starting off very in it, she worships you and the very soil you walk on. she will quite literally do whatever you say with no questions asked, but of course you don’t take advantage of that

˚. she does in fact snore. nothing crazy heavy and loud. just a light snore with some heavy breathing.

˚. she isn’t the best at regulating her emotions. she is very shamelessly vulnerable with her partner, and she loves being safe enough to feel small sometimes.

˚. she is a very light sleeper. any sense of movement and her eyes slightly open to ensure you’re fine. If so, she goes right back to sleep like nothing. will not move at all, and honestly it concerns you. she has to be sleeping on or near you. if you move away from her, she goes right back.

˚. baby needs so much love. she is a sucker for being babied. wash her hair in the shower, make her little snacks, smushing her cheeks and kissing her nose, tucking her in, and kissing her forehead. call her baby and she’s done for. she will never admit, but you can see it in the way her cheeks turn a warm peachy pink when you baby her. she loves reciprocation, so you can bet you’ll get the same exact love and treatment back

˚. she gets pretty frequent nightmares. she’ll panic inside until she realizes you are asleep next to her, then she’s rolled up into you

˚. loves being both big and little spoon

˚. Is in love with you and everything you do. she will sit and listen to you talk for hours about anything. while you talk, she admires you. the way you move, your voice, how every syllable slips from your lips like honey. she feels so woozy and intoxicated when she is with you. you wipe her off her toes by simply breathing in her direction

˚. she listens so well. you stare at a new game or a nice jacket for too long and you’ll have it by the end of the week. mention how you’ve been craving anything and she’ll have it cooked for you and fresh or ready for take out

˚. she is actually very smart (makes me sad some people call her stupid). she enjoys learning new things but she does get a bit impatient. although it does seem like she jumps into her fights head first, she has strategy and technique.

˚. she is pretty tech savvy. Jinx and Ekko taught her a lot of what she knows. (I do hc that jinx is very tech savvy and into computer software :p).

˚. she always tells you that she loves you. she just wants you to stay aware of how much you mean to her. when you’re both off at work, she ends up always missing you tremendously. she wakes up dreading the moment you both seperate in the morning. you can definitely expect her to blow up your phone with cute messages and comments about her day when she can.

˚. I indeed hc that she has a staring problem. she’s just intrigued easily by little things. she analyzes and is never sure when to look away. she stares at you. A LOT. she admires every single thing about you. every quality, every imperfection, all of it.

˚. very observant and attentive

˚. terrible road rage. she definitely puts up that middle finger and spits profanities

˚. so headstrong and can be very stubborn

˚. follows you everywhereeee. she can’t help it, she loves you so much and just wants you to be right there. she decides stops to following you one day, because she feels as if she’s being annoying. you both were watching movies. kissing her cheek, you stood up. she flexed for a moment, forgetting her plan. halfway down the hall, you noticed you couldn’t feel her right on your tail. when she wasn’t there, you walked back to the living room. she was sitting on the couch with her head down, like a sad puppy. “come here, baby”, was all you said before she jumped up, running to follow you. In truth, you loved it (she’s so puppy coded)

˚. she does talk with her mouth open out of habit. she does it in public when she has to say something.

˚. I believe that she isn’t picky BUT she does like to critique food. she is a food critic and will be honest with you. she is not the greatest cook but she loves to learn and try. she hasn’t dissatisfied you with a dish yet :p

˚. very protective but she knows you can protect yourself. that doesn’t matter though, it won’t change the fact that she is a protector

˚. she is always there for you always, will straight up leave work or anything to be with you if you’re having a bad day

˚. she isn’t the best with wording how she feels but she shows everything through her actions

˚. will defend you in anything, even if you are wrong. she is the defend you in public, correct you in private type

˚. she is an over thinker and does need reassurance sometimes. she is afraid to lose you in any way, but struggles to reassure herself that you aren’t going anywhere.

˚. she actually begs you to get the vi tat on your hip. when you do, she’ll get something that resembles you or your initials on hers

˚. she is so funny actually. she will have you falling over laughing with a shit eating grin on her face. when you both laugh together * chefs kiss *. her laugh is so cute. she does cackle and react with her body when she’s really into it. does in fact think brain rot shit like rizz and skibidi is funny

˚. very very helpful. she can also build shit. bob the builder lesbian fr. truly such a sweetheart and will do anything to help around the apartment you share

˚. she loves video games, choice horror and lore games are her favorite

˚. she is a bit messy, will leave her clothes on the floor and forgets to put her dishes in the sink. she just forgets to clean up after herself sometimes (as we all do honestly)

˚. tends to eat fast because she never knew when she’d eat growing up. It’s just one of her many habits in adulthood. she always makes sure that you have food to eat before she does. just like she did for all of her siblings growing up. she is a nurturer at heart

˚. physical touch is a HUGE love language for her. She loves skin to skin. Quality time is also one of her biggest. has got to be near you or at least have you in her eyesight, but she can respect your personal space.

˚. get jealous easily but she isn’t toxic about it. she’s used to everything being taken from her

˚. has a very gentle touch despite being how strong she is

˚. she can sing. she plays with your hair and sings softly n your neck when you’re sleepy

˚. huge softie. she tends to portray herself as tough, (and of course she is) but she is truly a teddy bear at heart.

˚. best person ever to chill out with. days where you’re both off work, lazy, and watching horror movies, eating, and playing games all day >>>> she’s down for anything honestly. she makes everything so fun and she is such a light to be around. she has her moments as we all do but you’re her partner and you’re there when she needs you

˚. she can be very annoying (i love ittt). can be pretty loud and constantly makes stupid jokes at the worst times.

˚. type who teases the fuck out of you constantly but when you tease her back, she gets so flustered. you both get huge boosts of confidence with each other and will flirt back and forth. It always ends with your eyes in the back of your head and her face between your legs.

˚. you worship her tattoos and kiss her along them all the time. breathing and kissing her neck while dragging your fingertips down the big one on her back. kiss her down it grrrrrr. makes her weak

˚. eats you out like a mad mann. depends on how eager she is but she usually has a method. she puts work into it every time, pleasure for you is pleasure for her. the way she holds you during it, you’re so important to her. your comfort is everything. she’s either the crazy in it type or the brutally slow but you can feel every single swipe and curl of her tongue type. rub her undercut and play with her hair >>>>>> she definitely moans when she’s eating you out

˚. she’s got so much energy and stamina. will have you bent and taking it every which way for hoursss

˚. Is such a good kisser. she is the ‘eat you whole’ type kisser. wants every part of your body on hers when you’re kissing. her hands stay up and down your body. will grab you by the back of your hair, hold your face gently, and guide your mouth into hers. soul connection type makeouts 24/7. always stops to look at you as you’re both panting, admiring each other

˚. grabs your face and makes you look at her when she fingers you. and she’s so good with it too. it’s so hard to maintain eye contact with her, because she makes you nervous. feeling your vision fade in and out because of how good it feels. “look at me” makes you feel things you thought you’d never

˚. she has nipple piercings (canonnnnnnnnn)

˚. she is a moaner and pretty vocal, they’re so soft and smooth coming from her heart shaped lips.

˚. she dirty talks so bad. she’ll have you feeling disgustinnggg afterwards

˚. her body is so warm and soft honestly, those bandages save her from a lot of the scruff she’d get.

˚. seeing her soft pink hair laid everywhere on the bed as you lay between her legs. her pussy melts in your mouth like honey butter and the sounds she makes>>>>

˚. a switch. lovesss to have you between her legs. to keep it quick, everything is messy, and nothing is ever boring with her

˚. she is a very loving and supportive partner

a/n: hope you liked! <3 i lowkey keep adding onto this bc my brain is spiraling lmao but anyways… might write a knight or townsfolk vi x princess reader sooonnnnn

[yournightmary]

I’ve made a Vi bot on c.ai! It’s my first time ever doing something like this but I thought that maybe some people would enjoy using it:)

Here’s the link!

[yournightmary]

two truths & a lie | e.w

tlou!ellie williams & tlou!reader

wc: 5.1k

blurb: the three run-ins you had with your favorite person didn’t always end in good form: the two times a truth was told, and the one time a lie was made (out of order). but, hey, it was all in good faith, right?

warnings: angsty teenager!ellie and reader, cat beef, vulgar language, friends to lovers, lots of exposition, holidays mentioned but barely focused, fluff, mentioning of drugs and alcohol, lots and LOTS of corny lovey stuff.

note: i genuinely love writing sweet ellie, i feel like there’s not enough of her for my liking. please enjoy, little ellie williams!! ps. this was already long enough, so i left out the new year’s party. if you wanna see that… let me know ;D

⋆·˚ ༘ *

I

The thick rubber soles of your boots creeped along the wooden floors of your friends’ lodgings. A lamp dimly lit up the corner of the room, but it’s warm brightness didn’t spread far. The closer you shifted toward her bed, the darker it got. Light poles from the street, and the moon, illuminating the side of her fatigued freckled face.

Lightly, you sat on the edge of her mattress, leaning over her. Before your fingers danced along her shoulder, to wake her—you admired her daintily scarred features. The strip of missing hair in her eyebrow, a scar. The freckles dusted along her skin, reflecting the stars in the sky. It made sense why she loved astronomy so much; she was the personification of it.

“Ellie. Ellie, wake up.” You shook her, gently.

Instead of stirring, she jolted awake. Green eyes snapping open, reaching for your forearm with a vice-like grip. Noises of fear falling from her dry lips. “Woah… Hey, it’s just me.” You placed your hand over hers, caressing her fingers. “S’Just me.”

She sat up against her pillows, sighing. “What the hell are you doing here? How’d you get in?” Ellie rubbed her eyes, sleepily.

“You left your window unlocked.” You state, plainly. “Pack a bag— we’re sneaking out.” Reaching over to her bedside table, you switched on the lamp. Ellie looked at you with narrowed eyes. “There’s a patrol post not far from here. And I heard, there was an arcade in the basement.” A grin stretched across your face.

Ellie looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table. “It’s twelve in the morning. We have a shift at the stables at seven.”

“We’ll be back before then.” You shrug.

“What if Joel finds out? He’s already causing me enough problems—“

“He won’t! If we leave now. So, pack a bag, and put some clothes on.” You trot to the window you entered from, swinging each leg out, carefully. “I’ll be waiting out here.” You whisper from the windowsill. The auburn-haired girl rolled her eyes, as she dug through her drawers for clothes.

Respectfully, you averted your eyes. Keeping watch to make sure everything was going according to plan. You had been planning this spontaneous getaway for days; in honor of Ellie’s upcoming sixteenth birthday. Joel and his protective antics weren’t going to stop you from having her to yourself for a little while. It was getting harder to find time to hang out. She was either with Cat, flirting and getting her tattoo completed, or training with Joel and Tommy.

Sometimes, Tommy invited you because of your excitement for patrols, but it was rarely just you and Ellie; like it used to be. When you both, somehow, wound up in the same place—Jackson, Wyoming.

Eventually, she jumped out of her window. In a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and boots—dressed for the cooling, autumn weather. “I swear if we get caught for this…”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Don’t be such a goody-two-shoes.”

Sneaking out of Jackson was made easy by your effortless planning. The guards at the front gates were too busy drinking and gambling to pay attention to the two teenagers sneaking out in the dark: with a horse. The lights attached to the straps of your backpacks illuminated the way through dense wood.

Ellie’s arms held onto your waist, comfortably. As you engaged in friendly conversation. “What’s it with you and Cat? The two of you seem… Cozy.” You spoke, raising an eyebrow that she couldn’t see. She leaned her head on the blade of your shoulder, humming in thought.

“Define cozy.”

“She likes you, Ellie.” You snort. “That’s my definition of cozy.”

She tightens her arms around your abdomen. “Well, I think you’re unfamiliar with what the term cozy actually means— because Cat doesn’t like me.”

You sigh, wistfully. “I wish I was as naïve as you.” Partially, that was true. Things would be easier if your own naïveté blocked the feelings you had for your friend. But, instead, you stayed a platonic pretender.

A few minutes later, you arrived at the patrol post. Ellie hopping down first, keeping her eyes diligently peeled. As you pull your feet out of the bronze stirrups, a hand gets offered to you. “M’lady,” She perks her eyebrow, smirking. Faking a thick southern drawl that resembled Joel and Tommy’s voice.

Shaking your head, you take her hand to dismount from Hickory. “Thank you, kind… Gentlewoman.”

Ellie boisterously laughed, keeping a hold on your loose hand. “Gentlewoman?”

“Oh, my God! Forget it.” Your cheeks flush with warmth, slipping your fingers from hers. But a small smile, still stretched onto your lips in amusement. “Come on. We do not have all night.” Entering the building, you didn’t take the time to tour the post. You ushered her with your arm around her shoulders toward metal double doors. Leading to the most anticipated room—the basement.

“Should I be nervous that you’re bringing me to a dark room?”

You look into her earthy eyes. “It won’t be dark for long…”

Pushing open the doors, you run down the cement stairs, toward the generator. You pulled the cord until the lights flickered on and the games began to speak. Theme songs and fanfares playing aloud, embracing the silence. Looking over toward Ellie with a grand smile, she mirrored you. Releasing a laugh of excitement.

“Happy early birthday, El!” You wave your hands.

She sighed, happily, approaching you. “You did all this for me?” Her thick eyebrows furrowed.

“By all this if you mean turning off this generator just so I can turn it back on to create this… Light show— then, yes, I did all this for you.” Abruptly, Ellie tackled you into a firm hug, wrapping her arms around your neck. You return the sentiment, holding onto her like it was your last day on Earth. And it very well could be.

“Ugh, I love you!” She exclaims in a fit of joy, before even realizing her words. However, you stiffen, subtly. Ellie certainly noticed, but she didn’t change her demeanor much. “Let’s play Pac-Man first— I’ve been wanting to play that for such a long time.” She pulled you by her hand toward the bright machine.

Fingers ready on the red start button.

“Good luck.”

“Don’t need it.” You grinned, preparing to put your everything into that game. It was her birthday present, but that didn’t change the fact that you are competitive as hell! And so is Ellie; it’s like a match made in heaven.

II

Christmas used to be the most exciting—and expensive— part of the year, according to Tommy and Maria Miller. Jackson had a barter system, and everyone worked to keep the community afloat. So, the holidays in Jackson were always filled with loads of joy and spirit. And, usually, you found yourself involved in the many festivities occurring. However, this year, something’s changed.

It was just after thanksgiving when the atmosphere shifted for you. Joel was iffy when it came to holidays—hosting a family dinner a full five days after the original date. December 3rd. Living with Tommy, you were expected to be there. Running late from work, you arrived during dinner. Still, in your comfortable work clothes.

Walking into the dinning room, you expected to see every face minus one—Cat. The edgy tattoo artist sat beside Ellie, in the seat typically reserved for you, with a kind smile on her shiny lips. Joel stood from his chair, welcoming you with a firm hug. “You made it just in time. Cat’s telling us about the new project she’s working on— she’s a great artist.”

You weren’t sure if he was laying it on thick for the new guest, or what—but his tone irritated you. Peering to the side, you met Ellie’s apologetic eyes.

The both of you had gotten even closer after gifting her that arcade. In ways that would consider your relationship to be complicated. Between October and early November, you shared secrets, trinkets, and even, kisses. Mostly under the influences of alcohol or weed—but that didn’t make it any less real. Or did it?

Since then, you and Ellie have barely spoken. The only times you’ve shared more than a greeting with her was when you were forced to go on patrols together. Joel and Tommy were uncertain about sending you both out with other people—they could only trust that the two of you could handle yourselves properly—so they say.

Word travels fast in Jackson. And, when Ellie and Cat went official—everybody knew. But you had your suspicions prior to. They were obnoxiously confirmed when Jesse and Dina came banging on your front door; during a movie night you were having with Maria.

When Christmas came around, there was a party every year. Children had fun in the snow, while the adults danced and drank so much the cold no longer bothered them. The only thing you were excited for was the alcohol, because you knew one thing was for sure—Ellie and Cat were going to be galavanting in front of you all lovey and annoying. And you needed something absorb the pain of it.

Dodging the genuine compliments from Maria on the way out of the house, you stalked toward the Tipsy Bison. It was decorated with holiday-colored lights from the roof to the ground. You helped put some of them up, but when your old friend came to join you; you bailed the last second.

Every time your eyes met hers—your insides crumbled all over again. It was impossible for you to understand what Ellie was to you. More so now than ever. It wasn’t the fact that she lied about her status with Cat—it was the fact that she was her fucking girlfriend in general!

You were selfish. You wanted her all to yourself, and for some reason, the universe didn’t want you to have that. The universe didn’t want you to bathe in your selfishness—even if you deserved to.

“Merry Christmas,” A young girl at the entrance of the tavern, smiled. “Don’t forget to put your ornament on the tree.” She hands you a handmade ornament, dressed in shimmery twine. The kids at the daycare were told to create ornaments for the community christmas tree. Their names were written on the back of it—Billy, spelled out sloppily, was on the back of your ornament.

“Merry Christmas.” You smiled, tightly. “Need any help around here?” Your eyes looked around the tavern, acknowledging the decorations inside. There wasn’t any work to be done, but God, did you wish there was. Distracting yourself was your favorite past time.

“Nope! Everything’s all set. Unless Maria told you otherwise…”

“All she told me was to have fun.”

The girl smiled, no younger than fourteen, playing with the pile of paper ornaments. “Then, have fun!” She teased, averting her eyes to the next guest entering the building.

It was much warmer the deeper you strolled into the bar. Jesse and Dina have yet to arrive—of course, you were too early. Waiting for them, you walked to the bar top, leaning your elbows against the surface. “Can I get a hot chocolate? No whipped cream.” You ask, kindly, to the woman on the other side. She nodded, quickly working behind the counter to get your drink prepared.

Waiting patiently, your mind wandered. You only wished you could be celebrating the holidays how you originally planned—with your best friend. Maybe you were acting out of turn; throwing a tantrum over your best friends' relationship wasn’t something a friend would do. You should’ve been happy for her. But that would mean the moments you had together didn’t mean anything to you—when it meant so much.

“Merry Christmas, y/n.” Her raspy voice spoke, sliding into the stool next to you. The short strands of her hair were released from her usual ponytail. Parted to the side and pushed behind her ears. You met her eyes, halfheartedly. Barely giving a long enough glance to fully take in her appearance. It was intentional.

Making the choice not to respond, you looked forward, watching as the bartender made your drink. “Where’s your girlfriend?” You muttered, lips arching in distaste.

Ellie frowned, boring her bright eyes into the side of your face. “Working late. She won’t be here for awhile…” Her words came from her full lips like an offering. But, you were planning on taking her up on whatever it was.

The bartender handed you the warm mug with a festive grin. Greeting the girl next to you, casually. You have her a final look before, leaving the bar without a word. The Tipsy Bison became stuffy all of a sudden, so you left through the back door. Staying close by with your hot drink clenched to your chest. The brisk coolness of the air brought you back to your senses. But you still reached into the pocket of your insulated coat for the tiny bottle of vodka you took. Pouring the entirety of it into your chocolate beverage.

Sipping your drink, you didn’t realize the auburn-haired girl had followed you out. Rounding the corner of the building just as stealthily as you did.

“Can we talk?” Heat smoked from her mouth as her body heat juxtaposed the cold weather.

You sighed, pressing your lips into a stubborn line. “Talk about what?”

“…Us. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” She shrugged, helplessly. Eyes glistening in remorse. Ellie stood awkwardly in front of you, playing with her fingers.

“What part? You and Cat… Or me and you?”

She paused. “Me and you…” You scoffed, eyes welling up in tears. “Let me explain—“

You stood up, still holding your mug. It was the only thing keeping you warm. “I really couldn’t care less, Ellie.”

Grabbing your wrist, covered in a fleece glove, she pleaded. “Please!”

Sighing, you shook her grip off you, caving to her plea. You gestured for her to go on, with a frown on her lips. “Just tell me whatever we had was a mistake so I can move on…” You voice cracked ever so slightly, exposing your stress.

Her thick eyebrows deepened. “What? No, y/n, no— of course, not.” Ellie shifted. “I didn’t think any of that mattered to you…” She mumbled mostly to herself.

“Ellie, we made out on your couch every other night. How could that not matter to me?” You paused, stepping closer to her. “We told each other things our other friends know nothing about—“ You cut yourself off, glancing down at her covered forearm. The one covered by the tattoo Cat did for her. “Does she know? About your chemical burn?” Indirectly, you mentioned one of the most significant secrets you shared—she shared.

She was immune to the cordyceps virus. The tattoo that covered a chemical burn, was really coverage for the scars of the bite from infected.

Her lips tightened. “No. She doesn’t.”

“What do you even talk about then?!” You throw your hands up, frustrated. “If you talk at all.”

“She likes me, okay!” Ellie exclaimed, balling her hands up by her side. “Things are easy with her… I don’t know.

“Easy?” Your heart beat in your ears.

“I mean, things are easier with her. I don’t have to worry about ruining a friendship if things go south.”

A snicker fell from your lips. “How worth it was that?” Her shoulders slumped, running her hands over her hair.

“I just miss you, y/n, okay… I miss you.” She moved closer to you, trying to reach for your hand. You let her, but only for a split moment. Feeling the warmth of her skin through her fleece gloves. You missed her, too. You missed playing video games at her place, watching movies, running your fingers through her auburn hair—

Pressing your lips into a line, you frowned. “Well… I don’t.” You slipped your hand from hers, leaving her out in the cold. It wasn’t easier to lie, but you did anyway.

III

“So, they used to drop balls when the new year came around? Like… Any type of ball or…”

You laughed as you tended to your patrol horse, Hickory. Her deep-colored fur was softer than anything you’ve ever felt—softer than a baby’s bottom. “No, Tommy said it was some structure in New York City. And they filmed it nationally; it was a whole thing.” You explained, glancing up at the boy outside of the stable. He worked with the horse's day-in and day-out—and he worked the stable a like a military camp.

He leaned on the post of Hickory’s area, crossing his arms. “I’m throwing a party later at my place— to bring in the new year… You should come.” He offered, raising his eyebrows. “It’s no national ball-dropping thing, but there’ll be booze. And a friend of mine’s bringing some other stuff.” His fingers motion smoking a joint.

Grabbing the saddle off the hook, you threw it over Hickory’s sloped back. “Sounds like fun…” You sigh, peering over at the boy. “I’ll drop by for a little while.”

You still weren’t in a partying mood, since your last conversation with Ellie. Lying certainly didn’t make the situation between you too any easier. In fact, it made it worse. Your avoidance for her increased by a thousand. And, to make matters worse, she hated you, too.

Patrols became much more difficult. Like the one you have today…

“Awesome! See you later.” He fist pumped, walking backwards. “Oh, and don’t forget to log Hick on the sign-out sheet!”

“Yeah, yeah.” You waved a dismissive hand at the stable hand. You were far from forgetful.

After attaching all the garments to your horse, you led him out, cooing at him. You led him out to entrance of the community, where your ex-friend impatiently waited on you. Tommy stood in the supply room, stocking up your bag. Dropping the halter, you walked into the wooden box that was storing patrol supplies. “Ah, there you are. I was about to consider you late.”

“I’m never late.” You chuckle, reaching for your bag. Although, wallowing in your own nerves, a subtle smile spread onto your lips. Reaching for your bag, he stops your hand.

“I don’t know what going on between you two…” He glances at the girl lingering by her horse. “But this is the chance to fix it. I don’t like when you girls fight.”

You pressed your lips into a firm line. “Is that why you keep sending us off on patrol runs together? So we can kiss and make up?” Snorting, you looked to the side with guilt-ridden eyes. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, whatever’s goin’ on— don’t let that get in the way of safety. Keep an eye on each other. You’re partners.”

Partners.

“Right… Yeah. We haven’t had any problems, though… So…”

“Still, be aware. Infected wander in the winter.” He reminds, handing you the backpack. Then, giving you a handgun to secure on your waist, and a much larger gun to hook to your bag. He walks you out to where Ellie stood, adjusting the bridle on her horse. The crunching of snow under your boots caught her attention.

She barely spared you a glance, before looking at Tommy. “Joel and I are allowing the two of you to venture out a little further this morning— don’t make us regret it.” He stuffed his bare hands into his pockets.

“We won’t.” The both of you drawled, rolling your eyes.

You mounted Hickory, watching as Ellie did the same with her horse. “We’ll be good, Tommy.” Giving a tight-lipped smile, you mentally prepared for the trip.

The gates opened up, letting the two of you trot out into snowy wood. Higher in the air, it was cooler—brisker. It was no match for the teenager trotting a few paces ahead of you, though. You’ve ridden in silence before, but it was worse when she had a reason to be upset with you. Ellie’s anger was unforgiving, to say the least.

And you thought you were bad.

It was about a forty-five-minute ride of nothing but the whispers of the wind and animals jolting at the sound of their horses' feet. When you got to the post, you dismounted, jumping into the snow. “I’ll be back soon, Hick.” You whispered, kissing his jaw, sweetly.

Inhaling deeply, you were the first to enter through the buildings broken windows. The actual post was on the upper level because it actually had a working door. Ellie walked in after you, immediately beginning to survey the area. Her switchblade was clenched in a fist as she picked up miscellaneous objects.

Sighing, you began to do the same. Being sure to stay on opposite sides of the first floor. Even so, you couldn’t help but glance at her ever so often. A knit beanie was tugged over her ears, her ponytail peaking out from underneath. Thick eyebrows pushed together, focused; or still, tragically, annoyed with you.

Ugh, what should you care? Ellie was the one to walk away first… Or was she?

This place must’ve been a media store or something. It had lingering records scattered along the scruffy wooden floor, comic books, CDs—the works. The first floor had basically been picked clean. You only hoped when you made it upstairs, there was more.

“All clear…” Ellie spoke, lowly. Opening one of the heavy metal doors to the short stairwell. She let it slam behind her as disappeared to the upper level.

You frowned, tears welling up in your eyes. “I got what I wanted… Didn’t I?” You mutter to yourself, following her path. But, on a shelf, your gaze caught something of importance. It was the fifteenth edition of Savage Starlight. How could she have missed this? Not only was it one of her favorite comics to read, but it was edition that had limited in the top corner. Very few had this one.

Chewing on drying skin of your bottom lip, you swung off your bag, pushing the comic snugly inside trying to preserve it from wrinkles. The timing couldn’t be estimated when you’d give this to her. Maybe one day, you’ll leave it on her porch without a note.

Then, you navigated to the upper level, shutting the door behind you. It was more insulated up there than the first floor. The windows were still intact, and every door was shut or bolted shut by furniture.

Immediately, you approached the sign-in log. Writing your name just under the messy handwriting of your partners’. Smacking your lips together, you peer at the auburn-haired girl. Ellie was stood by the long, frosted window with her arms crossed. It looked as if she were leaning on words to say but choosing otherwise.

You fiddle with pen, rocking on your feet as you eyed her. The feeling of missing her was prevalent, again. It was intense as your eyes bored into the side of her delicate face. Her emotions were worn on the hems of her sleeves—negative or positive. But even with her features pinched, she was just as beautiful. It just sucked that you were the reason behind it. You wanted to feel her arms around you again—even if it was platonic. You wanted to hear her laugh; see her smile.

Just as she turned to meet your eyes, you began to wander around the room. Looking at the books and comics scattered around. Perhaps, you could find some other reads. Keep you busy while you were on lookout. It’s not like you talked to each other anymore.

You fingered the dusty shelves, not seeing anything worth taking back to Jackson. In the corner there was another metal door—singular with a silver handle. The door was labeled ‘other goods’. Which only made you think about what you could be missing you didn’t check it out.

Ignoring the flipped over note taped to the threshold of the door, you entered. Expecting to see boxes of comics, mangas and magazines. However, instead, you greeted by a vicious runner. Your reaction was slowed, due to the many things running through your head. Roughly, your back hit the ground, inadvertently smacking your head against the flooring.

It screamed at you, chomping violently. Strands of its hair fell onto you as it thrashed, hungrily. Moaning and groaning between every convulsion. The red veins on its skin exposed the stage of the infection—little mushroom-like structures beginning to form at the tips of its bloodshot veins.

You fought with it, yelping like a hurt dog. A glimmer of the ridged knife you cared shone from the corner your eye. It had fallen from its holster—too far for you to reach. If this was your karma for lying, then it came quick.

Only focusing on the deadly being atop of you, you couldn’t hear the rapid feet of your partner sprinting to help you, calling out your name, shakily. Using the switchblade Ellie always carried with her, she began to defensively stab the runner. Repeating the action until its body dropped atop of yours. You groaned in disgust.

Ellie helped you roll the body off you, and quickly began to search your body for bites. While your puffer jacket was soaked with blood, you were completely fine. But Ellie didn’t know that she she checked, anxiously. “Are you okay? Did he bite you?” She asked, rambling more questions. Enough to overwhelm you.

She patted your covered arms, reaching for your blood-splattered face to check for any marks. “No. I’m fine—“ You mutter.

“He was really fuckin’ close—!” She still patted you down like a nervous security guard. “Fuck! I should’ve cleared this level—“

“Ellie!” You exclaimed, grabbing her roaming hands, looking her in the eye. “He didn’t bite me— I’m okay.” Endless worry had filled her earthy irises. Flushed nose, touched by the winter, sniffling. This was the first time you were this close to her in awhile—staring intently at her. Somehow, trying to convince her without words that you were okay.

Her eyes were fixed on you, just before her arms wrapped around your shoulders, thoughtfully. There wasn’t an attack of warmth—a hug she’d given before—it was contemplated, debated, decided.

Without a thought, you returned it, wrapping your arms around her. Leaning your head on her shoulder, furrowing your eyebrows. Enveloping her touch, senselessly. Remorse revved up inside of you, prodding at your muscles. “I thought I was gonna lose you…” Ellie muttered into the hoodie of your coat.

“I thought I was gonna lose my chance…” You related, pulling back to look at her once more. Tears had welled up in her eyes, she was trembling. You both were. Reminiscent of the runner and the fear that caked up inside of you. “Ellie…” You breathed. “I lied to you.”

“Huh?” Her eyebrows deepened.

“I lied to you. At the Christmas party— you told me that you missed me, and I said that I didn’t miss you. That was a lie!” Lowering your head, you shook it, disapprovingly. “A stupid fucking lie.”

Her cold hands drifted to your frosted cheeks. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry— I’ve missed you so much I can barely breathe. If you’re happy with Cat… I should be happy for you regardless of anything. I wasn’t being a good friend—“ It was your turn to wearily ramble, fidgeting with the material of her jacket. Shaking like a flimsy sign in high winds.

It was the softness of her lips that interrupted you, warming up your skin. It was buttery sweet and chaste, pulling you from the intensity of your thoughts. Ellie tugged you into another embrace, somehow warmer than before. “I should’ve never got with her to begin with.”

“Past tense?” You raised an eyebrow.

She pulled back. “Past tense.” Taking a seat in beside you, she leaned on one of the shelves. Following her, you did the same. Scratching the back of your head, feeling the slight throb that came from the collision. “She broke up with me a few days ago… I kept bringing you up— it was annoying the shit out of her.” Ellie chortled, propping up her legs to lean her arms on. “I was so mad at you… Because it just didn’t make any sense.”

You looked down, at your crossed legs. “But then, it did. Everything did.” Ellie added, peering at you. “I love you, y/n.” She spoke with such conviction; your eyes grew hot with tears. “I was just scared to see it through— and I should have seen it through, instead of getting with someone else.”

A beat bounced between the two of you.

Shrugging off the backpack you almost forgot was on you, you dug inside, a grin painted on your face. You clench the Savage Starlight comic in your hands as you abruptly stood up. Ignoring the soreness in your muscles from being attacked. Ellie looked up at you, watching you move swiftly. “This is the part where you say you love me back.”

“Give me a second.”

You trot to the sign-in sheet, using the pen to write inside the comic: I LOVE YOU, EL. In capital letters, on the title page. She’d gotten up, following you to the countertop the sheet was on. Turning around, you thrusted the comic from your chest, smiling. “Savage Starlight?!” Ellie joyfully laughed, taking the comic in her hands.

“Limited edition.” You pointed to the cover. “I found it downstairs… You’ll never forget how much I love you because I wrote it on the first page.” Ellie flipped open the page, musing at what you wrote. “Everytime, you read it, you’ll remember.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, emotionally. Tossing the comic book to the side, she pulled you into another kiss. Less sweet, more passionate. You giggled against her lips, unabashedly opening your eyes. She pulled back, analyzing your flushed features. “Maybe, you could… I don’t know… Write it on every page? Only after I finish it, though. My memory’s a little bad.” She joked, caressing your face.

Rolling your eyes, you pushed a piece of her straggling hair under her beanie. “Sure, whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Ellie…” You warned, but there was nothing that could wipe the foolish expression molded onto your features. Therefore, she was far from taking you seriously.

[yournightmary]

SFW&NSFW Vi HCs

content warning:: it’s kinda a mix of modern!AU and not idk, fem!reader, smut obviously

AN:: I love muscle mommies

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She might look and act tough but don’t let her fool you. She’s such a silly goober. Okay, at first she might a little cold and distant and take a lot to warm up, but once she does she’s a sweetheart.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I think there might be a ‘you fell first but she fell harder’ situation. She isn’t really that into dating or looking for the love of her life, so when you first met she didn’t even think about getting with you.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ HATES when people help her. If someone does, she’s convinced that she owes them something.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ But she really likes to help other people. She likes to be the one that people owe something… and she just feels really stupid when she doesn’t help someone she totally could. (as people should)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Very self-conscious about her hands. Mostly about the scars and bruises that are on her knuckles, that’s why she wraps them up or covers them with chunky rings.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Hates fancy clothes. Doesn’t remember the last time she wore a normal bra.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ This girl doesn’t have any manners!! That’s the downside of growing up mostly around men. And the Lanes.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Her favorite way to spend free time (besides working out) is watching stupid reality tv. You know, the shows that you can just put on in the background and turn off your brain.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I’m taking this from the trailer- if she’s having a really shitty day she’ll take it out on a punching bag, but sometimes that makes her feel even worse so she ends up hugging it instead.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s really touch starved but she doesn’t know how to ask for affection. She’ll just silently sneak up on you and hug you from behind or spoon you once you’re already asleep.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ You might think she doesn’t know how to do makeup but she does the best smokey eyes in the world!!! Also has the prettiest natural lashes you have ever seen.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves to just lay down and relax. After being on edge her whole life the short moment she can chill with you before sleeping is like literal heaven.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She could cry every time she gets a gift. Even if it’s something small or something that won’t last- like food or flowers- it just makes her eyes water.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Her favorite thing to lay down on is your lap. She’s such a thigh girl omg. I mean, she loves every single part of your body, but thighs… oh man.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Lord have mercy, she’s obsessed with them. Her hand is big enough to grab almost your whole thigh. She loves to kiss them, bite them, grope them- anything and everything.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Her favorite thing to do is using her fingers on you but god fucking damn it- it takes her so long to start. She has to unwrap her bandages, take off all of her rings, wash her hands. That’s like at least 5 minutes.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She genuinely likes the taste of pussy. Maybe it’s because she spent half of her life in prison eating slop, but she’d eat you out over any food.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I believe in happy trails on girls supremacy. So hot :3

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She not only has insane strength, her stamina is the same. She’ll go at it the whole day and night.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I can’t decide whether she’d hook up with people often or be an inexperienced virgin. Because on one hand if she wants to get laid, she’ll get laid but on the other- maybe she thinks it’s too intimate to do with some random person?? idk

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves to finger you in front of a mirror (she just wants to see her own muscles)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Riding her abs or toned thighs… somebody help me.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Honestly, I don’t think she likes to receive that much. I mean- obviously she likes it, but she’d just rather give.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s so embarrassed by her own moans omg. She loves to hear them from you, but when it comes to herself? No way. Maybe a groan or two, but nothing more.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She would never hurt you during sex. It’s such a major turn off for her. She saw and caused too much violence in her life to find it arousing.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Apologies to my scissor sisters, but she will strap you down. Especially from behind- she just loves your ass too much.

my obsession came back

[yournightmary]

vi x reader (fluff) - modern au ; around the house → she/her pronouns!

self-indulgent, personal headcannons i have for VI! suggestive and pervy! you've been warned!

an absolute BEAST if she sees you around the house in your loungewear. you won't be able to walk by the kitchen, do laundry, ANYTHING without her hand somewhere on your ass.

she especially loves when you wear just an oversized tee and underwear; goes apeshit if the shirt lifts and she catches a glimpse of your butt while you're doing something mundane like reach for a mug on a shelf.

It's a lazy Sunday at Vi's apartment, meaning that the both of you have most likely haphazardly thrown on each other's clothes as a slim effort at modesty.

Vi has on a raggedy black wifebeater, no bra of course, and some random pair of plaid boxers. You've thrown on a shirt you found on the floor, which you didn't know said, "BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN" until you looked in the mirror. Oh well.

Suspecting that Vi would probably be playing Call of Duty in her room or something, you frolick off to the kitchen, thinking you can just make yourself lunch and binge a Netflix show.

You were very wrong. She already started getting bored as soon as she entered the lobby, thinking too much about how she should be with you since you're at her flat anyway.

Discarding her headset to the side, Vi leaps off of her desk chair, excitedly wandering around the apartment to see if she could find you. And she does, finding you reaching up on a shelf for a bowl.

Her eyes aren't on you though, moreso on the literal SLIVER of ass that shows as the t-shirt lifts. You're standing on your tippy-toes too, since Vi purposefully puts the bowls on the top shelf for this exact reason.

Whilst stirring your ramen, you feel a rough palm slide up against where your thighs and ass meet, giving you a good squeeze. It's almost ignorable at this point, since she does it so often. Vi's all up on you, gently pinching your butt before sliding her palms up onto your waist. She pulls you into her as you stir up your ramen, aligning up her front to your back.

A kiss is pressed to your nape, before she leans her cheek on your shoulder. A whiny groan escapes her lips, where she squeezes your waist tight.

"Mmph, you're so cute... you know that?" She murmurs into your ear, like she can't handle it.

The airy giggle that escapes your lips almost has Vi's head spinning, in which she rests her chin on your shoulder to see what's on the stove.

"What'cha making?" She asks, and you affectionately place your hand on top of hers.

"Shin. You wanna share?" You answer, turning the stove off as steam starts to wafe from the pot.

You feel a nod against your shoulder. "Mhm."

౨ৎ ――

has these strangeeee cravings/struggle meals, mannerisms too. she grew up in prison for most of her teenage-to-adult life, so she had to get creative when it came to food she wanted to eat.

sometimes she'd crush up dry ramen noodles and sprinkle the flavoring packet as a snack, or dip plain bread in applesauce

she will eat ANYTHING, no complaints, she's seen the worst, probably has a stomach of steel

she eats so fast too, so quickly. like those reels about the girl taking her time to eat and the boyfriend finishing his meal in 20 seconds.

i reckon she eats alot too, either fast metabolism, or just that she burns alot of calories in general from being so active.

her body runs warm

DUDE she'll look at people weird too; i feel like she has a staring problem sometimes. if you're at a sephora or something she'll give you some space, but then stare at you from afar like some creep

(i dont know anything about prison)

Over the years of dating Vi, you're noticed the 'prison' behavior that never really washed out of her. She's opened up a lot to you about her experience in jail; what she was in for, how she felt, the types of thing she's had to do to get by. You treat the subject with upmost gentleness, something that Vi's never really used to as someone who's been traumatized her entire life.

You've started to see reoccurring comfort meals that she eats sometimes. Once, you asked Vi if she wanted anything from the supermarket while you out. She texted you; can u get me cheese ritz crackers.

It's almost like you knew Vi was up to something silly; when you came home with the crackers, she did a little, "oooh, yay!" before pressing a wet kiss to your cheek.

"Why'd you want these?" You asked, kicking off your shoes at the door.

She grabbed the packet from your hand, in which you notice a tender, nostalgic expression on her face as she peered at the packaging.

"Mac & cheese." She just said with a cheeky grin, heading over to the kitchen.

You watch as she would scrape the cheese filling off the crackers, put them into a bowl, and melt them down in the microwave with a bit of butter and milk. While that's happening, she'd boil a packet of instant noodles, and then dump the noodles into the 'sauce' and stir it up.

"Y'know, I made this a lot in jail. It's my favorite." She'd explain to you with a full mouth, groaning with every bite she took.

And now, sometimes you make it, just to make Vi happy.

౨ৎ ――

your first christmas with Vi was super cute. though Vi used to celebrate christmas in early childhood, she doesn't really remember it. christmas time during jail was just receiving small goody bags from charities; nothing heartfelt or meaningful.

vi almost doesn't know what to do with herself during christmas, especially when you're feeling all festive and making gentle decorations around the apartment.

she used to not care about holidays, but now she does, because you do <3

Knelt on the soft, carpeted floor of your apartment, you sit across from Vi. She has on these silly Christmas-themed pajama pants on that you gifted her mid-December, along with the hoodie she likes to sleep in the most. You're bundled up in warm pajamas, complete with a silly Santa hat on top of your head.

Reaching underneath the decorated tree, you pull out a wrapped parcel, handing it to your girlfriend with a warm, excited smile. The way she looks at the present is so confused, so awkwardly cute. Hesitantly, she takes it in her hand.

"Is this for me?"

"Duh! Yes, you can open it." You say with a smile.

You watch as Vi peels back the layers of colorful wrapping paper with a tiny smile on her face, fighting the urge to pull your phone out and start recording like a proud parent.

A little gasp escapes your breath when Vi finally reveals the present; a black, cat-eared beanie you crocheted for her in secret weeks prior. The way her face utterly lights up has your heart melting inside. You realize how big this might be for her; one of her first real Christmases, one of her first real handmade gifts.

She peers up at you, with the beanie in her lap. "Did you make this?"

You nod. "Yeah, you wear beanies a lot so, I thought a kitty-cat one would be cute."

You watch as Vi's face starts to twist whilst looking down at the beanie, her eyebrows loosening while her chin starts to wrinkle just a little bit. She quickly sinks her head low, using the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe away at fat tears that dribble down her cheek.

At first you don't know how to handle it, until you shuffle closer to her on your knees, placing your hand on her knee. After sniffling a few times, she looks to you with reddened eyes, a quivering lip.

Setting the beanie aside onto the carpet, Vi hoists you closer to her with two palms by your sides. She wraps you up in a warm, tight bear hug, digging her cheek into the side of your neck with sniffles against your ear. Vi practically rings all the air out of you with her strong arms, but you tolerate it anyway because you know it's all love.

Smiling, you soothe her with a pat on her shoulder, trying your best to match her level of hug-strength. You then feel muffled words against your shoulder, before Vi sits up.

You can barely ask what she said before Vi tenderly pulls you into her with arms around your shoulders, pressing up her soft lips against yours. The tears on her cheek smear onto your face as Vi pokes and prods at your mouth with her lips, kissing you sweetly with the tiniest sobs in between.

When finished, she hugs you tight again, almost knocking you over onto the carpet.

"I love you." *sniffle* "I'll keep it forever."

౨ৎ ――

she's a thighs girl, through and through. you literally have to watch when you wear shorts or a skirt because she'll go apeshit like a pubescent teenaged boy.

does dumb in the head when you sit and your thighs squish up against the chair, ESPECIALLY if you sit on her lap.

likes to grope em up with her hands, or rest her head on them

sucking hickeys on them is fun too ;)))))))

"Vi, you really gotta stop doing this in public."

You say with as much of a serious tone as possible, crossing your arms whilst looking up at her. You're both towards the back of the Sephora, amidst searching for a specific perfume that you wanted to try.

Vi only replies with a cheeky smirk, crossing her own arms before trailing her eyes back down towards your thighs. She's insufferable.

"Doing whaaat?" She slyly asks, shifting her weight onto one side.

"Feeling me up like a perv, that's what!" You exclaim in fake annoyance, walking away from her and quickly busying yourself with one of the isles of lipgloss.

Vi makes light grabby hands as she chases after you, playfully whining while you test out a gloss color on the back of your hand.

"But you're so soffttttt-"

Your glare is enough to silence her, walking away like a kicked puppy to make odd mixtures with the makeup testers.

౨ৎ ――

she's such a goofy goober at heart <333

it's the small silly things that make you giggle the most; putting something odd on her head, staring at you with funny faces, mewing at you, tickling your sides; kid-like stuff.

and when you playfully roll your eyes, she'll just respond with the cheekiest, cat-got-the-cream kind of smile.

she'll go to great, weird lengths to hear you chuckle or laugh.

cackling with her is rare, but literal gold like i'm talking tears coming out the eyes, flip flopping like a fish while laughing, lightly hitting eachother on the arm, scream laughing.

Your girlfriend practically beckons you over to the Spencer's with a spring in her step. Letting her wave you over like an excited puppy, you step into the dark store, whilst Vi eagerly heads over to the t-shirt section. She has a thing for gag-gifts, like odd mugs or silly socks.

You let Vi loose like a child into a park, while you stare at the odd cups and lanyards. Browsing through the very extensive belt collection towards the back of the store, you notice a familiar head of pink hair out the corner of your eye.

"Babes, look!"

If she had a tail it'd be wagging right now, holding a wad of dark grey cloth in between both of her silver-ringed hands. With a sly smile on her face, unraveling the ball of cloth in her hand to put up a large shirt.

It says "two-seater" in the middle, one arrow pointing to the neck of the shirt, while the other points to the bottom of it.

You short, your eyes flickering from the big shirt to Vi's smug face.

"It's perfect for you." You say, and she eagerly nods, folding it over her forearm. She then gives you this silly look, like fluttering her lashes and peering at you with oddly pursed lips. She looks half like a baby that ate a lemon, half like a peasant begging for food.

She steps closer to you, holding the shirt and tugging on your sleeve.

"Can I wear it while you sit on my-"

You harshly hit her on the arm, in which Vi rubs where you hit with fake hurt.

"Shhh, people will hear!"

She stops you before you turn away towards the belts with a hand on your arm, goofily fluttering her eyelashes at you like it's actually going to work. She does that thing you like, ghosting her hand onto your side with a little squeeze.

"...."

The cashier gives you both a look when Vi hands them a few dollar bills, placing the shirt into a paper bag while scroll through your phone.

౨ৎ ――

extras:

knows how to do that thing where she presses her palm onto your lower tummy while finger-fucking you to make you cum faster

i see her at-home outfit as a band/silly tshirt with the sleeves torn off, plaid boxers, and mismatched fandom socks

sends you godawful memes when you text

never learned to spell properly; sometimes gets certain words wrong too and its a little funny

takes up the whole damn bed, snores, it's like she's having a seizure once she shuts eyes

your first impressions of her are flirty, nonchalant-ish???, and overall genuine. once your relationship gets deep, you start seeing how silly she is, her smaller flaws, how she actually acts around people she loves

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[yournightmary]

Guys do we like brother’s best friend!Ellie or nah?

Getting the motivation to write, maybe I’ll post some Vi hcs later💪

[yournightmary]

WHERE IS THE FLUFF?? WHERE IS THE ANGST?? WHERE IS THE HURT/COMFORT?? WHERE IS THE LOVE?? WHERE????

[yournightmary]

bestfriend!ellie texts 𝜗𝜚 ࣪

(angst warning? not really :p)