summary: after vi’s kick-boxing match, you’re invited to come over to her place for a celebration after party. gentle moments & new beginnings ensue.
pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane
contains: modern!au, kick-boxer!vi, baker!reader, mila & jinx being reader & vi’s #1 supporters, mentions of violence & blood (it is kick boxing), the moment everyone has WANTED! (including me)
word count: 6.1K
a/n: that’s the end of these two :( i’ve loved writing this mini-series for you all and hope this satisfies you all as an ending. and thank you guys so so much for 3K FUCKING FOLLOWERS. my mind is BLOWN. MY INBOX IS OPEN FOR ANY MORE VI ONESHOT/SERIES IDEAS if you want to requests <3
— FOUR
The night before Vi’s match was a race to complete the two cakes you were making for her.
One that read: ‘#1 Boxer!’
The other that read: ‘#1 in our hearts!’
Just in case she wasn’t too lucky but judging off of the minimal boxing you’ve seen from her practicing at her gym, there was a slim chance she would be losing.
“Bug, it’s almost midnight. I’ll finish this.” Your grandma scolds you as you pipe the last of the lettering on the top of the first cake.
You huff at her, shaking your head. You were blinking back the sleep itching at your eyelids, determined to get this finished tonight.
“I’m nearly done. I just have the second cake and then I’ll be good.”
Your grandmother folds her arms over her chest, tilting her head as she inspected your behavior.
“You really like this girl,” she says fondly as if she’s realizing it for the first time.
You sigh, looking up at her as you let out a self deprecating chuckle.
“Yeah, I do.” A beat passes. “Do you think this is pathetic?”
Your grandmother walks over to you, rounding the island to rub her hands up and down your arms. She shakes her head as she hums in thought.
“No. I think it’s sweet. You have a lot of love in you and she’d be so lucky to get even a piece of it.” She sighs as she kisses your temple.
You look at your grandma with an adoring look in your eyes, taking in her words. The dimness of the overhead light above the island shone against your glossy eyes.
“Thanks, gram. I love you,” you whisper as you lean into her touch.
“I love you more.” She hums as she motions to everything scattered mess of utensils, bowls and piping tools across the island. “Clean this up before you go to bed. I don’t want to hear the whining in the morning.”
You chuckle as you bump your hip with her own.
“I know,” you drag teasingly, shaking your head.
Your grandmother hums one more time before walking away from the kitchen to emerge into the darkness to her bedroom. A comfortable silence takes over the dim kitchen, unable to move from that position for a few seconds.
With the piping tool in your hand, you think about what the hell you were doing. It came so easy for you to care for Vi. How could you not? Your friendship was something you would hold tightly for years to come.
But what were you doing with her?
The way your heart beats in a special rhythm just for her should be clear enough to show that what you two have is more than that. You shake off the feeling and return to piping the lettering onto the small cakes, ignoring the nervous ache that was settling in the pit of your stomach.
You went to bed after begrudgingly cleaning up the mess you had made and put the cakes in the fridge to cool, sleeping that night with a haunting ‘what if?’ floating in your mind.
The next day was agony.
Vi had sent a photo of her prepping for the match a.k.a getting a last minute workout in.
from vi ♥︎ | [1 Image Attached]
from vi ♥︎ | Getting a last minute workout in before tonight. What are you up to, pretty girl?
What the hell was her problem? It was 8 in the morning.
You gawk at the photo of her reflection in the gym mirror, the shadows perfectly highlighting her sculpted biceps that had a light glisten of sweat on them. She had on a white simple sports bra, her entire torso exposed for you to enjoy. Her athletic pants sat low on her hips so that you could see the waistband of her briefs. She had her phone held up so that her face was covered but you could imagine that irritatingly attractive smirk on her lips.
God, you could feel the heat in your cheeks spreading down to your neck. You hadn’t even made yourself breakfast yet.
to vi ♥︎ | about to make myself breakfast but this is distracting for me
from vi ♥︎ | Me? A distraction?
from vi ♥︎ | No, no. That doesn’t sound like me.
You scoff at her message, knowing that this is exactly the kind of reaction she wants from you.
to vi ♥︎ | whatever.
to vi ♥︎ | i guess you won’t see my cheerleader outfit anymore
from vi ♥︎ | Wait no, please.
You would be lying if you would say her saying ‘please’ didn’t boost your ego a little bit.
“Hey, Jinx is coming over soon so just giving you a heads up since Gram left already.”
Mila’s voice causes you to jump with your phone clutched in your hand, blinking rapidly as you lift your head up to see Mila leaning over the island with a cheeky smile.
“Okay. I’m home. Remember that,” you point accusingly at her.
She rolls her eyes at your words. “She just wants to have breakfast with me and I said I’d cook. You’re one to talk.”
Your eyes trail down her neck to the hickey fading on her collarbone before squinting at her. Mila and Jinx’s relationship wasn’t your business but you were almost 100% sure they were dating. Well, you did walk in on them making out in her room after your shift at the bakery, about to ask Mila if she wanted pizza just a few days prior and your eyes were assaulted with that image.
Jinx ended up staying for dinner and no one spoke a word about it after.
“Yeah, okay. You forgot one,” you motion to the spot on her skin.
Her hand reaches up to feel over the fading hickey, appearing flustered for a moment before mumbling a ‘shut up’ and making her way back to her bedroom. You snicker to yourself at her state, shaking your head in disbelief. You grab a bowl for your oatmeal and send a message back to Vi, feeling all the more proud of yourself.
to vi ♥︎ | mmm i dont know. i might not wear it at this point, violet
from vi ♥︎ | Well, if I ask nicely, will you?
to vi ♥︎ | i guess you’ll just have to wait until tonight :)
You set your phone down for a moment to grab a banana and slice it up into little circles. As you add in a little bit of brown sugar and banana to your oatmeal, your phone on the counter dings and your face heats up at the message.
from vi ♥︎ | Such a tease, cupcake.
Hypocrite.
from vi ♥︎ | But I can’t wait to see you tonight. You’re coming to mine after for Vanders barbecue, right?
to vi ♥︎ | yes! mila’s coming with too so i bet jinx’ll be excited about that
vi ♥︎ hearted this message
to vi ♥︎ | and i can’t wait to see you too :)
You finally set your phone aside to carry your bowl over to your couch, grabbing the TV remote to put on a random film as you eat your breakfast in peace. Well for two minutes until you hear knocking at your door.
You huff as you pause your movie, about to get up from the comfy position on the couch before you hear a door swing open and rushed footsteps come from behind you.
“I’ll get it!” She calls out as she practically flies past you to open the door.
You gradually sit back down, leaning your body to the left slightly. Your eyes lock on the door as Mila sucks in a deep breath to swing open the door. You duck your head as you see that familiar head of blue hair, surprisingly pulled back into a singular long ponytail with her baggy pjs on.
You couldn't eavesdrop as much as you desired to due to the distance but you could hear soft whispers and smitten giggles emitting from the both of them as they made their way to the kitchen.
“Morning!” Jinx peaks into the living room for a moment, waving at your position from the couch.
“Morning. What are you guys making?” You question, smiling at her blue-haired girl as Mila lingers behind her, twirling a few strands of other’s vibrant hair.
“I was thinking french toast but Mils wants pancakes so,” Jinx huffs as she turns to look at your sister.
“Okay, well, clean it up when you’re done, please,” your gaze shifts to your sister as it was catered more towards her.
Mila rolls her eyes but mutters a ‘we will’ before grabbing onto Jinx’s hand, intertwining their fingers and rushing back to the kitchen to be by themselves. You purse your lips as your smile grows at your sisters… girlfriend? You weren’t entirely sure what their relationship was but she seemed happy.
That’s really all you could want for her.
After Jinx and Mila made their breakfast (making sure to be as giggly and have no space between each other at all times until Jinx left), the afternoon was a blur of the two of you panicking as you got ready. You had the cheerleader outfit in mind as you slipped on a skirt that you had bought over a year ago out of impulse at the thrift store.
It had been collecting dust in your drawer up until today. It was a simple black pleated skirt with your skin-color toned tights to help with chafing and a white fitted long sleeve due to the cooler weather outside. It was mid-December but where you lived didn’t get as cold as you had thought.
You blame it on global warming.
“Hey, do you have any conceal–” Mila popped into your room as you were pressing the skirt down to your thighs, checking yourself out in the mirror. “Wow. You look good.”
You look at her through the reflection and a small smile forms on your face. “Thanks. It’s not too much for a boxing match though?”
“No. You look like a boxer's girlfriend.” Mila teases as she walks over to your vanity that held your makeup.
You roll your eyes, feeling all the more stressed now.
“Shut up.”
“I don’t understand why you don’t just tell her how you feel. You two have insane tension.” Mila looks up at you as she picks through your makeup.
“I don’t know how, dude. It’s harder than it seems,” you huff as you step away from your mirror to make your way over to her.
“Well, I think you should. The both of you are dancing around telling each other how you feel and are disgustingly flirty. You don’t want to end up in a homoerotic friendship, do you?”
You stare speechless at your sister. As harsh as it was to hear, you knew that she was right. You didn’t want to keep bullying yourself into thinking that you shouldn’t tell Vi how you feel; that it's better being unspoken.
You didn’t want to let something like this lessen over time because you were too much of a coward.
“No, I don’t,” you reply with a long sigh.
“There you go. Tonight at their house; you tell her.” Mila points accusingly at you, narrowed eyes and all.
Your eyes widen at her words. “I didn’t mean today.”
“Well, I did. Because then you’ll be,” she clears her throat and nasals her voice a bit as she mocks you, “I’ll just do it tomorrow, Mils. I’m just gonna stare at Vi’s biceps and abs in the meantime and drool all over my phone instead of just telling her how I feel like a loser.”
You raise one of your hands to smack her upside her head, scoffing at her rude impersonation of you.
“Fuck you,” you roll your eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I’ll… tell her later.”
Mila rubs at her scalp before snatching the concealer she had been looking for, turning to you with a small grin.
“See? Tough love works.”
“I think at this point it's peer pressure,” you correct her as she leaves your room.
“I can’t hear you! I’m getting ready!” Mila shouts from the other side of the house after a few beats of silence.
You shake your head with a soft chuckle as you take one more once over of your outfit as you couldn’t help but feel all the more excited knowing that Vi would be seeing you in this. A fleeting thought of imagining her fawning over you passes before you continue getting yourself ready.
Once the two of you were ready to go, you grabbed your keys and passed by your grandma who had been sitting in her living room with her iPad in her lap playing Tetris as the shop had closed early on Sundays.
“Bye, gram. We’ll be home a little late so please don’t wait up,” you walk over to her, giving her a warm hug.
“Look at my two beautiful granddaughters.” She coos as she cups your cheek and looks over at Mila with a sweet smile.
“We get it from you, gram.” Mila chuckles as she goes to the other side of her, giving her a side hug as she snuggles her cheek into her graying hair.
“Have fun. Sneak me some barbecue. I’ll eat it tomorrow.” She chuckles as she pats both of your backs.
You release her with a soft ‘love you’, Mila doing the same as you leave the house to make your way to the local arena where the matches are being held.
The second the two of you walked in, you were bombarded by the scent of sweat and heat. You spot Ekko’s bright white hair before anyone else in the stands, raising your hand and waving to get his attention. Ekko’s eyes narrow when he spots you and Mila before they relax once he realizes who he’s looking at. Jinx was in one of the most relaxed manspreads with her booted feet resting on the hard plastic seats, Isha was coloring next to Ekko, showing him each page. Vander was nowhere in sight.
You both make your way over to the small family, giving everyone a side hug and soft greeting. Isha looks up from her messy scribbles to sign ‘hi, pretty cake lady.’ You can’t help but beam down at her, muttering a ‘hi cutie.’ Isha smiles at that before resuming her colors.
“Hey. We’re not too late right?” You wonder as you sit next to Ekko, setting your purse down on the other seat next to you.
“Nah, she’s in the second half of the tournaments which start in, like, five minutes.” Ekko reassures you, looking up at Mila from his seated position. “Hey, M.”
“Hey, little man.” Mila grins as she steps over the first row of stands to sit in between Jinx’s legs.
“I’m taller than you, you know?” He scoffs.
“Barely. Like an inch or two.” Mila rolls her eyes with a playful undertone.
“Is Vander here?” You wonder as you look around the many rows of people who were undoubtedly here to support the competitors.
“Oh, yeah. He’s getting popcorn but he’ll be back before it starts.” Jinx replies to you as she closes her wide man-spread to allow Mila to rest her head on her knee.
Ew. But cute, you think to yourself.
Right on his cue, Vander walks over to set the large popcorn bucket in Ekko’s palms. A friendly smile etches onto his beard-coated face.
“Glad you could make it. Vi was telling me about you coming,” he sits down on the other side of you, raising a arm to give you a side hug.
You accept the warmth with ease, getting a good whiff of his burly-woodsy cologne lingering to his clothes.
“Dad, she was raving about her coming,” Jinx corrects.
Mila merely raises her eyebrows at you but elbows Jinx’s knee at the teasing. She mutters an ‘ow’ with a huff. Your face lit aflame as you attempted to ignore the blue-haired girl.
“Right, right. She misses you.” Vander tugs you in a little before releasing you to point at Isha’s figure. “So does little miss sweet-tooth over there.”
You chuckle at his words but your mind couldn’t help but pick out the fact that Vi’s father is admitting this to you. Have you affected her as much as she has to you?
You didn’t have much time to ponder on it as the first round began before you could process two people were socking each other in the face.
Boxing matches were a lot more intense than you had thought.
Here you were cramped next to Vander who was clapping and cheering Vi on who was 3 times louder than the entire crowd, Ekko on the other side who was shoving popcorn down his throat as he shouted that at the ref about Vi’s opponent who was apparently doing illegal moves, and Isha was mimicking each punch her eldest sister was throwing at her opponent, wriggling around so much you had to wrap your arms around her torso to keep her still in your lap. You could hear Jinx and Mila who were sitting a row behind you wincing at each blow.
Your eyes flickered from Vi to her opponent, the bright light above the two shining down to highlight the glistening sweat and panting chest. Vi had already gotten a few good hits in, her red gloves already having a faint smudge from her opponents blood.
Her face was determined, brows furrowed in concentration. The match was nearly over; the two being on their 3rd round. Everyone was antsy to see who was going to be condemned as the winner of this match.
Vi had flown past these matches; nearly winning every single one. Seeing her in action ignited something… arousing inside of you. It was humiliating to know the excited thoughts that were flooding your mind as Vi threw calculated hits, kicks and punches towards her opponents as you were surrounded by her close family.
The timer goes off for the last and final round of their match and the bell dinged off for the two to separate. Vi knocked her gloved fist with her opponent with a nod of respect as she walked over to her corner with her coach to spit out her mouth guard and take a few huge gulps of water, a few droplets mixing with her sweat as it trails down her neck.
Boxing matches were a lot more enticing than you had thought as well.
Maybe because you’d never seen a girl you were crushing on in such a position but now? Yeah, you wanted to be at every single one.
“And after a unanimous decision,” the announcer speaks into the mic that floods through the audience. “The winner is Violet from Medarda Studio.”
Excitement rushed through your body as you stood up with Isha in your arms, jumping as you cheered along with the entire family. Vander turns to you and Isha and lifts the both of you up as before, setting you down to clap loudly and shout, “That’s my girl!” with nothing but heartwarming joy. Isha giggles at her fathers ecstatic state as she turns in your arms, silently asking to be set on her feet. You release her as she climbs up the steps of the stands to hop onto Jinx’s back.
Seeming to know what she was asking, Jinx lifted her onto her shoulders as she whoops for her sister’s victory. Vi’s arm was being held up by the referee, her eyes scanning through the crowd and landing on you. Your breath catches in your throat as you visibly notice her smile grow the second she finds your face.
Before you can mouth something to her, you feel a large hand on your back and look up to see Vander pointing towards the exit.
“Come on. She’s gonna leave out the back.”
You nod and let him lead the way, antsy to see Vi even though it has barely been a week since you have seen her. You hadn’t realized just how much until now. Soon, everyone was outback in the parking lot, awaiting the boxing champion.
The heavy metal doors swing open, other competitors leaving as well to reunite with their own families. Vi emerges with who you were assuming was one of her students as she’s clapping the girl on the back with a kind smile and ruffles her head of hair before making her way over to everyone.
“Hey guys,” one of her metals hung around her neck and a duffle over her right shoulder, a bright smile on her face.
How does she look amazing after boxing and sweating for hours?
Everyone bombards her with overlapping compliments about how amazing she was as Isha runs up to her with soft laughter leaving her lips. Vi is quick to bend over to pick her up off of her feet and rest her on her hip.
“Seriously. I’m a little afraid of you now,” Mila juts in as her hand is locked with Jinx’s leaning on her.
“Nah, I would never intentionally hit you.” Vi reassures your sister as she finally locks eyes with you.
You almost miss her eyes locking right on your skirt before trailing up your legs to your face. She steps closer to you, pursing her lips as she is seemingly holding in a giddy grin. You can’t help but mentally give yourself a high-five for her reaction.
“Hey, cupcake. Thanks for coming.” She adjusts Isha on her hip.
“It’s nothing. I wanted to,” you shake it off. “I brought cake!”
“Of course you did.” Vi lets her smile through, a soft chuckle leaving her lips.
“What flavor?” Ekko wonders as he is still eating the popcorn.
You grin with clasped hands behind your back. “Marble cake with vanilla frosting. Nothing too crazy.”
All of a sudden, a loud grumble emits from Vander causing everyone to chuckle to themselves.
“I don’t know about you guys but I have worked up quite the appetite cheering you on,” Vander pats his stomach with a huff, sending his eldest daughter a wink as he tries to usher everyone who rode with him to the van.
You internally frown at Vanders rushing but you keep it to yourself as you think that maybe you’ll get some alone time with Vi when you get to the loving household.
“You were the loudest there. I think I can’t hear through my left ear anymore,” Jinx jokes with her dad, holding her ear with a groan.
Vander playfully rolls his eyes at Jinx, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder that Mila wasn’t resting on.
“Come on. We’ll see you guys at home.” He nods at Mila and you.
Vi nods in agreement, eyes following over your outfit once again as she follows her little family towards the beaten down van. You suck in a deep breath as you watch her look behind her shoulder to glance at you once more before she locks her attention back on Isha who seems to be signing aggressively to her.
Tonight, you remind yourself.
Vander’s house was lively; everyone speaking amongst one another as he was outside barbecuing the meats on the grill. You had been playing Uno with Isha and Ekko in the living room, letting her win pretty much every time. She couldn’t say ‘uno’ so when she would have one card left, she would hold up her pointer finger while you and Ekko groaned and frowned playfully about how good she was at this game.
Feeling a bit thirsty, you excused yourself from the group and grabbed a soda before shutting it gently.
Vi had been in the shower as she claimed she looked terrible after all those matches.
You wanted to disagree loudly and tell her she always looked good but you second guessed it and kept it to yourself.
“So no cheerleading outfit, huh?” You hear from beside you.
Without looking up, you shake your head with a smitten grin.
“Nope,” you hum as you crack open your can, now turning your head to see a freshly showered Vi.
The scent of her body wash and perfume lingered in the air around her as she had given you maybe 3 inches of room between the two of you. She sported a black tee shirt and a pair of comfy red and black plaid PJ pants, her hair a slightly darker shade than usual as it was still air drying from her shower. She had a small butterfly closure and yellowing bruise over her cheek and one on the tail of her eyebrow.
Still, she looked as beautiful as ever.
Her eyes trail down to your skirt, shamelessly checking you out as she points down to the short material.
“Well, I’m not complaining about this compromise,” she grins at you before walking around you to open the fridge door herself.
You hide your blush as best as you can, taking a sip of your drink before clearing your throat.
“So when you said you were boxing, I did not expect to see some professional moves out there,” you tease as you tilt your head at her.
“Wow, doubting me, cupcake?”
“I never said that. I was actually wondering if you’d go pro,” you watch her grab her own can of soda, cracking it open with a soft hiss.
Vi stills for a second at your words before shaking her head. “I don’t know. I… looked into it a while back but it's a lot of traveling. I wouldn’t really have a set home, you know?”
Huh. So, she’s not a fan of traveling.
“You’d like a more domestic life?” You wonder as you lean against the kitchen counter.
“Yeah, I would,” she nods with a gentle grin, folding her arms over her chest. “And you? Are you planning on staying at your grandma's bakery for a while?”
The question allows you to think for a moment. You hadn’t really looked into any other sort of career path as you had learned about every nook and cranny to run your grandmother’s bakery for years now. It had become second nature; a space that you felt comfortable in.
You shrug your shoulders, a content smile on your lips. “I definitely can’t complain. I love it there. Yeah, it gets hard but every job is like that.”
Vi eyes bore into yours, seeming to be listening intently to you. For a moment it felt like you two were the only ones in the house as you spoke quietly in the space of her kitchen. The sounds of Jinx, Ekko, Mila and Isha playing in the living room were becoming more and more drowned out by the bright ocean of Vi’s eyes.
“Well, I’m glad you’re not leaving anytime soon,” Vi nods with a gentle smile.
“Why? So you can get more free desserts?” You tease as you lean in closer, your faces just a mere inch apart.
Her eyes flicker down to your lips; a split second of you catching her attention turning to something other than your eyes.
“You know that’s not why,” she whispers as she leans her face in closer to yours.
Your breath catches into your throat as you could feel your cheeks and neck getting hotter by the second. Her hand clamps around your soda can, unbelievably tense and nervous as you try and muster up the courage to tell her.
You could hear Mila’s voice taunting you in the back of your mind.
“Vi–”
“Food’s ready!” Vander’s booming voice echoes in the house, causing the both of you to jump and pull back from one another.
Vi turns her head to shout back: “Be right there, dad!”
A wave of disappointment washes over you but you attempt to shield it as you spread your lips thin, pointing outside with your free hand.
“Let’s go. I’m sure you’re hungry after beating people up for hours.”
Vi pauses before an amused chuckle leaves her mouth. “Uh, yeah but I have a gift for you.”
“You do?” You grin is replaced with a more genuine smile.
“Yeah, I have it in my room. Come on,” she reaches for your free palm.
You take her hand with ease: like you had done it a million times before. You set your soda down on the counter and allow Vi to pull you through the house's walls to her bedroom.
Vi twists the knob and pushes her door open to reveal her overall neat room, noticing a candle lit on top of her dresser. The refreshing scent just screams ‘her’. You don’t miss the little knick-knacks and metals and trophies placed on one side of her wall, her name etched onto the plaques.
“So, what’d you get me?” You hum, a shit-eating grin on your face as you're still looking at the wall.
Vi sucks in a sharp breath before muttering out your name.
“Yeah?” You twist your body back to face her, eyes finding her own.
Not even a second passed before you felt her lips on yours. You emit a noise of surprise as she cups either side of your face, tilting her jaw up to mold her lips into your own. The initial shock passes when you feel her pull back slightly, the realization setting in.
Vi’s kissing you. You’re kissing her.
Your hands land on her waist as you tug her in once again, eagerly following her lips now that you are aware of what’s happening. Vi hums against you, thumbing at your jaw for a moment. A shiver trickles down your spine at the feeling.
You pull away from her with a soft smack, chest pounding against your ribs so hard you swore they could crack.
“Was that my gift?” You breathe out, licking your lips as if to taste the remnants of her lips.
Vi’s lips crack into a sheepish smile, hands still cupping either side of your face as she peers into your eyes.
“No, I just,” Vi sucks in a deep breath, “You know have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment we fucking met.”
Your eyes soften at her words, a smile creeping onto your face. “Really?”
Vi nods as she releases your face, the warmth of her palms lingering on your skin.
“I wanted to tell you how I felt after we made the cinnamon rolls but Jinx and Mila came back and I had to leave. Everytime I smelled sugar, I was reminded of how much of an idiot I was for not saying or doing anything before.”
You raise your hand to cover your mouth to try and cover your elated smile at her confession, a breath of relief leaving your lips.
“I was going to tell you today so I’m kind of glad there wasn’t a gift.”
“Fuck, that was stupid,” she breathed out as she looks down at her feet as she places her hands on hips.
You suck in a deep breath as your nose brushes past hers causing her to look back up at you. Taking initiative this time around, you tilt your head as you lock your lips to kiss her as passionately as you can muster. Her hands leave her own hips to settle on yours, tugging you in so your bottom halves were flushed together. Your forearms rest on her toned shoulders as you are practically inhaling each other, heavy breathing and the soft smacking of your lips fill the room.
And if you focused hard enough, you could feel her abs through her thin shirt.
Needing to take a breather, you pull away to rest your forehead on hers with an ecstatic smile.
“It was a little stupid but I like you.”
Vi’s grip tightens on your hips as if she’s trying to remind herself that this is real; that you are real.
“If it wasn’t obvious, I like you too,” Vi hums as she leans in to peck your lips once.
Your cheeks hurt from how much you were smiling.
“Are we… dating now?” You question, tilting your head at her.
“Well, I have to take you on dates first but yes, I would love to be.”
God, you wanted to kiss her until the both of you were breathless. Excitement floods through your system as you nod with a soft ‘okay’, standing in a comfortable silence.
“So,” you clear your throat as you mess with a loose string on her tee, “should we go out there now?”
Vi’s eyes leave yours to stare at her closed bedroom door, letting out a long sigh before glancing back at you.
“I want to say ‘no’ but I know they’re probably waiting on us. My dad takes his barbecuing very seriously,” she smacks her lips against her teeth with a playful eye roll.
You chuckle, believing her 100%.
“If you say so,” you nod as you place a gentle kiss on her lips greedily.
The kiss lingers for longer than either of you intended before you had to step back, forcing yourself to detach from her addicting lips. Your hand reaches for the knob as you throw her a smitten grin before swinging the door open.
You hear an ‘oh shit’ before the sound of a multitude of footsteps scurrying down the hallway. Taking a step into the now empty hall, you catch a glimpse of an undeniable piece of blue hair peeking from behind the wall that opens to the living room.
“Was that–”
“Jinx and Mila and probably Ekko and Isha? Yeah, come on,” Vi sighs as she grabs your hand to lead back down where you came from.
When you enter the living room, everyone is sitting in a circle on the rug with their own plates of barbecue as they actively pretend to not notice you two.
“Hey guys,” you say flatly, looking down at the group.
Jinx is the first to look up and smiles cheekily. “Hey. Where did you guys go? Because we have been sitting here eating and playing Uno and minding our business.”
Isha raises her little hand to cover her giggling mouth before nodding along to what Jinx was saying.
“We know you guys were spying on us, you freaks.” Vi shakes her head as she flips Jinx off to which she immediately reciprocates.
“Hey, why are you only flipping me off? It was everyone,” she motions to the entirety of the little group.
Ekko, Mila and Isha huff at her words as they continue to eat their own food before making their own sounds of protest.
“Don’t act like it wasn’t your idea. I know you, Jinx.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she waves Vi off before looking at you with a knowing grin. “Did she do her ‘gift’ bit? I told her it was dorky.”
Vi at this point grabs a throw pillow from the couch to hit her upside the head, nearly stepping on her foot as she does so. Vander calls from the kitchen for them to knock it off and to come and eat.
You snort as you shake your head as you settle in next to Isha who had signed to you: “Are you going to be here a lot now that you kissed Vi?”
You can’t help but nod slowly before signing to her: “I hope so.”
In the blink of an eye, Isha sets her food down before she jumps into your lap, wrapping her smaller arms around your neck with a soft giggle. You jump back at the feeling but are quick to reciprocate, not even minding the fact that her hands were covered with grease. Over Isha’s shoulder, you catch Vi looking at the two of you with a content smile. She walks over to kneel down to kiss Isha on the top of the head and then you on the cheek.
“Do you want any food, cupcake?” Vi questions softly.
You shake your head. “I’m okay, babe. Thank you.”
Vi doesn’t correct you as it sounded so perfect coming from your lips. Instead, she places one more kiss to your cheek before nodding with understanding.
“Let me know if you change your mind, okay?”
You nod as you snuggle into Isha’s death grip hug. As Vi walks away from the little circle, you suck in a deep breath as you examine the area around you. Jinx was muttering curses at Mila for cheating and looking at her cards, Ekko was snorting at her anger as he leaned into Mila to hide his face and Mila pushed him off with a groan as his fingers lingered with grease. The sound of Vi and Vander chatting to one another in the kitchen really pulled it together for you.
“You finally did it, kiddo. She’s a good one.”
A beat passes before Vi says with nothing but admiration in her tone.
“I know, dad.”
You could get used to this. You wanted to get used to this.
warnings: caitvi + sub!reader, slight dacryphilia, praise, strap sucking (referred to as a cock once or twice), strap-on sex (r! receiving).
-
"That's it, darling. Make her feel good." You hear Caitlyn's sweet encouragement delivered straight into your ear. She doesn't stop pounding into your from behind, making the fat of your ass jiggle with each met thrust from behind. She fills you so fucking well and you know it. But so does Vi.
You whimper around her strap. It stretches your lips and you know your throat will be sore after, but it's well worth it; she cums every single time you do this.
"Shit," she swears through gritted teeth. "You're so pretty looking up at me." As if on cue, your eyes glance up to meet hers. You swirl your tongue around the spit-coated tip of the strap, and Vi has to squeeze her eyes shut and groan.
"You're such a tease," Caitlyn laughs, and she plants a harsh smack on your ass.
You're infatuated with these moments and each sensation—the scent of Vi's arousal lingering past the harness that you can inhale each time you take her deep past your lips, and Caitlyn's soft but cold dig into your ass and brand your skin with her crescent-shape nails as she slams a navy-blue toned strap deep inside your weeping cunt.
You can't speak, but you're glad. You would be offering up incoherent, fucked-out fragments of sentences. You would be begging for Vi to fuck your throat until tears gather in your eyes and roll down your red cheeks. You would be crying out Caitlyn's name when she forces your hips back, making you fuck yourself on her cock.
"Mmph.." you moan around Vi, though it's muffled.
She reaches down and gives an affectionate pat to your hollowed cheek. "Shush. Just let us fuck you, baby." Vi doesn't gather your hair up to raise it, but instead playfully ruffles it. "You wanna make me cum, right?"
You eagerly nod. Vi grins and Caityn's hand smoothes over your back. Then, she does lift your hair up. She doesn't hold it harshly, but as she begins to thrust into your mouth, you really feel it.
The action just makes you wetter and needier. You chase what Caitlyn is giving you, moving your hips back against her in a desperate action. You stare up at Vi, and you're an artwork for viewing: struggling to keep up with her hips shoving a dick into your throat, your eyes leaking tears, but they don't leave hers. When she nibbles at the bottom of her lip and her movements grow sloppy, your cunt clenches hard.
"Fuck, yes. Just like that, take it." Vi's grip on your hair tightens involuntarily.
"Open up wider for her so she can fit it all into that slutty mouth of yours," Caitlyn instructs you.
The difference in their voices is large. Vi is breathless and high, and it cracks when she feels the base of the strap rub on her clit. Caitlyn is doing most of the work behind you, but she sounds more organized than you and Vi combined.
"You'd think sucking dick is her job with how eager she is, huh?" Vi adds, letting out a hoarse laugh when you moan in response to her vulgar words.
You're overwhelmed in the best way possible. You crave more of Vi and Cait until you can't take it anymore. You love the way Caitlyn fills you up and thrusts into your pussy in the perfect way, meeting all of your sweet spots. It's nearly overbearing to take that while Vi fucks your face, though.
Then suddenly, Vi's movements turn more into grinding and she tenses up. You hear her moan above you so loudly you almost cum yourself. She continues to move until her clit feels raw and the overstimulation is too much.
The toy leaves your mouth, a string of spit connecting it to you. When it breaks, Vi is down in front of you, her mouth on yours. It's sloppy and loving at the same time.
You whine in protest as Caitlyn pulls your chin back to look at her, instead. You forget how possessive over you she can be, even when sharing you with Vi.
summary. | next chapter (tba).
you're expecting—and ellie is sick in love. one thing inhibits her: she thinks it isn't requited.
reader discretion is advised.
mdni. fluff. a punch of angst: one instance of abuse. mentions of previous. pregnant!reader. jackson!loser!ellie. damaged relationship with a man explicit (for the plot.) the pining creeps in. strangers to lovers (in the future). requited but assumed unrequited love. cheesy romance scenes. evident undertones of addiction: substance mention, cannabis, strained relationships (ellie and joel common occurence. reader and their scumbag bf too). a realistic motherhood. depression. apprehension. you get it. wc: 4.3k. series masterlist.
note.
based on this anon i got. shoutout to @serqphites fr. art in header creds to @nramv. thanks to @s-4pphics for proofreading this one for me! join the discord to see content such as this in creation.
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬
It is the thought that stomachs you.
“Shit,” you curse and bite the mouth that does. Mindless thing. “He’s gonna murder you, damn idiot.”
Control is contraception. You kneel your head to the faucet, its trickle the thing that embraces your ears; if you could crawl out of one, you would. Here is said to be simple. Here is an embellished free port. These people, neighbours and founders—elders, to be exacting for spiteful whims, sold the idea that you would have support and homes to crash in outside your own if it did ever crumble to the ground. Bandages to bleed in. But the shameful wound is open, unclosing. No one wants to account for a burden that isn’t their consequence.
You had a dream in the palm of your hand.
But what is wanted—is not for sale. You just assume control over disorder. It happens to a girl at least once, right? That dreadful blue in the sound once you learn for sure that you lost to it: to nature.
You wash the vacant spot.
Fucking pregnant.
It felt possible the first run to the toilet. Then, too terrible to be a lie the third roundabout. Vomit litters the porcelain basin.
Cat figured something was up before you caught this nauseous spell. She mentioned and argued that your constant trips to the bathroom were irregular, and you made light and nodded in a sunlit direction. Capering under its false pretense. “Yeah, what about it?” you segued, but not without heel-stumbling. Frou-frou foxes in Midsummer fires, your all-differentiating, all-time repeat from the Cocteau Twins; the radio thrummed with its rounding lulls and ethereals around a crowded living room, a whirling concoction for your hapless intoxication. Bird without its wings.
So is it the alcohol, or the condition—hurling you over the toilet bowl?
Either consequence creeps up from intestinal serpentining, as you pull apart your own single-headed carelessness. Who to blame, other than the carrier, right? Shit, well, a condom was used. You made with that precaution. So, are you the luckless one percent, or is the old-world hiding something important about fucking contraception? Can one girl be—ill-fated to this? You cocoon against the cupboards, slipping down the hinges, the knobs and indents. “Shit,” repeats your stunned mouth, quieter this time.
The walls seem to listen; a disagreeing wind quivers the window.
Even if you weren’t a statistic: the abandoned alcohol, now advantaged and emptied, returned to its fine-china neighbors in your father’s parlor, is evidence. Chastisement waiting to scream. He hates parties—and with much less than a tolerant grunt, hates girls who attend them. It seems sensible; Cat is a regular host, and he chastises your friendship.
Not her. You, being her friend.
Cat sighed, mashing the butt of her cig into a bisected can. The nutritions label was faded. “You’re a damn wreck,” within amusement, she scolded. But it was not without a heartstopper. She laughed, “If you end up pregnant, ‘m not watching the little shit. Get enougha’ that out of daycare to take it home with me as well. Damn it.” and it tore your stomach open; the organ pummeled into your serpentine guts, and the deafening throb frightened itself higher. You could taste what wanted to come up.
You swallowed. “Pregnant?” Concentrated on the purple under sienna-brown eyes. Distraction meant the world, in that moment.
She nodded—and shrugged, an unsure note. “Just a hypothetical.”
Fuck you, psychic.
The guilt was beginning to make itself felt. You relapsed, in a heartfelt confession, to a state of adolescence this evening. “You’re so goddamn selfish!” It is one thing to be treated as innocent; Mateo could be condescending at times, but to be spoken at like a cruel, bird-brained and intentioned child, and with innocence, crushed you. He argued that wanting to keep this pregnancy—after you gave him the boot—was not your moral to preach while consequences were afoot. “Do you really think you have it in you to be a mother?”
Fetal termination exists, still, in the apocalypse. At life-threatening costs. That was reason enough to let nature take its pathological course.
One tremble. “Yes.” You are a child again.
You can see it in his lineaments. He flinches his person in disgust, hundred somethings held under his tongue. “If you want to believe that.” The air is too pure for him. He rifles the cartridges on his wardrobe for a lighter, joint in the opposite hand. He takes a drag, hides his face with the pungent result, and espies the resentment shining your under-eyes with less care than before; these are just crocodile tears to him. “Sure,” he shrugs.
Then his attention drops a little lower than your chest, a brief change of heart. You feel the need to crawl inside your arms. More than ever.
He points with the smoldering dog-end. Silence snaps. “Not mine.” Flicking it to enunciate himself. The discarded state of him, and his disclaim, leaves a bitter taste in your mouth—if not the entire esophageal hole. Your lungs: filled with his exhaust. “Go find some other dude to blame. M’sure you had a couple who..” The joint finds its purpose again. “Might happen to look a little more identical,” he accuses.
You left before the air became his.
Time does not bring relief; the emptiness in your bed does anything but suffer silence. The growing hours are loud, and Jackson is still a paradise to some who are convinced it has its comforts.
You all have lied.
𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡
“Of course he went and narced on her to her father!”
Jackson is outside the rest of America. Yes, it craters in national alpines, but it was a roadside seedling at the end of the last generation. Wood rotted to cordyceps in its neighbors; this place was given a second life. The standing tables here in the one and alone bar—the famous, aliased Bison—are so red, so wood-strong, so anointed with caring hands, you can catch a glimpse of yourself in it.
Cat treats it with the same purpose as if it were decades ago, and nothing ever happens here; she slams her lighter and pint glass down on it—pissed to express the least of the most. “Who else does shit like that?”
Despite the fact that Cat is virtually your sister from another mother, you went to Jesse about the argument first. He isn't a volatile pipe bomb with ears and earful intentions that create more harm, not good; she absolutely fucking is. One mention, and her fingertips are spitting fire. Cast iron doesn't even get near hot enough as the hands that share a piece of her trouble-starved mind.
But, she found out regardless. Not that you should ever stop her from; on some occasions, she has the right.
Jesse left your big news out of it, though. Not his right to tell.
“His corner of the town,” Jesse adds, his soft fingers around his glass, and up to his splitting mouth. He glances round the booth in search of all attention. Sure of it, he piled on. “Got a lotta assholes with the same notions in mind.” Chuting a sip of wine—a drink which lost its romantic significance to casual consumption, on par with beer—down his gullet.
Slow, agreeing nods pass around until another lip chips in. “Fucking dick.” Ellie, with the fullest glass, and untethered fingers tapping about the rim, has her head resting low on one fist, doubled over the curl-leaf surface.
Jesse scoffed. “Tell me about it.” Sardonic sort of response—to her short, but symptomatic one. He leans in his corner and trains the attention on her, a question in his squint. “Say, Ellie, you dealt with him on occasion, right? When he collaborated with Eugene. All that weed?”
She hates to hear it. “Just one time.” In her head—her head when it escapes out here into social wilderness—she was a good girl. Clean, rectified, an adolescent state of mind, and it has the whole world to do with Joel and learning to forgive. It is the least bit detectable on the outside, but she really is doing better than before. Rough-faced or not. “What about it?” She looks up, at last, the perfect shrug to her cross-question.
“Was she even there?”
Ellie crumpled up having to account for that one time; wrinkles in the brows, a snagged or yawning mouth, post-insomniac ripples and redness in her optic profile. Imagine an irate basset hound.“Reno?” She means your given alias: Reno, or Nevada, your origins. And she is Boston, or Massachusetts. “No, not at all.”
“See, he makes that shit up all the time,” Cat interludes. “First it was Justice, then it was me who he ratted out to Maria. Stopped trading with him after.”
Jesse has not traded once, or thought to smoke pot once, but he agrees. “Mhm.” A man of no judgement—when it comes to friends.
Sunset is climbing and pushing to stoop in the apertures of the table. The lithe, gold tadpole-ends creeping in, beating over faces, and so the restaurant had its lights switched on to make up for those recalcitrant pockets; soft, water-black mottles in the deeper corners. Ellie laced fists, cupping one around the other, and a particular string of light dug for this vulnerable formation. She has a heap to process in her own head; the sudden silence, deafening.
Shifting to his elbows, Jesse rests his well-slept eyes on her—a sore sight. “Gonna finish that?” He points, withheld fingers stretching for his own glass.
She clicks her tongue to her teeth. “Nah,” responding with whatever is left in her, a breath or a reaching-more. The glass grates as she hardly straightens her fingers to push it aside. “Tastes different.”
The claim draws out the doubt from their faces. “Tastes the same as before,” Jesse professes as he rolls the last droplets of his wine past his lips and along the columns of his throat, replacing his grip with the full glass of scotch, sunlight streaming through the liquid with blonde lines against nectar-gold. Her choice of spirits. “I best be joinin’ Seth in the kitchen. Have fun, ladies.” He crawls knee-first from the booth.
Cat shoots an astonished sneer, one he cannot see or sense in his bones as his legs were haste to vault the counter.
Ellie does, though. And she is too low-spirited to guess what for and laugh; a strange demeanor. “Hmm?”
“He'll be drunk on the job,” she clarifies. “But, I guess it's up to who cares. Not enough for me to keep watch.” And she, too, sidles out from the cornered booth, leather brushing against denim. Watching Jesse vanish behind the crowded bar made her suppose it's that time; the fading sun calls you home, and when it does, you go home. Nothing more to it in Jackson. “See ya, geek.”
She waves with an unprepared hand. “Yup. See you too..”
The jog home was not without its usual discomforts. Paths, loved still by a residual winter, were hard not to slip on. The unhesitating side-eyes were too common to dash out of their sight. Ellie is aware of what has them wringing their necks just to look at her, but as it continued, she just accepted it.
Her hoodie is half-sufficient. “Fuckin’ warm up already,” she curses, digging both fists into her pockets for warmth outside the steeple church. She notices three distinct paraphernalia in her pocket when her knuckles hit the seam: the larger, thicker one is obvious—Joel's watch. She inherited it on her own terms when he wasn't there. “Ow! Shit!” The cracked dial case nicks her for her mindlessness.
Second one is a mechanical lighter. Last time she wore this hoodie, she was squinting back the tears after telling Joel she didn't need his fucking help.
Ellie pinches the thinner, paper-textured item, and pulls it out with no clue to what it might be. This should be a simple guess.
Old feelings rush when she sees it in-between her fingers.
“Fuck.”
The word goes quiet in the night. Surrounding sycamores rustle, listening, and they respond with the eerie wind that rouses through their crown-shying bough. Invisible hands dislodge the strand from behind her ear.
Something shifts in her to listen in return.
She raises her chin. Gazes into pitch-blackness with a racing heart; her trees are there somewhere. Under the hole of light up there.
Ellie believed, from a very naive and insignificant age, that she was born and fell from the bough of a tree. The idea has some flesh and blood to it; her mother is unknown to her. She has the head of hair of the autumn sycamores, burning oranges, and delightful greens. Too green yet; left without the hour to decide what living meant and what her reason was to begin doing so—to live. She was given a gun before she was given a purpose. At least to her, matured and ripened, that is how it seems. Little bit careless considering her important condition; did Marlene think it through? Looking up into the same blanket of nothingness, she ponders whether reigniting this bad habit would still get her to the moon or not—if the world ever returned to pre-apocalypse.
From the hour you're born, you begin to die.
Simone de Beauvoir.
“Make it seven?” quoting herself, she slots the pointed end of the joint in-between her fresh-licked, rose-kissed lips and hopes she suffers no bite from it in the future. “Fuck it.” The watch becomes the last thing in her pocket. Flick, flick.
Her lungs fill with nostalgia.
“Ah..”
And puff.
She purses her mouth into an open ring, the somber, but lit against its will, night stolen from her sight in a cloud of white. It ebbs the stress in her she had not noticed was beginning to pulse again, searching for her heart with a pair of circling fingers. She palms her chest down. Maybe this is what the wind was telling her.
Ellie is nowhere near stoned, but swears she can feel it slowing. Easing her into something good, this time around. It feels good to have faith in something true.
Silence bends, not snaps. It fits in the gentle start of sobs, a dreadful blue sound, enough to interrupt her star-watching. She pierces around the grassplot for a source and sees the woman of the hour.
Guitar strums pick up in the wind.
She recognises who it is.
The sniffles reel her over. You see a pair of slow-strolling converse, scratching the ground upon steps, before you see the person. She stands an illuminated silhouette under stelliform, globe-string lanterns, the same ones from the winter dance a week ago that no one has thought to disassemble, several feet from your place on this bench.
Her heart has no reason to be thumping.
Strange, the smoke coming from her mouth, like a gun, is not unsettling—it should be. It parts when it clears. “Hey.” Her hesitant voice pricks your skin with goosebumps. Thinned-out, mint eyes at first glance harsh, but gentle at the second; the tired under-beds of purple is a prevalent stigma, but the shining pupil crawling over her iris struck this overwhelming sense of being understood. The soft structure of her face clasps them.
She looks at you like she has no clue what you are, but in the same glance has been raptured with an idea of what you could be. Creature to creature.
Watching, for a long time.
You wipe the cold under your nose onto your sleeve. Hesitant as she is. “Oh, have I taken your spot?” The first thing that comes to mind rolls from your tongue. You begin to collect yourself without an answer.
She stutters, her mouth ahead of her thoughts. “No, n-no! You're totally fine.” Hand freeing from her pocket to pause you.
She seems sweet.
Her curious eyes drop to where your arms are tangled—sheathed around yourself. You haven't moved them since.
Ellie cannot handle these lingering pre-spring conditions, even in her getup. The white avenues are gone but the winds have fought abating, the worst of the weather at night. In your case, a thin cardigan, she can only imagine.
She thumbs her hem. “Are you cold?”
You register that it might seem that way shooting a once-over glimpse of her collar—blue plaid poking through. To be honest, the cool air slipping under and around the hemlines hasn't occurred to you until she made a scene of it.
“Here,” she quietens, rustling in her layers. The slate-grey hoodie is folded outside-in and being offered before you can protest your independence. Nothing but misunderstandings have come between you and her. Charitable ones. “Keep it. I need to clean out my wardrobe, as others would say, anyway.”
It is a small, nothing-much distraction, but you wonder who others are to her. Good, or damaged too?
Someone once said: it's more trouble to refuse help where it is cost-free. You decide to trust that sentiment and crawl from your arms, reluctant to reply. “Too many hoodies?” Letting a glint of light peek through, you let something slip identical to a laugh. It sounds so unfamiliar.
Hers sounds perfect. “No, uh—sneakers, actually. Been told I have too many pairs.” She laughs again. You adjust the hoodie around your waist.
Your ears ride on the grace of that laugh. Replay, replay, and replay it in your head to the point your eyes are staring absent-minded and the colors on her person begin to remind you of a sycamore in autumn. Her deep-auburn burns with the lantern glow, the collected bundle of mane under the hind of her head an incurious shadow still. You wonder if it comes from her mother, or her father: the fire. “Yeah, been there.” Your answer has no substance to it either; you have nothing but a couple worn-out pairs. Your mouth is just saying things—the mindless thing.
Her mouth line shrinks from its last laugh. She now smiles small, with a feature she can't wipe off curling. “Yeah.” She catches your timid voice and echoes it, glancing down before she releases the joint in her fingers to the ground, squashing it under her sneaker. She twists it around, a mix of earth and ash scraping.
It blows a kiss of smoke.
Reminds you of those stump puffballs—mushrooms, bubbling in the depressions of dead or decaying wood, that puff green when puttered at by an early curiousness. One enveloped the tip of your shoe with it when you were little: stretching your underdeveloped leg that managed to reach once through a metal fence peeled at the sides, making squeamish cries when the thing of nature fumed. Memories do return full circle.
She leans an inch on her toes, still absorbed with the ground. The orange roots of her lashes catch that same fire.
Who is she?
For a small town, you should know; there are a few hundred faces in Jackson. But hers is not one you can remember. It seems misplaced. Her brown freckles are symptomatic of the sun. She lets quiet drapings of stress hang from her tear corners to her anti-brows, not so conventional for her age, but unafraid. Her stares are soft, and don't make you feel like a gullible child or a faithless woman.
She looks like she was born in the springtime, but made for October.
“Thanks, again.” You tire restless from that word. Said too often, heard too often. When will there be more?
You notice her half-arm tattoo right as it gets concealed, the strange comfort pulling her ruched, blue sleeves to her wrists. She pins the hems into her palms with her fingers. “It's nothin’,” she humbles. Her lips and nostrils are redder when she abandons her focus from the ground. No doubt she burns without trying in the summer. “Uh, I should be going—now.” She sidles in a direction and you feel urged to follow with your eyes. She uses her arm in a nervous toss to demonstrate where she is headed. “Do me a favor and get home safe, yeah?”
“Of course.” You watch with a farewell smile, a sweet shape creeping on your lips you can't stop. Maybe, you don't want to. Then, remembering one thing important to you, the so-called sweet mouth curses again. “Fuck, her name!”
You hope the two of you stumble into each other again, on some distant morning or near night. And learn her name, just not at your lowest.
Those guitar strings stop with no one around.
𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧
Late night dislodges from the space ahead and is punctured with light. Slipping through the door, closing it behind, a home of damaged goods that should feel familiar and smell of floral nothings repulses you at the entrance. You catch it as soon as it hits—alcohol, marijuana.
Mateo.
Your throat burns from the scent.
His presence becomes known through a sharp shout. “Fuck took you so long?” It stabs through the house, the walls thin enough to not be considered in this, or his, material world.
His rage begins to beat, one foot after the other, on the hardwood floors, and your hand returns to where it felt it was needed. Hoodie fabric—that smells nothing like here, or him—is palmed in-between. Your heart pumps with fear and knowing; God is not restless to punish, but a darker, closer, corporeal counterpart is and he steals you from this life on earth, and he tells you that you have not suffered enough. The stranger in this hoodie is your tether.
But, after that fleeting conversation with the girl in the common acres, you feel you have known her for ages—and you're dating a stranger.
Swallow your pride and knowledge. He will smite you for it. “Um, Cat.” Quick, quick, the lump goes. But slow, slow, the lie creeps and is hesitant to be heard, afraid of its flaws. You turn to the kitchen before his ugly, three-headed emergence, running a hand over the budding holes of flowers. Jesse cut them from his garden, a secret congratulations from him and his mother. “She went to Bison and called me along. Time gotta-'head of us in there. Sorry, baby,” you stall, trembling.
The drunken stench gets worse. You cough but the air is all the same.
His footsteps take a pause at what you sense to be the fridge, a thimble distance. The kitchen, entrance, and couch are all subsided into one long room and aren't interrupted with inessential walls. Trailer gradient. It is not so glamorous as it is discreet; months into the relationship you noticed its perfect usage for taboo practice. The earth tries to return to itself as paint peels from the walls.
He converges with the eerie silence.
It is his discontinuation that turns you around. Otherwise, his hands fallow and large would be and in each press would be apologies you have heard in timeless befores. This time—out of all times—he just stares at you, head to toe, without one. Checking, like, to see if you're all there.
No. He is looking at you like you have done something wrong.
Scrunching up, you blurt. “What?” Quiet. Weak. But you regret your tone as it leaves your throat. The gestures blow your cover wide open.
He knows. “Somethin’ up?” And that is his cue to creep with inertia, his unwillingness to confront a potential problem, his face you cannot read. His alcohol kisses are disguises and his blows to your soul are the realest emotions he has stirred in you, post-beginning. Your nights begin with expectation.
He will either be enraged or lethargic.
But he stops crawling too close to the sun and reaches the rest with his hand, pinching the sleeve of the hoodie, rolling it together. His face shifts and unfortunately—you can read it.
Fuck.
He has his idea. “Where did you get this shit from?” You wish he drank himself to bed; his breath is hot, biting and in your senses and he does his part to fill each nerve. He has your arm, but he could very well have your heart, too. In his grasp. “No, better question—who did you get it from?”
Cold sweat. You answer on high alert.
“Cat!”
He chews it up. “No.” Shakes his head, pins the sun closer in on itself. The counter pinches your lower-spine. “She doesn’t do weed no fuckin’ more. This smells of it. Who does it belong to, huh! One of mine?”
Yelling is nothing compared to his gaping volume.
Your eardrums wobble. “No,” refuting, you open yourself to him. Open to his open-ended judgement. He out-reprimands—until it clicks. “Are you sure it isn't just you?”
He is just projecting.
Where did that come from?
Mateo fumes. His seams come apart. “Yeah, is it just me?” His rhetorical disturbs the somehow sound of nothing, but the hope that it would be yelling and nothing else—bangs against the cupboards. He holds your head in the side of it.
The impact disorients you from this kitchen.
You expect to meet a floor next.
As soon as the sharp pain leaves, it returns. He uses the lightheaded silence he created as a second reason to wrangle you a sweep over, aiming your head—or the whole, his anger is extensive—into the fridge. “Stupid bitch!” The door handle gets you in the stomach before he can.
It escapes your throat with a bubble of nothing to come out.
“Hope that solves your morning issue.” And it stops there. On the cold, slate tile. You have been here before.
Made swollen sounds.
You clutch for the floor. The floor that exists in your mind; too flat for any percievable grasp, your fingers find themselves in your palms, indenting. You press and tighten, searching for pain, but her sweatshirt is long and loved enough to protect those parts of your hands.
You regret having a mouth.
Small room, big conniption. You feel a little too seen retrieving your tears through these wordless-oath, congested inhales. Being in here is suffocating. Outside was bigger; omnipresent, not so wall-to-wall, not so focused on your problems.
But you catch her scent. Not the thing he smelled. Her scent.
Unnostalgic.
Wearing a little bit of some-stranger-else does have a coalescing effect. Some chemical change. Rewiring.
cw : +16, sub!vi, top!reader, clit stimulation, very short.
inspired by this video
THINKING ABOUT how Vi would feel so good beneath you, her hand covering her mouth as she felt your thumbs gently massaging her wet folds, squeezing and caressing the entire length of her pussy. her body was shaking, her muscles tense and her breathing heavy — you had already brought her to orgasm that day, and now you were trying to make her cum again.
"It's so...cute" you say and chuckle softly, seeing how soaked her plump pussy was, her now ignored hole clenching around nothing as you stimulated her externally. she whimpers in response, too tired and lazy to answer you back, her cheeks were flushed and she avoided looking at you, embarrassed by the wet mess that was her pussy.
you bring your thumbs to her clit, lifting the hood so you can see the little bud of nerves, now swollen with arousal. you circle it gently, but it was enough to make her moan loudly and her hips lift a little. you smile, so sensitive, you think.
you open her pussy a little wider, pulling the labia apart until the pink expanse is exposed. your thumb moves to rub circles over her clit, a loud gasp escapes her again, her hand now lowered as she is so immersed in her own pleasure. you then speed up your movements without warning, your thumb moving her clit up and down. you hear another loud gasp from her, her hands gripping the bed sheets as she allowed her sweet sounds to escape.
"s-shit!" she exclaims, biting her plump lips so hard that she draws some blood, the muscles in her abdomen tense as she gets closer and closer to her orgasm. "oh fuck i'm gonna- AH!"
her back arches, a scream escapes her lips and then her fluids come out in jets from her pussy, wetting the entire sheet and your hand. you widen your eyes and let out a moan of contentment, continuing to play with her clit and seeing more squirts come out of it.
you then finally stopped, gently squeezing and caressing her dripping pussy. vi gasped, her eyes finally opening and looking down, seeing the mess she had made, her cheeks consequently becoming redder. she turned onto her stomach with a whimper, feeling genuine shame enter her body.
"I don't understand your shame, it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen" you say as you run your hand over her thighs, a silly smile on your face. You then crawl and lay on her back, burying your face in her hair. "you're the cutest fountain I've ever seen, honey," you say and laugh when you hear another embarrassed whimper.
scissoring with sub!vi—it's literally all over the screen. this is likely not coherent at all i can barely think ok wrote this in like 10 mins just had to get it outta my system GOOD QUALITY SHITS COMING SOON n all that jazz
every rough snap of your hips makes vi cry out louder.
you'd been on top of her for a considerable amount of time at this point—her skin littered with angry bites, her nipples swollen and sore from you twisting them relentlessly, her hamstrings aching to all hell from the whorishly spread open position you had her in...what a sight for sore eyes.
any semblance of sentences had long since left her, she was reduced to moans so loud and dumb you were almost concerned you'd get a noise complaint. well, another one to add to the list.
vi had already cum—the gooey strings connecting her clit to yours being a telltale sign. but above all else, you were hypnotized by her expression. fiery locks were sticking to her sweaty forehead and splayed out on the pillow beneath her, periwinkle blues rolled back in her head and puffy lips producing melodic uh, uh, uh sounds.
your voice strained from the effort, "you're so pretty like this vi, so fucking beautiful...y'know that right?" she sobs, and you're not completely sure she even registered what you said. but you'd praise the life out of her until she did.
whining like a bitch in heat, you feel her pelvis push against your own. she's getting close once more.
only this time, you'll make sure you have your release as well.
conjuring the final bits of your strength, you roll your pussy against hers—the slick, bubbling sounds of another impending orgasm between you both makes your face grow hot. it's all so raunchy. so debauched and filthy, you'd be embarrassed if you weren't so soaking wet.
vi's mouth falls open and her back arches, your own groaning blending with hers. you two were practically musicians in a pornographic orchestra, playing each other like instruments. pressure builds in your abdomen, so you speed up your thrusts—pelvis stuttering every time you feel your clit catch hers.
the blinding ecstasy takes over you without warning, and pushes her over the edge too. you cum with a cry, feeling all your senses black out from the sheer intensity of the feeling, and ride out the high thanks to vi's overstimulated twitching beneath you. momentarily you fall on top of her, chests heaving in sync, melding into a sticky—but satisfied—tangle of limbs.
You couldn’t do it. Not without the aid of her. It was times like this when she was away, you grew the most desperate for her. Especially with the heat in your stomach appearing when you were close, then disappearing because you couldn’t finish without her, and Ellie knew this, it swelled her heart with a sense of pride, knowing you needed her that much. So when you pinged her phone, messaging her about how much you missed her and needed to hear her voice; she knew.
“C’mon, baby. Tell me what you’re doing,” she husked into the phone.
You shivered hearing those words, pussy growing wetter the more she talked. You had two fingers curled inside yourself, your wetness sticking to both your thighs and even the sheets below you. You were growing closer and closer, and more impatient, wanting to finally cum. “I’m fingering myself to you, Els. Need you so bad…”
Ellie bit down on her lip, a groan rasping through the phone which made you slicker, legs closing together from the sheer sensitivity. “Jesus Christ, you’re so dirty. Always desperate for me, huh? Got such a needy fuckin’ cunt…”
Her own fingers were working pushing down her own pants and boxers, the clothing now bunched around her feet. Ellie wished she could see you right now, laying there looking like an angel, fingering your pussy for her. She wanted to see how your face contorted into pleasure, flashes of it crossing her mind.
Hearing such dirty words pulled from her lips, just was the kick you needed. The impending heat in your stomach suddenly grows more rapid, your fingers curling harshly inside your walls, repeatedly hitting a spot that feels so good. A whine escapes from your end of the phone, no actual words being formed. You were too fucked out, too dumb off the thought of Ellie and her repeative dirty words.
The silence only lasted so long before Ellie grew impatient by you not replying. Her slender fingers were rubbing aggressively against her clit, the phone picking up the echoing sound of your wetness and fingers pounding inside yourself. It made Ellie’s head dizzy, her own cunt soaked below her. She wanted to hear you, “C’mon where’s my girl’s voice? Are you close, baby?”
You sped up your fingers, stupidly nodding your head as if she were right there with you, too desperate for her to even care. “Yes, I’m so close. I’m gonna… cum. Fuck—“
Ellie gripped the phone harder, wishing she could see the filthy mess of you cumming all over your fingers. “Yeah… that’s it, baby. Soak those fingers for me.”
And you did, you came so hard, you felt as though you were floating. Your whole body shook as you came, you slipped your cum-coated fingers out of your pussy and eased the digits into your moan. Following with a pop when they were clean, “I came so hard…” you breathed out, “And I cleaned the mess for you.”
Hearing that, Ellie’s fingers halted, eyes widening. It was like a switch went off inside her, hearing you say that. She closed her eyes, sighing softly, knowing what she had to do.
All you heard was shuffling for a moment on her end of the phone, leaving you confused momentarily. Ellie had her shoes on and clothes pulled back up, now looking for her keys. “I’m coming over,” she mumbled. “You’re so fucking in for it, babe.”
You paused, replaying the words in your head. Even though you had fucked yourself minutes prior, you felt yourself dripping once again. “Please hurry. El.”
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