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@beezzz
watching danganronpa trigger happy havoc and trying to remind myself that this is a 2010's japanese game or else i'll tweak at male character calling a muscular woman "ogre" and a random ass slur being thrown into a minigame aiming towards a character with DID
when the fic is kinda buns but youre starving for content and what truly matters is not using ai
CAITVI SESBIAN LEX GUYS SESBIAN LEX
🕸 NO TIME TO DIE CHAPTER 3
🕷 word count ~ 3.1k 🕷 content warning ~ vague flashback, memory loss, mentions of grief, profanity, no use of y/n, ellie still loves matcha, pls comment if I missed anything 🕷 SYNOPSIS ~ Happy’s finally back from his leave. Ellie starts to socialize instead of running away like last time, but your own thoughts start to betray you.
A/N: a big and special thank you to the one and only @elleloquently for proofreading and helping me with the plot!! I love u so so much cutie <3 alsooo thank you guys sm once again for being patient with the slow updates, I'm honestly pretty proud of this chapter so I hope you enjoy it too c: Likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated! <- previous —— next -> -series masterlist- -masterlist-
It’s been a few days. Happy’s back. The bags under his eyes tell what his words wouldn’t. Dragging his legs toward the elevator, he presses the button that reads ‘64’ and waits to reach the floor with some of the biological labs. He’s supposed to be meeting Ellie there. She’s probably already working on something at her assigned workspace.
He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to see her without getting sick. Working, acting like this is nothing more than an internship. He knows what she’s doing now; it’s clear as day. Before his leave, she’s been working on a weird, sticky solution and fragments from Tony’s scrapped suits.
The door slides open after FRIDAY’s voice detection. Happy steps in, and it feels like all the energy gets sucked out of the room. Ellie pauses, perking up a little at the sight of him. That’s short-lived, though, after she sees his expression.
Did someone die?
“Morning, Happy…” She murmurs slowly, pulling away from the robotic arm she was just dissecting.
Before answering, Happy stands and stares, arms loose at his sides, hair unkept, mind blank except for the image of her in this same lab just a couple of months ago.
“Hey, kid.” He finally manages to croak out, walking deeper into the lab and finding the log at the very back to see what he missed.
…Wait.
Kid?
Happy and Tony used to call her that all the time. Ellie’s head snaps towards him as she processes it. Minding his own business, completely consumed by his own thoughts and memories.
Coincidence…? Maybe. But it hit her too close to home.
If there’s one word to describe what Happy’s feeling, it’d be grief. Grief of whatever he missed out on in Ellie’s life, what with the start of her years in college and her having to be Spider-Woman presumably all on her own.
“You okay?” Ellie speaks after a beat during which she debates herself to say anything. “You seem tired.”
Again, Happy doesn’t give an immediate response. He turns to look at her, and it is then that Ellie realizes his eyes are bloodshot. He’s either exhausted and depressed or high, and she doubts it’s the latter. He doesn’t seem like the type.
“Never been better,” the man mutters, turning his gaze away from the auburnette before his voice comes out.
Yeah, right. It’s not her place to push, so she just gives him a look before shrugging and reluctantly turning back to the robo-arm. She knocks the welding helmet back down in front of her face.
While using a welding machine, a spark flies onto a sliver of skin exposed under Ellie’s sleeve. She flinches backwards and a hiss escapes from between her teeth.
“Careful!” Happy snaps, shooting her a glare from where he’s sitting. “God, don’t lose your arm, genius. I’m not doing the paperwork.”
She can’t help but stare at him in surprise through the mask she’s wearing. He hasn’t snapped at her like that since… well, since before she started this internship. He usually just reminds her that mistakes are part of progress.
“Jeez, sorry…” She mumbles before resuming her task, albeit tense and a little shaky. She’s not used to Happy being like this. He’s usually… well, happy.
He doesn’t stop scrutinizing her even then. His eyes follow every single movement, every twitch of her finger, every hitch of her breath. She can feel the pair of pupils boring into her, dismembering her very soul into its purest form.
Ellie can’t shake it off. She’s dropped her screwdriver three times now, her hands trembling too much because of the pressure Happy’s silently putting on her. If there’s one thing she hates, it’s being watched. Especially when it’s this intense.
“Mr. Hogan, is something wrong?” Ellie finally cracks under the stress. She turns her head to look at him and pulls her hands away from the machinery.
Happy doesn’t verbally respond. A single, concise shake of the head is all he settles on, chin held up by his palm. His gaze refuses to falter.
Ellie tries to pay attention. Really, she does.
She knows something is up. Her heart knows what her mind wishes not to.
A beat passes, then two.
“You really aren’t gonna tell me?” Happy finally, finally speaks up. His words come out softer, more pained than it had sounded all day since his return.
“What?” The girl breathes out, putting her tools down and fully removing her helmet as she senses the seriousness of what is beginning to unfold.
“You know exactly what, Ellie.” His voice returns to today’s sharpness, but still, something about it sounds so pained. It hits Ellie right where it hurts. He doesn’t care like that anymore. Can’t.
…
He’s only called her ‘Williams’ since she started.
“I don’t,” she manages to mumble, still confused for the most part.
“Don’t do that.”
“—You were at Tess’ funeral.”
The ground might as well have swallowed her whole. In that instant, Ellie felt miniscule yet infinite. Terrified, yet filled with the relief of a thousand soldiers in a winning war. Her mind pauses, actually goes silent for the first time since everything started. Happy’s eyes that felt so scary all day, now hold the answers to everything she’d been asking herself since her entire life collapsed.
“Ellie… Why did I forget you..?” He whispers, leaning closer as his expression contorts with betrayal and sorrow.
“...Happy?” Ellie chokes out, barely. Her eyes redden on their own.
“Ellie.”
“Holy shit…”
“Am… Am I the only one?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you are.” Ellie answers, her voice cracking against her will as it starts to hit her that Happy really remembers.
The man gets up, walks around his desk, and stops right in front of where Ellie’s sitting. She looks up at him, filled with emotions too intertwined to distinguish.
Before she knows it, two heavy arms wrap around her shoulders. She gets up to meet him halfway, holding him with the desperation of a long lost companion.
They stay like that for a while. Ellie lets herself cry a little against his tailored suit, not that he’d care about that right now.
“You should’ve come to me first.” He murmurs, rocking her back and forth while patting her back and trying to calm her down. She doesn’t answer, but she does pull away to wipe her eyes and look at him fully.
After what seems to be him considering something, Happy speaks again.
“I’ll see what I can do for you.”
The three of you sit on the ground, backs against the front of Dina’s couch’s base. Jesse brought the sodas and pizza from that one spot you always ate at during high school. You brought the homemade cookies and microwaved popcorn. Even Dina went out of her way to decorate her dorm for tonight’s movie marathon.
Jesse’s broke, so he planned to only get three. He brought four without thought, and only later did he realize there was an extra can.
“Just in case,” he said.
An 80’s horror movie plays in the background, something about zombies and monsters rampaging through the country. The coffee table is littered with snack wrappers and discarded bags and pizza boxes. The only prevailing consumables on there are the half-full soda cans from before. Jesse ended up drinking the extra one. Fatass.
After chugging the rest of his drink when the credits roll, Jesse suggests. “We should make this a thing. Like, a monthly tradition.”
“Awh, that sounds cute,” Dina chimes in.” Like those sleepovers back in high school with—”
With? Dina pauses. With whom?
“Uh… I dunno where I was going with that.” She murmurs, but the uneasiness that fills the room is undeniable.
You all stay silent, suddenly tense after the collective feeling of grief and longing engulfs all three of you.
“Is it just me, or does something feel missing?” You ask, troubled. “I feel like we’re forgetting something.”
Dina clears her throat, brushing off your mutual concern. “We’re probably just tired… What should we watch next?”
“We’re probably just… not used to free time anymore.” Jesse tries to quip, but it doesn’t land even as you and Dina let out strained chuckles.
Dina puts on some rom-com, but none of you end up really watching it.
It’s late now. You decided to call it a night a few hours ago and brought out the sleeping bags to finally get some shut-eye on Dina’s living room floor. Falling into the oblivion of your subconscious mind, you encounter another one of those weird dreams you've been having. However, like always, it feels realer than your actual days as of late.
You’re laying beside a figure in bed, in your old bedroom, head on their chest. They’re wearing a space shirt and plaid pajama pants, arms wrapped around your waist. When you look up, their face is covered by Spider-Woman’s mask. It doesn’t last long, and the window shoots open with a loud crash against the walls and a violent gush of air and debris enters your room, swallowing everything whole except for you.
You wake up with a sharp gasp, a cold sweat dragging down your temple. Dina groans and turns in her sleeping bag to face you. Her eyes are squinting, barely open as she forces them to lock onto your unusually sickly complexion. Her expression is one of mild concern and curiosity.
You shake your head once, making a show of getting comfortable and shifting positions. You murmur, quiet enough to not wake Jesse too. “Bad dream. I’m okay.”
Too sleepy to push further, Dina nods and shuts her eyes once again. Five seconds later, you hear her faint snores.
Morning comes, and you, Jesse, and Dina have your statistics class together once again. Since you’re already together, you decide to pass a coffee shop and get drinks first. Of course, you offer to make the order because you’re ‘the experienced one’.
“Why the fourth one?” Jesse asks upon your approach with four coffees instead of just three.
“For Ellie. I thought it’d be rude to not get her some since she sits with us…” You answer, cheeks feeling a little warm.
The other two give you a knowing look, smirking like they know what you’re hiding.
“What?” You grumble before handing them their cups and walking slightly ahead on the sidewalk.
They catch up, giggling at your reaction.
When you arrive, Ellie’s already in her seat, typing in her phone as if to avoid making eye contact with anyone.
You take a seat first. Right in front of her just like last time. Her head shoots up when she hears the screeching of a chair. Jesse and Dina shortly follow.
“Morning,” you speak, sliding Ellie’s coffee across the table.
She looks at it, then she looks back at you. She still hates coffee, but to her? Anything you offer is a gift to be sanctified. “Good morning… This is for me?”
“Why else would I hand it to you?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at the silly question. Ellie’s face reddens a bit.
“Sorry about… y’know, ditching class last time and being weird. Rough day, and something came up.” Ellie starts, fidgeting with her pinky and ring fingers as her eyes dart between you and the other two group members.
“Hey, no worries.” You reassure her, nudging the cup closer for her to take.
“Yeah, shit happens.” Dina hums, taking a sip from her own.
As opposed to your last class together, Ellie seems way more willing to actually talk. She asks about the pins on your bag, shares interests with you, and even tells you a little bit about herself.
Her awkwardness is charming, you would argue. It doesn’t get in the way of her making herself clear, but you can tell that she’s into the conversation and not just being nice.
She listens—actually listens. All of the questions she asks are thoughtful and relevant. She keeps saying all the right things, leading you to share even more. It’s easy to talk to her. Jesse and Dina could agree.
You decide to invite Ellie to come with you and the others to the cafe you work at. You have a shift after class, and they always keep you company during them.
“Oh, fuck yeah, I’ll show you my favorite drink.” Dina adds in, encouraging Ellie to join you. Jesse nods eagerly.
After a bit of not-so-real hesitation, Ellie relents. “Yeah, okay. I’ll come.”
When class ends, you all gather your stuff and head straight to your workplace. You still remember Ellie’s visit there; your first encounter. Neither of you plan to bring it up, though.
While you head into the back room to get your apron and hat, Ellie, Jesse, and Dina find their seats at the counter. Jesse and Dina chat about a few things while Ellie peacefully listens.
You walk through the door and head to the cash register first thing so your co-worker can clock out. She waves bye before leaving and you nod in response.
The shift is smooth sailing. Not many customers, so you spend most of your time in front of your friends, talking and giggling in between orders and tasks. You make Ellie try a new drink you invented. Thankfully, it’s matcha and not coffee. The girl gratefully accepts it.
“Oh, wow… That’s really good.” She says, licking a bit of foam that got on her upper lip.
“Why do you sound surprised?” You mutter jokingly, leaning closer over the counter.
Ellie’s face flushes, and she sets the drink down. Before she knows it, Dina swipes her drink.
The ravenette tilts her head. “D’you mind if I have a sip? Someone won’t give me another one for free, and I’m on my last twenty dollars.”
Ellie stares at her for a bit. Dina doesn’t share drinks until she really likes someone. Did that change, or does she just… really like her already? Before the prolonged eye contact gets weird, Ellie nods. “Yeah, go ahead.”
“Hey, do any of you have Tylenol? My head’s fucking killing me…” You mutter, trying to gently massage your temples as a crease forms between your brows.
“Now that you mention it, me too.” Jesse sighs. Dina’s already digging for her bag, sure that she has some.
You fill two cups of water for you and Jesse and take the painkiller, hoping for the best.
“Dina, do you remember pregaming prom?” You ask, smiling fondly at the memory as the topic transitions into high school memories.
“Awh, of course I do,” she grins back. “Gave you your first shot that night.”
“Ugh, my mom made us stand for so long to get the photos right.”
“Oh yeah, and Dina almost cried when Jesse wouldn’t pose right,” Ellie chimes in with a quiet laugh.
Three pairs of eyes turn to face her. No words exchanged.
Fuck. Holy fuck.
“I bet. I bet Jesse couldn’t pose right.” She corrects, realizing that she might’ve just screwed the fuck up.
You offer a forced titter, trying to ignore whatever the hell that was. “Yeah, uh, she even gave him the silent treatment in the car.”
The conversation slowly gets back to normal, but you’re not fully into it anymore. You’re having a hard time concentrating with the growing migraine driving you nuts. Why isn’t the Tylenol working?
Jesse cracks a stupid joke, the kind that’s so stupid, it manages to make you react.
In the midst of laughing, your hand lands on Ellie’s shoulder since she’s closest to you. Out of nowhere, your head bangs with pain. It feels like someone struck you with a metal bat and left a screw in your skull. A quiet yelp escapes you as you pull your hand away from Ellie like it burns. Then, you hiss and turn around, holding your head like it can’t stay upright on its own anymore.
The others halt, watching with concerned, wide eyes. Ellie’s a little frozen, seeing how it only happened when you touched her. It’s probably nothing, but the suddenness spooked her a bit.
“Your head?” Dina asks, voice softening as you turn back around, eyes still closed. You nod slowly.
“I’m fine, just.. Damn.” You answer. “Pain just shot up my spine and into my head.”
“Maybe it’s time you clock out,” Jesse adds. You don’t resist, knowing it’d probably be dumb to go through the rest of your shift in this state.
Ellie offers to help you out, but you politely refuse. You call your co-worker to cover you and take your uniform off in the back room.
You go your separate ways, exchanging hugs and making promises to hang out as soon as possible.
As Ellie walks in the opposite direction on the same sidewalk as you, she wonders why you looked so distressed the entire time after your sudden head pain. Maybe it still hurt, but your countenance made it seem like something deeper was going on.
She tells herself she’s just reading into it and focuses on following the right route to her place.
On your way back to your dorm, you think about what you failed to tell the others when you got that headache spike. You don’t tell them about your vision—if that’s what you can call it—of Spider-Woman holding your waist, webshooters propelling the two of you in the sky. You don’t tell them that in the midst of the searing pain and your vision of practically flying, you felt safe. In fact, you felt euphoric. Addictive adrenaline coursed through your veins in that split second before leaving you as quickly as it came.
The first thing you do when you go home is turn your laptop on. You search for footage of Spider-Woman on any social media website you can think of. A plethora of clips show her around New York, no actual tasks. You gather that a large majority of these videos are during patrols or something of that nature.
Who is Spider-Woman? Why do you keep getting visions of her? Does she have anything to do with it?
You write your questions down and search next for video clips of the masked woman during fights. Phone recordings, paparazzi, leaked CCTV recordings… You try to see if there’s anything that could give away her identity, or at least where to find her.
This rabbit hole you’ve gotten yourself into takes over the rest of your day. You obsessively research everything you can think of, trying so hard to answer the questions you wrote down. You look into spells and witchcraft, magic and Dr. Strange, the Avengers, the universe. Anything that crosses your mind quickly makes its way onto a separate tab on your computer, eating away at the last of your sanity.
dividers by @andromeda-graphics
perm taglist: @jijiisji @isaellie @nyxplanett @wqodwzrd @cordycepskiss @n0t-1t @xx-n3onmxshrxxmkjss @fettywhopper @thatredheadloserlesbian @lesmerri @almadellie
series taglist: @girl-so-gay @leilune @mrtwizz @jinxjinxjinx12 @sillijellifish
comment to be added!
brothers!best friend!ellie when your brother introduces ellie to you and ellie was very happy to meet you and also a little head over heels and she makes you and her in tomodachi life . .
themes & tropes : brothers!best friend!ellie williams fem!reader tooth rotting fluff lesbian yearning very!nerdy!ellie tomodachi life mentioned !! & femme!lesbian!reader
creds to @dearbaes for the trope idea!! love your work :)
the first time your brother brings ellie over, you’re on the couch, knees tucked under you, a bag of sour gummy worms balanced on your stomach.
you don’t look up at first.
you just heard the front door click shut, your brother’s voice rumbling about some new game he’s been playing.
and then a second voice, a little raspy, a little nervous, laughing at something he said.
“—and this is my sister,” your brother says, and you finally glance up.
ellie williams is standing in your living room like she’s not sure she’s allowed to be there.
she’s all flannel and freckles and a mop of auburn hair shoved under a backwards baseball cap.
her hands shoved deep in her jacket pockets. her eyes land on you and she freezes.
but only just for a second. just long enough for you to notice the way her throat moves when she swallows.
“uh. hey.” her voice cracks on the single syllable. she clears her throat, cheeks flushing pink.
“i’m ellie. obviously. your brother’s, uh. yeah. we’re friends. best friends. i mean, i don’t know if he told you, but. yeah.”
your brother snorts. “dude, chill.”
ellie shoots him a look that’s half murder, half please shut up forever.
you can’t help it, you smile, and she sees it.
and her whole face goes through about seventeen different emotions in two seconds flat.
“hi,” you say, voice soft. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”
“all bad, i hope,” she says, and then winces like she immediately regrets the joke.
you laugh, and ellie looks like she’s just been handed the last slice of pizza at a party.
she’s completely gone. you can tell. it’s written all over her.
three weeks later, ellie is at your apartment almost every day.
she claims it’s to hang out with your brother, but your brother works nights.
so it’s usually just her on your couch, legs pulled up, 3ds in her hands, mumbling about island layouts and how her villagers keep moving their houses into weird spots.
“you’re really into this game,” you say one evening, sitting beside her with a cup of tea.
you’re wearing one of your oversized sweaters, hair loose.
and ellie keeps sneaking glances at you like she’s trying to memorize your face.
“it’s called tomodachi life: living the dream ,” she says, holding the ds out so you can see. “you make little people, aka miis and they live on an island and do stuff. it’s stupid, but. i don’t know. it’s cozy.”
“show me.”
ellie’s eyes light up. she scoots closer, her shoulder pressing against yours, and you feel the warmth of her through her flannel.
she navigates to her island, and there they are.
a bunch of little cartoon characters with big heads and tiny bodies, wandering around in a colorful world.
“this one’s me,” she says, pointing to a mii with ellie’s messy hair and a little smirk. “and this one's—”
she pauses. hesitates. her thumb hovers over a mii with long hair and a soft smile.
wearing a little sweater that looks suspiciously like the one you have on right now.
“that’s you,” she says quietly.
“i made you. i hope that’s not weird. it’s probably weird. i can delete it, i just, i thought it’d be nice. to have you on the island. even if it’s just, like. a digital version of you.”
you look at her. she’s not looking at you. her ears are red, her jaw tight, like she’s bracing for you to laugh or tell her she’s being creepy.
“ellie.” you say, serious.
she flinches. “yeah?”
“that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” you say seriously and sweetly.
she finally looks up, and the relief in her eyes is so raw, so open, it makes your chest ache. “really?”
“really.” you say, jokingly.
you lean in and press a kiss to her cheek, soft and quick. ellie makes a sound like a deflating balloon.
and when you pull back, she’s bright red, grinning.
“okay,” she says, voice a little hoarse. “okay. cool. so. do you want to see our apartment? in the game. i decorated it. it’s not much, but there’s a cat.”
“you gave us a cat?” you ask, curious.
“obviously. we’re lesbians. we have to have a cat.” ellie says sarcastically.
you laugh, and she laughs too.
and the two of you spend the rest of the night on the couch, shoulders pressed together.
watching little digital versions of yourselves fall in love on a tiny island screen.
and when your brother comes home at 2am, he finds you both asleep, your head on ellie’s shoulder.
her cheek resting on your hair, the ds still glowing faintly on the coffee table.
he doesn’t say a word. just turns it off, drapes a blanket over both of you, and heads to his room, smiling to himself.
mae mae's ending notes: first drabble !! hey hey everybody!! hope you enjoyed :D i tried my best with this one :( the graphic above was made by me please do not steal! i will open commissions for that if you want!
𝐦𝐚𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐞'𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 (0/50): comment if you wanna be added!!
There’s a trans genocide happening right now in the United States. 13 trans people that we know of have been murdered in the past two months. If their murderers are found, which usually they are not, they aren’t charged with a hate crime even though they’re murdering them for being trans. There’s no justification it’s a hate crime.
Sam Nordquist was a 24 years old Black trans man who was murdered in 2025 by a woman he fell in love with over the internet. They spoke online for months and fell in love, Sam traveled to meet her in October and quickly went radio silent on his family. Days later he was found dead and he had been tortured by his “girlfriend” and her friends. The ringleader of whom pleaded guilty June 30th, 2026. This was not called a hate crime bc the people who murdered him were members of the lgbt community.
Juniper Blessing was 19 years old when she was murdered in her off campus housings laundry room. Yesterday her murderer was found incompetent to stand trial, they were competent enough to stab her and leave her for dead but not competent enough to be charged for it.
Yesterday on the last day of pride month the Supreme Court voted to change title IX to include “biological sex” leaving up to states to discriminate against trans women and girls.
Trans people cannot get IDs either their correct names even if they have all the information INCLUDING a birth certificate with their correct name on it. The government is now asking for school records to prove that you’ve been this sex the whole time. We are the depths of hell and it’s going to get worse.
Trans people in Kansas can’t drive because their licenses have the correct gender markers, you can’t get to the dmv without driving to fix that.
Gender affirming care for minors is being stripped away.
If you call yourself an ally and u say you love trans people get loud. All of this legislature is to make it harder to socially transition and live and exist as a trans person. They want to get rid of trans people in sports and in real life.
🏳️⚧️
i want a car bro
thinking of karlach who's obsessed with the new domesticity she has with you. sfw + nsfw.
after years alone in the depths of the hells, never getting a chance to go more than a few minutes at a time to truly feel safe, its safe to say that as soon as she has the opportunity to just be at peace in your new home she takes it with a deep sign and a serene smile.
thanks to helping out weary travelers and friends on your journey to saving the realm (and some very much deserved generosity from the people of baldur's gate), the both of you are able to settle in a quaint little cottage not too far from the city. it took some fixing up, a leaky roof here and a broken gate there, but at the end of the day it was home.
sometimes its hard for karlach to grasp, that after all this time she has a place to call home again. instead of a cramped and hot barracks she rests her head on the plush of your carefully picked out pillows and sheets, the perfect blend of sturdy bet soft that can have her falling asleep in seconds after a long day on the farm or cuddling and talking with you for hours.
and maybe what makes it better, as she so often loves to tell people and friends when they visit, is that she gets to share it with you. every so often during the day you'll catch her admiring you while you do your chores, the red beauty looking at you from inside while you feed your chickens an early breakfast. unable to go without touch for long she'll routinely come out to help you even when you don't need it, hell she's helped you shovel cow shit just to spend a few more minutes by your side.
but maybe she loves every little mundane thing in your routine because every thing is a reminded that she's here, she made it, literally went through hell and back and now gets to live the simple, sweet, and romantic life she's dreamed of.
so she kisses you every time you cook dinner together, wraps you in her arms before you go off to sell some leftover goods at the market, and plucks you a custom bouquet of wildflowers on her weekly walks through the forest with scratch.
and by the gods, did she love to show you her love for you in the most intimate ways possible.
when karlach's engine was first fixed (and even before that, thanks to your shared creativity), the only fitting way to describe your sex life together was phenomenal. like two puzzle pieces you both just fit, giving and receiving in a perfect balance that led to your shared satisfaction nearly every night. it was expected that after a while the excitement and giddiness would cool and you'd settle into a slower pace, but if anything your beloved was only more attached to your body.
it was safe to expect to wake in your early mornings with a shuttered gasp and a hand thrust down into karlach's hair, her hot tongue tracing shapes and her name into your cunt until you came with a loud cry into her mouth. she wouldn't stop until the shake of your legs knocked her head from your center, tracing tender kisses and playful bites up your thighs and stomach before landing on yours, a sweet peck and toothy smile along with an overly cheery 'good morning, baby' bringing you into your day.
as much as you chastised her for it, you couldn't resist when she'd come onto you during your work. good luck trying to pick up one of the hay bales, because as soon as your fingers graze the spiky yellow texture a large red hand is settling on your hand and another is on your waist, joined together by a strong red body pressed right up against your ass. she tries to pass it of as being helpful, that ‘you should leave all the hard work to me, darling!’ but you can hear the truth in her voice, a thinly veiled arousal waiting to burst any moment.
maybe she really catches a glimpse of the sweat trailing down your neck, the flush of your skin from constant movement, or maybe it’s because she just really likes when you’re bent over for her, but suddenly the hay bale is off of both of your minds when she’s impatiently pushing your body over to a hidden corner in the back of your barn, your hands steadying your body on the wood as your lover grinds herself into your behind, the coarseness of her hair and the brief blink and you'll miss it brushes of her clit between your thighs metaphorically (and damn near literally) driving you up the walls.
and sometimes you don't have to look blissful in your garden or hard at work on your farm, something as simple as you walking around the house can get her going. you still blush when you remember the day you accidentally put on one of her oversized shirts in the morning, figuring she wouldn't mind if you wore it just while you read on your couch. when the bleary-eyed barbarian stepped out of the bedroom and was met with the sight of your bare legs thrown over the couch arm and her shirt stopping at the middle of your thighs, she truly showed you the meaning of her class name as she quickly settled on the floor between your legs and ate your cunt like she was starving, only stopping so she could switch to stuffing you with her fingers so she could watch the way your body writhed covered in the fabric.
she wasn't just fueled by lust, however. one moonlit night you asked her what constantly drew her to you like a magnet and she bit the inside of her cheek before quietly responding that you just needed to look happy. you laughed the first time she said it, wondering if there was a time since you met her if you were anything but, but the look in her golden eyes and the tremor in her normally sturdy eyes told you what she really meant. she wanted, needed to know that you felt the same way she did every day, like any of these mornings she would wake up and this would all be a sick but sweet dream before she woke up back in the hell that was her life.
and what can you do but assure her that it's all real? you're glad she gets this way after you've both settled into bed, because you revel in taking hours twisted between the sheets and each others bodies as you bring her apart using your mouth, then your fingers, then both, before finishing with her body underneath yours as you slowly move your cunt above and on to hers, breathily giggling at the sight of her nails digging in to her palms at her barely contained desire to grip your hips and move you how she wants. any other time you'd encourage it, but on nights like these you want to make a point.
its hot and aching and pleasurable to the point of agony, but it's all worth it when she falls apart with a shout and quick falling tears while crushing your body to lay on hers, her moans drifting off into gasps of your name and declarations of love before she settles into silence with you.
"sorry if i get too...i don't know, paranoid," the deep timbre of her voice pulls you from the beginning throes of sleep, combined with her nails gently ghosting along the skin of your back. "all of this, and having it with you, just feels too good to be true."
you smile, pressing a kiss to her chest. "i know. but we earned this, we deserve it. besides, it'd take another army to take you away from me, i can only imagine it's the same for you."
"you've got no idea, soldier."
i wanted to buy a shirt of my #1 baby mama vi at hot topic but all of arcane's merch is ✨dogshit ugly✨ so i bought a karlach shirt instead. then i thought of her railing me in it soooo here we are.
yes you love your girlfriend, yes you love the lesbian pervert with a stupid wet boot and a nice video she'll jerk to later.
cw # this contains smut so it's intended for adults, men and minors do not interact, bigclit!vi, could be taken as the part two of this fic right here yet works alone if you’re lazy, boot riding, fingering, spit, cute and degrading nicknames too, switch!vi who turns into sub!vi, public sex, vi records you for educational purposes, nice pussy munching ñom ñom, established relationship,,,, # art by — visualeffex on x, divider bunny draws by pierrotpokes.
violet vanderson's been on a bad luck streak lately.
it all depends on how you see it-- but it has reached the point where it has your girlfriend biting her fist until her teeth leave marks in the knuckles and it's now a problem cause why, the fuck, would you be putting her through this torture?
you're making too much noise, the curtain of the dressing room barely covers the edges of the allegedly private room, and it's hard for your girlfriend not to moan — what's worse? have your girl blushing while paying wet underwear, or having to stop that delicious back and forth your hips keep doing while you ride her boot?
it fucks vi up entirely. leaves any rational thought in absolute oblivion as her mouth opens on its own and she has to bite her lip in response, caressing your cheek cause well, how else will she let you know how much she's enjoying it? keep you close as you take care of her needs, her aches and desires.
the store's full and she needs a moment to remember how exactly she ended up in that position: when she accepted to join you in a shopping spree the idea of public fucking never even crossed her brain but having you try on cute clothes in front of her? must be a gift from heaven between lacy bras and cute underwear that slips inside of her mind until it's the only thought she can keep for more than a minute. a kiss, two, three, how can you not want her hands all over you? how can't want take all over?
it's not planned. big chunky doctor martens boots with exquisite platforms are enough to make you salivate and suddenly? vi's stomach drops cause you're sitting on her left feet and the movement becomes a torture — makes your girlfriend swear she can feel you even under the thick leather of the shoe while that cute underwear set you were trying before makes wonders, hell-- since when is green such an interesting color? since when exactly are you into boot riding?
it's reasonable vi thinks, more worried about not being aware of when you pushed her to the dressing room's seat than the situation itself, now trapped in a small chair that holds her entire weight as she gets comfortable for you: when did your non-bought underwear start getting soaked like that? ignoring any detail becomes an impossible task now as you're whimpering, biting your lips, your inner cheek-- anything in your power to keep the pleasure for yourself, to keep going without the risk.
"that's it bug-- holy fuck. you're doing so good."
the moisten leather helps you move, and your cunt opens following the form of vi's shoe, delicious friction that makes the blood move in its circulation flow, take it to the erogenous zones: that fucking green set makes you look like a goddess and she cannot stop looking it ready to burn it to ashes, see the sweat that makes you glow under the white lights closer, the disheveled look, needy to cum.
"are you going to take a picture? they last longer."
it's entrancing, how you're capable of mocking her even when you're the one melting, a mere whisper of encouragement that makes vi blush. crushed, she's not surprised by the warmth that comes from between her parted legs, the result of her underwear now sticking to her pussy lips due to how turned on she is making it more painful to endure. half nervous, your girlfriend's voice never betrays her before simply adding: — "not really in for pics, bug-- you gonna be a nice whore for me and let me record you?"
and fuck you're dirty. you're pure filth and violet's aware of it, of every nasty thought, every crazy idea that crosses your mind in the worst moments. she knows that smile you gift her from before, how it tingles your brain right where she wants to before taking her phone out ready to press play.
fuck it if it's a mess when you become needier as the seconds pass: is it really greedy to ask for more? is it really your fault as your hand reaches the thick fabric of her black jeans and rub between her legs? it's a way of helping yourself out too, notice your girlfriend in delicious details you keep to yourself, relish in how her breathing picks up, how her cheeks keep stained in a subtle red shade.
"please let me eat you," you blurt out, words slipping on their own until it becomes a shared secret you love to be a part of, "vi-- please let me eat you."
it's like winning the olympics, a gold medal on fucking you up.
"what happened to the boot?"
"please."
"you will put on a good show for me, bunny?"
the need is a sin and violet's guilty. guilty of indulging your needs, always incapable of saying no. her muscles tense as she's holding her weight up so you can take off her pants, and there's no time to think about it twice, be aware of how pathetic she must look-- the ruined underwear that is now a proof of an overwhelming desire, the sound of your laugh that leaves goosebumps behind cause shame's not a valid option anymore-- god, your girl needs you, is that so crazy to admit?
your fingers touch her from over the cotton of her underwear and its soaked to the point its useless, a cruel reminder of how you're in control suddenly and she's there to comply, be good: of course you'll put on a fucking show for her, and the phone in vi's hand shake for a minute forgetting to angle the camera to your face-- oh ffuuuck is that her on your cheeks? glossy transparent now smeared on your lips like new a lipstick shade.
its evident at this point, the small budge that makes your mouth water, the smell in the air that makes vi dizzy for a moment. the sight of your girlfriend in front of you would make anyone misbehave — starting from the face she makes while looking down at you with half-lidded eyes, even how her body reacts to your touch, unable to stay still since she's desperate to get more.
delicious.
"does it hurt?" you question leaving soft kisses against her naked thighs, not giving much time to answer as your tongue rests flat against vi's engorged clit, a simple touch that makes her muscles tense at the contact, automatically dragging her hips closer to your face so you can be closer, deeper between her legs.
it does hurt, but how can she answer? your saliva blends with her juices and your touch's so soft it burns on the exposed skin and shit-- you're taking your time in pleasing her cause there's no need to rush it, to go faster even when it's a fucking store and there's people trying on clothes no more than footsteps away.
isn't it more exciting? the shot of adrenaline, the vaccine of danger. your mouth feels warm, welcoming. your tongue flicks around her swollen clit and the touch makes vi rest her head in the wall her body lies against, erratic breathing and whispered words of love, sure she's suffering from some kind of fever dream, a classic midnight fantasy.
so her bad luck streak-- how was that? when the blood tastes like licking metal in her mouth and you're sucking on her g-spot, its harder to stay silent, hand shoved inside your own green lace, your girlfriend swears you follow the same fast rhythm on your own cunt cause you'll always be the insatiable rabbit, the tortuous monster who cannot get enough.
she's not aware of the video no longer, even when she keeps recording it in what should be a decent angle vi can see the moment you make her underwear to the side, hand that forces the cotton as the other one spread her pussy lips further apart just to make it easier to see, gather some saliva in your mouth until you spit and the contact is enough to have vi getting crazy.
"stay still," she'd do anything you say without questioning, dry mouth as your thumb pushes against her hole, "they will hear us vi, do you want us to stop?"
"mm--no, no-"
its hotter than-fucking-ever. mouth closing against her big clit,taking it all in. lips surrounding her button, pink bush sticking to your face. you use two fingers at first slowly sinking them into her cunt, and you do it so damn good, so fucking nice when you work her to take them entirely, knuckles in, fingers slightly curved so they can hit that delicious spot you know by memory, entirely yours.
bad luck.
bad luck.
bad luck.
awfully loud, painfully unaware of her own self, when vi cums her body shakes uncontrolled, a fever that's impossible to sweat out when she feels you everywhere, soft lips that kiss her folds, gentle tongue that licks up and down, fingers that keep her stuffed, you never ease yourself even when the high comes in waves that drag her to the center of the earth. red face that matches the pink of her hair, mouth that hangs open, you have her, right? she leans on you cause you will always have her.
soft skin, the dressing room's silent and you thank for how sensitive violet can be, how desperate she is to cum, how easy it turns to please her.
so when you get a dirty look from the workers in the shop ten minutes after? fuck them, she owe it to you right? from that time she masturbated in the bathrooms of that same shopping mall — dude.
she's so getting banned from ever entering the mall again: the lesbian pervert with a stupid wet boot and a nice video she'll jerk to later.
Old Caitlyn’s back appreciation piece 🙌
may I present to you… gymrat vi
fic so ass and corny and ooc i had to take a deep breath
I want your things in my room… - a.a.
ꜱᴛʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ᴀʙʙʏ ᴀɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴏɴ x ꜱᴛʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ᴀʙʙʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ only mdni, established but secret relationship, long distance relationship, pussy drunk abby, oral (r!receiving), fingering, soft dom abby, tittie sucking, dirty talk, honestly a bit of feral abby, manny is the king of terrible timing, so is ellie, my favorite tlou doggie makes an appearance.
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.3k
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: I finished this one a lot faster than I initially realized so look at me go omg. also anything that I’m writing and posting for this au is gonna be out of order so hopefully it’s not too confusing. but a big shout out to @somebitchprobably for helping me come up with a much better ending line for ellie, I appreciate you bestie <3
It had started off innocently enough.
Just one kiss—that you leaned up to press against her mouth right before she was about to start streaming for the night.
It was never meant to linger, never meant to turn into several.
But both of you were starting to realize as she guided you back onto her bed that just one was never going to be enough for either of you anymore.
“Abby,” you mewl, fingers fisting in her t-shirt as her mouth leaves hot, open mouthed kisses along your throat. “You’re gonna be late.”
Abby huffs softly but descends lower, sliding your shirt up your torso and latching her lips around one of your nipples. She swirls her tongue around the hardened peak, palming the other with her hand until you’re gasping and squirming beneath her. She pauses her ministrations but her lips never fully leave your skin—they just travel lower, until her mouth hovers right over your clothed cunt.
“You want me to stop?” she asks, glancing up at you with a look that makes your whole body thrum in anticipation and need.
“I—fuck,” you start to answer but are immediately cut off when you feel her tongue lightly trace over the skin just below your navel.
“Hm?” she hums, warm hands spreading your thighs open further so she can settle between them. “What was that, baby?”
“Don’t you fucking dare stop,” you pant.
Abby immediately sits back up with a wide grin, fingers curling into the waistband of your underwear and tugging them down your thighs in one smooth motion. And fuck, you can feel how wet you are, your thighs already sticky with the evidence of it. But you can’t find a reason to feel embarrassed when Abby practically moans at the sight.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” she all but whines, her fingers gliding through your slick center and your hips jolt up when her fingertips brush over your clit. “This all for me?”
She asks like she doesn’t already know the answer.
But you nod anyway, not entirely able to string together a coherent sentence when you feel the tip of her middle finger nudging against your entrance.
“Words, baby.” She reminds you, those dark blue eyes meeting your slightly hooded ones.
“Yes,” you writhe, hips grinding back down against her hand. “Only for you, Abs.”
“Good girl.”
You release a choked noise when she finally dips her head between your thighs, obscenely spreading you open with her fingers and dragging her tongue from where your arousal pools at your entrance—all the way up to your throbbing clit.
“Fuck,” you cry out again, your fingers tangling in her already loose braid.
Abby hums against you, her tongue sliding deep inside you before she’s circling it back up and over your clit again. She repeats these ministrations for a long while, until your thighs start to tremble around her head but somehow it’s still not enough.
“Abby,” you pant, gripping her wrist and guiding her hand between your legs. “Need your fingers, now.”
“So bossy,” she chuckles and you can almost feel the way she’s smirking against you.
But she doesn’t tease you beyond that, instead she glides two of her thick fingers inside you and you practically moan out of sheer relief. Her tongue is back to circling over your swollen clit as she slowly starts to thrust her fingers inside you and the slick sounds that fill her bedroom are downright filthy.
“God, you hear that?” she rasps, her nose nudging against your clit. “How fuckin’ ready you are for me?”
You cry out again when her fingers curl up to rub against that sensitive spot inside you, your core muscles tightening with each firm and calculated thrust. Each one threatens to unravel you faster than you’d ever dare admit aloud.
The tension in your middle coils tight, heat continuing to build between you until the sharp, all too familiar chime of a discord call cuts through the charged haze in the room and you both freeze.
“Shit,” she says under her breath, resting her forehead against your inner thigh. “Impeccable fucking timing, Manny.”
But Abby makes no move to answer it, letting it ring as buries her face back between your legs and you practically melt into the mattress. That sweet relief doesn’t last long though, because all too soon her cell phone starts to ring, buzzing obnoxiously on the bedside table and she lets out a deep, frustrated groan.
“Abs?” She looks up at you then, a mixture of desire and irritation written all over her features. “Just go log on, he’s not gonna stop calling until you do.”
And unfortunately, you both know you’re right.
It takes a great amount of effort for her to pull herself away from you, and your body involuntary clenches around nothing when she slides her fingers back out.
“You,” she hums, leaning over you to press a hot, wet kiss to your mouth before she pulls away entirely. “Stay put, I’m not done with you yet.”
That subtle threat sends heat curling low in your belly and you grin up at her, giving her a small, lazy salute. Abby scoffs lightly, rolling her eyes but the subtle quirk of her mouth gives her away as she leans down to kiss you again.
“Go,” you laugh against her still eager mouth, gently nudging her away when her discord starts blowing up again.
“Alright, alright.” She relents with a pout, wiping away the remaining slick from her chin with her shirt sleeve as she stalks over to her desk on the opposite side of the room.
She haphazardly sits down and puts on her headset, adjusting her camera so the bed—and you are no longer in frame. Then she’s live.
“Hey guys, sorry about that. WiFi’s been acting up all day.”
You have to stifle a snort of laughter, burying your face in her pillow to muffle it. But the way she clears her throat is a subtle warning in itself. Behave.
“Alright, let’s get Manny patched in here…”
You reach for your phone that was left discarded beside her own on the nightstand, pulling up her stream on the app and turning the volume all the way down.
But her chat already knows something is up.
downwiththethickness69: yo why does she look so dishelved??
gibby420: she’s acting sus 🧐🧐🧐
lurker4life: the vibes are definitely off
look4thelight (mod): for once I have to agree with chat
Abby just rolls her eyes. “You guys are the ones being weird.”
She pulls up the game, trying her best not to think about the fact that you’re laying on her bed—mere feet away—half naked and waiting for her.
“Alright, Manny, you ready?”
Whatever Manny says next is lost on you, but Abby’s shoulders stiffen like he struck a nerve.
“What? I’m fine.”
She queues up the next match, fingers drumming impatiently against the surface of her desk.
“I don’t have any kind of look, you’re reaching,” she mutters.
You bite your lip, holding your phone closer to your face because she absolutely does. It’s a look you’ve seen more and more over the last few months, she’s softer around the edges and it makes your heart thud erratically in your chest.
“Alright, alright. Just shut up and watch my six,” she huffs, muttering a small pendejo under her breath.
Everything seems to settle after that, the room falling into an easy silence that’s only broken by the sharp clicks of her mouse and the steady tapping of keys. But Abby doesn’t fully relax, not like she usually does on stream—because she’s far too aware of you.
You can tell in the way her attention flickers, how she seems to track every small movement you make on the bed behind her. Every shift of the blankets, every subtle adjustment of your legs pulls just enough of her focus away that on more than one occasion she misses a shot. And each time, you have to bite back a laugh.
Her chat, of course, doesn’t miss a thing.
simp4abby: she’s awfully distracted today
darkblade28: I swear I keep hearing shit in the background 🧐🧐
Abby tries to remain outwardly calm, ignoring it as she rolls her shoulders and tries to lock back in.
But then…
Your phone rings—loudly.
Ellie’s contact photo flashes across your screen and you curse softly, nearly dropping the phone on your face in your rush to shut the ringer off.
But the damage is already done.
abbysleftbicep: SOMEONE ELSE IS THERE
clihrider: THERES NO FUCKING WAY
ruthlessxghost: ITS HER ISNT IT??? FINALGRL IS IN SEATTLE???
Abby groans, dragging a hand down her face and shaking her head. “Guys, stop, alright? No one’s here.”
look4thelight (mod): that was sooo not convincing abby
Your phone starts to ring again almost immediately, but this time you manage to silence it before it causes any more problems.
Still, you know Ellie and she isn’t going to stop hounding you until you finally pick up.
So you carefully slip off the bed, making sure you’re still out of frame and quietly sneak out of the room.
“Ellie,” you hiss into the receiver once you’re a safe distance from Abby’s room, lowering your voice as you glance down the hallway. “Now is really not a good time.”
From the living room, Bear lets out a loud, dramatic yawn and stretches, hopping down from the sofa and padding over to you. He gently bumps his snout against your knee, whining softly.
“Hey, mister man,” you coo softly, scratching behind his ear. “Who’s a good boy?”
“Mister man?” Ellie echoes with a snort. “Who the fuck are you talking to?”
“Bear,” you say automatically, smiling widely when he nuzzles his face further into your hand.
“Bear? Who the hell—”
Then it clicks.
“You’re at Abby’s, I fucking knew it!”
“No I’m not,” you respond too quickly.
“Yes, you fucking are. DINA!” Ellie shouts and you wince, pulling the phone away from your ear. “You owe me $20 bucks!”
“You guys were betting on me?” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“Not just you,” Ellie scoffs. “Both of you. But don’t act so surprised, both your chats have been calling this shit out for months.”
“And what exactly was the bet?”
Dina’s voice cuts in then, voice laced with a mixture of amusement and disappointment. “To see which one of you caved and flew out first. But unfortunately for me, I was betting on Abby.”
“You guys are ridiculous, you know that?” you sigh.
“Says the one pretending she’s not totally in love with—”
“Don’t,” you cut in, glancing down the hall toward Abby’s room.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Ellie is laughing, harder than before. “Oh my god. You are in love with her!”
“I didn’t say that—”
“You didn’t have to,” Dina chimes in sweetly.
You lean your head back against the wall with an embarrassed grunt. “Can you guys not do this right now? She’s literally streaming in the other room.”
“Yeah, we know,” Ellie says, rather smugly. “That’s why I called, we’ve been watching the entire time.”
“Ellie, I swear to god if you—”
“Relax, we aren’t gonna rat you out.”
“Yet.” Dina finishes. “Watching you both try and fail to act like you aren’t down bad for each other is the most entertaining part of this entire thing.”
“Okay, I’m hanging up now,” you huff, pulling the phone away from your ear.
“MAKE SURE TO SHUT THE CAMERAS OFF BEFORE YOU START SUCKING FACE!” Ellie shouts and you immediately end the call.
“What am I going to do with them, Bear?” you murmur, giving his ears one final scratch before the sound of his automatic feeder has him bolting out of the room and toward the kitchen.
You release a small laugh, standing there for just a moment longer before you make your way back down the hall, your phone still warm against your palm.
Abby is mid-match when you slip back into the room.
She doesn’t look back at you, but the way her hand tightens on the mouse tells you she’s all too aware of your presence again.
“Manny, if you don’t cover me—” Abby cuts herself off, missing two more shots when you settle back onto the bed.
You press your lips together, but it’s useless because a soft laugh escapes anyway.
Abby’s shoulders tense. “Fuck, I swear I had that.”
You decide to take pity on her then, already knowing that her chat and Manny must be roasting the hell out of her for her unusually poor performance tonight. But part of you can’t help but feel a subtle twinge of pride, knowing that she’s off her game entirely because of you.
So for the next half an hour you try to stay as still as possible, but every quick-witted comeback she spews into the mic has that familiar heat sparking between your thighs and the harder you try to ignore it—the worse it becomes. So you stretch yourself out on the bed, desperate to release some of the tension in your limbs. Her t-shirt that you’re wearing riding up your bare thighs and you release a soft, breathy sigh of frustration.
And that’s what finally breaks her.
“Manny, one sec,” she mutters, before pulling her headset off. “There’s something I gotta take care of.”
Abby spins in her chair then, her dark eyes focusing on where you’re lounging across her bed.
The chat explodes in an instant, messages flooding in rapid succession across her screen before she ends the stream with one firm click.
She says nothing as she pushes her chair back, rising to her feet.
“Abby,” you murmur, scooting back until your shoulders meet the headboard—your tone low and teasing. “They’re absolutely going to clip that, you know.”
“Don’t care,” she rasps, crossing over to you in three long strides.
You release a small squeal when she wraps her fingers around your ankle, dragging you back down the mattress. Her warm hands slide up your calves to spread your legs apart, one of her knees pressing down into the edge of the mattress between them.
“What about your stream?” you ask, slightly breathless as she leans over you, her nose nudging yours.
“Told you that I wasn’t done with you yet, baby.”
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ. ᴇɴɢᴀɢᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ʜᴇʟᴘꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ <3
she’s old, rusty and stupidly horny — you bet that cute ass violet vanderson’s fucking her sister’s best friend tonight.
cw # 18+ minors and cismen dni as this contains smut, older!vi + chef!vi so be aware that this contains an age-gap relationship (reader's in her late twenties and vi is in her forties, reader’s also jinxs bestie) doctor!reader, blood and injury descriptions, vi is tripping here i love my girl, switch!switch dynamic cuz i'm a sucker for who's in control and who's not (expect sub!vi and not), scissoring, good old pussy eating, shit ton of flirting, spit, some choking, sweet names, degrading ones — yikes.
listen to some tunes for this one // masterlists // 10,3k words.
side note # in screams of agony, i bring you serpentskirt, a love hate fic i’ve been writing since january 18th acording to ellipsus. i’m not gonna lie but this was a pain in the ass so it makes me happy to finally let it see the light — trust me, i needed to move on, i’m kinda proud of how it turned out despite almost going pussy-bald on how stressing this was. still. hope you enjoy what i personally believe its the perfect blend of yearning and smut,,,, i expect your opinion on this one since its very important babymwah,,,,, #art bellow by entr0phea on instagram!!
vi has experienced appetite before.
eyes who swallow and mouth who irks in hunger, she knows what it's like when you experience desire firsthand, how it settles in her lower stomach like a monster ready to devastate. blends like an injection with her blood, turns her primitive in the closed space of the last drop, stupid.
"you remember who she is, right?"
is it a trick question? does her sister know half of what happened a handful of years before? fresh out of school while she was already finishing uni, ready to escape and move out: violet doubts you told jinx about the big crush you had back then with her so randomly, much less about the fact that she rejected you that very same night since she was already busy fucking a classmate, far from looking at her little sister's best friend with something more than a friendly approach — with this in mind, please care to explain when, exactly did you get this fucking hot?
slowly, she regrets being ten minutes late to a party she almost avoided at first, after so long investing this much time in staying away? karma breathes down her neck and it surely catches vi in a low moment of her life, or at least, guilty enough to curse silently while her sister keeps talking unaware of how stiff she is. shit, how long has it been since she last saw you? six, seven years now? time's an illusion created by men when minutes don't pass like as would: you're careless now, unaware that she still exists, cool.
"my best friend from school, you know her-- braces, weird haircut..." let cupid shoot his arrow twice cause you're far from the girl who once was drunk confessing a teenage crush in the middle of a starry night like a secret from the government — "c'mon be smart."
"i am smart--" vi replies offended, is this some kind of punishment for being late to her birthday party? for avoiding her hometown like it's haunted? "i know who that is. the troublemaker friend you had who followed you everywhere."
"well congratulate her and don't be a fucking asshole. she bagged this big job in the hospital of piltover to be part of the e.r team. it's a big night for her too."
the memory of when you were too drunk blurting out your hopes and desires settles in her brain and it's impossible to let go. pulls the corners of her mouth in an unexpected smile cause she can still go back to the words you mumbled between pouts and cheeky smiles, how she was already tired of zaun and how hot that summer was — you went too hard with the vodka, and she is, still too old for you.
"vi?" it's a knot in the throat when you become aware of her presence, say her name like you're missing one star all along, a new planet announced to the rest of the world. suddenly she turns into an old friend you hold close to your heart instead of that never-before-experienced-lover or your forever wonder. "oh god, how are you? jinx told me you were coming but i thought she was daydreaming-"
it's fast and it turns the air toxic as your arms surround her in an unexpected hug: god she's in such deep trouble. impossible not to freeze as her own arms welcome you back; she has the perfect excuse right? since you've been around each other at a young age you're an indirect part of her life, no? — she hasn't known anything about you in years so it's almost fair.
was it the mini-skirt? the way your hair smells as you're that close? she's a sucker for that kind of things — maybe it was the deprivation of good sex for what felt like a lifetime, or the sound of your voice when you talk so close to her. everything's a menace as your laugh seems to fill the entire place; her space at least, so inexistent at that point it makes vi afraid of having her sister wondering what the hell is going on.
"congrats on your new job, doc" it's nothing but politeness sprinkled with bits of flirting, subtle. "turns out you were a smart-ass after all, huh?"
"seems like it, yes-" is that cockiness in your voice? confidence? "thank you. been working hard for it."
"can tell you did" crooked smile, head slightly tilted to the right, she's been on this game for almost forty years: "you've always been annoying when you want something."
"i'd say determined, but yeah" you're now a very intelligent brat who seemed to have every answer to her playful banter. "you're staying long?"
"not much, your friend here's keeping tabs on me so i doubt that i can't leave before" maybe she should be more grateful of the volatile attention span of jinx already invested in another conversation to know what she's even talking about. "got a lot of work to do and i can't stay that long, the restaurant doesn't work well without me."
"well that's nice. j missed you quite a lot," maybe it's the smile that throws her off as you're called by your friends, when other people claim your attention and she wishes to have it all to herself. "see you around?"
"you call the shots, doc. talk to you later."
problems. she has a lot of problems nowadays to add another one to the list.
a sure inconvenience, but it doesn't stop life from making it considerably hard to pay attention to anything else after that hug, after having you so close, talk. it's only fair when she spends a good amount of time gripping her plastic cup too hard, surrounding herself with people who ask her about the job and how she is only to give back half asserted answers cause she lose the track of what she's saying, too damn tired to pretend she gives two fucks about anything else more than the cute friend of her young sister.
are you aware of how interested someone can be in you? how actively she's following your movements around and waiting for the moment to have the tender pleasure of your attention? just a simple conversation. makes her feel guilty when she realizes who she's lusting over, the inevitable years that separate the both of you: she's entering her forties and you're what? 28, 29? too young.
so vi stays on her side of the line. survival mode. avoid any further interaction cause she's too good to flirt with her sister's best friend, too polite to admit you're attractive. instead she turns the other cheek and forces herself to keep a normal conversation — remember that it's her sister's birthday and not a lesbian speed date event.
and plans would keep going amazing if she wasn't already tired of people, if the hours weren't so long and vi wasn't already moody from before. she kisses her sister's cheek before promising to come back tomorrow when the clock hits three in the morning, and she waves her friends goodbye before fixing her scarf ready to face the cold snow that gathered outside the bar: avoid you. she's fast when zipping up her jacket and pretends she's rushing for an emergency more than saving her own ass, not searching for you when the place's full.
thing is? it would be easier to escape from you if you — the prime headache, weren't outside the bar silently smoking a cigarette, if you didn't whistle loud enough to make her look at you. so much easier if the street wasn't empty and you weren't smiling all optimistic as you walk careful not to fall in the frozen streets.
"you leaving this early?" you ask, holding onto your coat to warm yourself from the cold "is the party too boring for the elderly?"
"twas a long trip" vi replies politely, now under the cold light of the moon and the reflection of the light in the snow she's capable of seeing you better, be a witness of the new details on your face: every mark on your skin, every line.
"so you're leaving without even saying goodbye instead."
"i'm not-" is there any excuse? like a teenager that's caught doing something wrong, vi's mouth rushes into a line at the lack of words — "are you supposed to even be smoking that, doctor?"
"this? nah, it should be the last of your worries." why is there something hot about it? about the way you lean against the wall of the last drop, the dim yellow light of the street lamp projected in your face, "trust me. this holds my last bit of sanity together-- do you really have to leave so soon? none of my friends wanted to join me here since it's too cold outside, c'mon. just five minutes. i'll let you leave when i'm done with my cigarette."
"well, it's freezing here your friends have a point" there's no doubt when she never thought twice to accept your words, almost embracing the failure of her plans as she sighs in fake annoyance, turns out she's quite bad when it comes to acting. "go on doc, smoke. i'll join you in your rush of sanity."
that's how she signs her ultimate contract with the devil in the end, when she stays still right next to you, silent, distant, deep in her thoughts: it may be the first time she's talking to you decently, so if the tension's palpable? you are good at ignoring while filling the air with a distinct smell that made her scrunch her nose in disgust.
"so," vi pauses for a second, too bad at small talk. "doctor, huh? always thought you were going to be something annoying like a lawyer."
you hum, and it's the most delicious sound vi can ever hear from over the distant noise contained in closed doors, savors it in her tongue as you speak again — "yeah, found out i really like to help people. be there. i wanted something to feel i dunno, tangible i guess-"
"so you turned into mother teresa, then?"
"shut up" you laugh, she does it too when pretending to be hurt from the push you playfully give her, even when in reality she can barely feel it under so much clothing, "and i also wanted to prove people wrong. i don't think anybody had the faith in me to do something like that."
"all of them can go straight to hell," fuck's sake, is she a five-year-old that can't keep her thoughts private? "people are used to do that, think you're less than what you really are."
"yeah they can go straight to hell, you're so right." man, why are you looking at her like that? pleading eyes, big smile, like some simple words found the path close to your heart and you just remembered why she was your crush back then when you were young. "i'm really happy you're here, vi. jinx missed you a lot and its nice to see her this happy in her special day."
so vi tries to find a rational explanation to why her heart skips a beat the way it does, resting her back close to where you are to the point the mix of the smoke and your perfume installs now in every corner of her mind making it severely difficult to not get invested like she's currently getting that night and wonder, deep down, if that crush you once got is still there gripping to the last bits of sanity that remains: impossible.
"thanks for being there for her," — "i don't want pow to be alone while i'm not here."
"well she has me, and ekko" you add, "she's been my best friend since i can remember, family. i fear she's stuck with me too."
"stuck with you, huh?" her brows furrow slightly at the thought. "poor pow. you two being annoying is something you can never get used to."
"teenage years were crazy" you chuckle. "a fever dream and my peak of embarrassment."
"why so?"
"please, as if you don't remember," how could she not? you're good at roll your eyes and play with the cigarette between your fingers as if it keeps you grounded, still and not nervous at all.
"do i, now? a lot happened while we grew up-"
"so you don't remember when i told you about my massive crush on you?" you question curiously, interrupting midway. "i literally spill my guts to you mid party. awful night, but i would be offended still if you forgot."
you're so casual while saying it, unaware that vi's soul drops in the very same second, almost losing balance as she can feel the heat coming from her insides staining her cheeks, burning her bones with fever as she crosses her arms right bellow her chest, suffering: how can a cigarette last so fucking long?
"i was trying to be polite," she tries to defend herself from your bad look — "you were so drunk it's really a miracle you can remember half of what you said back then."
"yeah, i know. it doesn't count either way" holding the smoke in, you kick the snow that gathers at your feet aware of the weight of her gaze. "sorry if i weirded you out-- i was young and full of hormones back then. adolescence is pretty rough."
you're aiming to play dumb, and she's willing to play along in anything you decide at this point, indulge you a bit, keep feeding that spoiled attitude bubbling like champagne; and the universe itself knows that vi would love to keep flirting there, truly. yet she suffers from the epitome of bad luck when she's trying to avoid the most random accident, unable to answer — so fast it does not give her enough time to blink.
how did you trip? was it the snow? did she get in the way? it doesn't matter when she's trying to save your butt from touching the freezing cement, strong arms that hold you and help you defy gravity before you hit the ground but does not stop your savior from losing balance herself: the pavement's froze due to the weather, and it's hard to stay on her feet as she lands on the snow, somehow avoiding a bigger injury.
"oh god," she can hear you as you get up by her side, kneeling in front of her. "are you okay? did you hit your head?"
maybe it's the doctor part that kicks in, makes vi wonder for a moment. your hands are gentle when you slowly touch her face, gaze searching for her blue eyes in any sign of confusion or pain. it's dangerous, how much she enjoys it even when your hands are super cold, worried about her while you ask a bunch of questions she ignores since it's difficult to pay attention to a single word you say more than the worried look in your face this close.
"don't move, take it easy," you pick the perfect path to your future it seems, cause you're not even half as affected vi is that moment, professional even when her heart's beating loudly in her ears, palms sweating against the snow, stupidly nervous. "talk to me, yeah? tell me how you feel, vi."
"is this how you treat your patients in e.r, doc?" — "you truly a lifesaver."
"how many fingers do you see?" ignoring her tries of flirtation, you're definitely good at doing your job, make sure she's alright, and vi? man, she's loving every second of it, having your eyes scanning every inch of her face while your fingers touch the back of her head, your eyes on her own: there is no need to even ask cause the answer would lack coherence.
it's a fact that the closeness got her speechless for a moment, cause she cannot think about an existent number when you're like that, when your brows furrow in concern and she can notice a wrinkle or two now that she's too close, now that she can smell your nice and sweet perfume again and you're looking at her like she's the only girl on earth.
"hi there, you here with me?"
"uh, three--"
"what?"
fuck. she needs to look again before correcting herself — "fingers. i see two fingers. sorry."
"can i touch you?"
"uh, what?"
"your head, vi" your smile is beautiful even from where she is, still freezing her ass. "i need to see if there's any wound or irregularity in your head."
"oh-- yes, i'm sorry" god, she needs to get a fucking grip.
your hands are already in her head wandering around her pink hair, gently they touch unaware of how devastating it is for a person who has endured solitude as a way of living, how she crumbles and wishes to have further beyond.
"are you in pain?"
"well, not really."
the world turns silent for a moment, her mind finally stays shut and the moment seems eternal in the pages of her head. fuck. fuck-fuck-fu--
"i think you're okay," can you realize how she's flirting with you and not caring about anything else? how she's looking at you now that you're busy touching her? "it was just a scare."
"you think i'll live?" you laugh at whatever she's saying and it has no right to be that delicious; not even pretending to be normal when you stare at her eyes checking on the size of her pupils: were you always this composed? this professional. "tell me the truth doc, i can handle bad news."
"you'll live, unfortunately" funny. it's the alcohol who makes the pink-haired stick her tongue out in response. — "don't hit your head again, though. try and keep your old ass out of the emergency room, can you?"
"dunno ma'am, i suffer from bad luck in this city."
"then i'm afraid i'll be seeing you around more than i want to, huh?" are you flirting with her too? she's having trouble to tell as you offer her a hand to stand up from the floor. blame it on her head. "thanks for staying with me while i smoke."
gentle, your voice's like a kiss on the cheek, a reward. it may be awkward for a second and vi's unexpectedly happy when she can notice you're nervous, nervous as you go from one side to another, as you play with the ring in your index finger, as you avoid looking at her as if you were back to being seventeen and she's still that cool uni girl too busy to pay attention.
"it wasn't so bad," even if her ass hurts and she will get a bruise or too. "thankfully i got you to take care of me, doc."
now this fucks with your head entirely, when she kisses your cheek goodbye this time and shoves her hands inside her jacket, watching you leave like it was the worst vi experienced in her life.
"are you going to stay in the door or going in?" the girl teases you when you stop mid-way the entrance — "can't keep the door crowded, an emergency can happen. you know that stuff."
"going in," unsure, you have to turn back to look at her one more time. "i'll see you around, right?"
it's just a simple question. not that deep. not that important-- yet the way you say it? makes her gulp the saliva contained in her mouth cause it's the tone you use, how your fingers grip the wood of the door nervous of the outcome, nothing but you gathering enough courage to admit you want to see her again somehow. subtle. almost a delusion of her own mind.
"you bet, peach." she likes your smile almost too much, how some words can lighten up the entire night. "take care of yourself for me and don't go falling around in this bad weather, yeah?"
lesbian things are happening lately.
vi can tell.
now.
it's actually funny when vi's in the emergency room two days after.
the place is full, the heat is on and she can swear she's paying some kind of punishment due to the miserable crying of a random kid for the last 40 minutes while she's there installed in the uncomfortable black chair of the waiting room with her sister, holding onto her arm with a new white cloth she was given by one of the nurses like her life depends on it.
it was all an awful joke.
i mean-- she was helping jinx with some house stuff vi could totally explain. sane. it didn't hurt that bad but still she wanted to get checked out either way cause — well, she would love to see you again, and it's clear that she does not know how to put it in words like a normal person would, ask for your phone or admit she's interested, so instead? she's at the hospital.
bleeding.
cause she's a noble knight. the most helpful sister.
and she kinda needs stitches.
so she remains optimistic the first hour: it's a big emergency room and the place is chaotic, but she chooses to believe that she can find you amidst the chaos, that somehow you'll end up being her doctor; by the second hour though? she knows it's like trying to find a needle in a haystack, that you may be busy, that it may be your day off, anything to make her remember why she hates coming back to the city so much.
hours seem eternal before she's finally called, still holding onto the bloody cloth now seated in a stretcher that's much more comfortable than the chair from before.
"pow, you're making me nervous like that-- i'm fine," she's thankful for the silence before her sister insisted on walking from one side to another — "they're not going to come any faster if you burn a hole in the ground."
"i know, but i'm both worried and bored," jinx later adds, a dangerous combo. "m'gonna go find my girl. maybe i can speed things up."
"wait no--" it's too late when jinx's already leaving to admit it's a bad idea, invisibly cuffed to the hospital bed as the silence finally fills the room and vi can enjoy a moment of silence without side quests: turns out enduring the waiting room was the first part of the task, now she needed to wait for the doctor to appear.
ten, fifteen minutes, she knows her sister has the attention span of a sardine so there are strong chances of vi being left behind for an iced coffee and something nice to eat, yet minutes don't matter when someone is waiting outside the door — someone whose voice can be recognize from before.
"good evening miss--" holding on to some papers in your left hand, she can't help but check you out as the black ambo uniform seems more than comfortable for 12-hour shifts, pretty even."vi? what are you doing here? what happened?"
"hi- uh, i was helping out pow," stupid. her brain turns stupid with you near and it's much worse to admit how she made a huge mistake to you than to anyone else — "she wanted the chimney to work so i was you know, chopping some wood."
now. you're worried, she can tell when your brows furrow and your eyes scan the blood on the cloth she was using, you're quick to disinfect your hands again with alcohol gel and enter the action under your big glasses, get on her side.
"let me see," you ask before inspecting the wound. "well you gonna need stitches, but i need to know if anything's infected here, was it with the old axe?"
"yes,"she can handle pain, always been good at the uncomfortable — yet nothing prepares violet for watching you in your zone, when you scan every inch of her teared skin under gloved hands and a serious expression while she's there feeling dumb as fuck.
"who's idea was this?" you ask, going back to the computer on the left, already writing orders for the medicine you need and creating a new tab for vi's medical records to include the incident that just happened. "cannot think of a worse idea than chopping wood with a rotten axe."
"me," it makes her blush when admitting it, and while you talk with the nurse, vi's actually happy you're distracted enough to not realize how she's already hiding under a pile of shame. "i was doing okay until powder distracted me."
"so all of this was your sister, huh?" it's all an effort to distract her from the pain, but standing there in front of her with your hands in your waist like you own the entire piltover hospital? she'd let you do anything you want without saying a single word while you wait for the nurse to come back. wait for hours. "i'll numb the zone with lidocaine, yeah? it will take a couple of minutes, i'll check if it's infected and after that? you're good to go home with some stitches."
"what if it's infected?" the pink haired ask curiously while looking at the dried blood on her forearm.
"it's not a big deal," you reply calmly. "the wound's not deep, so you would need some strong antibiotics instead of surgery. nothing alarming."
"i trust in your judgment, doc" she's too optimistic to even think about surgery, cause there's no other doctor in the place vi would trust her life with. "i'm happy you are here-- i mean. for good luck purposes."
"good luck purposes," you repeat her words with a laugh. "i like that."
and the universe must know vi would like to keep talking, flirt until it's evident and she cannot longer hide the adrenaline of being interested in somebody, even if it's the hot friend of her younger sister who mind the world — it's definitely too young for the population to approve; yet it's impossible when the nurse's interrupting any try to keep on talking and the pain of the needle takes her for surprise the moment she's applied lidocaine to numb the entire zone.
flirting at what fucking cost?
"thank you nellie" you say, and vi may be biased but you're made for it, to offer that calm smile that says everything's okay, keep being professional while she's in cloud nine trying to keep her shit together, not be insanely ridiculous. "good news. your arm's not infected so you won't need antibiotics, only stitches."
"at least something nice."
"so. you ready for me, miss vanderson?"
"please be kind--"
so she's blushing again to the point that big ass needle you hold is nothing against her own sabotage, inevitable when she's staring at you. you are fixated in her arm, in doing a good job — so she's allowed to look, right? not be very subtle about it, she's stuck in that problem cause while you work vi's invested, invested in your lips there under the white lights, in that fucking uniform, in every detail, mark, scar as if roles were reversed now and she's the one pinning after someone that's out of reach.
"does it hurt?"
"don't feel a thing, love."
who cares about pain when the shape of your smile may or may not be imprinted in vi's memories? afraid she would miss something if she dares to blink, clear now about her intentions even when she doesn't have to admit it out loud: yes she's interested in you, yes, she wants you like this, so close she can smell the notes on your perfume, so close vi can tell you're nervous. there's no point in dismissing what's clear, in denying she's seated in a hospital bed, wishing-- begging, you'll look up and notice she's centimeters away from giving up the nice behavior she insists on pulling up.
you do your work in silence and vi's inevitably absorbed by it, not even wincing when the needle pierces her skin over and over again and she's attacked by a weird feeling running down her spine when the thread stitches the parted skin together. your chest follows a path in controlled breathings, and vi's eyes can't help but follow the inviting path of your neck, that necklace that hangs over your uniform and makes her waste time wondering how the charm would settle in your chest, half romantic half perv.
"you don't have to risk your health to have some time with me, you know that, right?"
there's no time to panic, and it makes her shiver even under your gloved hands, a smile that pulls the corner of her pink lips upwards in an unexpected smile. midway through the stitches, you face now turns her way to demand an answer, yet the only thing vi can think about is the lame reply of:
"so you think this is for you?"
"is it not?"
the game's immediate. the sudden tension, the way the air turns hotter the moment you respond and it's fun, it's interesting, stimulating in ways vi thought they were lost for the next eternity. you're a little monster and she can almost feed on it.
"if you're so intelligent peach, then please enlighten me: what do i have to do so i can have you more to myself?"
"you can do something else more than just look at me for starters," you reply before going back to the stitches you were working on, making her chuckle at your response — you're far from the shy kid who blurted out some teenage crush, medicine makes you grow guts. "i mean, you've been doing it since jinx's birthday. like you'd eat me for breakfast but can't seem to do anything about it. bit boring."
"interesting. so you want me to make a move on you?" a dumb smile takes over vi's mouth, impossible to keep it shut. "you do realize i'm way too old for you, right?"
"how old are you? forty? forty-five?" you question. "that's not old."
so she'd love to respond, say something in return since you decided to be such a smart-ass, but her sister's coming back with a cup of coffee before vi could think of a decent reply and you're greeting her without looking cause you're too fixated on stitching her skin like an embroidery set.
get in the fucking line.
"i was looking for you," the blue-haired says sipping on her drink. "i wasn't going to accept any other doctor so i was outside fighting for my sister's rights."
"we're a bit full today--" you explain as you finish the last stitch, turning to look at your friend as if you weren't shamefully flirting with her older sister mere seconds ago. "but there you go. stitched. i will cover it down but when you get home? let it breathe for a while, yeah? it's an open wound. clean it, protect it, change pads every 4-5 hours."
"sure thing doc."
god, that damn nickname.
the process after is annoying, boring and a waste of time when vi wants to keep talking to you, go further and beyond with her sacred flirting tries, make you zoom out just like she does when you fuck her brain up: make you useless as a way of revenge.
an hour later powder holds a good amount of papers as she walks close to her sister. hands in her pocket, vi's surely disappointed about the fact that you disappeared the rest of her visit, not seeing you again after you explained the painkillers she needs to take and clearly — ruining her plans of finally asking you out.
it wasn't so bad right? you're old enough to reject her if you feel like it, she's old enough to be salivating over her sister's best friend.
"turns out she was really busy," her sister rants as they reach the exit. "good thing is her free day tomorrow, i can't imagine the kind of stress she goes through working here every day."
dates. dates. dates.
"vi!" she think she's going delusional after hearing your voice until powder calls your name surprised, an un-gloved hand that reaches her arm to pull her aside: did you run after her? man, bless this patient-doctor confidentiality cause it makes immediate sense in her brain somehow when jinx stays behind, "you forgot this."
she didn't. the medicine you hold does not belong to her but vi takes it without even thinking twice. shove it in the back of her jeans pretending it was something quite important to have a doctor going to the waiting room on her own free will.
"how kind," she replies instead with a warm smile despite the new pain in her arm as the lidocaine dissipates. "what would i do without you?"
takes you off for a minute, as if you're going to have a headache due to how hard you keep thinking about it — "i dunno. would you have a date with me?"
"yes, gladly." pathetic, she can't even pretend to be cool these days.
"friday night?"
"sounds good to me."
"my place?"
"got yourself a deal, doc."
"amazing," you say with a victorious smile."bye j, see you around."
it's fast and you go directly to the point (is it possible to like you even more?) — even when you turn around to go back to the restricted area and she stays there planted in the same spot afraid of growing roots until she dares to remember where she is and how to act normal again, breathe, walk, act as if she's not affected by your ideas, your direct questions, you.
"what did she say?" her sister asks curiously as they leave together, almost running to catch up with vi's fast steps as they reach the car.
"nothing. something about the antibiotics."
"ah sucks, you have to take medicine--"
"at least i got all my fingers, s'not that bad…"
"well that's a way of seeing it sure."
violet vanderson's a filthy. fucking. liar.
she's a rare optimist when her fist finally knocks the door.
standing outside feels like an eternity before you finally open, nervous like a teenager facing her first date ever before registering the chaotic scene developing — apron tied to the waist, she's sure there is food in your hair and dried something on your shoulder.
"is this a bad timing?" vi asks curiously as she takes a look inside your apartment, small, cozy while a warm light falls to stain your white walls just like she imagined.
guilty smile, you shake your head in denial as you wipe your hands in the fabric of the apron.
"no, please" almost ashamed you fully open the door to give her an entire glimpse of your personal life, silently inviting her in. "thought it was a good idea to impress you with risotto. it's not working currently."
it delights her, head that tilts backwards when the smile transforms into a laugh she cannot contain now noticing the dried rice in your clothing, the messy bun and the face of guilt. she takes off her jacket since the cold's cruel on the way to your place only to leave it on a chair nearby:
"you want me to take care of it?" she's a chef, right? with a known restaurant back where she lives — she definitely should have no problem with it. "the rice, peach. i can help you with the food."
"no please, don't want to make you feel like i'm taking advantage of you," you quickly reply worried. "we can go out, i know a good place nearby."
"nonsense," vi says instead as she gently takes your hand, pulling it slightly forward as she searches for the kitchen where the smell is coming out. "you're not taking advantage of me. i want to teach you how to do it."
at this point? god, she wishes you would take advantage, do anything that implies your good. letting go of your hand, she hovers over the rice casserole with a furrowed brow — half smile of contentment when it takes the famous chef no longer than a minute to actually notice what is wrong with your dinner tries, turning to look at you with a pleased expression.
"c'mere, i see where you are wrong," the pink haired mumbles, and she could very well explain it out loud from where you are standing currently, yet she refuses to keep that nonsense of not being interested any longer as her hand finally finds your waist and she uses little-to-inexistent force to pull you closer, so close you can feel her breathing subtle and barely there against the back of your neck. "that's not the correct rice for what you have in mind love, nor the right temperature."
her words are similar to a kiss, tender and bruising to the soul. no one's looking when her body drags itself closer to you so there is no space left and pretend she's fixing the rice you did before even when she knows, damn well, that it has no way to be fixed truly.
the skin of your waist feels hot under vi's fingers and it makes the chef volatile, lost in the seconds she's able to get by luck.
"is there a way to fix it?" you ask before she gives you a bit of space, "or do we have to start all over again?"
"oh you messed it up badly, i'm afraid." dramatic, not entirely true, she just wants to see your face. "but don't worry sweetheart. i can handle it."
so she tries not to look your way when you sit next to her, up in the counter to have a full view of what she's doing and vi has a hard time not wanting to think about it — it's hot as fuck.
not many times in your life you can have an award-winning chef in your kitchen trying to fix your mess, walking around like she owns your place more than you ever did. she puts on the purple apron you used before, and your eyes wander on their own inevitably as you help her tie it on her back: all is fucking trouble.
it would be better if you weren't a pervert all along. if you weren't salivating as her muscles flex each time she moves your wooden spoon resting in the pan. you are that kid again with a massive crush as you swallow the saliva contained in your mouth, risotto. what a good thing it is to fail at making risotto.
"i will steal those mushrooms," she's concentrated and there is something hot about it as you're there, installed next to the greatest chef you know. maybe its the kitchen fire that keeps making you feel warm, or the pink-haired who keeps adding stuff to the casserole to save your ass.
"smells good," you praise, hoovering over to smell the vapor coming out. "you really are a top-star chef, huh?"
"wanna try?" she asks, not even looking at you before adding, — "open up." kinky, it is a wild ride still. turbulent as your lips part on their own and your eyes close to make this fucking sound it makes the chef hold on her breathing for a second as you savor the taste of a simple mushroom risotto. what's crazy here? the way vi cannot get a grip of attention in anything else other than your lips opening for the spoon, how your face distorts and what's supposed to be close to a moan.
"any thoughts on it? feedback?"
"you do risotto's back in your restaurant? holy shit, vi" you look up to her face and it does things to her, so much her thumb works on its own when it goes up to the corner of your mouth to wipe the excess of food there, makes you hold your breath as she takes the rest of the food back to her mouth to eat the crumbles.
"i do, but a fancier version."
"it tastes amazing," you say, licking your lips. "no feedback, i want a full plate please."
it feeds her ego, clearly. she's so normal with it, throwing species, smelling how its going — "its impossible there's nothing you want to change, no dish is perfect love."
"you're just pushing me to say something."
"c'mon. be brutally honest."
"then be careful with the salt," your comment makes her laugh before she's tries the risotto on her own, looking at you with a furrowed brow as you show your hands as a sign of innocence — "you told me to be brutally honest."
"yeah, but you're talking out of your ass" vi says not looking at you as she tries the risotto again. "'cause well, i haven't add any salt, that's what you poured before."
that's where it messes with her head. the intimacy of it. the way you laugh at her stupid jokes and her double intended comments, hands gripping the edge of the counter, messy hair, you let your guard down when she does and my god — it's just what vi needed, that injection of adrenaline that keeps her body awake through the course of the seconds, interest, that damn tension that comes every time she stares at you more than she should.
the smell fills the kitchen, makes it warm and inviting to be in, maybe that would explain why she installs between your legs, hands gripping your thighs as she reaches the plates you signal over your head. close. aching to trespass that miserable space left behind she left to be educated.
"you hungry?" she dares to ask.
"starving."
appetite.
how was it again? violet vanderson's used to experience the devastating appetite.
when minutes later she's full and resting your legs over hers, a simple touch that makes vi's mind run wild with imagination: twenty minutes alone with you means an eternity of longing, of craving something forbidden, unsatisfied hunger.
"what are you thinking about?"
can she be honest right now? not really, not when her hand rests on your upper leg and her thumb constantly rubs on your naked skin, when she doesn't give two shits about the cold risotto whose remains lie now on the table long forgotten.
"you're usually bad at cooking risotto or is it a general thing?"
"this would be offensive, but most of the time i'm too tired to cook or live," you reply before eating again, savoring each bite. "you'd be surprised but take-out works wonders if you know how to choose the place."
"so you're not much of a party girl either, i see."
"after a 12-hour-shift? all i crave is my bed, i have no time to flirt so i just go straight to the point."
"that's why you invited me to a date where i have to cook?"
"yeah. you can say that, thankfully you accepted it cause it would be extra-crushing to be rejected for a second time" it's crazy how you lack inhibitions now, how any trace of shame is now gone to the point vi can hardly tell you were full of it when you were younger. "most people would say no thinking it's just a code to have sex but to be honest? i cannot think of dressing up to go outside with this weather going on, plus fridays are always brutal."
a fake moan, vi's fist closes right over her beating heart before her eyes follow in a pained expression — "so you don't want any sex? i'm hurt, peach. i feel misled."
"please, as if you're not too cool for me."
"cool?"
"michelin chef who lives far away from here and never comes to visit? that's pretty cool."
"so that's what you think of me, huh?"
"you always knew i found you out of my reach," you comment as you finally finish the risotto — "i'm positive you thought the same too."
"well, uh, you talked too much about the lord of the rings back then."
"fuck off. you cannot say eowyn's not hot," her brows furrow as you prove your point: still a nerd deep down. "i don't know, i was young and you were so confident about liking girls, of being you despite what people think-- meanwhile i was trying hard to believe i wasn't a lesbian at all, you can't blame a girl for a crush."
"for the record, i think you are far too cool now."
"do you?"
"you saved my arm," vi replies showing you the covered injury that landed her in the emergency room. "that's a cool thing to do, doc."
"i studied for that, tons" you laugh at her remark, staring at the white bandages that cover half of her arm. "how is it, by the way? pain too bad?"
"amazing since i have the best doctor in town to take care of my ass" it's a beneficial position at this point cause you're far too comfortable to look at her covered arm, stupidly close to where she is seated, tangled legs, vi's grip still on your thigh with no intentions of leaving. "you'd be surprised by the benefits that it can have."
"you shouldn't be forcing it so much-- the risotto, the date…"
"yeah? you think so?" do you even realize how close you fucking are? are you doing it on purpose? your body leans against her own and it's a heat that turns impossible to control: she's wearing a tank top for christ sake and you're on a black shirt she's sure you wore at work earlier thin as parchment paper. "cause all of that was your fault, you know? the date you invited me, the risotto you messed up, you're the one inciting me to do things when i should be resting."
she's not bothering to hide it now (never did), that flirt, that constant back and forth as you seem to have an answer for everything. it's tangible and there is no point to regret it cause well —, you're flirting back right? allowing her to touch you like that, with that half smile pulling your lips upwards in a charming smile even after you're tired. it may be the most relaxed date vi has ever experienced in her life, and weirdly enough the best, so when she's using her index finger to pull you closer to where she is, it's nothing but the cherry on top; the sweetest dessert and what both deserve.
it hooks on your shirt and you don't pretend to be surprised about it, about the reveal of desire, the rush of blood that leaves goosebumps on your skin when her mouth blends with your own and her tongue invades it like it's now enemy ground: that's a real moan, one that comes from vi's mouth to crash against your parted lips. messy, there is too much saliva, infinite desperation that somehow she craves more than the perfect kiss, instead, vi finds herself aching for the flawed, the contained chaos and the imperfect.
"go home then and pretend it didn't happen."
you're a cheeky bastard. you know she doesn't care about the bandages on her arm, about anything else other than getting lost in the moment, in the smell of your skin as you strip off that stupid shirt you've been wearing for so long.
"i may be a little rusty in this field," vi says looking at the cute bra you choose to wear, so red it's clear she's ashamed of saying it out loud. "be gentle with me, please."
the words come out on their own, the movie that keeps playing in the background, the smell that comes from the kitchen from a steamy casserole that still contains the warmth-- god there's tenderness in your touch, kindness in your kisses so much that she can be intoxicated with it after choosing a life of solitude and silence, after being too tired of having another person around. your touch is the one that surprisingly alleviates all worry, all bad.
you'd take care of her, right? cause fuck, she's your long-time crush, no? nice ass, delicious back tattoo. you can be anything she wants — happy to comply, happy to kiss her neck, happy to just notice how she holds her breath in when your tongue circles against that damn spot in her clavicle making the pink-haired sure you'll leave a hickey behind. suddenly your weight presses her down against your comfy sofa and it's a handful of real moans now, moans that keep so far from the fake ones she did before in a joke, ones that leave her throat dry only to turn you on.
how many times have you got your life crush there moaning for your kisses? hand on your waist, fighting to pull you closer and finally unhook your bra? even after a long shift, even when your bones are a weight that's annoying to carry, you kiss on the flesh to leave a mark, take her time in pleasing her cause you heard from jinx she's been having a rough time lately and she deserves it, right? when you get on your knees and you pull on her muscle tee upwards to kiss on her lower stomach making her shiver, you're a soldier to her pleasures, to simply keep going.
she encourages you, cause who's violet vanderson to ever deny any show of caring? her legs open to make space for you, and she gives you a pillow to put in your knees cause she knows how annoying it can be when the carpet sticks to your knees. knows.
"straight to the point, doc?" looking down at you, she's blushing as you unbutton her pants, helping you to finally get them off as they were always decoration of the floor.
"straight to the point," her arms rest behind her head and her muscles flex when you hit a sensitive spot gifting you such a nice view you can't pretend not to be checking her out — you want her like that, comfortable, relaxing, hazy eyes that stare at you almost as a dare, invested in every future move you make.
it's ridiculous. she's been slowly melting in a nice velvety sofa thanks to those heaty kisses you leave behind for the last fifteen minutes and it seems she cannot get tired of them, of how vi can see the saliva you leave behind on each proof of devotion: it's near pathetic to admit how she's been dreaming about you since her sister's birthday, stuck on your lips smoking that cigarette, that cloud that follows you around and only pushes her in.
so your touch becomes a vital need, a contagious disease when her whole body shivers and her hips buckle forward in need of having more of your face. she can't really complain about it when your tongue's invading her with practiced ease, pushing the chef to the edge of the seat so she can rest her legs over your shoulders and gift you the most comfortable access to her still covered cunt: turns out violent vanderson's a fucking needy mess who will cream her underwear before she's even touched.
when was the last time she had her pussy properly eaten? god, turning vi stupid even when she was relying on her five senses, a loser who soaks her underwear to the point its no longer usable. a mix of your saliva and arousal stains her inner thighs as she rubs herself against your mouth desperate to have more of your lips assaulting her covered cunt, soaked in every bit, somehow trying to make her underwear disappear so she can drown in the direct contact of your lips sucking her clit instead of the overwhelming torture of damn cotton.
"don't be rude-- please-" she trains on the gym every fucking day: why is she sweating like that? the image of having you there in your knees so eager to please fucking her brain entirely, soft voice that begs to be touched until you're pulling the fabric to the side and there it is — salty, it fills your mouth with a feast of flavors, pink and soaked hair from a pussy that's inviting you to take what you like, spread her out using your fingers, get dirty.
you take your time with her, cause you have it, right? you can have violet for the rest of the night. you can steal every breath when your tongue fucks her just right, nose rubbing on her g-spot on each try to go deeper, make her turn into a blabbering mess.
"fingers, ah--" it takes her a while, sensitive and overwhelmed and still greedy "can you like-, god…"
"you gonna fuck yourself on my fingers?" the way you say it turns her on more than it should, and her body betrays her when it keeps moving with the help of your hand now placed in her ass.
you're gentle at first, want to prepare her as a couple of fingers spread her cunt so you can slowly sink them until you're deliciously deep, sure she can feel you in that spot she needs. your tongue rubs on her clit without fully touching it, and vi's sure her brain-cells are close to combust, a constant movement she forces herself to continue on each motion her hips make: always full of your fingers, rubbing on that spot inside she now decides to love.
"there you go- s'good right? let me train this pretty cunt so i can fuck you better with another finger, yeah? god-- how can you look this hot, vi."
you're going to be her pending doom, the handsome devil that stalks every thought even when you don't try cause the way you look between her legs? demonic. hands gripping on her sides to pull her closer to your mouth, eyes staring back at her own, your tongue seems to go in full motion with you fingers and shit — how do you make it so good? what the fuck are you doing down there to make her feel this nice?
swollen clit, your fingers curve inside to the point and fuck-- vi's losing it, hand holding you close to her cunt so she can use you how she wants to, loud and erratic moans praising on your skills, on how good you are at eating her soaked cunt to the points its all over your cheeks.
"mmf-m'gonna cum like that--," rough voice, it's so nice to see her like that when she's usually so composed, so serious. her body moves on its own and her face finally distorts when finally reaching her peak, leaving her legs shaking, it's an arrow that's shot to the chest and steals the air from vi's lungs as you use a hand to spread her folds and take care of the mess you've done between the chef's legs.
she wants to keep going, adrenaline injected into the blood flow before vi pulls you up to her lap interrupting all tries to stay nested there in her cunt — it's all fun and games but deep down it's a fight for who's in control, isn't it all? even out of breath, hair sticking to the sides of her face as a lazy smile appears on her face: are you glowing? is it the sweat that makes your skin all shiny under the lights of your apartment? fuck-- crazy how vi starts to need you under her.
"you okay up there?" she asks instead, thumbs helping you to clean your cheeks in the last act of chivalry.
"i am" you reply, leaning against her touch to get more of the warmth of her hands. "are you, rusty lady?"
"think i am--, that was some heavy activity doc, thought i needed some rest."
"you rested. on the sofa. that was-- very low effort for you" it's a good point, and vi cannot think of a clever reply when your kisses are distracting her to form a thought on her own. "are you in pain?"
who the fuck cares about pain when you begin sucking on her thumb? making sure any trace of her stays on your mouth rather than your cheek or her hand — maybe it's the adrenaline of the moment, the rush of endorphins that run to leave vi full of the dopamine she lacked when she ends up turned on once again as if she wasn't chaotic already getting wet in your living room.
"mmhm no, no pain-- does it taste good?"
"yeah, wanna try?"
she likes to be this filthy, mouth wide open, tongue up before her head's tilting backwards and shit: it should be illegal, a capital sin when you hoover just how you did when she was cooking before to now gather a decent amount of saliva and simply spit against her parted lips; it's her, right? mixed with your very own personal taste, a blend that stays there imprinted on her brain and makes her malfunction cause it's not something that common to have a pretty girl there willing to spit on her mouth after eating her brains out.
desire is radical, desire is unexpected and a curse cause there's no such rational thought when vi's pulling on your jeans with the insane need of fucking you to the verge of tears, no fight for dominance now as you shimmy out of your clothes already feeling sticky. desire is raw and turns her desperate, the vision of a person who once cared for comfort and now pushes you roughly back to her lap.
"where's your room?" so yeah, she wants to fuck you properly, pointing the closed door with your index finger, your underwear already rests in the floor midway before she's throwing you in the good-queen-sized bed, bad jokes, horny comments, vi has no trouble to move you around and put you in the position she wants you to be, one hand on your ankle while the other's on your waist so it takes little to no time to understand her intentions with no need to say a word.
she pushes you down when she places herself on top of you, tangled legs, vi simply fits against you without much effort so it becomes a sight there laying in the comfortable sheets, sweaty body, her tits bounce every time her hips rolls against yours so her mess is now your mess and the shapes of your body and her own blurry to the point of the erratic and you can't tell now about anything else more than the sounds you two make on each movement, when finally becoming one.
it's wet, fills the room so it's hot, so your breathing reduces considerably and you finally let her do the job, keep rubbing her soaked pussy against yours so it leaks to the bed and stains your clean sheets. loud moans, vi's ego's inflated with the pride of making you act like that, resting your weight over your elbows so you can spread yourself wider, give her more space so the contact can be even more devastating.
"good fuck-- you're such a greedy slut," a guilty smile, are you even aware of your existence anymore? when the bed hits the wall in the most annoying sound and her hand closes around your neck to keep you controlled, are you aware of your fucked-self? aching to keep you still as she forces your breathing channel, your cunt on each movement. "there you go, be good and touch that pretty pussy for me, yeah? help me out."
trembling hands, your fingers circle against your clit in slow motions, already overwhelmed when vi's leaning to spit directly to your working fingers, lubricating your g-spot so you can go faster, combine your movements with her own until you're moaning her name, praising the skills of your lover like they're sacred, a new religion to follow.
relentless, she doesn't stop until your body's rigid, limbs cramped before you reach the most delicious orgasm, sensitive cunt, it's a shared chaos that stains your inner thighs in a delicious mix vi suddenly crave to taste.
"well fuck--" it's a problem now, officially. her thoughts betrayed her so now she's lusting over her little sister's best friend to the point it becomes real, real as the warmth your body radiates when you crawl under the bed seeking for contact, a silence that weighs down the meaning of having a new shared secret, intimacy neither of you searched for. "so much for being rusty, liar."
do problems matter anymore? if jinx gets mad because she fucked her friend, so what? it's a connection she cannot control as she laughs at your remark, leaving a soft kiss on your shoulder with the weird need to stay instead of leaving early like she usually does whenever someone's interested in her.
"i am rusty, you're just kind."
so maybe that's the last thing she needs, get all complicated like that, mix up her feelings with your own. she has a restaurant in another city, a life outside zaun and lots of money problems to take care of — so maybe she doesn't need a younger girlfriend that messages almost too much, who keeps her fucking horny all of the time.
"m'gonna take a shower in twenty minutes-- do you think we should order junk food?"
her face betrays her when she listens to your words, quickly shaking her head in response — "no fucking way. i think you should be saying goodbye to delivery apps for a while, peach."
she needs to stay, right? it would leave her arm in danger as she kisses you once again, always close: who would take care of her injured body?
so how was it again? ah. sure.
violet vanderson has experienced appetite before, plenty of times to be honest, but now she has a younger girlfriend to take care of it, more bills to pay and a very angry sister.
𝖑𝖊𝖙 𝖎𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 - 𝖆.𝖆.
𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖜𝖔𝖑𝖋 𝖆𝖇𝖇𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝖝 𝖜𝖑𝖋 𝖋𝖊𝖒 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: 18+ only MDNI, angst, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, established relationship, horror elements, descriptions of bones breaking/snapping, blood, kissing, scenting, abby’s boobies.
𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 7.2k
𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: holy shit it’s done! this really was a labor of love because I wanted to give up on it many, many times over the past week. but I really need to thank @justanotherabbystan for brainstorming and helping me work through the parts of this fic that made me want to rip my hair out. so I’m dedicating this one to you lana <3
p.s. I also want to further expand on this au with blurbs and headcanons and some other one-shots to show abby’s shifts, her regaining her control and the progression of their relationship. but I hope you all enjoy this one xx.
An empty bed.
That’s the first thing you’re aware of when you begin to stir, your palm reaching out across the mattress in search of the steady, familiar warmth you’ve come to expect. But you find nothing, just an empty space right where Abby should be.
The sheets are still warm and for a moment you just lay there, waiting for any indication that she’s still here. The soft thud of her boots, the tug of a zipper, a muffled sniffle but you’re only met with resounding silence. Your eyes flutter open, the dimly lit room slowly coming back into focus.
“Abby?” you murmur around a yawn.
No answer.
You sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you glance around your shared space. It looks the same as you left it a few hours ago, nothing amiss besides her presence. Moonlight spills through the slits in your curtains, the clock on your bedside table showing just after midnight. Your gaze drifts over to her side of the bed, and a feeling of dread instantly washes over you.
The sheets are ruined, a series of long slashes tearing deeply into the mattress beneath. You trace a finger over them and your heart thuds erratically because you swear they look like claw marks. But the stains of crimson that litter the shredded fabric has bile suddenly rising up your throat.
Abby’s hurt. She came back from patrol like this and didn’t say anything.
Damn her and her stubborn pride.
You spring from the bed in an instant, suddenly wide awake as you reach to pull on whatever clothes are closest. You nearly stumble as you pull a pair of worn sweats over your bare legs and frantically shove your feet inside your boots, gripping onto the back of a chair for support.
Your fingers grasp onto the rough collar of Abby’s jacket slung over the back of the chair, her pack resting untouched on the floor beside it. That feeling of dread coils tighter in your stomach when you notice her gun is amongst the belongings, tucked safely inside its holster. That’s how you know something is very wrong.
Abby Anderson is a force to be reckoned with, one of the strongest soldiers in the WLF’s ranks but she’s not invincible. Nor was she stupid enough to go off on her own, completely unarmed and injured. So what would have pushed her to that point, where she would leave without even saying goodbye?
Something tightens in your chest when you think back on when she slipped into bed with you just a few hours earlier, the movement stirring you enough from your sleepy haze to reach out for her. You felt her stiffen beneath your gentle touch, heard the harsh intake of breath before she carefully guided your hand up to rest on her shoulder.
“S’everything okay?” you ask, blinking up at her.
“Don’t worry about it, baby,” she’d said, pressing a kiss to your brow before pulling you closer. “Just a little sore, I’ll be fine.”
Deep down, you knew it was more than that.
But you’d been too tired to argue, and now you really wish you had.
You reach for her jacket, slipping your arms through the too long sleeves and snatching up the firearm to tuck it inside the innermost pocket. The scent of peppermint and pine wraps around you, but it does little to soothe you as you rush out of the room.
The stadium is quieter this time of night, only a few stray soldiers milling about. On any other occasion you’d find it sort of peaceful, but now the hum of the overhead lights only seems to set your nerves alight. Every instinct inside you is telling you to run, to move faster—she needs you.
But you keep your pace steady, your breathing even, a mask of complete calm. The last thing you need is to draw any unnecessary attention to yourself. So you let your feet guide you further down the winding halls, already knowing the way. There’s an unused maintenance tunnel hidden beneath the stadium, leading well past the high walls and watchful eyes of the WLF.
Abby had shown it to you months ago, the first time the two of you had snuck out to the aquarium. She’d found it by complete accident, late one night when sleep had continued to evade her. She’d said it was yours, a discreet way out in case the two of you ever needed it…and it was clear tonight that you did.
You give one quick glance behind you to ensure you’re still alone before you throw open the door and duck into the empty stairwell. Your heart thumps unevenly as you race down the steps, no longer caring how loudly your footsteps echo up the stairwell. The sound follows behind you, rivaling each heavy thud of your heart. But you don’t stop until you finally reach the landing, throwing open the basement door and stumbling into the dimly lit hallway.
The smell hits you immediately, the air thick with the scent of rust, mildew and something metallic that clings to the back of your throat. The lights above you flicker with each step you take, offering brief flashes of the path ahead before you’re bathed in darkness again. It’s so much eerier than you remember, all of your senses heightening as you trudge forward.
The exposed pipes above you hiss and groan every so often, which only adds to your feeling of unease. You’ve never been down here on your own before, so used to the comfort and safety that Abby’s presence always provided. But now you find yourself jumping at every shadow, unable to discern what’s real from the horrors your mind continues to conjure up.
Something suddenly scurries across your feet, causing your breath to punch out in a sharp gasp as you slam back against the opposite wall. But the sight of the small, harmless mouse has a startled laugh bubbling past your lips.
Pull yourself together, you scold yourself. You’re no use to her in this state.
So you take a deep breath and keep moving, forcing down the fear that threatens to consume you whole, until it’s just a dull ache beneath your ribs.
You’re nearing the end of the hall now, where the corridor splits off in two different directions. Your eyes linger on the faded arrows, the words above labeled Maintenance Access and the other Storage.
That’s when you notice it, a smear of crimson across the wall.
The panic slams back into you like a freight train, because it’s fresh, still wet enough to catch in the muted light. Abby had just been through here, but you don’t find any comfort in that sudden revelation. Your feet carry you faster down the hall now, your boots sloshing wetly against the cracked cement.
But as you round the corner you discover it’s not just one small smudge, she’s left a bloody trail.
The marks drag unevenly along the wall, the color looking unnaturally bright against the pale brick. You follow them further down the corridor until the trail abruptly ends, not far from the entrance to the maintenance tunnel. But your eyes linger there for a moment, on the scattered, bloody palm prints that have smeared in some places where her hands must have slipped, like she was struggling to even hold herself upright.
“Goddamnit, Abigail…” you hush under your breath, turning your gaze back to the door.
The sight of it makes your heart stop.
The rusted door—hinges and all have been crushed, dented inward like someone had taken a battering ram to it. The handle is missing, torn clean off as the edges of the door curl in on itself like something pried it open. Nausea stirs in the pit of your stomach as you take a step closer to further inspect the damage and discover a near perfect indent of a shoulder in the metal.
And your thoughts can’t help but drift through the early signs of infection you were taught to recognize: extreme aggression, unnatural strength, the complete loss of control…
But you immediately shove the thought aside before it can take root. There’s no way it could be true.
Then why would she leave you like that? A small voice in the back of your mind sneers.
Releasing a harsh breath, you step forward, reaching for the curled edge and pulling. The metal groans in protest, scraping against the cement floor but it opens a little wider for you to be able to squeeze inside. But as you slip through the narrow gap, the metal catches on the sleeve of your jacket and pulls some of the threads loose. You curse softly, but keep moving until the darkness of the tunnel swallows you whole.
The air feels different here, hollow and cold. The corridor seems smaller, emptier than you remember and even as your eyes slowly start to adjust, that feeling doesn't relent. Instead it presses down on you, like the walls themselves are closing in now that there’s no one to shield you from the dark. The panic threatens to bring you to your knees but you swallow it down, reaching out a hand, allowing your fingers to drift along the cold cement and letting it guide you.
Despite the lingering darkness, you can still picture her here. Walking just a step ahead of you, pulling you down the narrow tunnel, her fingers tangled with yours like she never planned on letting you go. The not so subtle way she’d glance over her shoulder at you, her eyes shining with warmth and affection that was only ever meant for you. And how you’d continue to pull her to a stop, reeling her back in to steal soft, breathless kisses that echo with your shared laughter.
But Abby isn’t here and you can feel the weight of her absence with each step that you take.
Your fingertips brush over the curved edge of the wall and you follow it, rounding that final corner. At the far end of the tunnel, moonlight spills in through the hatch above, bathing everything it touches in a harsh, pale glow. That feeling of dread instantly slithers back into your veins, because that hatch is not supposed to be open.
Why would she leave it open?
Your hazy memories from the last few hours begin to surface now, slow and unrelenting.
The way she held you a little tighter than usual, the hushed ‘I love you’ she pressed into your hair right before you drifted off and the way she lingered after, like she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.
Each one only solidifies the horrifying truth you’d been too afraid to face until now.
She'd been bit.
The realization settles deep within your chest, suffocating and heavy because she wasn’t just being affectionate, she was saying goodbye.
Hot, angry tears blur your vision and you’re unable to stop the moisture from slipping down your cheeks as you take those last few steps and grab onto the rusted rungs of the ladder and start to climb.
The night air is crisp, the gentle breeze stinging your damp cheeks as the familiar smell of fresh rain and pine fills your nose. The forest stretches out before you like a dark and endless abyss, only the smallest slivers of moonlight lighting your way. But it’s way too quiet, you realize the deeper you descend into the trees. There’s no chittering wildlife, or the soft hum of cicadas to drown out your racing thoughts.
It’s like the forest itself is holding its breath.
Dead leaves crunch beneath your boots as you walk, your eyes scanning your surroundings for any sign that she’d been through this way. They land on a tree just a few paces ahead, and you instantly pick up your pace until you’re able to see it more clearly. You swallow thickly, reaching out to trace your fingers over the four long scratch marks that are embedded into the bark.
“Abby?” you call softly.
Silence.
So you continue on, noting how the ferns up ahead were wilted and crushed—she’d been here too.
There’s a sudden, loud snap that stops you dead in your tracks and you move on impulse, quickly ducking behind a fallen log. You hold your breath, straining your ears to listen for that haunting whistle that would inevitably sign your death warrant.
But the forest falls silent again.
There’s no flicker of flames from a torch, or arrows slicing through the night air. So you wait a heartbeat longer, still not fully trusting that you’re safe. When nothing happens, you carefully rise from your hiding place and continue deeper into the trees.
Another sharp crack echoes up ahead and you immediately turn toward it.
“Abby?” you call again into the darkness, and the answering yelp has you taking off in a full sprint, no longer caring about the possibility of Scars or infected because she needs you.
Branches whip past your face and bite into your cheeks but you don’t care, you force your legs to carry you faster. There’s a break in the line of trees up ahead, the opening of a small clearing. She’s close now, you can hear each choked breath that leaves her, every painful whimper and it fractures something deep inside your chest.
You burst through the line of trees at the edge of the clearing and stop dead in your tracks.
Abby is crouched near the base of a tree, her back to you as she keeps one hand braced against the trunk while the other clutches onto her side. Her hair is loose, spilling wildly over her broad shoulders and down the middle of her back. Slivers of moonlight shine through the canopy above, casting the rest of her in shadow.
“Abby?” you whisper, taking a tentative step forward.
Her head instantly snaps up and when she turns to face you, your stomach twists. Her eyes look wrong, but not in the way you’re expecting. They aren’t bloodshot, there’s no yellowing around the irises, in fact they’re almost too bright. The moonlight reflecting off them in a way that feels more animal than human.
Abby mutters your name low in her throat, almost as if it pains her to speak. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
You take another step. “Neither should you.”
She ignores the accusation in your tone. “Turn around and go back to the stadium, now.” The sudden authority in her voice leaves no room for argument.
Your anger flairs. “I’m not some soldier that you can order around, Abby. I’m not leaving you like this.”
“Why are you always so stubborn?” she growls.
“Why are you?” you fire back, taking another step into the clearing. “You disappear in the middle of the night and expect me not to—”
Abby doubles over with a sharp, choked sound and the anger evaporates from your body as you rush forward.
“Don’t come any closer.” She snarls, but it’s not anger lacing her words. It’s fear. “I fucking mean it.”
But you don’t listen, taking another step toward her hunched form and it’s only now that you realize she’s shaking. Violently.
“Abby, look at me.” you press, nearly close enough to reach out and touch her. “Whatever this is, we’ll find a way to deal with it, together. Just tell me—”
“No,” she says through gritted teeth, something dark and primal bleeding into her voice.
Something that doesn’t sound human.
“Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Because I don’t know what this is!” she shouts, hunching further into herself as her body fights off another violent shudder.
“So it’s not…cordyceps?” you ask slowly.
But there’s no relief that comes with the small jerk of her head.
Abby suddenly struggles to her feet, using the tree as leverage, gripping onto it so hard that the bark cracks beneath the pressure of her palms. She moves several paces back before you can stop her, her movements jerky and uncoordinated like her body is becoming foreign to her. She’s only able to make it a few more feet when her legs give out and she falls to her knees. You rush toward her panting form without thinking about the consequences.
“Stop, please,” she pleads, something shifting behind her eyes. “Something’s happening and I…” Her fingers dig harshly into the earth beneath her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
That stops you in your tracks.
You’ve seen Abby take down grown men with her bare hands, kill her way through hoards of infected with startling ease but you’ve never seen her look so overcome with fear as you do right now.
“You won’t.”
She just shakes her head.
“I can’t fight it anymore,” she says between clenched teeth. “You need to go, now.”
But you just shake your head, “I told you I’m not leaving you.”
Abby screams in agony as she collapses forward, her spine arching painfully as her knees buckle beneath her. But you can’t do anything but stand there and watch in utter horror as her limbs twist unnaturally, the bones snapping and reshaping themselves beneath her skin. Sharp claws sprout from the calloused hands that cradled you mere hours ago, her flesh stretching to accommodate her newly elongated limbs.
Dark fur begins to push through the skin along her arms and down the back of her neck as her body expands, shoulders widening. Her t-shirt strains against her chest, the worn fabric unable to withstand the sudden growth and it splits apart at the seams. Her breath comes out in harsh, painful grunts, each one sounding more animalistic than the last and you have to force yourself to look away.
But the sound of your name has your head snapping back up as she forces herself to stand on shaking legs, looking at you with a pained expression.
“Please,” she pleads, a sudden raw edge to her voice. “Baby, please just go.”
But you’re frozen in place.
“Go!” she shouts, her voice distorting into something vicious and unrecognizable.
The last of her control fractures as she seizes, her whole body contorting in a violent convulsion that threatens to tear you apart. She looks at you one last time, her eyes glassy and pleading before they squeeze shut and her body forcibly gives in to the change with a final sickening crack of her spine.
Then the forest stills, and it’s over.
Abby doesn’t move for a long moment, keeping her head bowed as she sucks in several deep, ragged breaths. Every muscle is still twitching, the aftershocks of the transformation rippling under her skin like a live wire. Every part of you longs to run to her, to pull her close and hold her through the tremors but your feet are still rooted in place.
A soft breeze suddenly whips through the trees, rustling the leaves overhead and stirring up your hair. Abby immediately goes rigid, muscles flexing as she lifts her head to meet your wide-eyed gaze, and your stomach sinks.
Her eyes are glowing, golden and bright, leaving no trace of the deep blue you’ve come to know. Her silhouette is all sharp angles and corded muscle, a glimmer of sharp teeth and claws in the moonlight. She doesn’t look like the woman you fell for anymore—she’s a force of nature, something so powerful that the forest itself seems to cower in her presence.
And yet, there’s something so familiar about the way she holds herself, the hunger in her eyes. It’s disarming and terrifying all at once.
A low, warning growl rumbles through her chest when you move, instinctively reaching out for her despite every instinct in your body warning you to turn and run.
“Abs?”
She doesn’t respond, merely tilts her head as she takes a slow, measured step toward you.
“Abby…” you try again, softer this time. “It’s me, you know me.”
She begins to pace in a slow, predatory circle that makes it feel like the world is closing in around you. She moves with a terrifying grace, keeping her head low and eyes locked on you as if she’s measuring the distance, calculating exactly how long it would take to get to you. A lion closing in on a cornered gazelle.
Her gaze suddenly drops to your throat, sharp and deliberate as it fixes on where your pulse thrums beneath your skin, and the lack of recognition there has your throat tightening.
“Please,” you plead, your voice trembling. “I know you’re still in there.”
Her claws flex at her sides, the tendons in her neck straining as if she’s being pulled in two different directions. Then her body lowers into a crouch, every muscle coiling tight, with a mixture of intent and restraint—like she’s actively fighting to resist even as she prepares to strike.
And for a moment, she hesitates, her expression shifting, softening with a familiarity that makes your chest ache.
But it doesn’t last.
Something inside her finally snaps and she doesn’t hesitate this time, she lunges.
You stumble away from her with a startled gasp, your heel catching on an upturned root and throwing you off balance. But with nothing to grab onto to stabilize yourself, you fall backwards. You hit the ground hard, the back of your head slamming against something smooth but solid. A searing pain shoots up the back of your skull, and your vision swims.
You don’t have any time to recover before she’s on you.
Her body is a warm, solid weight that presses against your ribs, her claws grappling in the dirt on either side of your head. Another low growl erupts from deep within her chest, but she’s close enough now that you can feel the rumble of it. Her muscular thighs bracket your hips, pressing you into the cold, damp earth but your bodies align in such a way that ignites heat between your thighs.
This position is too familiar, too intimate. So when Abby’s mouth dips lower, her nose nudging against your jaw, you don’t hesitate to bare your throat to her. Her sharp fangs graze over your thundering pulse, and you tense—waiting to feel them tear through your soft flesh.
But it never comes.
The pressure of her teeth are suddenly gone but she doesn’t retreat, she hovers, her mouth mere inches from your throat. And when you turn to look at her, you realize her eyes are screwed shut, teeth clenched to the point of pain as she fights a battle waging inside her.
You don’t think when you reach out to carefully cradle her cheek. “Abby?”
Those golden eyes flash open to meet yours and she grabs your wrist, pinning it in the dirt above your head in a movement far too fast for you to be able to dodge. Then she’s leaning in again, her nose nudging against the fabric bunched at your shoulder—her jacket.
She stays like that for a heartbeat, just breathing you in.
Then the hand holding your wrist captive loosens and she reaches lower to grip onto the side of the jacket, like she’s trying to ground herself there. Your heart thuds erratically when she releases a soft, human sounding sigh before burying her nose deep into the collar. Something akin to hope flares inside your chest when she mumbles your name against your skin, the sound a distorted mixture between a whine and a growl.
“Yeah,” you breathe, releasing a small, choked sound when she affectionately nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “I’m right here, Abs.”
But the tender moment shatters as quickly as it came.
Abby tears herself away from you, retreating so quickly that you can’t tell which direction she went. You force yourself upright, a little too fast, as a sudden wave of dizziness crashes over you. The back of your head throbs as everything blurs and tilts around you, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut and take a few steadying breaths while you wait for the feeling to pass.
When the world slowly drifts back into focus, you’re already searching for her.
“Abby?” you call, rising unsteadily to your feet.
The edges of the clearing are bathed in shadow, but you don’t need to see her to feel the weight of her presence, lingering somewhere just beyond the tree line. You take a small step out of the center of the clearing, approaching the edge with slow, cautious strides. You strain your eyes as they scan through the darkness, only settling once you see a flash of gold between the trees.
Another warning growl cuts through the silence when you take a step into the shadows.
“Stay back,” Abby warns, her voice broken and raw—like she’s still getting used to speaking again.
But you ignore the warning, stepping closer. “You keep saying that.”
She releases a gruff noise that sounds oddly like a snort. “And yet, you still aren’t listening.”
You can see her silhouette now, tense and guarded as she watches you closely.
“I’m not afraid of you,” you murmur, taking another step closer.
“You should be.”
There’s no real bite behind her words, only fear and regret bleeding through.
But this time you don’t allow yourself to falter because you see her now—the Abby you fell in love with. The gentle, broken woman you held close when the nightmares kept her awake at night, who didn’t think she deserved any of the love you offered. She was still there, hidden beneath the sharp claws and thick layers of fur.
“It doesn’t matter,” you say simply.
“It doesn’t matter?!” She fumes, that dark edge creeping back into her voice. “It doesn't matter that I almost—”
“It doesn’t matter to me what you are!” you shout.
Your words land with the force of a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs.
“I love you, Abby,” you continue, quieter now as you step closer. “Nothing is going to change that.”
You can see the inner struggle she’s having, the way she starts to retreat with each step you take but she doesn’t stop until her shoulders press into the rough trunk of a tree. Her chest heaves, each breath sharp and uneven as she buries her claws so deep into the bark that it splinters—like she’s trying to anchor herself there.
When she says your name again, the warning in her voice starts to waver as you continue to close the distance between you. It’s a staggering, strange reversal of roles as the prey begins to advance on the predator, forcing Abby to face the very thing she’s been trying to protect you from: herself.
“Why didn’t you leave?” she whispers, the most human she’s sounded all night.
Your throat tightens. “Would you have left me?”
Abby doesn’t answer, but the look in her eyes says it all.
“I told you before, I’m not going anywhere.”
“What if I lose it again?”
“You’re still here,” you say, softer. “You stopped.”
“Barely,” she mutters through clenched teeth.
You reach up to gently cradle her jaw and the tension there loosens ever so slightly. A slow, shaky exhale follows, like she’s been holding it this entire time.
“You really should stay back,” she asserts weakly, leaning into your touch.
“I know,” you reply.
You both stay like that for a long moment, trying to familiarize yourselves with each other again. Her breathing has finally slowed, claws loosening their death grip on the trunk to hang at her sides. But they tremble, seemingly torn between wanting to reach out and touch you, but not fully trusting herself to do so yet.
So you make the decision for her, carefully guiding one of her clawed hands to rest against your hip, and her breathing stutters. You can feel the heat rolling off her in waves as you step further into her space and the wild look that flits across her features makes your blood pump faster, but this time it’s not from fear.
Abby inhales deeply, that hunger settling back into her golden eyes.
“I can hear your heart,” she mutters, voice still rough around the edges. “This is a bad idea.”
“Probably,” you hum.
But you don’t pull away, you press closer.
The first brush of your lips is hesitant, cautious in a way you haven’t had to be before. Abby is tense beneath your touch, but she doesn’t push you away—she holds you there. Your mouth hovers over hers, your breaths mingling together and you fight the urge to deepen the kiss, not wanting to push her too far.
“Still with me?” you ask softly.
And she answers by closing the distance with her mouth.
Her lips are warm and wet when they meet yours, her breath releasing in uneven huffs as she pulls you flush against her chest. The kiss is clumsy, but full of so much raw need that it makes your whole body tingle. Her sharp teeth catch on your lower lip, lightly pricking your skin and the metallic taste that fills your mouth pulls a needy whine from your throat. Abby’s responding groan quickly morphs into a low growl that vibrates through her chest, her grip tightening around your waist.
In one swift motion she spins you around, pinning you back against the trunk. The splintered bark bites through the jacket and scrapes against your skin but you welcome the sting. Her mouth is back on yours in an instant, hot and frantic like she’s pouring every ounce of her frustration and longing into the kiss. So you reel her in closer, your fingers sliding up into her hair out of pure instinct and you tug.
Her body suddenly goes rigid beneath your hands and she wrenches her mouth away with a deep growl.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt, attempting to step out of her embrace but her grip tightens on your waist.
“Don’t. Move.” Abby hisses, and this time you listen.
You become immobile in her arms, barely daring to breathe as she tries to regain some of her control back. She leans in with another low growl, her nose skimming along the collar of the jacket before she buries her face there, each labored breath warming your skin. And with each deep inhale you can feel her start to settle, her grip on your waist loosens, and she slowly lifts her head to meet your gaze.
“Guess I got a little carried away, huh?” you say.
You see the corner of her mouth twitch.
But beneath that raw and unbridled desire, you can see the fear still lingering in her golden eyes.
“Abby?” you breathe, and you feel her grip tighten on your waist.
“Don’t…” The word comes out as a partial growl. “You can’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me, not…not like this.”
“What if I do?” you counter.
Abby releases a shuddered breath. “No,” she says through her teeth, every one of her muscles tensing. “It’s too dangerous. I could have killed you, I still could.”
You nod, features softening. “I know that, and I’m not saying tonight. But I do want you, Abby, in whatever way I’m still allowed to have you.”
She meets your gaze, uncertainty and longing lingering in her eyes. You slowly lift your hands toward her face, still cautious—giving her the opportunity to pull away.
“I trust you,” you murmur.
“I don’t.”
That admission fractures something deep within your chest.
But she doesn’t pull away, so you gently cup her cheeks between your palms. Her eyes flutter shut, her body leaning further into the comfort of your touch. You allow your fingers to carefully explore her sharpened features, sweeping across that familiar bump on the bridge of her nose, where she'd broken it many years ago. The freckles that fan out across her cheeks, and the faded scar above her left eye.
All the things that still make her yours.
A deep purr suddenly rumbles through her chest when your hands slip lower, threading your fingers through the soft fur at the nape of her neck. The sound has you gasping aloud, a rush of heat settling in the pit of your stomach. Her golden eyes flash back open, hungry and wild as she inhales deeply.
“You’re not making this very easy, you know.” Abby grunts, that familiar twinge of sarcasm lacing her tone.
You don’t offer her a reply, but simply lean in until your foreheads brush. You slide a hand back down her shoulders to her chest, where you can feel the frantic flutter of her heart beneath your palm.
“It’s not going to be easy,” you murmur. “But I’m not running away now.”
Time passes strangely after that, seconds that melt into minutes which blur into hours. Sleep doesn't come easy, or at all. You feel yourself drifting in and out, waking whenever her body goes rigid beside you, a low growl slipping past her lips like she’s unable to stop it.
And in those moments where she becomes restless, muscles tensing like the animal within is threatening to unleash itself—you somehow always bring her back to herself. A gentle hand on her shoulder, your fingers threading through her loose hair as she buries her face in the crook of your neck.
That’s where you stay the rest of the night, bodies tangled together at the base of an old maple tree.
When the first rays of dawn begin to break over the horizon is when you feel her body start to change. But it’s not a violent, brutal transition like before—it’s more like a release.
The tension leaves her shoulders, her tight grip on the jacket loosens as she fully comes back to herself.
And the forest itself breathes a sigh of relief.
“Hi,” you mumble, voice still thick with sleep.
She hums softly in response, her breath tickling the exposed skin of your neck. The sound is so completely human and so entirely Abby that it makes your heart flutter.
“You okay?” she asks, lifting her head from your shoulder. “Your heart is racing.”
You can already feel the heat creeping up the back of your neck. “You can hear that?”
“Is that weird?” she asks, almost sheepishly.
“No, it’s just…new.”
She nods thoughtfully and leans her head back against the trunk of the tree, her eyes slipping shut—a pillar of stoicism.
“Are you really alright though?”
You can hear the question hidden beneath, and it makes your throat tight.
Did I hurt you?
The back of your head throbs in response, your lower lip still a little tender as you run your tongue over it.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you su—”
“Abigail,” you interrupt, resting a hand on her clothed thigh. “I said I’m fine.”
Her brows furrow as she glances down at you, her eyes searching your face. But as you meet her gaze, you notice the flecks of gold that now linger there, which contrast brightly against the deep cerulean of her irises. Her frown deepens when her eyes flick down to your mouth and she reaches for you, her thumb ghosting over the small slit in your lip.
“That was me.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
So you nod, unable to deny that fact.
Abby leans closer then, gently cupping the back of your neck to get a better look but you can’t hide the way you flinch away from her touch. She instantly pulls her hand back, noting the sticky flakes of blood that cling to her fingertips.
You see a plethora of emotions flit across her features then: horror, anger, disgust, regret.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, and you can feel how she starts to pull away from you.
Not just physically but emotionally too. It’s the way her voice wavers, her eyes becoming distant and unfocused as her hands start to shake. But you won’t let her, not this time—not when you just got her back.
You move before she’s able to get too far, pushing her shoulders back against the trunk and swinging a leg over her thighs to settle onto her lap.
“No, you don’t get to do that.” you snap, your tone harsher than before. “You don’t get to pull away from me again. Not after everything we just went through.”
Abby looks taken aback by your sudden outburst, but the uncertainty and regret still linger in her wide eyes.
“Did I…” she trails off, unable to put those thoughts into words.
“No, you didn’t.”
Your answer seems to release some of the renewed tension in her shoulders.
“Can I?” she asks, motioning toward the back of your head. “I just…I need to make sure.”
You nod, scooting closer on her lap until there’s barely any space left between you. Her fingers are gentle as they slowly slide up the back of your neck, stopping their exploration when she feels a small bump near the base of your skull, the gash still sticky and swollen and you wince beneath her touch.
“I am so sorry,” she repeats and her hand lingers there, her thumb lightly ghosting over it as if she could take the pain away by sheer will alone. “The last thing I ever wanted was for you to get hurt.”
You lean in then, closing the distance and leaning your forehead against hers. Abby’s eyes squeeze shut, her muscles tensing but it’s not because she is afraid of losing herself again. But rather she’s trying to come to terms with how the monster she became last night is the same person who is allowed to hold you like this.
Her hands slide back down your neck to your shoulders, her eyes fluttering back open to meet yours. But Abby’s gaze suddenly drifts lower, landing on the patch that reads A. Anderson that’s sewn into the breast pocket of the jacket you’re wearing.
“Were you wearing this the whole night?” she asks.
You nod, a questioning look on your face.
“So that’s why,” she mumbles, so softly you almost miss it.
“What?” You ask, shifting slightly.
Abby’s fingers curl around the sleeve of the jacket and she lifts your wrist to her nose, inhaling deeply.
“There was so much…” She seems to be struggling to find the right word. “Noise, it made it almost impossible for me to recognize you.”
You can hear the guilt in her voice, and the way she won’t fully meet your eyes.
“And every time I thought I was going to…” she trails off, swallowing hard. “I smelled it on you.”
“Smelled what?”
Her eyes flick up to meet yours.
“Me.”
The weight of her words sink in, anchoring you both to the reality of what really happened last night. That the jacket that’s wrapped around you wasn’t just comfort, or instinct—it was a lifeline. A tether. Something that kept pulling her back each time she slipped too far beneath the current.
“It brought you back to me,” you murmur.
Something shifts then.
The heaviness of the night seems to lift all at once, taking all of the fear and uncertainty with it. The space between you suddenly feels smaller now, more intimate and Abby pulls you closer without warning, arms tightening as she buries her face in the crook of your neck.
“Uh, Abby?” you squeak, caught off guard.
“Hmm?” She hums, her warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.
“It’s uh—” you rasp, struggling to get a breath in as your chest tightens. “A little hard to breathe.”
She tenses for a moment, then immediately loosens her hold.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Abby pulls back far enough to look at you and rests her hands on your hips, her touch suddenly a lot more hesitant than before. “Did I hurt you?”
You shake your head, releasing a small breathy laugh. “No, just give a girl a little warning next time.”
“Right,” she mumbles, her thumbs absentmindedly drawing small circles against your hips.
You shift in her lap, opening your mouth to speak again when your eyes flick lower and—
Oh.
A small smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth.
“You know…” you drawl, slow and casual. “I’m definitely not complaining, but I, uh, think you’re missing a little something.”
Her brows furrow in confusion. “What do you—”
Abby follows your gaze and curses under her breath.
You can’t stop the giggle that bursts from your chest when her cheeks instantly flush and she quickly crosses an arm over herself in an attempt to cover her bare breasts.
“Oh come on, it’s not like I haven’t seen them before,” you tease, with a slight wiggle of your brows.
“God, you’re such a perv,” she mutters fondly, giving your side a gentle squeeze.
“What? Can you really blame me?”
Abby huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she tries to feign annoyance but the way her eyes have softened gives her away. She pulls you an inch closer, the heat of her body a grounding reminder that she’s really here with you. That she chose to stay.
“I probably wouldn’t be much better,” she says thoughtfully, glancing back over her shoulder for a moment. “But you know, I really did like that shirt.”
When she turns back to you, the slight pout on her lips has another giggle slipping past your own. A gentle breeze slips through the trees just then, carrying the sound of your laughter and blowing some of her hair across her face. But her pout only deepens and you beam at her, reaching up to tuck those loose strands back behind her ear.
“Hey, do you know how hard it is to find decent clothes around here? Between your thievery,” she pauses, playfully tugging at the hem of her jacket. “And now this, I’m not going to have any left.”
You roll your eyes, still smiling as you slip off the jacket. “Alright, alright, come here you goober.”
You carefully slide the jacket over her shoulders, your fingers brushing along skin that’s still too warm. Her muscles tense for a moment before they begin to ease under your gentle guidance, and you feel her truly surrender to your touch.
It’s a quiet sort of trust—the way she lets you handle her, to see her vulnerability, and how she allows you to bridge the distance she fought so hard to maintain. Abby isn't just letting you put the jacket on, she’s letting you back in. Your hands linger a little longer than necessary as you adjust the collar, smoothing the fabric over her arms before they settle at the zipper.
You glance up to find her already watching you, her eyes holding such intensity and reverence that it feels like she’s stripping you bare. But you hold her gaze as you slowly drag the zipper up, the soft, familiar sound filling the space between you. Her breath hitches when your knuckles accidentally graze the underside of her breast and a different kind of hunger darkens her eyes.
“Better?” you ask softly.
Abby doesn’t answer right away.
Instead she leans in, cradling your jaw and kisses you.
Only this time when she presses her mouth to yours, it’s all familiar, no sharp teeth or urgency. Just the desire to feel, to be close.
“Still with me?” she asks, leaning her forehead against yours.
“Always.”
𝖆𝖇𝖇𝖞 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @cherrybomber3000 @somebitchprobably @cloudy-fay @jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw @lobotomymutt
(please let me know if you want to be added/removed)
𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖐 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖆 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖔𝖞𝖊𝖉 <𝟑
some of them innocent!reader, crybaby!reader or overly pouty/oblivious!reader fics be making y/n straight up act like a toddler i cant be the only one that highkey feels uncomfortable with that specific setting....
REPORTING LIVE ... FROM OUTER SPACE !
☾⁺ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ about : astronaut!ellie records little clips throughout her time in space to share with you.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ warnings : swearing. fluff. established relationship. jesse appearance and two other unnamed crew members. no major warnings! though i think this is different from my usual stuff and therefore is a bit out of my comfort zone... kinda unserious? they had those damn iphones on the artemis II so. sorry for any inaccuracies, i've never been to space!
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ word count : 3.2k
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ extra : inspired by this! a very important & special thanks to @letmebeurbaby for the inspo boost from the ask and also @seasonsofchaos for sharing knowledge and answering my dumb questions <3 very important creds!!
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"...well, it's not actually live, but–”
Ellie’s voice was quiet. Almost a little too quiet. She might as well have been simply murmuring to herself, which seemed arguably more embarrassing than talking loudly to a camera.
Only her face was in frame, like she was tucked away and trying to be as lowkey as possible.
It wasn’t like Ellie had any sort of privacy, because she didn’t. The quarters were close. It also wasn’t like what Ellie was doing was a secret, because it wasn’t. When you were packed into a relatively small environment with a crew of other people, room for secrets did not exist.
But still.
Despite how close–physically and emotionally–Ellie had admittedly become with the other crew members, she still considered herself to be a relatively private person.
Sure they worked together, trained together, communicated together, and were essentially living together for a brief time… but that didn’t mean that Ellie was thrilled about the idea of them hearing every single word that she spoke as she tried to record something for you.
Ellie’s love for you was nothing to be hidden, of course.
Even so, she preferred to dodge any more potential ribbing from the other crew members. She already got enough shit from them on the daily as is. And, the idea of words that were meant for you being heard by other people’s ears admittedly made her feel a bit squeamish, in a way. It was a certain vulnerability that Ellie kept close to her chest.
The others had been by Ellie’s side throughout rigorous physical training, and had witnessed her in nearly every single state possible by this point–but god forbid they heard her refer to you as babe while speaking to a camera.
Ellie glanced away from the camera, cheeks painted red and brows furrowed with concentration. Her “area” was not a secluded one, but she was being granted privacy. The others were talking, sharing laughter amongst each other. Surely, they knew what she was doing. They were choosing to ignore it. Fucking humiliating, in a way, but Ellie would take it.
“I didn’t, uh, do this yesterday since… you know,” Ellie continued, muttering.
Yesterday had been the first day in space, so–busy. Also, Ellie hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to record for a personal project.
A soft exhale, and Ellie’s gaze flickered back to the lens, as though she could make eye contact with you through the damn thing.
“But, I wanted to start this now, I guess. Because…”
Because I know you’re probably worrying. Because the idea of not being able to share this with you actually really fucking sucks.
“...because I have the time now, so,” Ellie continued with a huff. “Nothing major to report, except for the insane fucking view. I’ll, uh, show you later. We’ve been taking pictures like crazy… kinda wanna draw, and stuff. Gonna have a shit ton of ideas to paint when I get home, I think.”
When I get home, because Ellie had to promise over and over that she would absolutely get home in one piece. NASA’s equipment and technology might as well have been a cardboard box taped together and an old flip phone when it came to the mind of a concerned girlfriend.
Ellie knew that she was currently being given so much grace, so she felt the urge to make it quick.
“I’ll show you everything. Promise. It’s… it’s really fucking incredible,” Ellie finished, exhaling the last of her words. A soft, small smile tugged at her lips, making her appear more like the wide-eyed sixteen year old that she had previously been, as opposed to the woman that she was now.
Ellie looked up, knowing that her few seconds of pretend privacy would rapidly be coming to an end. For one last second, she looked into the lens.
“Love you.”
Ellie fumbled with the device, turning it off.
Space. Day 3. Video 2.
Ellie’s face filled most of the frame. Her shorter strands of hair–the ones that usually followed the curves of her cheeks and framed her face–were unruly.
“Hey babe,” Ellie muttered, her voice soft.
She took a breath, the audio crackling slightly.
Voices could be heard in the background–talking, and occasional laughter.
There was a brief break in the chatter, with Ellie shooting a glance to the side. More laughter followed. When Ellie’s gaze returned to the lens, her face was tinted red.
Ellie swallowed, her lips pressing into a line.
“Took more pictures today. Lots of cool stuff, uh…”
She scratched her nose, eyebrows knitting together. “You’ll see some soon, I think. Wish you could see it for real, though. You’d be losing your mind, dude.”
There was a short pause, like Ellie was waiting for the other crew members to get louder before she started speaking again.
“You’d hate the whole sleeping situation, though. And the bathing stuff. Like… yeah. You’d really hate it.” Ellie inhaled slowly, gaze flickering away from the camera, momentarily lost in thought. Then, she cracked a small smile. “No aliens yet, so… that’s a bummer. Dunno what I’m here for if there’s no take me to your leader shit going on.”
Ellie’s lips twitched due to her own joke, her eyes fixated on the lens like she was expecting a laugh.
“Maybe tomorrow, uh–”
Despite her vast training and knowledge, Ellie moved to set the device down out of habit. Immediately, the view tilted–the device floating aimlessly.
“Fuck–” Ellie muttered, hastily grasping at the thing.
A loud burst of laughter could be heard in the background.
Space. Day 4. Video 3.
“I’m kinda bad at this,” Ellie mumbled. It came out sounding more like a breath as opposed to actual words.
Only Ellie’s neck and chin were in frame, the footage shaky as though she were moving.
“Gotta show you this, though.”
The camera flipped, still shaky as it panned around the interior of the spacecraft. The video was jerky, like Ellie was attempting to avoid recording the other bodies that occupied the space.
“It’s, uh… the grand tour, basically,” Ellie continued with an airy chuckle.
The camera flipped again, Ellie’s chin being the only thing that was able to be seen from that angle as she maneuvered her way toward the porthole.
“The view, though? Hang on, you’ll– It’s kinda shitty– Not the view, but the fact that the camera doesn’t really do it justice. I’ll show–”
“When are you gonna let us say hi, huh?” a voice called from offscreen. Jesse.
Ellie’s words halted, along with the movement of the filming. Her jaw tensed, visible due to the close filming angle.
“Uh, never?” Ellie muttered. The twitch of her lips betrayed her, her expression giving away to subtle amusement as the camera shifted.
“What, no spreadin’ the love?” Jesse quipped, his voice growing louder as he moved closer toward Ellie.
Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Dude. No.”
Jesse was selfless and compassionate. A team player and natural-born leader, which made him excellent for his role–the commander. Though, if Ellie were to be asked, she would say that he was annoying, and a massive pain in her ass.
Truthfully, throughout everything, Ellie had grown closest to him. Jesse was one of her best friends, which meant he was prone to giving her the most shit.
The members of the small crew were a second family, which was the obvious outcome of the very situation that they were in together. But the bond between Jesse and Ellie was just… different.
“Why are you being all–”
“I’m not being anything, shut up–” Ellie interrupted.
Laughter from the other two crew members could be heard in the background. Half of Jesse’s form appeared in the video.
“You won’t let me say hi to your girl?” Jesse asked, his tone too annoyingly casual.
Ellie mumbled something, the audio crackling with the sounds of her breath.
“You’re the worst,” Ellie retorted halfheartedly. “I’m trying to–”
Jesse’s hand entered the frame, gently knocking at the device. Immediately, the footage tilted. Ellie huffed, and more laughter ensued. Ellie reached to snatch the device out of the air, similar to the previous video.
“Oh my fucking–”
The video went blurry, and then ended.
Space. Day 5. Video 4.
“Alright, babe,” Ellie murmured.
The footage wasn’t focused, until Ellie steadied the device in her hand, pointing the camera out toward the porthole. The view was inexplicable through a lens, and even more so in person.
“You seeing this? It’s– The view is out of this world.”
Ellie chuckled softly to herself, adjusting the angle of the camera as she continued to film through the porthole.
The other crew members were existing idly, though it didn’t seem to hinder the filming this time. Ellie was speaking quietly, but still normally. Less awkwardly, at least.
“Feels kinda fucked that I get to see the moon like this and I can’t, like… bring you a souvenir, or something. I mean, the videos, but… Yeah, I dunno. You know what I mean. Maybe there’s a little gift shop on the moon, run by aliens. We should just get a little closer. Just to be sure.”
Space. Day 6. Video 5.
“Well, well, well. Look who it is.”
The video starts with Jesse’s beaming face in the frame, before the camera pans to a very unsuspecting Ellie.
She was mid-conversation with another crew member, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“Ellie Williams in her unnatural habitat. I mean in space, not socializing. But, that could also be–”
“That’s mine?” Ellie said, gaze snapping to the camera lens, and then to Jesse. The footage went shaky as Jesse started to laugh.
“The fuck are you doing?” Ellie continued, pushing off of a beam and moving to grab the device out of Jesse’s grasp. He briefly used his height to an advantage, holding it above Ellie’s head before relenting and passing it on.
“Ugh,” Ellie huffed, shooting a sidelong glance in Jesse’s direction. “You got your fucking fingerprints all over–”
Space. Day 6. Video 6.
“Sorry about that,” Ellie said, a sheepish smile gracing her features. “Now that I’ve gotcha here… Why did the alien go to Saturn? To go ring shopping.”
“Oh?” A crew member voiced from the background. “Is that a hint to someone?”
Ellie glanced up, cheeks tinting red. “Pshh…”
Space. Day 7. Video 7.
The focus was on Ellie’s face, though her gaze was directed toward the porthole.
“Day seven,” Ellie spoke, monotone despite the ease with which the words left her lips. “Still no aliens. Also, no one has given me a lightsaber yet. Pretty fucking lame if you ask me.”
Ellie’s head turned to look at the camera lens, her shoulders shifting as she sighed. “Still can’t deny that view, though,” she murmured with a soft, content smile. “Shit, lemme show–”
The camera flipped, the view vast and beautiful. Ellie exhaled from behind the camera.
“I thought I was prepared for it, but it’s still so… You’d get it, I think. Like, the feeling of it. Just from looking at it. Puts things into perspective, that’s for sure.”
A pause, the angle of the video shifting just slightly.
“Miss you.”
Space. Day 8. Video 8.
“...why couldn’t the star stay focused? He kept spacing out,” Ellie said with bravado to the lens.
“Jesus Christ, how many space puns do you know?” Jesse questioned from the background.
The footage briefly went shaky as Ellie lifted her free hand, flipping him off.
“Okay, okay,” Ellie muttered, steadying the device as the video continued. “What… is an alien’s favorite day of the week? Sunday. Get it? Because sun–”
“Really great work from one of our mission specialists, truly,” one of the crew members joked. “Only the best of the best for our crew, which, clearly– Great use of your free time, Williams–”
“You’re torturing her, man,” Jesse quipped, clapping a hand on Ellie’s shoulder. Ellie rolled her eyes, tightening her grip on the device. “You’re miles upon miles upon miles away from home, in space, and you’re still torturing your girl with those awful–”
“Oh, c’mon. Don’t be a dick. They’re funny, she thinks they’re funny,” Ellie muttered in defense, a crease forming between her eyebrows.
Ellie shrugged off Jesse’s hand, rubbing at her nose before she focused once more on filming herself. “What kind of books do– Oh, shit. I fucked it up. Okay. What do stars like to read before bed? Comet books. Ugh, man. If I could read Savage Starlight up here… that would be so goddamn cool.”
Space. Day 9. Video 9.
“Day nine… still no aliens. Thinking of making a career change.”
Ellie shot a look to the camera, her gaze pointed. Her baby hairs were frizzy, the rest of her strands pulled back into a low bun.
“And no lightsabers. Should’ve just brought mine from home.”
Ellie looked amused at her own comment, the other people in close proximity to her clearly letting her dialogue slide. Her recording was devoid of interruptions for the moment, and her demeanor appeared to be more relaxed.
“Speaking of home…” Ellie exhaled, her cheeks momentarily puffing.
She hesitated, gaze drifting before she spoke once more.
“Sorry I haven’t done the best job at… this,” Ellie muttered, giving the device a slight shake. “It’s been busy, and I’ve been focused, but… still been thinking about you the whole time. And I’ll tell you more about everything when I get home, alright? Every detail if you wanna hear it. Even the boring shit that you claim to like hearing about. I, uh… wish you could be here, honestly. Like, seeing everything? But I’ll do my best to explain it, I guess. God, you have–”
A hair tie drifted into frame, after seemingly being flicked in Ellie’s direction.
“Pretty sure that’s yours, man,” Jesse spoke.
Ellie grabbed it from the air, and then the footage ended as she started to mutter.
Space. Day 10. Video 10.
The first few seconds of the video were silent.
The camera was pointed toward the porthole again, seemingly a last ditch effort to try and capture the view that Ellie still couldn’t comprehend that her eyes had been seeing.
“Soaking it in,” Ellie breathed out, her voice just shaky enough to be noticeable. “Looking forward to being home, though.”
Ellie inhaled. Exhaled.
The angle shifted, showing Ellie’s face as she gazed outwardly. Her green eyes were glistening, just enough to be caught by the camera.
“I never thought that I’d… Yeah. Yeah, you know. It almost doesn’t feel real. A lot of things don’t, I guess. But in, like, a good way? I dunno. This is everything that I’ve…”
Ellie swallowed, her jaw working as she suppressed the tangent.
“Fuck. It’s beautiful, babe. I’ve been so shitty at recording, these videos don’t do anything justice, I swear. I want you to see this.”
Ellie blinked as she gazed out of the porthole, her breathing slow and even.
“I’ll get home safe, then I’ll tell you everything. Think I already said that before, though. Hopefully you’re not worrying about that right now. It’s been all good up here, except for Jesse being a dick. So… yeah, everything’s been all good,” Ellie muttered softly.
“Excited for an actual bed again. Missed that. And you. Jury’s still out on the whole gravity thing, though. Uh… yeah, I’ll see you soon. Love you.”
The camera stayed focused on the porthole for a long moment, the audio crackling with the faint sound of Ellie’s breathing.
“It is really fucking insane. But… yeah. I miss you.”
The video went shaky, the footage ending.
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Your tears started slowly, prickling gradually at the corners of your eyes. Then, all at once, they overwhelmed you.
Your face felt numb from your attempt at suppressing the emotion, hands betraying you with a slight tremble as you swiped at your cheeks.
The laptop screen–and Ellie’s face–dimmed after the footage was done playing.
“Whoa– Hey, hey, why are you crying? What the fuck?”
Ellie’s voice popped your bubble of emotion as you rapidly blinked your stinging eyes. One of her hands moved to rest against your back, her other hand reaching for your knee.
“You were crying too,” you hastily defended, gesturing pointedly to the screen. “At the very end.”
Ellie scoffed, giving a slight, stubborn shake of her head. “No, I wasn’t. That was– The air was weird in there. I was tired. I wasn’t–”
“Shut up,” you muttered, though your tone was soft. Gentle.
“Okay,” Ellie relented easily.
“It’s not a bad cry,” you continued, shifting your position on the couch to face her. Ellie's hands hovered, allowing you to adjust. Once you settled, her hands rested against your legs. “I’m just really fucking proud of you. You know that, right? And I’m so glad that you’re home, and–”
“Yeah, yeah. You’ve been staring at me like crazy the last few days,” Ellie joked dryly, though her expression was soft. Fond.
“Shut up,” you repeated.
“Okay,” Ellie replied again.
“Just let me be proud,” you murmured, hands gingerly cupping the sides of her face. Instinctively, Ellie relaxed into your touch. “And,” you continued, “let me be relieved that you’re home. Safe.”
“Babe,” Ellie muttered. “There was never any–”
“I know. But still. And the videos were perfect. And you’re perfect. And–”
“Laying it on a little thick, huh?” Ellie joked quietly. A quiet huff escaped her lips, the kind that she forced as a way to regulate–like she couldn’t really deal with feeling flustered, even after all of the years that the two of you had been together.
You gave a slight shake of your head, delicately brushing strands of auburn behind Ellie’s ears. “Just saying what I feel,” you murmured.
“Yeah. Yeah, you’ve always been good at that, I guess.”
A wry smile tugged at your lips, your gaze flickering over Ellie’s features. “Yeah. But… code of honor? Seriously? Were there aliens, and they just made you swear to deny it?” you questioned, thumbs brushing over Ellie’s cheeks.
Ellie’s eyes met your own, one corner of her mouth twitching upward. “You know it,” Ellie muttered dryly. “I’m basically the keeper of secrets for the entire Universe. Can’t tell you too much, though. For your own safety.”
“I knew it,” you enthused quietly, your smile matching Ellie’s.
Your hands dropped away from her face, and Ellie huffed as she readjusted.
“Those definitely were tears, though,” you said pointedly. “You can’t even deny it at this point, El. Space makes you emotional, it always–”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Coming from the one that, like, cried multiple times during Project Hail Mary–”
You scoffed, an incredulous look immediately crossing over your features. “Hello? You were crying during it, too. At least I don’t pretend like I wasn’t. We both–”
“Wait, hang on. I gotta ‘nother one,” Ellie interrupted, causing your eyebrows to knit together.
“Another what?” you asked, one of your hands reaching for her own.
Your fingers tangled easily, like always. Since Ellie returned home, the two of you absolutely could not pull away from each other, your bodies gravitating toward each other in a way that simply just made sense.
“What do astronauts listen to in a spacecraft? Nep-tunes. That’s– Well, okay, that wasn’t the best one–”
"Ellie."
