Hiiii! My name is Bunny (on tumblr), I’m 25 year old Black femme lesbian who uses she/her pronouns
+18 BLOG! NO MEN, NO MINORS MNDI, NO TERFS NO SWERFS
🎀 i mainly repost lesbian fanfics and am mostly a NSFW blog; wanna write more horny drabbles! This blog will include hard kink on occasion; please read them below and they will be appropriately tagged if I post them. They’ll be tagged #hornyposting
🎀 DMs are open! To anything! (both NSFW and SFW) I love to YAP lol
🎀 Interests and hobbies: romance books, the color pink, butchfemme history, Queer archiving, switch gaming, lesbian history, fandom fun (TLOU, Arcane, ATLA, anime), and leatherdyke communities
+18 BLOG! NO MEN, NO MINORS MNDI, NO TERFS NO SWERFS
this is my first time ever posting on tumblr! I’m learningggg
cw: 18+, stalking, kidnapping, crazy ex ambessa, bondage, primal play, corruption kink, strap fuck, chasing, power imbalance.
The smell of leather, sweat and something faintly metallic hit you first. You woke up with a start, wrists already straining instinctively against ropes you hadn’t even processed yet. Thick, heavy ropes that burned as you pulled. You weren’t at home. Your bedroom didn’t have stone walls or flickering lantern light.
Your pulse spiked into your throat.
“Where—” Your voice cracked. “Where am I?”
From the shadows, a voice you knew too well. “Still so soft when you’re scared.”
Ambessa stepped into the dim light. She was still massive, still broad-shouldered, still breathtaking in a way that made your gut clench, but now her eyes were wild, hungry, her smile more like a predator’s snarl than anything tender.
“Ambessa?” Your voice was a whisper. “What the fuck are you doing? Let me go—”
“Let you go?” She laughed, low and humorless. “Little bunny, do you have any idea how long I’ve been watching you? How long I’ve listened to you pretend you wanted this, whispering about kidnapping, about being taken, about me.”
You yanked at the ropes, panic rising sharp in your chest. “You’re insane—”
Her gloved hand shot out and gripped your chin, tilting your head up so you had to look at her. “I’m obsessed.” The words were quiet, deadly. “Obsessed with you. With your scent, your voice, the way you moaned when I had you before. I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you. You left me. You thought you could hide from me.”
You tried to shrink back, but the ropes held you to the heavy chair. “Ambessa, please—this isn’t—”
“It’s exactly what you begged for,” she cut you off, voice rough, breath hot against your cheek. “You told me you wanted to be hunted. To be taken. To be used until you forgot your name.”
“I didn’t mean—” Your voice cracked.
Her grin widened, a flash of teeth. “Didn’t mean it, and yet…” Her other hand slid down, brushing over your skirt, slow and taunting. “You’re already trembling for me. I can smell you, even now.”
A whimper escaped before you could choke it down. Fear tangled with the unwanted rush of heat between your thighs.
Ambessa chuckled low. “Poor little thing. Scared, wet, and still pretending you don’t love it.”
She stepped back just enough to undo her belt, sliding a heavy strap free, the thick silicone dildo glistening under the dim light.. “Eyes on me,” she commanded.
You stared, pulse hammering. “Ambessa, please…”
“Say Mistress,” she snapped, and the command landed like a whip.
Your mouth trembled, but she squeezed your throat until the word spilled out anyway. “M-Mistress…”
“That’s better.” She crouched down between your thighs, dragging your skirt up roughly, panties tearing under her fingers. “So wet for your crazy ex. Did you miss me? Did you miss what I do to you?”
“I—”
She slapped your thigh, sharp enough to make you gasp. “Answer me.”
“I missed you, Mistress,” you whispered, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.
Her smirk softened just a fraction, but her eyes stayed feral. “Good girl. That’s honest.”
She pressed the thick head of her cock against your folds, dragging it slowly through your slit until you were whimpering. “This is what happens to prey. This is what happens when you run from a predator like me.”
Then she shoved it in with one brutal thrust.
You cried out, body jerking against the ropes as she filled you, deep and unforgiving. “Ah—Ambessa—”
She grabbed your jaw again, forcing your eyes open. “Mistress,” she growled. “Say it.”
“M-Mistress!”
“Again.”
“Mistress!”
Her grin turned vicious. “That’s my girl.” She began to thrust, slow at first, then harder, the sound of your wetness echoing in the room. “So tight. So scared. And yet your cunt grips me like it never wants me to leave.”
Your head fell back, tears spilling freely as you moaned. “Please—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Ambessa snarled, driving deeper. “You’ll take every inch. You’ll take what I give you until you’re dumb and drooling on my cock.”
You whimpered, body betraying you, clenching hard, your juices gushing down your thighs. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna cum—”
Her hand clamped over your mouth, forcing your head back. “Do it. Cum on my cock like the desperate little prey you are. Show me you’re still mine.”
Your first orgasm ripped through you, hard and helpless, pulsing around the strap that never stopped. You sagged against the ropes, shaking, sobbing into her palm.
Ambessa leaned in, her lips brushing your ear, voice a low growl. “Good girl. You came so pretty for your Mistress. But we’re not finished.”
Her hips started moving again, faster, rougher, her strap slamming into you as she bit at your neck, teeth scraping skin. “I’ll fuck you until you remember who owns you. Until you can’t think of anyone but me.”
Sweat beaded at your temples, the rough fibers biting deeper into your skin every time you jerked against them. Ambessa’s weight loomed over you, her massive frame shadowing you, her cock buried deep inside you and still grinding slow, punishing circles that made your thighs shiver and tremble.
“Pathetic little thing,” she murmured, lips brushing your ear, the words vibrating through your bones. “You whimper, you cry, and yet your greedy cunt pulls me in tighter every second. You begged me for this, didn’t you? This game of predator and prey.”
Her hips snapped forward, making you gasp around her palm still covering your mouth. She chuckled at the sound. “That’s right. You’re my prey. My sweet, dumb prey who doesn’t know if she’s terrified or dripping.”
You shook your head, tears streaking down your cheeks. “P-please, Mistress—”
Her laugh was sharp, dangerous. “Please what? Please stop? Or please fuck you harder until you can’t even form words? Which is it, bunny?”
You whined, clenching around her cock as if your body betrayed you. “I don’t know—I can’t—”
“You can’t think.” She pulled her hand from your mouth only to grip your throat, tilting your head back, forcing you to meet her feral gaze. “That’s because I’ve fucked all your thoughts right out of your pretty head. You’re dumb for me, aren’t you? Just a wet little hole for me to use.”
Your whimper turned into a broken moan as she drove the strap in deep, the chair creaking beneath you.
“That’s it,” Ambessa growled, licking the sweat from your temple. “Be honest. Tell Mistress what you are.”
Your lip trembled. “I’m—I’m your prey.”
“Louder.”
“I’m your prey, Mistress!”
Her teeth flashed in a predatory grin. “Good girl.”
She yanked the ropes tighter, the chair groaning under the strain. You could barely move now, completely trapped, completely hers. The helplessness made your pulse thunder in your ears.
Ambessa rocked her hips, dragging the thick length in and out of you with merciless pace. Every thrust stole the air from your lungs, every drag of the strap against your walls made your vision go white at the edges.
“Look at you,” she growled, her accent thickening with every word. “My little slut, crying and begging while your cunt gushes all over my cock. You’ll never run from me again, will you?”
Your thighs trembled, juices dripping down your ass and pooling on the chair. “N-no, Mistress—”
“That’s right.” She shoved deeper, grinding against your clit until your body arched. “Because I’ll hunt you down every time. I’ll break down every door, rip apart every lock, just to take what’s mine.”
You cried out, your head falling back, overwhelmed.
Ambessa pressed her forehead against yours, her breath ragged, her voice a low growl. “You left me, little bunny. And now I’ll carve my name into your body with every slam of my fucking mine. I’ll make sure you remember who you belong to.”
Her hips fucked faster, brutal, primal, like she was trying to split you in half. The ropes burned into your wrists as you tried uselessly to grab onto her.
“Gods, you’re tight,” she grunted. “Like you were waiting all this time for me to take you again. Admit it. Say you wanted this.”
You sobbed, every thrust shaking the words out of you. “I—I wanted this, Mistress! I wanted you!”
Her grin widened, cruel and triumphant. “There it is. My perfect little whore, finally honest.”
She kissed you then. Messy, teeth scraping, tongue claiming your mouth as her cock claimed your cunt. You gasped into it, your tears mixing with her taste, your body bucking helplessly under her.
Ambessa pulled back, saliva glistening on her lips. “You’re going to cum for me again,” she ordered. “You’ll cum when I say, and you’ll thank me for it.”
Your walls fluttered around her, the coil in your belly tightening unbearably. “I can’t—too much—”
“Yes, you can.” Her thumb found your clit, pressing rough, relentless circles as her strap slammed into you. “You’ll cum on command like the good little prey you are. Or I’ll keep you tied here until morning.”
Your scream went through the stone walls as your orgasm tore through you, violent, shaking, your body clenching around her cock until it hurt. You sobbed her name, babbling, lost in the haze.
Ambessa groaned at the sight, her thrusts slowing only for a moment before she slammed back in harder. “Beautiful. Gods, you’re beautiful like this—wrecked, ruined, mine. But we’re not finished, little bunny.”
She ripped the ropes from your wrists, only to shove you down onto the cold floor, flipping you onto your knees. Her hand pressed the back of your head into the stone, her hips already rutting against you from behind.
“Crawl for me. Show me how prey crawls.”
You whimpered, trying to move forward as she fucked into you, your knees scraping against the floor.
“That’s it,” she growled, sweat dripping down her chest onto your back. “Crawl while I take you. Run, even though you can’t escape.”
Your arms gave out, collapsing under the force of her thrusts. “Mistress, please—too much—”
Ambessa slapped your ass, the sound echoing. “Pathetic little slut. Can’t even hold yourself up. You love it, don’t you? Being hunted, caught, and bred on the floor like an animal.”
“I—I love it!” you sobbed, your voice hoarse.
She snarled, pounding harder, the base of the strap grinding against her clit with each thrust. “Say it again.”
“I love it, Mistress! I love when you use me!”
Ambessa groaned, feral and guttural. “Good. Because I’m going to keep using you until you’re nothing but a dumb, drooling mess. Until you forget every word but my name.”
Her hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back as she fucked you into the floor. Your body trembled, your glistening juices dripping everywhere, your voice breaking into incoherent moans.
And Ambessa kept going, a relentless predator, the obsession burning in her eyes as she growled against your ear, “You’re mine. Always mine. And no one will ever take you from me again.”
She finally stilled inside you, her chest heaving, your wrists raw from the ropes. Sweat dripped from your temple, the smell of leather and her skin filling the air. She let out a low growl that vibrated against your neck.
“Look at you,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair off your damp face. “Eyes glassy, body trembling. You used to run from me in dreams. Now you’re here, caught.”
She leaned back, hands moving to the knots at your wrists. With a quick tug the ropes fell away. Pins and needles shot up your arms as blood rushed back. You were too stunned to move, too wrung out by fear and orgasms to even think about running.
Ambessa saw that, and smiled. A sharp, hungry smirk. “Don’t go limp on me now, little bunny. We’re only at the start.” She traced one gloved finger along your cheek. “I’m going to give you a chance. A head start.”
Your breath caught. “What?”
“I said run.” Her tone dropped, dangerous and low. “Run like you mean it. Try to get away. Try to hide. Make me hunt you.”
She stood, huge and imposing, and stepped back from the chair. Her strap still gleamed wet between her thighs. “You’ve got thirty seconds. Door’s unlocked.” Her eyes glittered with feral excitement. “If you make it to the courtyard, maybe I’ll let you go.”
You didn’t believe her. But your body lurched into motion anyway. Shaking legs carried you to the door. You shoved it open and bolted into a corridor of stone and lamp lights. Your heart hammered so hard you thought you’d choke on it. Cold air bit your skin. Behind you, Ambessa’s laugh rolled out like thunder.
Run.
Your bare feet slapped against rough floor, turning blindly down a hall, then another. The estate looked more like a maze with so many doors that it became easy to get lost at. Your lungs burned. Tears blurred your vision. In your head you kept hearing her voice: little bunny, hunted prey.
You reached a stairwell and stumbled down, gripping the wall to keep from falling. Somewhere above, boots hit stone, slow, deliberate. She wasn’t rushing. She was savoring.
You burst through a side door into what looked like a storage room. Crates, sacks of grain. It smelled of earth and iron. You ducked behind a pile of barrels, hands clamped over your mouth to stifle your ragged breaths.
Silence stretched.
Then a whisper close to your ear: “Boo.”
You screamed as a gloved hand clamped over your mouth and yanked you upright. She had you pinned before you could even twist. One arm locked around your waist, her other hand gripping your jaw. She laughed into your neck, low and delighted.
“Caught you.” Her breath was hot against your ear. “Gods, I love the way you run. The smell of your fear, the little gasps. Makes me crazy, baby.”
You struggled weakly, heart in your throat. “Ambessa, please—”
“Hush.” She spun you and shoved you against a crate. “You had your chance. Now you pay.” Her eyes glittered, wild and triumphant. “Prey doesn’t escape the predator. Prey gets devoured.”
She bent you forward, her huge hand pressing your back until your cheek was against the wood. You whimpered, hands splayed out, legs trembling. She hooked her fingers into your torn panties and ripped them the rest of the way off, tossing the scraps aside.
“Still wet,” she muttered, dragging two fingers along your folds. “Even after running for your life. You’re shaking like a leaf but your cunt’s begging.”
You let out a broken sound, half-sob, half-moan. “I’m scared—”
“I know.” She nipped your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. “That’s the point.”
Ambessa stepped in close, the head of her cock pressing against you again. “Listen to me, little bunny. You run, I catch you, I fuck you. That’s how this goes. That’s how you learn who owns you.” Her voice dropped to a growl. “Tell me who owns you.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, shame and heat colliding in your chest. “You do, Mistress,” you whispered.
“Say it louder.”
“You do, Mistress!”
“Good girl.” She pushed inside with one deep thrust.
You cried out, hands clawing at the crate, body jerking as the strap filled you deep and hot. She held your hips, spreading you wider, her pace immediately brutal. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the storage room.
“Run all you want,” she growled, pounding into you. “I’ll always catch you. Always drag you back. Always fuck you until you remember who you belong to.”
You whimpered, voice breaking on every thrust. “Mistress—please—”
“Please what?”
“Please—don’t stop—”
Her laugh was dark and satisfied. “Exactly. You’re mine. Even scared, even crying, you still want it.”
She reached around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing hard circles as she thrust. “Cum for me again. Show me you’re still my prey. Show me what happens when I catch you.”
Your body trembled, everything too intense: the rough wood under your cheek, her grip on your hips, the relentless pounding of her cock. Pleasure rose sharp and unstoppable, tangled with fear until you were sobbing.
“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”
“Do it.” Her hand tightened on your throat. “Cum on my cock. Mark it as mine.”
Your orgasm tore through you like a scream. Your thighs shook, muscles clenching around the strap, a gush of juices soaking your inner thighs. You jerked forward, shaking, barely able to breathe.
Ambessa didn’t stop right away. She rode you through it, slower now, grinding deep until you were whimpering and spent. Then she bent over you, huge and warm, her lips brushing your ear.
“That’s my little bunny,” she murmured. “Caught. Fucked. Marked.” She licked a tear off your cheek. “Next time, run faster. Make the hunt worth it.”
Her hand slid down to your stomach, her calloused palm wide and possessive. “Because no matter where you go, no matter how far you run…” She pressed one last deep thrust inside you, a growl rattling in her chest. “…I will always find you.”
You shuddered, limp under her, the sound of your own heartbeat loud in your skull. Her grip softened ever so slightly, but her voice stayed dark.
mentions : modern au, cocky abby, reader linedancing, romance, smut, fucking in the trunk of a truck, cunnlingus and fingering (r!receiving both) ellie, dina and jesse mentioned
summary : your friends bring you to a actual rodeo instead of a country bar.
notes : I watched footloose leave me alone. i updated the name of what abby does. i got educated by my country ass friend.
You were the daughter of a rancher, but you had no interest in the backbreaking work that came with it. The scent of hay and manure, the early morning calls to feed the livestock, the endless dust kicked up by galloping horses—it was never for you. Why wrestle with a stubborn cow or chase down a loose chicken when your father had a crew of seasoned ranch hands to handle it all? You preferred your boots scuffing up a dance floor rather than trudging through muddy fields.
Between college classes and your job, your free time was sacred, and you spent it exactly how you wanted—with Dina, Ellie, and Jesse at your usual country bar. The neon lights buzzed overhead, the whiskey burned smooth, and the music thumped through your veins as you laughed, danced, and drank to your heart’s content. You weren’t just another ranch girl—you had a sharp tongue, a sharper eye for a pretty face, and a taste for the type of women who could rope a calf and toss you over their shoulder just as easily.
And while you’d never be caught dead tending to a ranch, you sure as hell didn’t mind the idea of marrying someone who would. You had a thing for the cowgirls who carried themselves with a quiet kind of confidence, their denim worn in all the right places, boots tapping to the beat of a country song. You flirted shamelessly, usually with success, leaving the bar with a strong arm slung around your shoulders, a lingering kiss pressed to your lips, and a number saved in your phone—just in case they rode back into town.
When Jesse even mentioned the idea of going to a rodeo, you shut it down immediately. The thought of dust clinging to your clothes, the overpowering stench of manure, and the general discomfort of being out in the heat? Yeah, not your scene. But when Dina casually mentioned the kind of girls who’d be there—tough, confident, and probably looking damn good in their cowboy hats and Wranglers—you suddenly had a change of heart.
If you were going to endure a rodeo, you were going to do it right. You slipped into your best outfit—a black, off-the-shoulder crop top with long, billowy sleeves that hugged your arms just right, paired with fitted blue jeans that sat snug on your waist, accentuated by a bold, engraved silver belt buckle. You topped it all off with gold jewelry that caught the light with every move. A swipe of gloss over your lips, one last mirror check, and you were ready to turn heads.
When you arrived, the sheer number of people caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected a rodeo to be this packed, but the energy in the air was undeniable. The smell of fried food mixed with leather and dirt, country music blared over the speakers, and the crowd buzzed with excitement. You, Dina, Ellie, and Jesse weaved through the sea of cowboy hats and boots, somehow managing to score a prime spot right up front. The view? Perfect. And not just of the rodeo—because as soon as your eyes landed on a group of rugged cowgirls leaning against the fence, smirking and tipping their hats in your direction, you knew this night was about to get interesting.
The rodeo kicked off with the usual fanfare—dust flying, cowboys racing across the arena, their lassos spinning in perfect arcs as they wrangled cattle with practiced ease. The crowd hollered in approval, the announcer's voice booming over the speakers, hyping up each event like it was the main attraction. One by one, the cowboys showed off their skills, wrestling livestock and maneuvering their horses with expert precision.
Then came the performances—trick riders, ropers, and even a few stunt showcases meant to keep the energy high. But you were barely paying attention. You were here for the real show, the one part of the rodeo that actually piqued your interest: the bronc riding competition.
The first few riders stormed out of the gates, gripping onto the backs of angry, bucking horses that twisted and kicked violently beneath them. It was pure chaos, all muscle and movement, the riders desperately trying to hold on for as long as possible before getting thrown into the dirt. People cheered wildly, but you? You were clearly uncomfortable. The unpredictability, the way the horses thrashed about, the sheer force of it all—it made you shift in your spot, crossing your arms as you tried to keep yourself engaged. The next few cowboys followed in suit, each lasting mere seconds before being flung to the ground, some landing harder than others.
Then, the energy in the arena shifted. The next rider wasn’t a cowboy.
A tall, muscular cowgirl strode out onto the field, commanding attention without even trying. Her frame was solid, powerful, her presence undeniable. A black cowboy hat rested low over sharp, determined eyes, and a thick golden braid trailed down her back, catching the arena lights as she moved. There was a confidence to her—a steadiness in the way she approached, like she had done this a thousand times before and could do it in her sleep.
“Who’s that?” you blurted, turning sharply toward Ellie and Jesse.
Jesse smirked, barely looking away from the arena. “Abby Anderson. One of the best bronc riders in the country.”
Your eyes flickered back to her, taking in every sharp feature, every flex of muscle as she adjusted her gloves, rolling her shoulders like she was warming up for battle.
“She’s hot,” you muttered under your breath, already moving forward before you even registered what you were doing. You stepped up to the gate, hands gripping the metal bars as you leaned in, trying to get a better look.
Dina snickered but followed right behind you, standing close at your side. “She is cute. Can't say much my girlfriend is behind me," she says as you both looked back at Ellie before bursting into laughter.
The announcer’s voice rang out across the arena, calling Abby’s name like she was a legend among mere mortals. The crowd erupted, a mix of cheers and whistles, and you swore you even heard a few people chanting her name. It was clear—this wasn’t just another rider. Abby Anderson was the rider.
She adjusted her grip on the reins, rolling her shoulders once more before nodding toward the gate crew. The second they threw it open, the horse exploded out like a firework, muscles coiling and kicking as it fought against the weight on its back. But Abby? She moved with it like she was born to do this.
Her thighs clenched around the horse’s sides, keeping her steady as it bucked and twisted wildly beneath her. One hand gripped the reins, the other shot up into the air, fingers curled like she was commanding the damn beast itself. Every sharp movement should’ve thrown her off, sent her crashing into the dirt like the riders before her, but she held on—easily. Like she belonged there.
You could feel your breath hitch, fingers tightening around the gate as you leaned in even further. Your heart pounded in time with the hooves slamming against the earth, dust swirling around Abby like some cinematic moment straight out of a western.
Dina nudged you with her elbow, grinning. “You’re drooling.”
“Shut up,” you muttered, unable to tear your eyes away.
The horse gave one last monstrous buck, its front legs kicking high into the air before slamming back down. But Abby was unshaken. The buzzer rang out—she had lasted long enough to qualify, but instead of immediately dismounting, she took a slow, victorious lap around the arena, tipping her hat toward the crowd.
When she finally rode back toward the gate, you swore—for a split second—her eyes flickered toward you. Your stomach flipped. Maybe it was your outfit, or the way you and Dina were shamelessly staring, but Abby definitely noticed.
As she hopped down from her horse, handing the reins off to a nearby handler, Jesse leaned in close to your ear.
“You should go talk to her.”
Your mouth went dry. “What? No.”
Ellie smirked, throwing an arm over Jesse’s shoulder. “What happened to all that confidence you had back at the bar, huh? You scared now?”
Dina laughed, slapping your back. “Come on, Miss I-Flirt-With-Every-Cowgirl-I-See. This is your moment.”
You swallowed hard, watching as Abby removed her hat, shaking out her braid as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. God, she was even hotter up close.
Maybe they were right. Maybe this was your moment.
And hell—if there was ever a time to test your luck, it was now.
Your heart pounded as you slipped away from the stands, your feet moving before your brain could even catch up. Dina and Ellie sent you off with teasing whistles, and Jesse just muttered a smug "Go get her, cowboy killer."
You ignored them, eyes locked onto Abby as you weaved through the crowd, making your way toward the gate where she stood. She was deep in conversation with what looked like her coach, arms crossed, posture relaxed but focused. Even after all that riding, she barely looked winded—just a thin sheen of sweat along her forehead, her braid slightly looser than before.
She saw you. A flicker of recognition flashed in her blue eyes, but she didn’t immediately acknowledge you, too caught up in whatever her coach was saying. So you waited, leaning casually against the gate, arms folded on top of it like you had all the time in the world.
Finally, after another few words and a firm nod, Abby turned toward you, a slow smirk tugging at her lips as she mirrored your stance, resting her arms on the gate.
Up close, she was even more breathtaking. Strong jawline, piercing eyes, sun-kissed skin that made her look like she lived in the outdoors. And then—just when you thought she couldn’t get any hotter—she opened her mouth.
That slight country accent in her voice? Yeah, that was going to be a problem.
“You don’t look like you belong here,” she drawled, eyes scanning you with something that felt dangerous.
You raised a brow, playing along. “What gave it away?”
Abby tilted her head slightly, grinning. “The way you dress. You look like a buckle bunny.”
You scoffed, lips parting slightly in surprise. “A buckle bunny?”
Her smirk deepened, like she was waiting for you to react. Before you could throw back some sarcastic remark, she reached up, plucked her hat off her head, and—without a single ounce of hesitation—placed it right on top of yours.
The heat from it was still there, lingering against your skin like she had claimed you in front of the entire damn rodeo.
“I’ll see you tonight, beautiful,” she murmured, voice thick and smooth like warm honey.
Before you could recover, before you could process the way her words sent a shiver down your spine, Abby pushed off the gate, stepping down with effortless ease. She didn’t wait for a response, didn’t even look back as she strolled toward her team, leaving you standing there, gripping the brim of her hat with your pulse hammering in your throat.
Dina, Ellie, and Jesse were definitely going to have a field day with this.
You stood there, gripping the brim of Abby’s hat like it was a sacred artifact, heart still stumbling over itself as her words replayed in your head. I’ll see you tonight, beautiful.
What the hell just happened?
Dina, Ellie, and Jesse wasted no time. You barely turned around before Dina was right in your face, eyes flicking up to the hat on your head with a wicked grin.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, grabbing your arm. “She claimed you.”
Ellie choked on a laugh, while Jesse just crossed his arms, nodding in approval. “Yeah, that was smooth as hell.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but the warmth on your face betrayed you. “She did not—”
“Oh, she definitely did,” Ellie cut in, mimicking Abby’s smirk. “She saw you, decided you were hers, and now you’re walking around with her hat with her initals on it.”
You groaned, pushing past them, but Dina was relentless, looping an arm around your shoulders as you all started heading back toward the main area. “So, when’s the wedding?”
You shoved her off with a laugh. “I hate you.”
Jesse shook his head, amused. “Nah, you love us. Now, what’s the game plan for tonight? Because there’s no way we’re letting you fumble this.”
You huffed, adjusting Abby’s hat on your head as you thought about it. The rodeo after-parties were notorious—loud, rowdy, filled with music, cheap drinks, and reckless decisions. You hadn’t planned on staying, but now?
Now you had a reason.
You chewed your lip, eyes scanning the area where Abby had disappeared. The confidence, the smirk, the way she had just claimed you in front of everyone—it did something to you, something dangerous.
“…Guess we’re staying for the after-party.”
Dina clapped her hands together, grinning. “Oh, this is gonna be exciting.”
The after-party was in full swing by the time you and your friends got there. The barn-turned-dancehall was packed—cowboys and cowgirls stomping their boots to the music, neon beer signs flickering over the wooden walls, and the scent of whiskey and cheap cologne thick in the air.
You and Dina wasted no time hitting the dance floor. The second a fast-paced country song came on, you were grabbing her hands, twirling her around, laughing as you two stumbled into step with the line dancers. The beat was infectious, your boots sliding against the polished floor in perfect rhythm.
Ellie and Jesse had immediately disappeared to the pool tables, which—judging by Jesse’s hollering—meant they were already a few drinks in. Dina and you, on the other hand, had made it your mission to dominate the dance floor, giggling and spinning each other around even when the song slowed.
Then it happened.
Country Girl (Shake It for Me) started playing, and you whooped, excitement bubbling in your chest. This was your song. One of your all-time favorite line dances.
“Oh, this is happening,” you said, grinning as you took your place in the formation.
Dina laughed, holding up her hands in surrender. “I’m getting a drink. You got this, buckle bunny.”
You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but you were too into the music to argue. As Dina made her way toward Ellie and Jesse, you threw yourself into the dance, moving effortlessly with the crowd, your body swaying, hips moving in perfect time.
Then—mid-turn—you saw her.
Abby.
Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her cowboy hat back on her head like she never gave it away. The dim lighting cast shadows over her sharp jawline, her muscles flexing slightly beneath her fitted t-shirt as she observed the chaos in front of her.
Your body froze for just a second—barely noticeable to anyone else, but enough that you felt it. Your feet faltered, your breath hitched, because damn, she was looking right at you.
Not just watching—studying.
The song kept going, the people around you still moving, but for that brief moment, it was like the whole damn bar faded into the background. Just you and Abby.
You tilted your head slightly, smirking, challenging her to keep looking.
She did.
That smirk of hers made a slow return, a knowing look in her eyes as she pushed off the wall.
Your pulse skyrocketed.
Was she—?
Was she coming toward you?
Your breath caught as Abby pushed off the wall, her smirk never wavering as she weaved through the crowd with that damn confident stride. It was like the sea of drunk cowboys and rowdy line dancers parted just for her.
You tried to play it cool, tried to keep your body moving in rhythm, but your feet felt heavy, your chest tight with anticipation. She was coming straight for you—eyes locked, hat tilted just enough to cast a shadow over her gaze, making it all the more intense.
When she finally reached you, the music was still blaring, the floor still shaking with the stomps of boots, but all you could focus on was her.
She leaned in, her voice cutting through the chaos, laced with that irresistible country drawl.
“You dance like a city girl,” she teased, hands slipping into her pockets.
You huffed a laugh, tilting your chin up slightly. “Yeah? And you ride like a show-off.”
Abby grinned at that, but her eyes flicked over you, taking in every detail—the way your body still swayed slightly to the beat, the hat she had given you still resting on your head.
Without missing a beat, she extended a hand. “C’mon, buckle bunny.”
You raised a brow, arms crossing over your chest. “And what exactly are you asking?”
Abby leaned in just enough that her scent—leather, sweat, and something distinctly her—wrapped around you like a lasso. “I’m askin’ if you can two-step, or if I gotta teach you.”
Oh, she was good.
You bit your lip, considering. The answer was obvious—of course you knew how to two-step. You were raised on a ranch, for crying out loud. But there was something about letting her lead that made your stomach flip in the most dangerous way.
So, instead of answering, you took her hand.
Abby wasted no time. She pulled you onto the dance floor with a firm but easy grip, guiding you into position. One hand clasping yours, the other settling low on your waist.
And then, she started moving.
It was effortless—her steps precise, her body firm against yours as she led you through the motions. Slow, slow, quick-quick. Over and over, your feet following her lead as the music pulsed through the floor.
People were still dancing around you, but all you could focus on was the heat of her palm, the way she held you with such confidence, like she had done this a thousand times before.
You met her gaze, heart hammering. “So, what happens after this?”
Abby smirked, her grip tightening slightly as she spun you—so sudden, so smooth, that you barely had time to react before you were right back against her.
“That depends,” she murmured, voice low and teasing. “How long you plannin’ on wearin’ my hat?”
Your heart stuttered as you stared up at her, the weight of her words settling over you like a thick summer heat. Abby’s grip on your waist was firm, her fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you feel her, like she wasn’t letting go until she got an answer.
You smirked, tilting the brim of her hat slightly. “Depends,” you echoed, voice light but laced with something undeniably flirty. “How long do you want me to wear it?”
Abby huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head slightly as she pulled you in closer, her breath warm against your cheek. “Darlin’, you keep lookin’ at me like that, and you won’t make it through another song before I take you outside.”
Your stomach flipped, heat rushing straight to your face.
And Abby saw it.
That smirk of hers deepened, eyes flicking between yours like she was committing every reaction to memory. The two-step slowed between you, but neither of you broke apart. The music had changed, but it didn’t matter—every part of you was hyper-focused on her, the way she held you, the way she spoke like she already had you wrapped around her damn finger.
The music pulsed around you, the bass thrumming under your feet as you and Abby moved in sync. She was leading, but there was no doubt you were giving her a run for her money—your body brushing against hers just enough to tease, your fingers lingering when they met.
Abby had confidence, sure, but you could see the way her grip tightened on your waist, the way her breath hitched every time you let your fingertips skim her arm, her shoulder, the hem of her shirt. She was trying to keep it together, to stay cool, but you weren’t making it easy.
And you loved it.
“Damn,” she murmured as you spun back into her arms, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “You always dance like this, or am I just lucky?”
You smirked, letting your hands settle against her shoulders, your body pressing closer than necessary. “Maybe I just like the way you dance.”
Abby’s jaw tensed, her eyes flicking down to your lips, and that was all the confirmation you needed.
Without hesitation, you closed the gap, pressing your mouth against hers in a way that left no room for second-guessing.
And Abby?
She melted into it.
Her hands locked onto your waist, pulling you flush against her, her lips moving with a slow, deliberate hunger that sent heat straight to your core. The music faded, the crowd around you blurred, because in that moment, all that mattered was her.
You deepened the kiss, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt, and Abby groaned softly against your lips—so quiet, so subtle, but fuck, it sent a shiver straight down your spine.
When you finally pulled back, Abby was staring at you like she couldn’t quite believe what just happened. Like she wanted more. Needed more.
You licked your lips, tilting your head slightly. “You gonna keep staring, or you gonna follow me outside?”
Abby exhaled sharply, her fingers flexing against your waist. “You sure?”
You took a step back, reaching for her hand, lacing your fingers through hers. Then, with a slow smirk, you leaned in just enough to whisper, “Come find out.”
Abby didn’t hesitate.
She let you lead her through the crowd, her grip firm, her pace matching yours as you wove between drunken cowboys and couples lost in their own worlds. The night air hit your skin as you pushed open the door, the scent of beer and sawdust fading into something crisper, fresher.
But you didn’t care about any of that.
Because the second you were outside, Abby was pressing you up against the nearest wall, her hands bracing on either side of you, her breath warm against your cheek.
“You’re trouble,” she muttered, her voice a little rough, a little breathless.
You grinned, your fingers trailing up her arm, your nails barely scratching her skin. “And you like it.”
Abby huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah,” she admitted, eyes dark with something dangerous. “I really do.”
Abby’s truck rumbled softly as she drove, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested on the center console, fingers flexing like she was resisting the urge to reach for you. The tension between you two was thick, the air charged with something electric. You could feel her glancing at you between turns, that small, knowing smirk never quite leaving her face.
When you texted Dina, a simple "I'm good. Don't wait up." her responses came almost instantly with a string of suggestive emojis. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips.
Abby pulled off the main road onto a gravel path, the truck bouncing slightly with each bump in the road. Eventually, she slowed to a stop at an overlook—a vast, open space with a perfect view of the night sky stretching endlessly above. The stars were brighter out here, away from the haze of town, casting a soft glow over the landscape.
You raised an eyebrow, turning to her. “When you said somewhere private, I was thinking a hotel. But I’ve done it in public before, so…”
Abby chuckled, shaking her head as she reached into the backseat, pulling out a thick blanket. “Of course you have,” she murmured, that damn smirk widening as she met your gaze again. Then, she leaned in just slightly, her voice dipping lower, huskier. “But have you done it in the trunk before—under the stars, bunny?”
Your breath hitched, heat pooling in your stomach at the way she said it—slow, teasing, like she already knew the answer but wanted to hear you admit it.
You tilted your head, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “No,” you said, voice dripping with challenge. “Think you can make it worth my while?”
Abby’s tongue flicked over her bottom lip, her eyes darkening as she studied you. “Oh, sweetheart,” she drawled, unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning in close enough that her breath fanned against your cheek. “You have no idea.”
Then, without another word, she pushed open her door and stepped out, making her way around the back of the truck. You sat there for half a second, your pulse hammering, before quickly following her lead.
The night air was cooler than before, sending a shiver down your spine—but you had a feeling Abby was about to make you forget all about that.
Abby spread the blanket across the open bed of her truck, smoothing it out with practiced ease. You leaned against the side, watching her, the dim glow of the moon highlighting the sharp edges of her face, the strength in her arms. She moved with an easy confidence, like she had done this before—but there was something in the way she kept glancing at you, like you were the one thing she wasn’t quite sure how to handle.
Once she was satisfied, she turned, resting a hand on the truck bed as she met your gaze. “Well?” she said, tilting her head. “You just gonna stand there, or you gonna let me show you how girls like you do it?”
You smirked, stepping closer, your fingers teasing at the hem of her shirt as you brushed past her. “Guess I’ll let you try.”
Abby let out a low chuckle, shaking her head as she watched you climb onto the blanket. She followed right after, settling in beside you, one arm propped up as she leaned on her elbow, facing you.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The stars above stretched endlessly, the only sounds the rustling of the wind through the trees and the faint hum of cicadas in the distance. But even with all that space around you, everything felt small—like the only thing that mattered was her, was this, was the way her fingers trailed along the inside of your thigh, just barely there.
“You look real pretty under the stars,” she murmured, her voice low, intimate.
You tilted your head, fingers brushing against the collar of her shirt. “You gonna keep sweet-talking me, or are you actually gonna do something about it?”
Abby’s eyes darkened, her smirk turning downright wicked. “Oh, bunny,” she drawled, leaning in until her lips hovered just over yours. “You’re gonna wish you never said that.”
And then she kissed you—slow and deep, like she had all the time in the world. Like she wanted to savor you.
Her hands roamed, fingers gripping your waist, your thighs, your hips, pulling you closer, pressing you against the solid warmth of her. You could feel the strength in her hold, the way she wanted you but was still holding back, still giving you the space to set the pace.
But you didn’t want slow.
With a teasing roll of your hips, you grinned against her lips. “C’mon, Anderson,” you murmured. “Show me what those hands can really do.”
Abby huffed out a breath, her grip tightening. “Careful what you ask for, beautiful.”
With a wicked smirk, Abby shifted, gripping the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head in one smooth motion. You weren't wearing a bra. The night air sent a delicious chill across your skin and nipples, making them erect. But before you could react, her hands were on you again, mapping out every inch like she needed to know you by touch alone.
She got on top of you before putting one of your nipples into her mouth, playing with the other one, twisting it between her thumb and pointer finger.
You let a small moans as she moved onto the other nipple. She moved her hand down to your pants, buckling them.
She seemed to be struggling with you belt as she unlatched from your nipple and focusing on unbuckling your belt. You propped yourself up on your elbow as you looked down at her stuggling. You couldnt help but giggle.
"Do you need help?," you asked teasingly. Abby looked up at you as she managed to unbuckle the belt, taking out the loops of your pants and tossing it somewhere behind you.
She then buttoned your jeans, pulling them down and taking them off, your thong leaving nothing to the imagination.
She used one finger, hooking onto them before taking them off of you.
She pulled away admiring you "Fuck...all of you is beautiful," she mumbled.
She wasted no time getting in between your thighs, licking a long stripe up your cunt, making you gasp.
Just one taste and she was pussy drunk.
She attacked your clit, taking your senstitive bud into her mouth, sucking and licking.
"Fuck abby," you moaned out as your hand made its way to her head, your fingers digging into her hair.
Abby moved down to your entrance, putting her tongue inside , fucking you with her tongue and slurping up your juices.
You grind against her tongue as you bite your lip, trying to reach your climax.
She soon pulled away and replaced her tongue with her finger, immediately curving it into your g-spot. It was clear she was wasting no time.
Her fingers with thick and long, just one was alot. But at the same time it wasnt enough.
You whined and moaned as she thrusted her finger into you, your walls tightened around it.
"Such a tight pretty pussy. Do you want more, baby?," she asks, looking at you.
You nod frantically "Yes please, Abby. Put another finger in me," you begged.
She pulled her finger out, using two to tease your entrance before inserting the both of them inside, not holding back as she expertly thrust her fingers into you, using her thumb to rub your clit.
Your moans got louder and Abby puts a hand over your mouth. "You gotta be quiet, bunny," she says "Unless you want us to get caught..."
Her thrust became harder and faster as she curled them into your g-spot again, making your back arch in response as you moaned against her hand. The truck moving from her movements.
It was too much, but you didnt want it to stop.
Before you knew it the feeling in your stomach started to approach and the tightening of your cunt became tighter which Abby noticed.
"You must be close. You're cut the circulation to my fingers...this is my riding hand, babygirl," she says.
The feeling in your stomach finally snaps and it hits you like a freight train. You were seeing way more stars that what was in the sky.
Abby removed her hand from your mouth and replaced it with her lips, muffling all the moans coming out of you.
Abby helped you come down from your high, slowing her fingers before pulling out when you've calmed down.
Abby pulled away from the kiss before looking at you with a teasing smirk. "You cum this hard from my fingers? Imagine with my strap," she says before putting her fingers in her mouth, licking off your juices.
⋆ angel of mine; i’m probably gonna think about you all the time.
biker!sevika x stripper!chubby!reader. men & minors dni.
synopsis: when you get news of your grandmother’s declining health, you pack what’s left of your life in miami and begin to head home. on the way you meet enigmatic stranger sevika, who gives you a ride.
wc: 10k
cw: age difference! stripper!reader, chubby!reader, fem!reader, mommy issues, implied melvika, implied melvika x reader, strangers to lovers, roadtrips, biker!sevika, resolved sexual tension, codependency, found family, dysfunctional families, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, exhibition kink (implied), degradation, name-calling, dom/sub, dom!sevika, sub!reader, hyperfemme!reader, lowkey sugar mommy!sevika.
notes: you can definitely tell i’m southern in this piece. i love the south despite it not loving me (black, sapphic, & female) back. so much of florida contains my family and love though i left it. i hope that comes through. i’m really proud of this and i hope you enjoy. so sorry for any typos i may have missed. let me know what you think & if you want a full melvika x reader pt. ii ! i love you. 𓆉⋆｡˚⋆❀ 🐚🫧𓇼 ˖°
playlist: lana born to die: paradise album. listen here.
The white teeth of Miami were always going to eat you alive.
That’s what your grandmother used to say, her voice crackling over the phone, sweet but certain, the way only old women could be. She didn’t say it to scare you—just to remind you that the city, for all its glitter and heat, had sharp edges. She was a lioness, and you were good meat.
You’d felt it too, walking barefoot along the highway, heels swinging in one hand and your purse in the other. The sunset was dying behind you, streaks of cotton candy pink, baby blue, and tangerine smeared across the horizon like someone had finger-painted the sky in haste.
Your cheeks still sparkled faintly under the fading light, remnants of glitter you hadn’t scrubbed off from work. It clung stubbornly, refusing to let go. You’d braided the front of your hair into two plaits that went straight back, falling apart in the middle to join the rest of the mass—wavy and tinsel-streaked. It was your “mermaid hair” as your younger sister loved to call it. You blinked heavily, your 60s-style lashes dragging their soft bodies across your plush cheeks.
The ache in your feet was grounding though, pulling you out of the haze of the club—the strobe lights, the bass that rattled in your ribs, the haze of too many eyes on you.
You’d gotten through the night, but just barely. Grandma’s sick. That had been the thought looping in your head as you swayed under the lights, pretending to be something more desirable than tired. Your mother had called, her voice small and broken. She wouldn’t tell you where she was. I’ll be home tomorrow, you’d promised anyway and then you climbed back on the stage.
You’d scraped together what you could tonight, but not enough for both a cab and the medicine your grandmother needed. The last bus out of town was fucked, something about a technical failure. So, you walked, the stretch of highway endless, the heat still radiating off the asphalt like it was sinking into hell.
You were so distracted by both your raging anxiety and oncoming hunger that the headlights caught you off guard. A single beam at first, low and flickering, until the growl of the engine grew louder, sharper, swallowing the silence. You turned instinctively, lifting a hand to wave—desperation bleeding through the gesture.
The motorcycle slowed. It wasn’t just a machine; it was an extension of her.
Its rider was tall and broad-shouldered, her presence filling the space before she even spoke. A thick, short braid of dark hair hung over her shoulder, catching the light like polished onyx, and her face was all hard angles—sharp jaw, strong brow, a faint scar cutting through her upper lip. She leaned forward slightly, resting her weight on a prosthetic arm that gleamed silver in the twilight. Her eyes, cold at first glance, raked over you, measuring.
For the millionth time that night, you became painfully aware of your appearance. You hadn’t had much time to change before rushing out, so you were stuck in a turquoise spaghetti-strap tank that clung uncomfortably to your skin and a pair of low-rise grey sweatpants, the faded mall-brand logo on the hip barely holding on.
Your purse—a tiny baby pink crossbody clutch—was stretched to its limit, struggling to close over your overstuffed Polo Assn. wallet, its dark brown leather warped by thick stacks of crumpled bills and nearly maxed-out credit cards.
A single white earbud perched in your left ear, the mile-long wire snaking under the loose neckline of your tank and into your hands, where your phone gleamed faintly in the glare of her headlights. Glittery gold, covered in 3D bubble stickers of pale pink and cream roses—your little sister’s handiwork.
Between the heat of the phone and the plastic of the case, you’d tucked a Polaroid: you, your sister, and your aunt, all dolled up in perfect makeup and hoop earrings, the three of you grinning wide enough to make the moment feel permanent. Behind the photo, folded neatly, was a note.
The faintest whiff of smoke clung to you, softened by bellini, cherry, and peach. You’d tried hard to be sweet, always sweet, but it wasn’t enough to cover the night’s work. Especially not tonight.
“You lost?” she asked, her voice gravelly, low, like the rumble of her engine hadn’t entirely faded.
“Not lost,” you said, voice softer than you intended. “Just… trying to get home.”
You were always trying to go home.
She raised a brow, glancing at your bare feet and the glitter still dusting your face. “Long walk.”
You shrugged, exhaustion pulling at the edges of your face.
“No choice.”
For a moment, she just stared at you, her expression unreadable, before she nodded toward the seat behind her.
“Hop on. I’ll get you there.”
You hesitated, your gaze lingering on the gleam of her prosthetic, the way it contrasted with the calloused hand gripping the throttle.
“What’s your name?” you asked, finally, your voice quieter now.
She huffed faintly, tilting her head. “Sevika. And you?”
You gave her your name, your voice carrying the weight of gratitude but a lack of trust. You weighed your options—you had none—and decided that you could only hope she wasn’t insane.
You thought of the note in your phone case.
“Lord, I confess i want the clarity of catastrophe but not the catastrophe. Like everyone else, I want a storm I can dance in. I want an excuse to change my life. Lord if I say bless the cold water you throw on my face, does that make me a costume party. Am I greedy for comfort if I ask you not to kill my friends if I beg you to press your heel against my throat - not enough to ruin me, but just so I can almost see your face.” (x.)
Then, without another word, you climbed onto the bike, your fingers brushing against her shoulders as you steadied yourself.
The engine roared, and the wind hit your face, carrying you forward into the night. You bent your neck, tucked your head into her back, and began to pray.
❀
You woke to a soft hand on your skin.
“Hey. You up?”
The words were quiet, almost careful, but they pulled you from the thin edge of sleep. For a moment, you were disoriented. The ceiling above you was unfamiliar, white with faint water stains bleeding outward like bruises. The couch beneath you creaked as you shifted, and smelled of saltwater and lavender. There was a thin blanket draped over your shoulders but it felt impossibly heavy, anchoring you in place.
Sevika was leaning over you, her face shadowed but sharp in the dim light spilling from another room. Her hand lingered on your hip, her touch surprisingly gentle.
“Come on,” she said, her voice low and gravelly, rasping against the quiet. “Mel wants to meet you.”
“Mel?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.
“She lives here. She’s… persistent,” Sevika said with a dry edge, stepping back to give you room to sit up. “And she’s got a thing for taking care of strays. Don’t worry, she’s nice. Nicer than me, anyway.”
The apartment was small, but the stomach of it was softened by a clear effort to make it feel like home.
The walls were painted a pale cream, though the paint was peeling in the corners, and the floors were scuffed wood. The furniture was mismatched, but there was a warmth to it—a knitted throw slung over the back of the couch, a row of half-burned candles on the coffee table, the faint scent of coconut and vanilla lingering in the air.
The windows were open, letting in the salt-thick breeze of the early morning, and a line of photos pinned to the wall swayed slightly, the string barely holding on.
Mel appeared in the doorway to what must have been the bathroom, her figure backlit by the soft, yellow glow. She was taller than you’d expected, her frame lithe but strong, and her black braids pooled over her shoulders like an oil spill, gleaming in the dim light. She held a cherry red hairbrush in one hand and a small bottle of lotion in the other, her brown skin catching the light beautifully.
“You’re awake,” she said, her voice rich but cautious. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, warm but searching.
Most people tended to treat you this way. It was as if you were a scared animal and they were trying to coax you in.
You nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.
“Yeah. Sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude here.”
“You didn’t,” Mel said quickly, stepping closer. Her tone softened, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Sev doesn’t bring people home unless she has a reason. You must’ve needed it.”
You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Your gaze flicked to Sevika, who leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her broad chest, her prosthetic glinting faintly in the soft light. She was watching the two of you, her expression unreadable.
“I’ve seen you before,” Mel said suddenly, drawing your attention back to her. Her smile turned wistful. “At The Siren, right?”
The mention of the club sent a ripple of recognition through you. You nodded slowly, and Mel’s expression shifted, her eyes softening further.
“I thought so,” she murmured. “You helped me once, in the bathroom. I was… having a bad night. You were so sweet.”
The moment came back in pieces. Her face streaked with tears, her voice trembling as she spoke about her mother, about leaving home. You’d handed her a tissue, touched her shoulder lightly, said something comforting.
“I remember,” you said softly, your voice catching in your throat.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Mel said, her gaze steady. “But I’m glad you did.”
She knelt in front of you, holding up the brush. “Let me help you. You’ve had a long night.”
You hesitated, but something in her expression, in the calm warmth of her voice, made you nod. She guided you to the bathroom, which was small and tidy, the mirror rimmed with salt stains and seashells.
As she brushed your hair, her touch was careful, her fingers grazing your scalp like she was afraid of breaking something fragile.
“You’ve got beautiful hair,” she said softly, almost to herself.
“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice faint. “You smell nice.”
Her laugh was quiet, and you felt the warmth of it root deep in your chest.
“Coconut oil,” she said, but there was a blush creeping into her cheeks. “Mixed with vanilla. I like to smell dewey and sugary. Kind of like you.”
You smiled tiredly at her in the mirror, lifting a hand to pat at her wrist. The tender powder pink of your acrylics were bright against it. Behind you, Sevika leaned in the doorway, her presence as steady as a shadow.
“You’re making her shy, Melly,” she teased, her voice like gravel underfoot.
Mel glanced at her, rolling her eyes, but you caught the faintest smile tugging at her lips. As a final touch she added a large bow clip to your tamed strands; it was lilac and worn at the ends.
When you were cleaned up, you reached for your purse, pulling out a crumpled bill.
“Here. Let me—,” you began, holding it out.
Mel’s expression shifted, her smile fading into something more serious as she cut you off. She pushed your hand back gently.
“Honey, you don’t owe me anything.”
The sincerity in her voice caught you off guard, and you tucked the money away, unsure of what to say.
Sevika cleared her throat. “Where are we headed, anyway?”
“Tampa,” you said.
She raised a brow, her smirk returning.
“Figures. You seem like a Tampa girl.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.
Sevika just shrugged, her mouth twitching.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
The three of you stepped into the early morning light, the ocean-heavy breeze brushing against your skin. You didn’t even know you could live this close to the ocean in Miami.
You turned back and caught Sevika and Mel in silent conversation. There was something unspoken between them, between you, something you couldn’t quite name. For now, though, you let it rest.
Grandma’s sick, you reminded yourself. You had to keep going.
❀
The rest of the day swelled with humidity, the horizon bruised with the threat of rain. The Cadillac’s engine purred low, its growl humming beneath the croon of soft rock spilling through the speakers.
You kept your eyes on the window, the world outside blurring as heat shimmered off the asphalt and smeared the palms into a haze.
Sevika hadn’t said much since you got in her car. She didn’t need to.
There was a quiet kind of ease in her presence, a stillness that somehow made the grief gnawing at your chest feel less unbearable. She drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the window frame, her fingers idly toying with a cigarette she hadn’t yet lit.
The smell of the car had settled around you—leather, faint smoke, and something warm you couldn’t name. It was the kind of smell that made you think of safety, though you didn’t know why.
Your phone buzzed in your lap, the screen lighting up with a message from your mother.
Sorry, baby doll. Grandma’s on the brink.
You read the words twice, three times, and still they didn’t make sense. Your fingers tightened around the phone, your nails pressing into its glittery gold case, and something sharp and hot clawed its way up your throat.
Sevika glanced over, her brow furrowing.
“You good?”
You nodded quickly, your lips pressing together to hold back the tears that were already welling. But it was no use. They spilled over, fat and hot, streaking black mascara down your apple-round cheeks.
You turned your head, pretending to watch the passing trees, but your reflection in the window gave you away.
“Shit,” Sevika muttered, low and rough. She took one last drag from her cigarette, then flicked it out the window. “Hold on.”
She pulled off the highway, her movements smooth and deliberate, and guided the car into the gravel lot of a diner. Its neon sign flickered faintly against the gray sky, Chuck’s written in soft pink cursive. The building was small and sweet, painted robin’s egg blue with white shutters and lace curtains framing its windows.
Sevika parked and cut the engine, turning to look at you.
“Come here.”
Her voice was softer now, but it still carried that unshakable steadiness. You hesitated, your hands trembling in your lap, but the look on her face left no room for doubt. You leaned toward her, and her arms came around you, solid and warm, pulling you into her chest.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, her hand smoothing over your hair. “Come on, angel. Just let it out.”
And you did. The sobs came in waves, ripping through you until you were shaking, your fingers clutching the fabric of her shirt like a lifeline. She didn’t flinch, didn’t tell you to stop. She just held you, her hand a steady weight against the back of your head, her thumb brushing small, grounding circles into your shoulder.
You couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged you like this.
When you finally pulled back, your face was hot, damp, and streaked; your mascara smudged into shadows beneath your eyes. Sevika reached out, her thumb catching the tracks on your cheeks.
“Messy,” she said softly, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
The diner’s door chimed as you stepped inside, the scent of fresh coffee and bread washing over you. The interior was impossibly charming, with its pastel booths, checkerboard floors, and the low hum of a jukebox in the corner. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl cool against the back of your legs.
Sevika sat across from you, her body filling the small space like a storm cloud, heavy and unshakable. You stared out the window, watching the rain slip down the glass in delicate rivulets. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, low and faint.
“You’re strong, you know that?” Sevika’s voice broke through the quiet.
You turned to her, startled. Her eyes were dark, but they were the softest you’d seen them so far, almost tender.
She reached across the table, her fingers brushing your chin. The touch was light, but it sent a jolt through you, her thumb catching against your skin.
“It’ll be fine,” she said, her voice low and certain. “You’ll be fine. You have to be.”
Outside, the rain fell harder, the sound of it filling the silence between you. And then Sevika let go, her hand retreating back across the table.
The rain continued to blur the diner’s windows, the soft pink neon outside flickering faintly against the new gloom. You stared down at your coffee, the chipped porcelain mug warm in your hands, but it wasn’t enough to steady the tremor that had worked its way into your fingers. The realities of the world felt too sharp, too close, like you might unravel right there in your plain sight.
“Talk to me,” you said suddenly, your voice thin and unsteady. “I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack.”
Sevika’s eyes lifted from her coffee, dark and knowing. Her expression didn’t shift, but something gave in the set of her jaw. She leaned back, one arm slung over the booth’s edge, her other hand absently brushing the lip of her mug.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything.” You exhaled shakily, your gaze flicking out to the rain before returning to her. “Tell me why you drive a beat-up Cadillac.”
That pulled a small, low chuckle from her, quiet but rich. She tipped her head, the motion slow and deliberate, and for a moment, you felt less like you were shuddering into beautiful pieces.
“You think she’s beat-up?” Sevika asked, her lips curving faintly.
“She’s held together by rust and prayer,” you said, almost smiling. “I’m just saying.”
Sevika’s laugh came fuller this time, a sound that filled the air without disrupting the other patrons.
“Hey. She’s got character. My dad gave her to me when I was nineteen. She used to be pristine—white leather, a real beauty. But time does what it does.”
You blinked, caught on the number.
“Nineteen?” you asked, hesitant. “How long ago was that?”
Her smirk grew, slow and sharp. “Longer than you’d guess, angel.”
Your brows furrowed, curiosity blooming against the weight in your chest. “How old are you?”
Sevika’s gaze lingered, the kind of look that made you feel seen in a way that was both unnerving and magnetic.
“Old enough to remember when you had to rewind your mixtapes with a pencil,” she said, her voice dry, teasing.
You couldn’t help it—a small laugh slipped out, barely there, but it felt good.
“I’ve always had a thing for older women,” you said absently, the words slipping out before you realized what you’d said.
Her smirk deepened, her eyes sharpening in a way that made your stomach flip.
“That so?” she murmured, her voice low and rich, a swatch of velvet dragged through smoke. “You looking for a mommy, angel?”
Heat flooded your face, vicious and unbearable, and you pushed back from the table, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor.
“I’m, um—gonna order something at the counter,” you mumbled, refusing to meet her gaze.
She chuckled, soft and lazy, her voice following you as you turned toward the counter.
“Go on, sweetheart. Take your time.”
The diner felt warmer, brighter, as you made your way to the counter, the fluorescents buzzing faintly above. You kept your eyes on the menu board, your pulse still thrumming in your ears.
❀
It’s four more hours to Tampa, but it’s the most excruciating period of your life.
You’d left the diner a little steadier, Sevika’s arm brushing yours as you climbed back into her car. The Cadillac rattled like death, its leather seats sticky against your thighs.
You leaned your temple against the window, watching as the flat Florida landscape blurred into soft greens and yellows. The air outside was still thick with heat, even with the sun reducing its intensity as it slunk away.
The highway stretched out like an open wound, raw and endless. You fiddled with the radio dial until a bouncy indie pop song filtered back through the speakers, filling the air with a thousand wailing guitars. Sevika didn’t complain, her focus locked on the road ahead.
At some point, she pulled off into a gravel lot in front of a boutique. The building was small and unassuming, its pink paint faded by time. A hand-painted sign swung lazily in the humid breeze.
“We’re stopping?” you asked, your voice hoarse from exhaustion.
“You need other clothes,” Sevika said simply, stepping out of the car. “Come on.”
The shop smelled faintly of coconut wax and dust, its racks crammed with mismatched pieces that managed to appear more curated than random. Sevika leaned against a rack of jeans, her arms crossed, as you wandered through the aisles.
“We’re strangers,” you said eventually, holding up a knit top to your chest. “Why are you taking care of me?”
Sevika didn’t answer right away. Her gaze dropped to the floor, her jaw tightening in thought.
“I remember being twenty-one,” she said finally. “The world was a lot to handle back then. Some days, it still is.”
You lowered the top and gazed at her, mouth dipping in understanding. She was so beautiful here, despite being far from at home in this confectionery store. Her arms flexed gently as she shifted in place, and you resisted the urge to press her hair out of her face.
“I’m sorry that you know what that feels like.”
“You don’t have to pity me,” she said, the response clearly a reflex.
You smiled crookedly and didn’t press further.
The outfit you picked—a striped knit and high-waisted jeans—felt soft against your skin. The knit hugged your curves, the soft plum-colored neckline slipping just low enough to expose the plush swell of your shoulder. When you stepped out of the dressing room, Sevika gave you a once-over, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
“You’re a girl with expensive taste,” she teased. “Is that cashmere?”
“It’s my stage name for a reason,” you shot back, smiling softly. “And everything is overpriced here.”
“You look like a doll,” she said, her tone amused.
You rolled your eyes, brushing past her to the counter.
“I’ve got to look a little more appropriate.”
“For what?” she teased. “Tampa doesn’t care.”
“Well , my Aunt Kenna will.”
Unsurprisingly, you found yourself overpowered by Sevika at the register. She pressed her card down, its body sleek and black with silver lettering. Once again, you were struck by the kindness of strangers and you felt your throat tighten.
She gave you a look, as if to quiet your self-effacing urges. Behind the counter, the clerk smiled to herself as she observed the two of you. She was petite and had a pinched face, her hair short and a creamy blonde. Maddie, her tag read. She reminded you a lot of your mother, possessing the same shifty energy of a runner as she racked up your total.
The drive resumed, and with it, you revealed more of yourself to Sevika. You told her about your grandma, about the way she used to braid your hair with fake frangipani from the craft store and sing to you in the evenings where your mother would be gone. How her hands were always soft, even when they were tired. How you used to tuck yourself under the desk at the hospital where she worked when your heart was crumbled by women you definitely shouldn’t have been involved with at eighteen.
You spoke of your aunt, the way she fought to keep the family together, even when it wasn’t hers to save. You spoke of your little sister who in a way was also your child, how you did most things in life for her sake.
Sevika listened in silence, her hand resting on the wheel, her gaze never straying from the road. There was something in her stillness that made you feel seen, even when the words caught in your throat.
When you finally crossed into Tampa, the sky was dyed indigo and gold, the houses lining the street glowing faintly in the dusk.
You rolled the window down and leaned out, your phone poised to capture the image forever on your cracked back camera. You were such a tall child.
The warm air stroked against the moon of your face, tugged at the ends of your hair and dried your lips. You felt Sevika’s hand slide to your thigh, just below the crease of your ass, heavy and grounding, and you froze. Her palm was rough against the soft give of your flesh, her fingers splayed just enough to keep you steady.
“Don’t fall out,” she muttered, her voice tinged with quiet amusement.
“I won’t,” you said, but you sat back soon after, your heart beating a little too fast.
Sevika’s hand lingered a second longer before retreating to the wheel.
The butter-yellow house came into view, its shutters glowing faintly in the twilight. Your breath hitched. It looked the same as it always had, though the paint was more weathered, the steps chipped at the edges.
Sevika pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The silence was deafening. You fumbled with your purse, fingers trembling, but before you could open the door, Sevika’s hand found your chin. She turned your face toward hers, her thumb brushing just beneath your jaw.
“It’s gonna be okay,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Always is.”
Her eyes held you in place, dark and unflinching.
You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed her. Before you could think too much of it, you leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her cheek. Over her scar.
“Thank you.”
Her mouth parted, but the screen door creaked open, and you saw your aunt step onto the porch, her arms crossed and one brow raised in quiet judgment. You hesitated, glancing back at Sevika.
“You could come in,” you offered, the words heavier than they should have been.
She hesitated, her gaze flicking to your aunt before landing back on you. She pushed off the seat and got out to follow you, her presence like a shadow at your back.
The porch light hummed faintly as you step inside, and a creamy warmth filled your chest. Your sister cheered when she saw you, and you laughed—your eyesight blurring. For the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe.
❀
As always, you dived in headfirst and sought out your grandmother’s room.
It was a terrible mistake. You couldn’t handle seeing her like that.
Almost immediately, bile surged up your throat, sharp and acidic, and you bolted—pausing just long enough to set the medicine down on her nightstand with quaking hands. You burst outside, where the air was sweltering with salt and the sudden impact of your new reality.
You weren’t good with death, not in any of its forms.
When your daddy died, something inside you cracked clean in half, the break jagged and irreparable. You’d felt a piece of yourself slip down into his grave, like a loose flower. Since then, you’d clung to the hope that love—your love—could somehow keep the people you cared about alive. At least until you felt ready for the loss.
Your chest ached in a way that felt both too familiar and entirely new, like grief had leveled your ribs to construct a home in your body. You rubbed at it absently, trying to dull the pressure blooming there, blinking hard against the rising tide of tears.
She was going to die. You knew this. It settled into your stomach like lead, poisoning you.
Behind you, the woods creaked, the trees’ chorus soft and low, like they were joining you in mourning. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
“Hey, angel,” Sevika said, her voice low and warm, the kind of soft you wouldn’t have expected from her. It caught you off guard every time. “You alright?”
“I’m not going back in there,” you said quickly, your voice brittle and thin.
“You don’t have to.” There was a pause, long enough to make your chest tighten. Then, quieter, “Can you look at me?”
You hesitated, staring down at your hands, at the chipping polish on your grown out tips and the way your fingers trembled. You could feel her waiting, patient and steady, like she’d stand there all night if you needed her to. Finally, you turned, slow and reluctant, until your eyes met hers.
Sevika stood at the edge of the porch, broad shoulders framed by the faded light. Her face was unreadable, but not unkind.
“Come here,” she said, barely above a whisper.
You didn’t think. You moved, inching forward on unsteady legs and stepping into her orbit. Her hands came up instinctively, one curling around your elbow, the other hovering just above your waist, as if she wasn’t sure where to touch you.
“I can’t go back in there,” you repeated, your voice cracking.
“[Name]—,”
“She’s dying.”
“But you knew that. You can’t leave her when she needs you the most.
“I’m tired of people fucking needing me.” You crossed your arms over your torso, holding yourself. “They all just leave anyway.”
“When you love people, that’s the process. That’s life’s price.
The words hit you like a perfect blow, and before you could stop yourself, you were crying—big, fat tears that streaked your cheeks with warmth and made your mascara run. You tried to turn away, but her hand found your chin, tilting your face back toward hers.
“Hey,” she murmured, her thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s unfair, I know. Trust me, I know. Let it out.”
And you did. You let the sobs take you, let them rip through you wave after wave, until you were clinging to her shirt, the fabric balled tightly in your fists. She held you through it, solid and unfaltering, her hand steady against your back.
When the tears finally subsided, you felt drained, like you’d been wrung out and left to dry. But her arms stayed around you.
❀
Sevika managed to coax you inside, shivering and bleating like a lamb, but the house was newly unbearable.
Every room smelled like antiseptic and something sweetly rotting beneath the surface, a scent that clung to your hair and the back of your throat. The walls felt too bright, too alive for what was happening inside them.
It was like the house was mocking you. Every sound—your grandmother’s labored breathing, the clock ticking too loudly in the kitchen, your little sister’s restless movements on the couch—seemed to close in on you.
You couldn’t stay. Not in that room, not in that house. Maybe you took after your mother more than you liked to admit.
Your sister looked so small on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her and her face blank as she stared at the flickering TV. She was holding onto the hem of her dress like it might unravel if she let go and the man on the screen promised to get her a spot in heaven, under God’s thumb. Bullshit.
When you spoke, your voice was soft, barely audible over the droning hum of the television.
“Get your shoes on, bug,” you said. “We’re going to the beach.”
Her head snapped up, her wide eyes searching yours for a moment before she nodded and slid off the couch.
You were almost out the door when your aunt caught you, her voice sharp but quiet.
“You better know what you’re doing with that woman.”
Kenna’s words stopped you cold, the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder as you turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her face shadowed by the dim porch light.
“I don’t know what I’m doing with her,” you admitted, your voice low. “But I know I trust her.”
Your aunt studied you for a long moment, her gaze heavy and cutting. Finally, she stepped aside, her expression softening just enough to let you know she wasn’t angry, just worried.
“I know what infatuation looks like. I know what love looks like too, even when it’s still on its way. It’s coming, baby. Just—,”she sighed, breaking off.
“Just be careful,” she finished.
You hugged her tight, sagging as she slid a hand over her hair before letting you go.
Sevika was waiting in the car, her arm draped over the steering wheel, her face unreadable in the twilight. Your sister climbed into the backseat, curling up immediately with her Lisa Frank coloring book, and you slid into the passenger seat without a word.
The drive was quiet, the low hum of the city filling the space between you. Sevika didn’t push, didn’t ask what had happened inside. She just drove, and you were so grateful you could’ve kissed her.
The beach was nearly empty when you arrived, the sun beyond gone now. You spread a blanket out on the cool gray sand, letting your sister run down to the water. Her laughter echoed faintly, carried by the breeze, and for a moment, you let yourself relax.
You pulled off your woven cover-up, revealing the soft orange bikini you’d slipped on. The well-loved fabric clung to you, accentuating the plush curves of your body in a way that made you stall for only a moment. But then Sevika looked at you, and the way her gaze dragged over you made all air flee your throat.
She swallowed hard, her jaw working as she tore her eyes away and stared out at the water instead.
“You look nice,” she said, her voice gruff.
You snorted, sitting down on the blanket.
“Nice?”
“Very nice,” she amended, but the rasp in her voice gave her away.
“You do too,” you told her and you meant it.
She was gorgeous in her black cropped tee and little black cargoes. This was “as beachy as she was willing to get”. You didn’t give a damn. You wanted to eat her alive.
The sky deepened into a hazy indigo, the stars faint and scattered. Your sister danced along the shoreline, her feet splashing in the shallow waves. You watched her, your chest aching with something you couldn’t name.
“I wish this was my entire life,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Sevika.
She turned to you, her brow furrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“This,” you said, gesturing to your sister. “Taking care of her. Taking care of my daughter with my wife. No illness, no bills piling up, no—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed hard. “No worries. Just a quiet life.”
Sevika didn’t respond right away. When you finally looked at her, her face was so soft in a way you knew was probably a rarity. Her prosthetic raised in an aborted motion, as if she’d thought to touch your face.
“I could take care of you, baby,” she said quietly, the words slipping from her lips like a promise.
Your breath caught, your pulse thrumming in your ears.
“Come back with me, [Name],” she said, her voice low and steady. “Stay with me and Melly. Bring [Sister’s Name]. You don’t have to do it alone all the time.”
The fantasy of her words pressed against your chest, warm and overwhelming. For a moment, you let yourself imagine it: her, Melly, your sister, a life where the world's heaviness couldn’t crush you.
Your sister called out from the water, waving a piece of driftwood she’d found, and the moment broke. Sevika’s hand brushed yours, solid and grounding, and when you turned back to her, her eyes were still on you, waiting.
The tide lapped at the shore, the sound mingling with your sister’s laughter, and you felt a rising pulse in your mouth, on your tongue.
“They do fireworks at the docks. You have to pay, but we sneak in all the time. You wanna see?”
“Sure,” Sevika said.
The answer came so easily and you knew she’d give you everything. Maybe even love you forever. The thought made you tingle and you dug your toes into the sand.
“Let’s go,” you said, your pinky twisting around hers.
You both knew you weren’t talking about the fireworks.
With a wry smile she rose and set about taking you home again.
Your sister—forever your baby—was curled fast asleep in the back seat of Sevika’s car by the time you pulled out of the lot, her face slack with the kind of peace only children seemed capable of. Her soft snores filled the space between you as Sevika drove back to your grandmother’s house, the streets quiet and warm, lit faintly by streetlights. The evening air hung heavy, sticking to your skin like a second layer.
You glanced at Sevika as she drove, her profile lit in flashes by the passing lights. Her grip on the wheel was loose, but her fingers drummed absently against the leather, her thoughts somewhere else. Maybe with you.
You wondered if she was nervous. You wondered if she knew how much you were.
“She’s out like a light,” Sevika murmured, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Guess it’s just us.”
You swallowed, your fingers playing with the hem of your cover-up, and nodded. “Just us.”
Your aunt was waiting on the porch when you arrived. She was perched on the railing, her vape glowing faintly in the dark. You knew the scent without looking: cucumber, apple, and sour cherry.
Her sharp gaze moved between the two of you as Sevika carried your sister inside, her long stride easy and steady despite the weight of the little girl in her arms.
“Enjoyed your family outing?” Aunt Kenna asked, teasing but pointed, as you lingered by the door.
You blinked at her, startled, heat rising in your cheeks. “It wasn’t like that.”
She snorted, taking a long drag. “Sure it wasn’t .”
❀
The docks were quieter than you expected when you arrived. Most of the families had settled in their little corners, kids running barefoot across the wooden planks, their laughter echoing into the open sky. The air smelled of pear, peach blossoms, and distant charcoal grills, a mix of sugar and fire that felt like the very essence of where you’d been born and raised.
Sevika parked far enough away to avoid the crowd but close enough for you to see the shimmering reflections of the boats swaying in the dark water. She leaned back against the hood of her car, her long legs stretched out in front of her, and watched as you wandered closer to the edge, the creamy orange of your tiny bikini glowing faintly in the dim light.
You should’ve been illegal.
“Careful, angel,” she called, her voice warm, fond. “You fall in, I’m not jumping after you.”
You turned, smirking, the breeze tugging at the bow sitting pretty in the middle of your full breasts.
“I can swim.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to fish you out,” she said, but her smile gave her away. She was watching you so intently, her gaze loaded, as if committing you to memory.
You walked back toward her, your arms wrapped around yourself, and stopped just a foot away. The tension between you was almost tangible now, electric. You could feel it humming in the air, in the way her eyes lingered on the curve of your wide hips, the dip of your collarbone. It made your breath hitch.
“I’ve always loved the docks,” you said softly. “They feel… timeless. Like you could stand here forever and nothing would change.”
Sevika hummed, tilting her head to look up at you. “You think that’s a good thing?”
You shrugged, your lips curving faintly.
“Sometimes.”
The first firework burst above you then, a bloom of pink and gold that lit up the sky and reflected off the water. A shock of red followed shortly after. You both looked up, the moment suspended, the sound of the explosion echoing in your chest.
You glanced at Sevika, her face bathed in the soft glow of the fireworks, and felt something shift inside you. Something undeniable.
The show continued, and you moved to lean against the hood of her car. The metal was warm and your stomach was buzzing at the nearness of Sevika’s broad body.
By the time the fireworks were halfway through, you couldn’t focus on them anymore. The loud bursts of color seemed secondary to the way Sevika was lounging next to you, her broad shoulders relaxed, her eyes soaking in the way goosebumps bubbled along your arms. It felt like she was daring you to do something, to cross the line you’d been dancing around since she’d swept you off the highway.
You moved closer, your bare feet brushing against hers, and she straightened slightly, her head listing to the side as she watched you.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice low.
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding.
“I’m thinking…” You trailed off, your fingers twisting in the sides of your bikini bottom. “I’m thinking this feels… nice.”
Her lips quirked, just slightly, but her gaze was serious. “Nice?”
“So good,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel… safe with you. Things are perfect like this, and—and I’m probably never gonna feel this way again.”
The words hung between you, honest and raw, and you could see the way they landed on her, the way her expression softened, her guard slipping for just a moment.
“I’d never hurt you,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “You know that, right?”
You nodded, stepping even closer until you were standing between her legs, the warmth of her body seeping into yours. “I know.”
You didn’t, really. She could be selling you a paper thin dream. But your hope had always been the largest part of you. It spurred the flame you felt for her, your aching burning desire to be with her all the time. To ride by her side without question.
Her hand came up then, hesitating for just a second before settling on your waist. The touch was light, almost cautious, but it sent an electric current straight through you.
“Sevika,” you whispered, your voice stumbling.
She leaned in slightly, her breath warm against your cheek.
“Yeah?”
You didn’t answer. Instead, you closed the gap between you, your lips brushing against hers in a kiss that felt just right, like the tide meeting the shore. Your body lit up, and you collapsed into her—trusting and free.
She stilled for a moment, as if surprised, but then her hand tightened on your waist and she kissed you back, slow and deliberate.
The world seemed to fade then, the fireworks a distant, glittering symphony in the black sky. All you could feel was her—her warmth, her strength, the way she seemed determined to hold you together even as you felt like you might fall apart.
When you finally pulled back, your breath coming in weak gasps, lightheaded and aching to faint, she rested her forehead against yours, searching your dilated eyes.
Your lip gloss was smeared across Sevika’s jaw, leaving a streak of shimmering peach and rose that caught in the fleeting light of the evening. It clung to her skin, soft and vivid As she moved, the stain glistened faintly, the contrast against her sharp, weathered features sending a slow, aching thrill down your spine.
It was yours, this faint, glittering mark, lingering in the space where your mouth had been. She made no effort to remove it.
“Angel,” she murmured, her voice rough. “You sure about this?”
You nodded, your hands clutching at her shoulders. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she pressed another searing kiss to your lips.
“Come on,” she said, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Let’s get in the car.”
❀
Your palm slapped hard against the roof, your teeth almost tearing through your bottom lip as you tried to hold back a loud moan.
Beneath you, Sevika gripped the copious flesh of your ass as she sucked at your clit.
“Oh, shit, Sevika. Fuck.”
In the beginning you were so careful, worried about blocking her airway. With a hard slap to your ass she pulled you down, relentless in taking all of you.
“Hnnnnnh,” you whimpered. “Sevi, fuuuuuck.”
Sevika hummed in satisfaction at that. As she watched your face she grazed your clit with her teeth, relishing in how you arched.
You were so warm and supple between her fingers, your pussy slobbering over her nose and mouth. You tasted so good, so musky and honeyed. She never wanted to let you go.
Slowly, she slide you down and pressed you down to her chest as she undid your bikini top so that your tits spilled eagerly against her own. She then tenderly tucked two fingers inside of you, cooing as you whined at the stretch.
She began to bounce you by the fabric of your bottoms, forcing you to ride her fingers until they were covered in the thin film of your wetness. You moaned at her strength, at how easily she’d decided how you’d take her.
“Good fucking girl. So sweet, aren’t you, baby? Hmm?”
“Sevi, please. Just—just a little faster.”
She grinned meanly, inserting a third finger and curling them—raking cruelly against your g-spot. You sank further into her, swiveling your hips if only to get her deeper. To take her harder. Your pussy was weeping, emptying itself onto her hand.
“Jesus, sweetheart. You’re leaking all over me. ‘M never gonna get this out of these seats.”
“Good,” you breathed out, smiling impishly.
Sevika’s eyes darkened and she suddenly rearranged you till you were on your back against the leather seats, your legs wholly spread. she lowered between them, licking a long stripe up to your clit experimentally.
She had you soft and loose. You didn’t realize just how spacious this car was.
You moaned, high and loud, snapping into an arch until you were forced to come back down, Sevika’s arm holding your hips firmly. Your eyes were closed now, and your eyelids were no longer just black, explosions of color staining them, ripping through you.
Sevika lapped at you, taking her time but still intentional with the way she touched you. She used a hand to spread you apart burying her face into her pussy, her nose becoming wet again with your rabid need. She became messy, moving her head back and forth, slurping at you until you were almost shaking, on the edge of something greater.
Settling back just slightly, she spat harshly into your cunt and rubbed it into your clit, pressing down until it was close to painful. You couldn’t breathe correctly. You couldn’t even remember your name.
"Sevi. Sevi. Mommy, oh my fucking God.“
Sevika said nothing, just caught a lip of your cunt between her teeth, biting down as she slid her fingers back in.
"Unh," is what you had to add to the nonexistent conversation and Sevika grinned against you.
She spread her fingers and then curled them, dragging your hips into her lap as she sat up. You couldn’t feel your fucking legs.
"Yes. Yeah. Yeah, just like that. It feels so fucking good."
Sevika was driven and vicious, determined to eat away at the woman beneath her. You curved your back as your orgasm approached, determined to feel it all the way up in the cavern of your mouth. You needed this.
Sevika leaned over you, tilting your head down so that you were looking at one another.
"I want you to keep looking at me as you cum."
You made a faint noise of agreement and clutched at Sevika’s arms. She took your hands and placed them underneath your knees, so that you could hold yourself open. It spread you apart until she was able to view how pink and puffy you were.
“I can’t wait to get you in bed, honey. ‘M gonna bend you over, open that tight little cunt with my cock, and watch you swallow me.”
“Oh.” You let a little groan of satisfaction as she thumbed at your clit.
Sevika pressed your foreheads together and thumbed at your mouth. You felt both here and there, brain blanking.
“Ohh,” she mocked you with a slight smile. “You’re so fucking cute.”
You cast your head back as Sevika returned her mouth to your pussy, suckling at it in combination with her fingers carving a space deep inside of you.
"Come on, angel," she urged. "Be good for me."
You were trying, goddamnit.
"Gonna take a photo of this creamy cunt. Show Melly, tell her that I did this. That you let me."
You let out a high whine, and she nodded in faux sympathy.
“Mmm? Is that what you want to do? Want me to take you to that shitty club and spread you open on stage? Stake my claim?”
A fourth finger now. Her voice dropped as if telling you a secret.
“Maybe I’ll slide some cold, hard cash into this slutty cunt, stretch that slit.” Faster now. Your toes curled. “ Fuck. I’m sorry, baby. Mommy just wants to slut you out.”
She pressed a delicate kiss to your cunt and you were unsure if what came next was just the slam of your hand against the door echoing or another firework going off.
All you knew was that the world around you was roaring, that she refused to stop. All you knew was her digging into you.
You imploded.
❀
The drive back was quiet, the tension between you still palpable but softer now, sated and sleepy. Sevika reached over once, her fingers brushing against your cheek and you shifted, pressing the petals of your lips into the center of her palm without hesitation.
When you finally pulled into your grandmother’s driveway, the house bathed in the soft glow of the porch light, you turned to her, your heart full to bursting.
“Stay,” you said, your emotions splayed wide open. “Just for a little while.”
She looked at you for a long moment, and then she nodded. “Okay.”
You both knew it wasn’t just for a little while.
❀
The house smelled like hibiscus and coffee when you walked in, the faint scent of six-dollar soy candles lingering in the corners. Your aunt was at the sink, her hands submerged in soapy water, her curls pinned back with a clip. She turned when she heard the door creak open, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she took in Sevika trailing behind you, broad-shouldered and quiet.
“You brought her back?” she asked, not in a disparaging manner, though her tone carried the weight of an older woman who’d seen it all.
“[Sister’s Name] forgot something in her car,” you lied easily, gesturing toward said alibi, who was peeking into the kitchen while rubbing a fist over her eye, her drowsy greeting muffled as she dragged her blanket behind her.
Your aunt didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue either. Instead, she flicked her chin toward the counter.
“If she’s staying, she may as well help.”
Sevika looked at you, one brow arched slightly in amusement. You shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the idea of her folding herself into your life—even for something as mundane as this—made your stomach swoop.
The kitchen was broiling, almost unbearably so, with the old oven humming faintly and the humidity from the day still clinging to the walls. Sevika rolled up her sleeves, revealing the curve of her forearms, the prosthetic gleaming faintly in the soft overhead light.
You tried not to stare, but your eyes kept drifting—over the way her hands moved as she dried the dishes your aunt handed her, the faint flex of muscle under her skin.
“You ever wash a dish before?” your aunt asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.
“Plenty,” Sevika admitted, her voice low and even. “Did a couple restaurant stints when I first came to this place. I was hoping to never do that shit again.”
You bit back a smile, ducking your head as you reached for a towel to dry the counter. The space felt smaller with her in it, her silhouette filling every corner, her quick movements electric.
Your aunt glanced between the two of you, her gaze lingering on Sevika before she handed her another plate.
“You’re a hard worker. Good. She needs someone who can keep up.”
Sevika’s lips quirked, but she didn’t respond, her attention focused on the task in front of her.
The radio crackled faintly from the corner, playing some old Cuban bolero your aunt loved, and you found yourself swaying slightly as you worked, the rhythm infectious. You caught Sevika watching you out of the corner of her eye, her gaze soft but intent, and your cheeks warmed.
“You dance to this too?” she asked, her voice pitched low enough that your aunt didn’t catch it.
“Sometimes,” you said, keeping your focus on the counter. “Not for free, though.”
She chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in her chest. “Figures.”
Your aunt, oblivious or maybe just tactfully ignoring the tension that weaved itself between you, turned to Sevika with a clean dish in hand.
“Rinse this for me, would you? And don’t let her distract you—she’s been trouble since she could fucking walk.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sevika said, glancing at you with a spark of amusement in her eyes.
The night wore on, the kitchen growing quieter as your aunt finally finished and stepped out to check on your sister. You stayed behind, leaning against the counter as Sevika dried her hands on a threadbare patch of towel.
“I can’t believe you were hustling in restaurants,” you said, nodding toward the sink.
She smirked, tossing the towel onto the counter.
“Don’t sound so surprised. I can be a delight.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.
“Thanks for helping.”
“Anytime,” she said, her voice softening slightly.
You watched her for a moment, the way her shoulders seemed less tense now, the way her hair caught the light. The memory of her hands on you earlier still lingered, watering over your skin. It was a secret only the two of you shared.
“You okay?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she stepped closer.
You nodded, though your chest felt tight, your pulse thrumming in your ears.
“Yeah. Just a little tired.”
Her hand brushed yours, just barely, but it was enough to make your heart skip. She noticed, her gaze dropping to where your fingers nearly touched before she pulled back, her jaw tightening.
“We should get some sleep,” she said, her voice quieter now.
“Yeah,” you murmured, though you didn’t move.
For a moment, neither of you did, the hum of the radio the only sound in the room. Then she stepped back, giving you space you didn’t want, and you let her.
❀
Your bedroom felt much like the inside of a shell—quiet and strange, the air soaked with a mixture of rose, magnolia, and something darker, something that sat low in your chest. You could still taste the golden slices of your childhood, still feel the ache in your ribs that came from building elaborate forts.
But now there was Sevika, solid and steady beneath you.
As soon as the door had closed, she’d taken you apart slowly, carefully, as though she’d known you needed it to feel stable again.
The rough pads of her fingers, the soft murmur of her voice, the way she called you princess like it was the only name you’d ever had. And you had suffered in silence, hand across your mouth as you clenched and shook around her head for the third time, then the fourth.
You’d finally tired after a good ride on her thigh, holding on desperately to the nape of neck. Her baby hair was soft there, tender. She came when you kissed her nose, slid down to her mouth, and called her beautiful. She’d whimpered, bucked awkwardly around your fingers, and you held her to you as you whispered her name.
You’d looked it up in the bathroom. Sevika. Of Indian and Sanskrit origin. Servant of God.
Now, she lay between your legs, her head resting heavy and warm against your stomach. The weight of her felt magical, made your body feel more virginal than it ever had been, and you sighed lowly as the first rays of sunlight slipped through the blinds, casting pale gold stripes across her back.
The swan wings stretched with her every move, the feathers catching flight as she breathed. Muted ivory and soft grays leaned tenderly into the faintest hints of lavender and navy blue, the delicate gradient of ink glowing against her deep, bronze skin.
You reached out, tracing the curve of a wing’s tip near her shoulder blade. The ink felt warm under your fingertips, her skin soft but unyielding. The swan’s head, nestled at the base of her neck where the wings met, was elegant and sharp, its eyes bright as if they could see into you. You followed the line of its neck with your thumb, your touch lingering at the place where her spine dipped, and she hummed low in her throat, a sound that vibrated through your body.
She tilted her head, her cheek brushing against the softness of your belly as her eyes opened slowly, sleep still heavy in her gaze.
“You like it?” she murmured, voice rough and low.
“It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re beautiful.”
You had already said this, and the reminder made you blush in embarrassment. A slow, lopsided smile tugged at her lips, and she closed her eyes again, sinking deeper into you as if she belonged there. You felt her hand slide up to rest on your thigh, her fingers splayed against your skin, holding you in place like she was afraid you’d disappear into the rising morning.
Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, and you flinched at the sound, the world outside pressing back in. Sevika didn’t move, just let her hand trail lazily up your spine as you reached for it. The screen glowed with messages from your aunt:
aunt kenna 𓆉: Couldn’t get anyone to cover the rest of my shifts this week.
aunt kenna 𓆉: Mom’s still kicking. She’s getting stronger.
aunt kenna 𓆉: Ty for coming home. See you soon. Love you, bug x
Still alive, you thought. The words lit up something inside you, bright and raw and impossible to contain. You laughed, the sound catching on the edge of a sob, and dropped the phone onto the bed.
“What is it?” Sevika asked, her voice filling with concern.
You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. The words tangled in your throat. Instead, you turned to her, your fingers trembling as they found her face, tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her full mouth.
“She’s still alive,” you whispered, the words spilling out like a prayer.
Her eyes softened, her hand sliding up to cradle your face, her thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice steady, certain. “She’s a strong woman, just like the rest of you.”
The relief hit you all at once, sharp and overwhelming, and you kissed her because you couldn’t think of anything else to do. It was messy and desperate, your hands fisting in her hair as you tried to pour every unspoken thing into her mouth. She let you, her body surrendering to its basest urges .
“Still alive,” you repeated, this time against her lips, your forehead resting against hers as your tears slipped silently onto her skin.
“Mmhmm,” she murmured, her voice soft but sure, her hands steady on your hips. “You’re all gonna live forever.”
You kissed her again, because you needed to. You needed her.
You believed her.
And the truth was you didn’t know how good it would get for the two (five) of you.
You’d look back, let go, lose this part of things. Take your baby sister and leave.
⟢ synopsis. in the gritty underbelly of zaun, you find yourself entangled in the life of a new pit fighter: vi, a hardened fighter who wears her pain like armour. as a medic working in the fighting pit, you are tasked with patching up her wounds after matches, and you realize that while you can heal vi’s injuries, you can’t mend the broken pieces of her heart that belong to someone else.
⟢ contains. afab!reader, arcane!vi, feminine characteristics, angst, lesbians, lots and lots of longing, kinda enemies to lovers (but worse), nsfw, fingering, 17+ kinda explicit.
⟢ word count. 15.2k+
⟢ authors note. i spent the last few weeks working on this fic and i am really happy with how it turned out!! eek!! happy reading!! <3 :)
You’ve grown used to the sight of blood.
It streaks across the tiled floor in dark smears, trails on the edge of your workbench, and stains the tattered cloths shoved into the waste bin. The scent of copper lingers in the air, mingling with the faint tang of disinfectant.
You’ve made it work, though. You have to.
Your bench is lined with the tools: sutures, gauze, tape, and a half-empty bottle of antiseptic you’ve been meaning to replace. You keep it organized, and meticulous because chaos out there demands control in here. The pit fighters appreciate it, and you, in their own way. There’s always a pep in their step when they leave your little corner, heading to the bar with fresh bandages and a story to tell.
Some linger longer than they need to, chatting while you clean up. The regulars know your rhythm—when to crack a joke to ease the tension or when to stay quiet and let you focus. The brawlers come to trust you, and trust is hard to come by lately.
Maybe it was because you weren’t trying to punch the lights out of their eyes.
The room itself is far from perfect. Cramped, poorly lit, and barely adequate, it feels more like a storage closet someone forgot to clear out than a proper medical station. You’ve done what you can to make it your own. A few paintings hang crookedly on the walls—cheap prints, but bright enough to cut through the gloom. Candles flicker in the corners of your desk, casting a soft glow that doesn’t do much for the lighting but makes the space feel warmer, more welcoming.
The pit fighters notice. They never say much about it, but you catch the way they relax when they sit down, their shoulders loosening just slightly as the room wraps them in its quiet. It’s your small rebellion against the harshness of Zaun, a reminder that even here, there’s room for gentleness.
Sometimes they repay that gentleness in their own way—a drink after a fight, a nod of thanks, or a protective presence when the streets get dangerous, walking you home. You’ve been here long enough to know that loyalty is rare in Zaun, but somehow, you’ve earned it.
The fighting arena roars with life, the crowd’s cheers rumbling through the walls like distant thunder. Tonight’s fights have been loud—louder than usual. People running around with their coloured tickets based on who they were betting on. You glance at the clock.
There’s been a buzz all week about a newcomer, someone fresh and untested.
Vi, they call her.
Scrappy and wild, with a chip on her shoulder and fists to match. The kind of fighter who comes in all swagger and leaves in pieces.
You haven’t met her yet, but the bookies’ chatter alone has you bracing yourself. First fights are always the worst—too much pride, not enough sense.
The door rattles, hard enough to make the jars on your shelf tremble and you can hear muffled shouting from the other side.
It slams open, rattling on its hinges, but you don’t look up right away. Your focus is on threading a needle carefully through the gash along the side of Ryker’s jaw—a nasty wound from an earlier fight. Ryker’s been coming here for years, but never with complaints. He’s one of the good ones, fighting not just for himself but for his daughter, scraping by on the cash these matches earn him. He sits hunched over, still radiating the heat of adrenaline.
“Don’t fucking shove me,” a voice grumbles from the doorway. “Fuck off, Loris!”
Your attention shifts to the two figures stumbling into the room. One of them—a broad-shouldered man with a face like he’s eaten rocks for breakfast—could easily pass for one of the fighters. But it’s the girl he’s dragging by the arm that catches your eye.
She’s all jagged lines and sharp edges, her messy, dark pink hair sticking up in uneven tufts. Blood drips lazily from her nose, smudging against the back of her hand when she wipes at it, and her scowl is carved so deep it feels like her only expression.
“I don’t need a medic,” the girl—Vi, you hear the man mutter—snaps, yanking her arm free. “I need a drink.”
“Protocol,” He replies flatly, giving her a shove that nearly sends her sprawling.
Vi catches herself with a stumble, shooting him a glare before surveying the room with obvious disdain. Her gaze lands on you, and her lip curls faintly. “This it? Cozy,” she mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
You ignore her, focusing on the final stitch on Ryker’s jaw. “You can take a seat,” you say evenly, nodding toward the empty couch by the far wall.
“No thanks,” Vi shoots back, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. She leans against the wall instead, glaring at nothing in particular.
“Too proud to sit down, blue belly?” Ryker mutters, casting a sharp glance from his seat. His voice is low, edged with a warning. “Or has the guilt of hunting your own finally caught up with you?”
“Ryker,” you say softly, your tone a quiet scold. The last thing you need is a fight breaking out here.
But his words make you look at Vi more closely. Her features are familiar, in a vague, nagging way. It clicks as you take in the hard set of her shoulders, the stubborn way she holds herself, and the bruises already blooming across her cheekbone. A new batch of enforcers had swept through Zaun a few weeks back, leaving havoc and clouds of Grey in their wake. They’d brought their brutality, painted their violence into the walls of the city, and then disappeared like ghosts, leaving Zaun more broken than before.
That’s how it usually went with them.
However, you had never heard of someone from the undercity becoming an Enforcer before.
Vi scoffs, slurring her words just slightly. “I don’t know—d’you wanna find out?”
You pause, needle halfway through a stitch, tension coiling tight in the air. “Don’t,” you warn softly, already sensing where this is headed.
Ryker shifts forward on the bench, his battered knuckles flexing. “You wanna go another round?”
Vi pushes off the wall, stepping closer. “You wanna lose again?” she challenges, her voice low and sharp.
“That’s enough,” you snap, moving quickly to step between them. Loris mirrors your movement, his larger frame serving as an immovable barrier.
“Sit. Down,” Loris growls at Vi, his glare enough to make her hesitate. With a huff, she leans back against the wall again, though her fists remain clenched in her jacket pockets.
You shake your head and turn back to Ryker, finishing the last stitch with practiced ease. “You’re done,” you tell him, rummaging through your cabinet and handing him a small bottle of pain meds. “Keep it clean, change the bandage twice a day, and stay out of trouble—for your sake and your daughter’s.”
Ryker stands slowly, still throwing a glare Vi’s way. But his expression softens when he looks at you. “Thanks,” when he says your name, his voice is warmer than before. “You’re too good for this place.”
You offer him a faint smile. “Take care, Ryker.”
He leaves, brushing past Vi with a grunt, and the room feels quieter—tense but quieter. You turn your attention to the newcomer, who’s leaning against the wall, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, tracking your every movement.
“Alright,” you say, already washing your hands and gathering fresh supplies. “Your turn.”
Vi doesn’t move from the wall. “I’m fine,” she insists, “patch up the ones who actually need it.”
Your gaze flicks over her—the bloody nose that’s started to run again, the gash seeping through her sleeve, and the raw swelling on her knuckles. “Sit,” you say, your voice firm.
She doesn’t budge.
You meet her gaze, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably long, a quiet standoff neither of you seems willing to break. Your fingers tap once against the counter, but your glare doesn’t waver. You won’t repeat yourself.
Loris, the man who dragged her in, steps forward with a roll of his eyes, giving her a nudge with his elbow. “Sit down, Vi.”
She winces at the pressure on her back, her bravado faltering for just a split second. With a low grumble, she finally drops onto the bench, slouching with exaggerated indifference, her arms crossing tight over her chest.
You grab a clipboard and step closer. She watches you like you’re some kind of nuisance.
“Name?” you ask, clicking your pen.
“Vi,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on the far wall.
“Vi what?”
“Just Vi.”
You suppress a sigh. “What’s your full name?”
“I said, just Vi.”
There’s an edge to her tone, enough to make you glance up. Her jaw is set, her expression daring you to press the issue. You don’t. Instead, you scrawl it down and move on. “Fine. Age?”
“Old enough to fight.”
Your pen stills mid-note, the corners of your mouth tightening as you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Of course, you are,” you say dryly, setting the clipboard aside with a little more force than necessary. “Alright, let’s start with the obvious,” you say, gesturing at her face. “Your nose is bleeding. Tilt your head back.”
Vi’s brow arches like you’ve just said something funny. “I said, I’m fine.”
“And I said, tilt your head back,” you reply, your voice steady but no less firm.
Her gaze sharpens, a flicker of defiance lighting in her eyes, but she tilts her head back with a dramatic huff. “Happy?”
You ignore her tone, stepping closer to inspect the injury. The faint scent of sweat and iron lingers between you, and for a moment, you notice the heat of her skin where your gloved fingers gently tilt her chin.
“Doesn’t feel broken,” you mutter, reaching for a clean cloth to dab away the blood. She flinches as the fabric touches her skin, her muscles twitching under your fingers. “Relax,” you say softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she mutters.
Your hand falters, just briefly. There’s a weight to her words, a sharpness you weren’t expecting, but you push past it. “Well, I mean it,” you reply quietly.
Her silence stretches as you work, less hostile but no less charged. The closer you look, the more details you notice: the faint scars lining her skin, the inked letters etched into her cheekbone, the edge of a tattoo just barely visible beneath her collar, and the faint shine of her silver nose ring.
“Jacket off,” you say, gesturing to the gash on her arm.
Her gaze snaps to yours, wary and sharp. “Why?”
You give her a flat look. “Because I can’t stitch it through fabric.”
For a second, she doesn’t move, her body tensing as if bracing for something. Then, with a muttered curse, she shrugs out of her jacket, tossing it onto the bench beside her.
Her arms are a mess—old fighting hand wraps soaked with blood and dirt wrapped tightly around her forearms. You offer to replace them, but she cuts you off. “I’ll do it myself.”
You let it go, focusing instead on cleaning the fresh wound. Her muscles tense every time you touch her, but she doesn’t flinch again. “You can relax, you know,” you say, trying to sound light. “I’m just trying to help.”
Vi lets out a bitter snort. “You’re not the first to say that.”
You pause, but you don’t press. She’s lashing out on you. That’s the most you can make of it.
The silence stretches again as you stitch the wound, her eyes watching you closely, unreadable. When you finally glance up, your movements stilling, she shrugs.
“What?” you ask, unable to help yourself.
“Nothing,” she says, leaning back.
You hold her gaze for a beat longer before shaking your head and returning to your work, wrapping the freshly stitched wound with clean bandages. She stays quiet, watching until the silence becomes heavy again.
Then, without warning, she speaks, her voice quieter but cutting. “You know, you’re wasting your time on these people. Half of them wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”
The words hit like a punch, sharper than anything she’s said before. You freeze mid-motion, your fingers hovering over the bandage as you process her bluntness. Slowly, deliberately, you resume wrapping her arm, tucking the end of the bandage into place with more care than you think she deserves at that moment.
“Good thing I don’t do this for their gratitude,” you reply evenly, though the edge in your voice betrays a flicker of irritation. You’re trying not to let it get to you.
She’s new. Clearly, she’s fighting off some kind of pent-up frustration. She must have anger issues or something. You wonder how many hits Ryker got on her before she knocked him out.
Her chuckle is low and humourless, more of a scoff than anything else. “Right.”
You hope he got a solid six or seven punches in.
You step back, peeling off your gloves with a deliberate snap. There’s a moment where you consider saying something more, but you swallow the impulse. Professionalism, you remind yourself.
“You’re all set,” you say curtly, gathering up the soiled supplies. “I’d suggest taking tomorrow off. You know, to let the wound heal before you go back out there.”
Vi grabs her jacket, standing in a single fluid motion. She doesn’t look at you when she replies, her tone casual but dismissive. “I’ll live.”
You wish Ryker had broken her nose.
You shake your head, already turning back to tidy your workstation, unwilling to watch her saunter out.
Loris, standing by the door, offers you a small, almost apologetic smile. “Thanks,” he says, his voice warmer than hers ever was.
You manage a smile back, but it’s shallow, worn. The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone in the cramped room. The exasperation settles in like a weight, not heavy but persistent.
For a moment, you stand there in silence, staring at the supplies on your counter. You shake your head again, this time at yourself.
What the fuck is her problem?
You know you shouldn’t be surprised when Vi stumbles into the medic room again the very next day. The fights at Antis’s brawling ring are infamous for their relentless schedule, especially on weekends when the bets come pouring in before sundown. It’s barely dusk now, but the underground buzz is already unmistakable—the muffled cheers and jeers vibrating through the walls.
Vi comes alone this time—or at least she leaves Loris waiting outside the door. You catch a brief glimpse of him through the crack in the door, leaning against the wall with a drink at his lips, shaking his head like this is just another day for him.
The door slams shut as Vi shoulders her way in, her boots heavy against the floor. She’s holding one hand against her face, blood dripping sluggishly through her fingers and trailing down her arm.
You have to bite back a smile at the sight.
She’s ditched her jacket, and the sleeveless collared top she’s wearing looks like it’s seen more fights than she has—worn thin, patched up in places, and stained with a lifetime of blood and sweat. Her hand wraps are shredded and still filthy, hanging loosely around her forearms. The gash on her arm has reopened, the stitches torn apart as if they were never there to begin with.
You take all of this in within seconds, and something tightens in your chest—a mix of frustration and satisfaction. “You can’t fight back-to-back nights,” you say, your voice sharper than intended as you grab your gloves and a fresh set of supplies.
Vi grunts, brushing past you to sit on the bench. “I can do what I want,” she snaps, her words muffled by her hand still pressed to her face. Her defiance is unshaken, but the tremble in her shoulders gives her away. She’s hurting.
Now you start to feel bad. But just a little bit.
You’ve seen this before—new fighters crashing into the medic room with the same mix of bruised pride and bloodied skin. They fight like there’s no tomorrow, each punch is thrown carrying something more than just adrenaline. Some fight for money, some for escape, and others just because they don’t know how to stop. There’s always a reason. You can’t help but wonder what—or who—Vi is fighting for.
With a quiet exhale, you turn to the counter and grab your supplies. The clatter of tools fills the silence as you steel yourself for the inevitable pushback. “Let me guess,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at her. “Antis needed someone to keep the bets high, and you couldn’t say no.”
Vi drops her hand from her face, and for the first time, you see the full extent of the damage. A deep bruise blooms across the bridge of her nose, nearly swollen shut in one eye, while blood smears across her mouth and drips down her jaw.
She glares at you through the mess, her voice sharp. “It’s none of your business.”
“No,” you admit, stepping closer and gesturing for her to tilt her head back. “But I’m the one who has to patch you up. So humour me.”
She scoffs but tilts her head back, letting you inspect the damage. Up close, the bruise looks worse—angry and dark, already spreading across her pale skin. Her nose isn’t broken (unfortunately), but it’s close, and the blood smeared across her upper lip makes her look like it’s been bitten off. You grab a clean cloth and start wiping the blood away. Your movements are brisk but careful, and she winces slightly as you press the cloth to her skin. Still, she doesn’t pull away, just sits there stiff and unyielding.
“You’re going to tear open the stitches every time you fight like this,” you mutter, reaching for the antiseptic. “You’ve gotta take it easy. I know how these guys fight out there—”
“I don’t need your pity,” she cuts in, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“Not pity,” you reply, keeping your tone even. “Just words of advice.”
“I don’t need that either,” she snaps, her jaw tightening as you dab antiseptic on the wound. “Just patch me up so I can go. I’m only here because Antis won’t clear me for my pay otherwise.”
“Yeah, it’s protocol,” you say, capping the bottle and setting it down beside you.
“It’s stupid.”
“It was my idea.”
Her head jerks slightly, her eyes flicking toward you for a beat. There’s something almost vulnerable in her expression before she quickly looks away. She doesn’t answer right away, her gaze fixed firmly on the far wall. When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter, almost bitter. “...Still stupid.”
You smile faintly as you reach for fresh bandages. “Yeah, well, stupid or not, it’s keeping people alive. Even stubborn ones like you.”
Stubborn is definitely a nicer word than what you really want to say.
She doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between you as you unwrap the old bandage around her arm. Her fingers twitch against her thigh, like she’s itching to leave, but she stays seated, her posture rigid. You can’t tell if it’s pride or exhaustion keeping her there—or maybe both.
For the rest of the session, Vi is quieter than usual. Her sharp retorts are replaced by a heavy silence that seems to weigh down the air in the room. Outside, the muffled roars of the crowd echo through the thin walls.
As you work to clean and re-stitch her arm, you glance at her every so often, noting the way her jaw tightens and her fingers tap restlessly against her thigh. It’s like she’s bracing for a blow that might never come, her body constantly coiled, ready to spring.
You take a step back, pulling off your gloves with a snap. “You’re good to go,” you say, your voice softer now. “But you need rest.”
She snorts, grabbing her jacket off the bench without looking at you. “Can’t rest. I’m on a winning streak.”
You arch a brow. “You’ve only been here two days. I wouldn’t count that as a streak.”
“Don’t really care what you think.”
“You should. You’re sleep-deprived, by the way. Your eyes barely focus. Get more sleep. And you need to drink more water.”
Vi huffs a dry, sarcastic laugh, “Sure, doc. Whatever you say.”
You want to argue, but she’s already out the door, leaving behind only the faint scent of iron and the lingering weight of words left unsaid. Loris nods at you through the open door as she stalks past him, his gaze flicking back to you briefly.
The door swings shut behind them, leaving you alone with the distant hum of the crowd and the bloodstained bench. For a long moment, you just stand there, staring at the scraps of torn bandages scattered on the floor, the mess she left behind.
It’s not long after that you learn her name is Violet.
The knowledge of it nearly makes you laugh.
Violets. You’ve never actually seen them, but a friend of yours, a painter, once gifted you a piece featuring soft, delicate purple blooms. It hangs over your bedside table, a rare touch of beauty in an otherwise bleak city. You like to imagine those flowers are violets, though you’re not entirely sure. Flowers aren’t exactly a common sight in Zaun.
The irony of her name strikes you every time you think about it. Violet. There’s nothing soft or delicate about her—not the way she fights, nor the way she speaks to you.
She didn’t tell you her name herself, of course. That would require her to speak more than three sentences in your direction, which feels like an impossible feat. No, funnily enough, it was Loris who let it slip, though you suspect he knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t much of a ‘slip’ rather than straight-up telling you her name.
It happened a night at a bar near your work. You’d gone with some friends, seeking a much-needed reprieve. The bartender, a friend of yours, had slipped you a couple of free drinks, and in a haze of warmth and exhaustion, you noticed Loris at the bar. He looked out of place, all gruffness and silence amid the lively chatter, so you invited him to join your table.
Several drinks in, your curiosity got the better of you. You leaned closer to him, your voice barely cutting through the music and chatter as you asked him about his pink-haired friend.
Loris wasn’t much of a talker, you realized. He’d spur out a few words or two, maybe a grunt or nod.
Loris made a face, his usual stoic front slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of amusement. He leaned in, his breath heavy with the scent of cheap beer, and gave a rare grin. “Sleeping,” he said simply, before adding, almost as an afterthought, “Her name’s Violet, by the way.”
Violet. You didn’t expect that, and it must’ve shown on your face because Loris chuckled softly.
It doesn’t take long for her name to start climbing the ranks at Antis’s. Fighters and spectators alike talk about her with equal parts fear and admiration. “Antis’s money-maker,” they call her, and it’s not hard to see why. When word spread about the unbeatable pink-haired girl, business began booming. Crowds flooded in, the promise of blood and spectacle drawing them like moths to a flame.
At first, she was just another new fighter, opening matches against scrappy, overconfident rookies. But that changed quickly. Within weeks, she was headlining brawls, her name alone enough to pack the stands. She didn’t just win—she dominated, often taking on two, three, even four opponents in a single night. And you? You kept count. You had to.
She tore through supplies faster than you could restock them. Bandages, antiseptics, meds—all of it consumed at an alarming rate. You’ve patched her up more times than you can count. But what stands out most isn’t just the state of her after a fight—it’s what she leaves behind.
Her opponents don’t come to you for minor injuries. No, they stumble in half-broken, their faces smashed and unrecognizable. Each night growing worse for wear. She fights with a ruthlessness you’ve rarely seen, a fury that feels almost personal. You can’t help but wonder what drives her. Is she trying to make a point?
She’s changing, turning into something the crowd craves. Her old, worn clothes have been replaced—black jeans, already ripped at the knees, and a sleeveless black tank that clings to her frame. She’s losing pieces of herself, or maybe just hiding them.
You still can't believe that there's a girl named Violet out there beating the shit out of people for money.
One day, you accidentally walk into her in Antis’s office. You’re here to drop off some invoices for medical supplies, your mind preoccupied with balancing the clinic’s dwindling stock against the rising demand. But when you open the door, you find Vi and Antis inside, deep in conversation.
Antis looks up first, his sharp eyes narrowing at your intrusion. “You’re early,” he grunts, though there’s no real annoyance in his tone. If anything, he seems amused. “Perfect timing. We were just talking about her look. What do you think?”
Vi shifts uncomfortably, her arms crossed over her chest. She doesn’t meet your gaze, her expression unreadable. You glance between them, caught off guard. “Her… look?”
Antis gestures to Vi with a sweep of his hand, his grin wolfish. “Yeah. Gotta sell the whole package, y’know? The crowd loves her, but they’ll eat up a good aesthetic, too. We’re thinking something that screams ‘unbeatable.’ Right, Vi?”
Vi’s jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, you think she might snap at Antis. But she doesn’t. Instead, her gaze flicks to you, like she’s waiting for something—your reaction, maybe, though you can’t figure out why it matters.
You clear your throat, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “She doesn’t need to change anything. She’s already pretty... unforgettable.”
Antis’s booming laugh fills the room, but you barely hear it. Your focus is locked on her. Something flickers in her eyes—a fleeting softness, vulnerability, gratitude, maybe?—before she schools her expression and looks away. You tell yourself it’s nothing, just a trick of the dim light.
A few days later, she shows up in the medic room again. But this time, it's different—she’s not limping in, not dripping with sweat or covered in bruises. She’s just there, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual air that catches you off guard. Her knuckles brush the doorframe absentmindedly as if she’s unsure whether to knock or let herself in.
“Do you need something?” you ask, glancing up from where you’re restocking the shelves. “Are you hurt?”
She shrugs, pushing off the door and stepping inside. “No, just… it’s quiet in here.”
Your brows knit together. Quiet?
She didn’t seem like the kind of person to seek out quiet, especially not in a place like this. “You came all the way here because it’s quiet?”
“Yeah,” she says simply, her tone flat, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She grabs the chair from your desk, spins it around, and sits backward on it, resting her arms over the backrest. “Problem?”
“No... it’s just…” You trail off, unsure how to articulate the strangeness of it. Instead, you turn back to organizing supplies, aware of her eyes on you. “Never mind.”
These visits became more frequent whenever she didn’t fight. And she even stays back for a bit after you patch her up. Sometimes she speaks, but more often than not, she doesn’t—simply sitting in that chair, letting the distant noise of the arena, the cheers and shouts, fade into the background. She’ll stare at the walls or absentmindedly tap her fingers against the chair’s edge, lost in thought, but there’s a serenity about her, an unfamiliar stillness that you start to recognize.
She never tells you what brings her in—if something is weighing on her mind or if it’s just a need to escape the chaos. And you don’t ask. Instead, you begin to anticipate her visits, a strange comfort taking root in the space between you.
The conversations are sparse, but you begin to notice the small things: the way her body relaxes when she settles into the old couch, the weight lifting from her shoulders as she stretches out, the way she’ll let herself drift off into a light sleep. It’s almost like you’re giving her a moment of rest she didn’t know she needed.
Vi strides in, her steps heavier than usual, and tosses a small, overstuffed bag of coins onto your desk. You recognize it immediately—one of the payout sacks Antis gives to the fighters, filled with their share of the betting pool. This one looks heavier than most, jingling with an unmistakable weight as it lands right on top of your paperwork. You pause, your pen hovering midair, and stare at it.
Her grin spreads as she catches the look on your face—wide-eyed and mildly incredulous. “Don’t worry, it’s not for you,” she teases, her tone light and mocking.
You roll your eyes, setting the pen down with an exaggerated sigh. “This from your fight last night?”
Vi nods, her grin twisting into something sharper, a little more wicked. “Some of my best work,” she replies, her voice carrying the faintest edge of pride.
You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow as your gaze sharpens on her face. “I don’t know,” you counter dryly. “He broke your nose, and the whole side of your face is swollen. Doesn’t sound like your best to me.”
Standing up, you step closer, brows knitting together in concern as you get a better look at the mess of bruises she’s sporting. Without thinking, your hands lift, reaching toward her face to assess the damage.
Vi flinches. It’s quick, almost imperceptible, but enough to make you hesitate. Your hands hover in the air, faltering. “Sorry,” you murmur, your voice soft.
She coughs awkwardly, shifting her weight. “No, uh—no. It’s fine,” she says, a little too fast.
This time, when you move again, she doesn’t flinch. She lets you gently brush your fingers over the swollen, splotchy skin along her cheekbone and jaw, and you feel the heat radiating off the inflamed area. Your touch is careful, clinical, but you can’t help wincing at the sight. “You’re kidding yourself if you call this your best work, Vi” you mutter. “Did you even ice this like I told you?”
Her eyes roll so hard you’re almost worried she’ll sprain something. She grabs your wrist—not roughly, but enough to lower your hand—and shrugs. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”
You give her a deadpan look. “I did.”
Her smirk returns, a little more genuine now, though she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sits on the edge of your desk and starts digging absently through the bag of coins, her fingers brushing over the shiny hexes and cogs. She doesn’t pull anything out, just lets her hand linger there.
“I brought you food,” she says suddenly, her voice casual.
You blink, momentarily thrown. “Food?”
She lifts a greasy paper bag into your line of sight, and you realize you hadn’t even noticed it when she walked in. “Yeah, you know. The stuff you eat when you’re hungry.”
“Okay, asshole,” you mutter, but the corner of your mouth quirks up despite yourself.
She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Got it for Loris and I, but he’s, uh… busy. Doing... someone else.” Her tone is flat, like she couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something there—an edge of amusement, maybe. “So, more for us.”
You watch her for a second. You like to think that you can see right through her sometimes, that you can read her, but as usual, she’s an enigma. There’s something in the way she said us that makes your chest feel a little lighter, but you don’t let it show. “Thanks,” you say simply.
“Well, don’t get used to it,” she shoots back. There is kindness she tries to hide, though it’s written all over her expression.
She settles onto the old medical bench, pulling out boxes of food from the bag. You wince internally at the sight, thinking about the number of people who’ve bled, puked, and worse on that very bench. Just hours ago, Vi had been sitting there herself, nose snapped out of place, grinning through bloody teeth and swollen lips and teary eyes. Now, she’s perched there like it’s nothing, tearing into her meal with that same reckless ease she carries into every fight.
“Is this where I’m supposed to remind you how unsanitary this is?”
She shrugs mid-bite, unbothered.
You don’t bother arguing. Instead, you take the box she pushes toward you and settle in. The two of you eat in silence.
The days begin to blur into one another as Vi’s visits grow more casual. At first, you barely tolerated her—a pit fighter like so many others, bruised and bloody and reckless, shuffling into your medic room with the same bravado they all wore like armour. But somewhere along the way, you start to realize you actually don’t hate her company.
And as Vi continues her rise with pit fighting, you realize you also like to take care of her afterwards, even if it is your job or not. Each fight ends quicker than the last, her victories coming faster and fiercer. With every knockout, her confidence blooms—bold, intoxicating.
You’ve always been able to tell why people fight. Some thrive on the violence, seeking it out like a drug, their eyes lit with a manic fire that never seems to dim. Others do it out of desperation: to keep a roof overhead, food on the table, some semblance of stability in their lives.
At first, you were certain Vi belonged in the first category. The way she took punches, how she barely flinched when you patched her up—she didn’t just endure the pain. She absorbed it. Relished it. She wore her scars like trophies, and it almost seemed like she was chasing something more with every bruise and break.
But then you started noticing other things. How her clothes, once old and frayed, began to look newer. The leather jacket she bought just last week, the new earrings glinting against her skin, the sturdy boots she’s traded her worn ones for. Loris mentioned she moved out of his apartment recently and got her own place, though most of her money seemed to go toward booze.
You realize that fighting for Vi isn’t just about survival or enjoyment. It’s an outlet—a way to lose herself in the chaos and the violence, to drown out whatever it is she doesn’t want to face.
One night, you do something you’ve never done before: you buy a ticket to one of her fights. You’ve seen enough carnage in the medic’s room to last a lifetime, but something about Vi pulls you in, like gravity. The crowd is as raucous as ever—cheers, boos, the metallic clang of Antis’s bell marking the start and end of each match. You don’t join in the noise. You just watch, feeling out of place among the spectators who are here for the bloodlust.
And then Vi steps into the ring.
It’s the first time you’ve seen her fight, and it’s nothing like you imagined. You’d seen the aftermath—the blood, the bruises, the broken bones—but witnessing her in action is something else entirely. She’s skilled, fast, brutally efficient, her punches calculated yet devastating.
The man she’s up against is nearly twice her size, but it doesn’t matter. She ducks under his swing with ease, her fist connecting with his jaw in a single, bone-crunching motion that sends him sprawling. The fight is over in less than a minute, and the crowd roars its approval.
Your eyes linger on her, unable to look away. Her back is to you, sweat gleaming on her exposed skin, highlighting the intricate tattoo that snakes across her shoulders. When she turns, she seems to know exactly where you are, her gaze locking onto yours even in the chaos of the crowd.
Your breath catches. The rise and fall of her chest, the bead of sweat tracing down her neck, the raw, undeniable power in her every movement—it’s overwhelming.
Something stirs deep inside you, hot and wanting.
You leave before her second fight starts, slipping through the crowd and into the tunnels. The line waiting for you in the medic room feels endless, yet the blur of bruised faces and bloody wounds can’t distract you. Vi’s image lingers—sweat on her skin, her breath heavy after the fight, and the way her eyes found yours in the crowd.
You never bring it up, and Vi doesn’t either.
But something changes.
That night, as you treat her wounds again, it feels different. She’s quieter than usual, her usual cocky smile missing. You notice how her eyes linger on your hands as you work, following the glide of your fingers over her skin.
Your gloves feel thinner tonight, or maybe it’s just your imagination. You’re hyperaware of every small movement—how her skin feels warm under your touch, the sharp contrast of the calluses on her knuckles against your palm when you steady her hand to examine it.
She doesn’t flinch when you press a damp cloth to the gash on her temple. Normally, she’d tease you, mutter something about your bedside manner, or complain about the sting even though the both of you know she can take it. Instead, she just watches you, her gaze unwavering.
It’s almost unbearable.
Sweat, blood, and alcohol. That is what she smells like. Thick and hanging on your tongue like smog.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you finally say, your voice softer than you intended.
Vi’s lips quirk, but it’s a faint ghost of her usual grin. “Just tired, I guess.”
It’s a lie, and you both know it.
You focus on cleaning the cut, trying to steady your hand. But her closeness throws you off. She’s sitting on the edge of the cot, her knees brushing against your thighs whenever she shifts. The room feels smaller.
“Almost done,” you murmur, though it feels like you’re saying it more to yourself than her.
Vi tilts her head slightly, giving you better access, and the movement draws your attention to the curve of her jaw. There’s a bead of sweat lingering there, catching the dim light, and you have to force yourself to look away.
“Take your time,” she says.
Your fingers pause for just a second before you continue cleaning the wound. Her words hang in the air, charged and heavy, and you wonder if she knows how they’ve started to affect you. You reach for the bandages, your hands brushing against her skin again. Her breath hitches—just barely—but it’s enough for you to notice.
“There,” you say, pulling back slightly. “Done.”
But your hands linger for a moment too long, your fingers still ghosting over her cheek. You’re not sure if it’s you or her that doesn’t pull away first.
Vi’s eyes are on you again, darker now, and the air between you crackles with something unspoken. You don’t know if it’s the proximity, the adrenaline still lingering from her fight, or the way her lips part slightly like she’s about to say something—but you can’t take it anymore.
“I should clean up,” you say abruptly, turning away to gather the used bandages and cloths.
For a moment, she doesn’t move, and you think she might say something to stop you. But then you hear the rustle of her leather jacket as she stands, the creak of the cot as her weight leaves it.
“Thanks,” she says.
You glance over your shoulder, just in time to see her slip through the door. She doesn’t look back.
Her visits dwindle after that night. Fewer and fewer until she stops coming altogether. She starts fighting nights back to back, ignoring protocol and refusing to see you after each one.
You try to shake it off.
To ignore it until you can't.
And then you visit her one day.
It’s not in the medic room or the fighting ring. It’s at her door, and it’s jarring, her address scribbled on a small piece of paper that Loris gave you.
You can’t tell if Antis is pushing Vi to fight more or if Vi willingly puts herself through it every day. She is always in rotation, more so than any other fighter. It’s gotten to the point where people are betting on how long Vi could remain undefeated.
You hate how you immediately perk up when her door opens.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice low and guarded.
Her hair is black, dripping wet and staining her pale shoulders with inky streaks. The change startles you, but what’s more disarming is the sight of her like this—stripped-down, raw. Bandages are wrapped haphazardly around her chest, serving as an impromptu shirt. Her arms, usually hidden beneath gauze and gloves, are bare, revealing the countless scars that crisscross her skin. You can kind of see where her tattoos start and end. You think they’re beautiful.
You open your mouth, but the words don’t come. Why are you here? For some reason, you hadn’t thought much about it before knocking. Now, standing here in her doorway, it feels like a mistake.
You’re not really friends.
“Uh,” you stammer, fumbling for an answer. Your gaze keeps straying to her hair, the stark black making it look longer, heavier. The pigment stains her hairline, dripping in uneven streaks along her temple. You notice how the damp strands cling to her neck, how the water pools in the hollow of her collarbone. It feels intrusive to look, but you can’t help it.
She’s staring at you, her shock quickly shifting to irritation. “You gonna stand there all day, or what?”
“I—your hair,” you blurt out. “It’s… different.”
She scoffs, brushing past you as if you’re not worth the effort of a proper reply. The door swings open wider, an unspoken invitation—or maybe just a lack of concern if you follow. You hesitate, then step inside.
Her apartment is small and dim, almost claustrophobic. The air is stale and thick with a faint tang of alcohol. The small bed in the corner is unmade, the sheets rumpled and half-pushed onto the floor. A punching bag hangs in the center of the room, its surface worn and cracked from overuse. There’s a stack of clothes shoved into the corner, and a few empty bottles litter the floor near the bed.
But it’s the quiet that hits you the hardest. It’s so different from the loud, chaotic energy she carries at the ring or the silence in the medic room. Here, everything feels muted, almost sad.
“You dye it yourself?” you ask, trying to fill the awkward silence as she settles onto the edge of the bed.
She glances at you, the bottle in her hand tipping slightly. “Yeah.”
“Antis didn’t make you do it?”
Vi snorts a small, humourless sound. “No. He suggested green.”
You try to picture her with green hair and fail. “Why black?”
“Needed a change,” she says simply, taking a swig from the bottle. The way she winces as she swallows tells you it’s not her first drink tonight. “Why are you here?”
The bluntness of the question knocks you off balance. For a moment, you forget. Then the weight of the box in your hands reminds you. “Oh, uh, I brought you some new hand wrappings. I saw them at the store and thought you could use them since yours are... shit. Yours are shit.”
Her eyes snap up to yours, something unreadable flickering in them before she looks away. “Thanks.”
“It’s no problem,” you reply, though your voice feels stiff and awkward. You shift your weight, unsure whether to stay or leave. Her gaze returns to you, steady but unreadable, and you feel the strange urge to say something—something meaningful.
“You... you okay, Vi?” you ask softly, not even sure why the words come out. You immediately want to take it back.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
You look at her, really look at her. Not in the way you do at work, but right now, as a friend(?), guest(?) in her space. The dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she grips the bottle of cheap beer as if it’s the only thing keeping her upright. She looks… tired. Beaten down, in a way you’ve never seen before.
“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice quieter now, careful. “I guess you just… you haven’t come by in a while. It looks like you need a good patch up again, no? Don’t worry, I won’t charge.”
The words sound too casual, too light like you’re trying to make a joke—and you are, but you can see the way her face stiffens after you say it. The faint bruises on her face, the bandages on her arms and hands, they’re a clear sign of how badly she’s been pushing herself—she’s been taking supplies from you without checking in, and you’ve noticed. You know she hasn’t gotten her pay yet. You haven’t had the chance to clear her for it since she stopped coming by after fights. It’s a faint sore spot between you both, an unspoken thing she won’t acknowledge, but you know she’s not getting the care she needs.
For a moment, her face hardens, and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line, if she’s going to snap at you. Instead, she just stares at you, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure out what your angle is.
You feel her gaze like a weight pressing down on you, making your skin itch.
Then, she exhales slowly, the tension in her posture easing just a fraction.
“I’m fine,” she says finally, though the words lack conviction. She shifts, setting the bottle down on the floor. “You done?”
You’re about to say something else—maybe ask again, maybe push for more—but then you realize it’s not your place. You step back, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “Yeah.”
You place the box of hand wraps on the counter, but your hands feel clumsy as you do. You want to say something more, something comforting, but the words stick in your throat. “Good luck tonight, Vi.”
She doesn’t respond right away. You turn to leave, your feet dragging slightly, unsure if you should even be leaving at all. It feels like there’s something more to say.
Just as you reach the door, her voice stops you. It’s softer than you expect, quieter, almost hesitant.
“Thanks.”
As you walk down the hallway, the ache in your chest lingers, a nebulous knot of worry, pity, and something else you can’t quite pin down. It tightens with each step, and you wonder, not for the first time, what weight Vi carries with her—and why it feels like it’s starting to settle on you too.
You shake it off, reminding yourself that you're not working this weekend. A rare luxury. Vi doesn’t need to know, and honestly, you doubt she’d even care. If anything, she’d probably be glad to be rid of you for a few more days.
That’s what you tell yourself.
The next time you’re sitting in your cramped little medical room, fussing over how some of the things on your desk are now out of place, the door creaks open just a sliver. You pause, mid-motion, and glance at the shadow shifting on the other side. When whoever it is spots you, the door swings wide with an almost violent energy, smacking against the wall behind it.
“Hey,” Vi stumbles inside, the loud thud of her boots and the echoing cheers from the fighting pit outside spilling into the room with her.
You stand abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor as you take her in. “Vi?”
It takes you a second to recognize her. The black hair throws you off again, though the pink is already creeping back into the ends, the dye washing out like it’s given up trying to keep up with her. Paint smears her face—thick streaks running from her eyes down to her chin like some warped battle mask. She’s gripping a large bottle in one hand, cradling it as if it’s precious, her knuckles stained red.
Her smirk is crooked, her words slurred. “Won’t believe it,” she drawls, letting herself fall unceremoniously onto the old, battered couch in the corner. The springs squeak loudly in protest, and she almost knocks over one of your carefully hung paintings. “Hey.”
You frown, stepping closer. “Are you drunk?”
Her smirk widens, playful and defiant. “No.”
“No?”
“I just won,” she says, like that explains everything. “Again. Beat that big guy—metal jaw. You know the one. Knocked it clean off.”
She’s grinning like she just told a funny joke, but you don’t laugh. Fighters don’t go into the pit drunk, at least not that you’ve ever seen. They also don’t win, which is why Antis is strict about that; drunk fighters are bad fighters, and bad don’t bring in any money—he’ll kick anyone out who even smells like shimmer, let alone someone stumbling around with a bottle of booze.
You move closer cautiously, studying her.
She sits up straighter as you approach, her hair falling messily across her face. You catch a glint of her blue eyes through the strands—sharp, even with the haze of alcohol dulling the rest of her. Her gaze flickers down to her bloodied knuckles, and so does yours—red seeps through the white of her hand wraps, staining them in uneven patches.
She murmurs something, but it’s too soft to catch.
“What?”
“You weren’t here.”
Her words surprise you.
“Yeah,” you say, unsure how else to respond.
“Four days.”
“I know.”
“Why not?”
You hesitate, caught between wanting to downplay your absence and knowing she’ll see through it. “I’ve been busy. I have a life outside this place, you know that, right?”
“Right,” she mutters, though there’s something bitter in the way she says it.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers gripping the bottle loosely. She stares ahead, her face unreadable, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly quiet despite the muffled roar of the crowd outside. You’re counting the seconds until someone from the pit shows up looking worse for wear, but she just sits there, unmoving.
Finally, she speaks. “Loris and I are going out for drinks at the bar next door.”
“More of them?”
She scoffs, but there’s a faint smile playing on her lips. “Fuck off. I was gonna invite you.”
“You want me there?”
“Sure,” she shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “Since you and Loris are so close.”
You roll your eyes, grabbing a plastic bag and filling it with ice. “Oh, yeah. Best friends. I thought you knew.”
She grins at that, her expression lazy but amused as you press the makeshift ice pack to her cheek. She winces, hissing under her breath, but doesn’t pull away. The familiarity of the moment settles between you, a rhythm you hadn’t realized you missed. You didn’t know how much you liked being around her, with all her flaws and quirks, until it was gone.
When she stands to leave, there’s a lightness to her movements. She pauses at the door, glancing back over her shoulder.
“But you’re coming, right?” she asks, her voice softer, less guarded.
You nod, tugging absently at the rings on your fingers. “Yeah. I’ll stop by after I finish up here.”
Her smile catches you off guard. It’s not the smirk or grin you’re used to—it’s warmer, something you’ve never seen before. “Good.”
And then she’s gone, leaving you alone in the stillness of the room. The ache in your chest hasn’t gone away, but it feels different now, lighter somehow, settling into the pit of your stomach like a flutter of butterflies.
You can’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried.
Your night stretches on, each task blending into the next. Stitches to pull, bruises to ice, concussions to monitor. This is your rhythm—calm, focused, efficient. You don’t dwell on the blood staining your gloves or the bruised faces looking back at you. Usually, there’s a detachment, a quiet understanding between you and the fighters. You help them, and they leave.
But tonight feels different. The weight of the work presses a little heavier, the hours crawling by as the thought of Vi’s smile keeps replaying in your head. You remind yourself to focus, to get through the line of battered fighters who rely on you, but every second drags, making your usual rhythm feel offbeat.
It’s not just Vi’s smile—it’s the invitation, her softer tone, the way she paused at the door like your answer mattered more than usual. You don’t let yourself overthink it, but you do catch yourself checking the time more often than you’d like.
When the last fighter leaves, mumbling a tired thank-you, you exhale in relief. The medic room is quiet now, the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air. You pack your supplies, stuffing gloves, gauze, and a few stray pins into your cabinets. The bathroom across the hall catches your eye as you pass, and for once, you pause.
The bathroom is dimly lit, the bulb above buzzing faintly as it flickers. The mirror is cracked in one corner, the surface smudged and grimy, but it still reflects more of you than you’re ready to see. Your sleeves are stained, and your hands are scrubbed raw but not clean enough. The uneven greenish light only makes you look worse, casting harsh shadows on your face.
You roll your sleeves up and run water into the sink, trying to scrub the splotches from your clothes. The water’s cold and your hands ache from the effort, but it feels worth it—like a small chance to put your best self forward. You straighten your shirt, brush off your jacket, and fix your hair as best as you can.
It’s not enough.
It’ll never be enough for a bar full of fighters, let alone for her. You think about going home to change, but it’s already late, and the idea of missing her is ridiculously unbearable.
Clutching your jacket tightly, you step into the downpour outside. The rain pelts against your skin, soaking through your boots as you jog the few steps to the bar. The hum of voices reaches you before the neon glow of the sign above the door does.
Inside, the place is alive.
Most of the crowd from the arena spills into the corners of the bar, still riding the high of the night’s fights. Tables are crammed with victorious fighters and their friends and sponsors, their voices rising above the heavy bassline of a song playing in the background. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, beer, and the faint tang of spilled liquor.
The dim lighting casts a warm, golden hue over the room, softening the rough edges of the crowd. People laugh, shout, and toast to victories. Some are already slumped over the bar, lost in exhaustion or celebration.
Your eyes scan the room, searching for her. Instead, you spot Loris first—his brick-like frame standing out even among the chaos. He’s leaning casually against the bar, arms crossed, but his face lights up when he sees you.
He waves you over, and you weave through the crowd, dodging dancing bodies and familiar faces who call out greetings as you pass. Your heart beats faster, a mix of nerves and anticipation, as you approach.
“You made it,” Loris says, his grin wide and genuine.
You huff, brushing a damp strand of hair out of your face, but you can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Hi.”
Loris gives you a nod, his usual gruffness softened just a bit for you. He calls the bartender over, jerking his chin toward you to signal it’s your turn to order.
You glance at the menu briefly, though you already know what you want. After placing your order, the two of you settle into a quiet rhythm. Loris doesn’t seem like the type to fill silence for the sake of it, and you don’t mind. There’s a strange comfort in his presence.
You find yourself scanning the crowd without thinking, your eyes searching for pink hair at first, a flash of brightness that would stand out even in a place like this. Then you remember her hair is black now. Your eyes adjust, searching instead for the sleek leather of her jacket or the familiar glint of its spikes catching the dim, shifting light.
The bartender sets your drink down in front of you with a solid thud, breaking your focus. Your heart skips a beat, and you reach for the glass more out of reflex than thirst. The cool edge of it presses against your palm, grounding you.
“Happy you’re here.”
Loris’s voice cuts through the noise, low but steady. You look up at him, caught off guard. His eyes remain fixed on his drink, but there’s a weight to his words that makes your chest tighten.
“Maybe it’ll keep Vi from doing something stupid,” he adds after a beat, his tone rough but not unkind.
Your eyebrows knit together as you bring your glass to your lips. The liquor burns on the way down, but it’s nothing compared to the unease settling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”
Loris hesitates, his fingers drumming against the counter as he considers his words. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, almost reluctant. “She gets into fights sometimes.”
Your stomach sinks further. “Here?”
“Only happened twice,” he says quickly like it’s supposed to make you feel better.
“Oh.” You set your drink down, your fingers lingering on the glass. “Why?”
Loris exhales through his nose, his shoulders shifting as if the question itself is a burden. “Dunno. She won’t talk about it.”
You blink, caught off guard. “She doesn’t seem…” You trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.
“Like a drunk?” he finishes for you. “She’s good at hiding it, most of the time. But she’s been drinking more. Gets worse when she’s stressed.”
You bite your lip, your fingers tightening around your glass. “Stressed about what? Fighting?”
He shakes his head, never answering. “She’s stubborn as shit, you know that. But something’s been eating at her, and I don’t think she knows how to deal with it.”
The words hang between you as the clamour of the bar continues around you. You glance down at your drink, the amber liquid catching the dim light, and take another sip. It doesn’t burn as much this time, but it doesn’t settle the knot in your stomach, either.
“I can keep an eye on her,” you say quietly, more to yourself than Loris. “She’s not supposed to be in the pit intoxicated anyway.”
He nods, a faint hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes. “She’s lucky to have you.”
The comment catches you off guard, and you look at him sharply, but he’s already turning back to his drink. You swallow, your cheeks warming for reasons that have nothing to do with the alcohol.
You look away.
And then you spot her.
Vi pushes her way through the crowd, a storm parting the sea of bodies on the dance floor. Her scowl deepens as she brushes off someone’s outstretched hand, her movements sharp, purposeful. The smudged paint on her cheeks—likely streaked from the rain—gives her the appearance of someone worn down by more than just the weather. Faint lines trace across her face like tears.
Your eyes trail to her arms, bare and flexing slightly as she adjusts the leather jacket slung over her shoulder. The spikes catch the dim, flashing lights of the bar, their edges softened by the haze of the room. In her other hand, she grips a glass of something amber and strong.
Your heart jumps, and you realize you’ve been staring when her gaze lifts to you. For a moment, she pauses in her tracks and just looks at you, her eyes scanning your face as if confirming you’re really here. Then, she grins—a slow, crooked thing that tugs at her lips and sends your pulse hammering in your chest.
The smile is lazy but unmistakably pleased.
She changes course, heading straight for you.
She doesn’t look drunk—not like before—but the memory of her swaying slightly in your medic room comes rushing back. You don’t miss the way her drink is already nearly empty, or how smoothly she downs the last of it before setting the glass on the bar with a clink.
When she reaches you, the faint scent of rain and leather clings to her, mingling with the sharper tang of alcohol.
“Hey,” Vi says, your name rolling off her tongue in that low, slightly rough voice of hers, and she leans against the counter next to you.
“Hey,” you grin, trying to keep your voice light even as your pulse races and Loris laughs at you. “You seem surprised to see me.”
“Not surprised,” she replies quickly, her eyes flicking to yours and then away, her smirk faltering for just a second. “Just… glad.”
The simplicity of her words sends your thoughts scattering, but before you can respond, she tilts her head toward your glass. “What’re you drinking?”
You lift it slightly, letting the dim light catch the remaining liquid. Vi eyes it for a moment, nodding in approval. “Good choice. Finish it.”
You blink, “What?”
She nudges your elbow lightly, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Come on. You’re here to have fun, right? Finish your drink, and I’ll show you what that looks like.”
Her tone is playful, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of sincerity beneath it. You hesitate, then take a longer sip, her expectant gaze making it impossible not to comply. The drink burns a little less this time, and when you place the empty glass down, she’s already holding out her hand.
“Come with me,” she says, and it’s not really a question.
Her fingers are warm when they curl around yours, her grip firm and steady as she leads you toward the heart of the bar. The crowd thickens as you move closer to the dance floor, the music pounding louder with every step. The bass thrums through the floor, climbing up your legs and settling in your chest, and the swirl of bodies around you becomes a blur of movement and heat.
Vi doesn’t let go of your hand, even as she turns back to glance at you, a faint smile pulling at her lips. For the first time in a while, there’s a lightness in her expression, a spark of something you’ve missed seeing.
Her usual confidence is there, but it’s softened, almost shy. You follow her lead, feeling awkward at first, but her laugh—low and husky—eases some of your nerves.
The two of you move together amidst the shifting pulse of the dance floor, the heat of the crowd wrapping around you like a living thing. You’re acutely aware of every brush of her fingers against yours, the subtle way her body angles toward you as if she’s drawn to your orbit.
You’re staring at her, looking at the few freckles on her cheeks you can still see under the smudged paint, at the pink ends of her dark hair, at the way her leather jacket has found itself back on her shoulders, muscular arms hiding inside the sleeves.
You think you’re a little obsessed with her.
The question forms on your lips before you can stop it. “Why did you stop coming by?”
Your voice is soft, barely carrying over the music, but it’s enough. Her gaze sharpens as she hears you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face.
“I like taking care of you, Vi.”
For a moment, she freezes. Then, almost imperceptibly, she steps closer. Her hand slides to your waist, the calluses on her fingers warm against the thin fabric of your clothes. She doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, her thumb brushing against your jaw, coaxing you to look at her.
Her eyes search yours, hesitating just long enough for you to realize what’s about to happen. Her breath, warm and faintly tinged with alcohol, fans across your lips, and a shiver runs down your spine.
And then she kisses you.
It’s quick at first, almost testing the waters—a soft brush of her lips against yours that leaves your breath caught somewhere between your heart and throat.
You pull away from her, face burning, when you notice her eyes are still closed, only to flutter open questioningly. Bright, piercing blue meets yours, and for a moment, you see panic flare in her expression.
“Fuck,” she mutters, running a hand through her rain-damp hair. “Fuck, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” The word comes out instinctively, you cannot get rid of that stupid smile on your face. “No, don’t apologize.”
Your fingers find their way to the lapels of her jacket. Her face scrunches up, caught somewhere between hope and disbelief, but you’re not looking at her eyes anymore. You’re focused on her lips, on the faint scar cutting across the corner of her mouth.
You tug her closer.
You kiss her back.
She exhales sharply against your lips, the sound half a gasp, half a groan, as her hands come up to cradle your face and the nape of your neck. It’s as if something inside her has snapped, all her restraint slipping away as she pours herself into you.
The world around you dissolves—the music, the crowd, the cacophony of Zaun’s nightlife fading into a muted hum. It’s just her, her warmth and her touch, her breath mingling with yours as she holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring her to the moment.
Her lips move against yours with a fervour that borders on desperation, her hands mapping out the curve of your waist, the small of your back, your hips, and your ass with her eyes closed. She’s eager to have you close, to feel you.
You respond in kind, your hands sliding up her abs, your fingers tangling in her hair, tugging slightly as her groan vibrates against your mouth.
The sound she emits makes your head spin. Vi’s warmth is all-consuming. A tangle of heat and want that leaves you both breathless by the time she finally pulls back, her forehead resting against yours.
“I need to—” she starts, her voice hoarse and trembling. She glances around, as if suddenly aware of where you are. “Let’s go somewhere. Outside.”
She doesn’t wait for a response, her hand finding yours again as she guides you through the crowd. You barely register the shift in the air until you’re stepping into the rain-soaked streets of Zaun.
The alley she leads you into is dimly lit, the flicker of a neon sign casting faint, wavering light against the wet pavement. The rain is light but steady, cool droplets clinging to your skin as she turns to you, her chest rising and falling like she’s been running.
Her gaze is intense, unwavering, as she steps closer, crowding you against the brick wall. “You’re making me crazy,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough. Her hand cups your jaw, her thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along your cheekbone.
“I could say the same,” you admit.
And then she’s kissing you again, this time with a fervour that leaves no room for hesitation.
It’s embarrassing how fast you tangle together after this, melding together into a pathetic heap out on the sidewalk for god and everyone in this podunk city to see. This time, you note with a ticklish glee settling in your stomach, your lips moving in tandem. They slit against each other with ease.
The rain seeps into your clothes, cold against your skin, but Vi’s touch is fire. Her hands are everywhere, rough and sure as they explore your body, pulling you closer, as if afraid you’ll slip away.
You thread your fingers through her hair, pulling her to you, matching her passion with your own softness. She groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, your tongue brushing against hers in a slow, deliberate caress.
Her grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into damp fabric as she presses you harder against the wall. The rain patters around you, mingling with the sound of your ragged breaths, the occasional distant noise of the bar fading into irrelevance. She parts your thighs with one of her own and places a steadying hand right next to your face. She takes you in, wholly and completely and you let her.
The rain beats down relentlessly, plastering your clothes to your skin, but you barely notice it. Not when Vi is kissing you like this—like she’s trying to consume you like she’s been starving for this. Her body is warm, her lips are hot, insistent, and messy against yours, her teeth occasionally graze your lower lip in a way that sends shocks through your entire body.
Breathy moans expel from your mouth in tandem with curses as her leg creates delicious friction against the lace of your underwear.
“Vi,” you manage, though it comes out as more of a broken whine, breathless and desperate.
Her name on your lips pulls a moan from her, low and guttural, and the sound is enough to make your knees weaken. You think you might collapse if she weren’t holding you so tightly.
Your head spins. You feel like you’re dissolving, every nerve alight as you lose yourself in her touch. Your lungs burn, screaming for air, but you can’t pull away. You don’t want to. Instead, you cling to her, fingers tugging in her hair.
It’s overwhelming—her heat, her strength, her desperation. She’s chaos and want, all Violet and nothing else, and you’re caught in her pull, like a leaf tossed about in a gale. It terrifies you, the way she consumes your thoughts, your senses. It feels like being set aflame, every kiss, every touch fanning the fire until you’re sure you’ll burn to ashes.
Her hands slide lower, shoving into the back pockets of your pants, and she grips you firmly, guiding your hips to rock against her. The movement is deliberate, slow at first, but the friction makes you whimper, a sound that seems to drive her further. Vi pulls you closer, dragging your body against hers in a way that makes you shudder.
Your breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, each one punctuated by her low moans. You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this—untethered, your body moving on instinct as you grind down against her leg. Her hold on you tightens, fingers digging into you, her strength reminds you of all the noses she’s broken, all the wounds you had to tend to because of her. The thought makes you dizzy, makes you crave her more.
Vi’s hips roll up into you, meeting your movements with a messy rhythm that leaves you trembling. The heat pooling in your stomach builds steadily, like a fire that refuses to be sated, even under the torrent of rain.
You let your hands wander, sliding up the hard planes of her stomach, your fingers tracing the ridges of muscle through her soaked bandages. You’re struck by how solid she feels, how strong, and it makes your chest tighten with something you can’t quite name. When your palm presses lower, cupping her over her pants, she keens—a quiet, needy sound that has you aching to hear it again.
Oh, you want her to do that again, you’re going to make her do that again.
Her grip on your hips becomes almost bruising, her breath coming faster as she sighs into your mouth. “Fuck,” she mutters, the word a rough exhale that sends a shiver down your spine. And then, barely audible, she mumbles, “Cait.”
You falter, the word barely registering over the storm and your own pounding heartbeat. It’s unfamiliar and foreign, and it sticks in your mind like a splinter.
Her lips are on yours again, insistent and wild, her teeth catching your bottom lip as her hands slide up under your shirt. Her fingertips are warm despite the rain, leaving trails of fire along your skin as she pushes the wet fabric higher. You shudder under her touch, goosebumps rising in her wake, your body arching instinctively toward her.
Your mind is a tangle of emotions and half-formed thoughts. You’re hyper-aware of everything—of the rain soaking through your clothes, the way her breath mingles with yours, the quiet groans she can’t seem to hold back.
She moves with purpose, her lips finding the sensitive skin along your jaw, then lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Each touch sends a fresh wave of heat through you, making it harder to think, to breathe.
Your fingers are clumsily slipping into her underwear and then you’re there, fingers brushing right against her clit—she’s so wet that your fingers brush right through her folds, gliding like silk.
“Vi,” you whisper again.
Her answering hum vibrates against your skin, and she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes are half-lidded, the blue of them dark and turbulent, like the sea during a storm.
You lean in, pressing your lips to the sensitive spot just below her jaw. It’s a place you know well, one you’ve touched countless times in the dim light of your medic’s room, dabbing at bruises and wiping away blood. Each time, she’d jerk away ever so slightly. Now, you press your lips there with the same precision, but the sense is wholly different.
She shifts beneath your touch, her breath hitching as your mouth moves deliberately along her neck. The breathy moans she leaves by your ear fuel you, spurring you on as you focus on the rhythm of her breathing, the way her body responds to you.
“Good,” she mutters, her voice rough and uneven. “Fuck, feels so good.”
Her hand moves beneath your shirt, her palm rough and calloused against the softness of your skin, digging under your bra. She cups your breast, her thumb brushing over your nipple, and the sensation sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric. Her other hand tangles in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make your scalp tingle.
It aches, but you’re smiling, even as the rain continues to pour, soaking through your clothes and plastering your hair to your face. You sneak a glance at her, and the sight nearly undoes you. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her dark lashes clumped together with rain and dark, smudged makeup against pale, bruised skin. Her lips are parted, searching for something—your lips, your skin, something to kiss.
You don’t make her wait. She bites at your neck, teeth grazing your skin, and you gasp, your hand instinctively moving to her hair. You tug, and the sound she makes—a guttural, desperate moan—sends heat pooling low in your stomach.
She mutters your name, her voice soft yet filled with a hunger that shakes you to your core. There’s a plea disguised in her tone, a silent plea to give her everything, to let her take all you have to offer.
And you will. You’ll give her everything. Your time, your care, your thoughts and prayers, every piece of yourself. Your leg, an arm, the air you breathe, and the food you make. You’d give her your heart, too, if only she’d take it.
Her body trembles against yours, her chest heaving as her breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts. You can’t tell if it’s from the cold rain seeping into your bones or from the way your fingers move against her. You trace light circles over her clit, teasing, testing, and the way she reacts—hips jerking, her hands clutching at you desperately—you think she wants your warmth, and you hope that is what she chases after.
When you slip a finger inside, she gasps, her voice breaking into soft, fractured sounds that make your chest ache. It takes a few tries, careful adjustments to find the spot that makes her fall apart, but when you do, it’s like a floodgate opens. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her body tensing beneath your touch as she winds tighter, tighter—
“Cait…” The same name from before slips from her lips like a whisper at first, so faint you almost miss it.
Then she says it again, her voice catching on the syllable, and your world tilts.
“Cait… Cait…” she chants, the name tumbling from her lips in fervent prayer, each utterance cutting through the haze that had clouded your mind.
It tastes bitter. Bitter like the alcohol still lingering on her breath. Bitter like the realization sinking into your chest.
You freeze, suddenly sober.
Your hands falter, and Vi doesn’t seem to notice at first, still panting, still trembling, her forehead pressed against yours. The furrow in her brow deepens when you pull back, untangling yourself from her arms.
“What—? Why’d you stop?” Her voice is hoarse and confused, the desperation still thick in her tone.
“Who’s Cait?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
“What?”
Vi blinks, her face a mask of confusion before her expression shifts. Guilt flashes in her eyes—raw and unguarded. It’s a look you’ve seen before, maybe once or twice.
“You keep calling me ‘Cait.’” You can’t meet her gaze as you say it. Your chest tightens, your throat burns, and suddenly, the space between the two of you feels suffocating.
You reach for her hand still under your shirt, running your thumb over her split knuckles. It’s a gesture that feels too tender now, and you pull her hand away from you, stepping aside to put distance between your bodies.
“I don’t know…” Your voice cracks as you say it, your mind grasping for anything to make sense of this moment.
“Shit. Shit.” Vi curses under her breath, running a hand through her wet hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—Cait’s just… someone I used to know, alright?”
The rain pours harder, the chill sinking into your bones as you cross your arms tightly against your chest. You glance down the alley, to where the streetlights cast faint glows on the wet pavement. Anywhere but her face.
“Um… I think I need to go,” you mumble.
“You just got here.” Her voice is low and unsure, and it makes you stutter for a moment. She takes a step toward you, one hand lifting as though to touch you, but she freezes mid-motion, her fingers curling into a fist.
“I know.” You force the words out. “But it’s been a long day.” You take a step back, and then another.
“Please.” Her voice cracks on the word. “Don’t leave.”
You pause, your breath hitching at the desperation in her tone. It tugs at something in your chest, something that still wants to turn around, to reach for her and say everything is fine. But it’s not fine. Not anymore.
“Vi…” Her name feels raw on your tongue. “You’re drunk. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”
“No.” She cuts you off, the panic in her voice sharp enough to pierce through the rain. “No, don’t say that. I’m not drunk—”
“You are.”
Her words are rushed, and frantic, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as you. You shake your head, stepping back again, the cold of the brick wall scraping against your palm as you steady yourself.
“You’re clearly not in the right state of mind right now,” you say, your tone firmer this time. It feels like a lie, like a mask you’re slipping on to hide the crack forming in your resolve. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Just… rest easy. You fight early tomorrow.”
She exhales sharply, a sound halfway between a sob and a growl, her hands clenching at her sides. “Fuck. Fuck!” The frustration explodes out of her as her fist slams into the brick wall beside her, the dull thud reverberating in the air.
The sound makes you flinch, your shoulders stiffening as you start walking away. Her voice chases after you, raw and broken, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back.
Your lips burn where her mouth had been, a phantom heat that refuses to fade despite the freezing rain. You wipe your hands against the damp fabric of your pants, but the scent of her lingers—smoke, leather, and something wholly hers. It clings to you like a ghost.
The sunlight catches you off guard the next morning. It filters in through the grimy window of the medic room, cutting golden beams through the usual haze of smog. The light feels almost intrusive, prying into the shadows you’ve grown accustomed to.
You glance at the old clock on the wall, your eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Last night replays in your mind like a broken record—Vi’s voice, raw and regretful, the taste of her still lingering on your lips, and that name, Cait, slipping like a shard of glass between your ribs.
Outside, the faint hum of Zaun waking up filters through the walls. Fighters pass by the door, their voices carrying muffled excitement or hushed murmurs about Vi’s loss.
“She’s never been this off her game,” someone says as they pass. “Wonder what’s eating her.”
You tighten your grip on the bandage roll in your hand, trying to ignore the way your stomach clenches.
The sunlight persists, illuminating every imperfection in the room—the cracks in the walls, the scuff marks on the floor, the faint stains on the counter. It’s the first time you’ve seen this much light down here, and yet it only seems to highlight everything you want to forget.
You try to focus on your work, lining up supplies that don’t need organizing, folding bandages that don’t need folding. You think about how Vi’s presence, chaotic as it was, had somehow made this job bearable. Her grins, her dry wit, the way she sat in that chair like it was her throne—it had all made this dim room feel a little less oppressive.
But today, the chair stays empty.
Word of her loss had swept through the Pit hours ago. Even the ones who bet against her—out of spite or fear—seemed shocked. You’d caught snippets of conversations, whispers about how Vi had gone down hard, how her opponent’s hit had landed with a sickening crack that echoed through the arena.
Ryker confirmed the details when he came in, his voice low as he described the sound her body made hitting the floor. The image had stuck with you, sharp and unrelenting, as you waited.
You expected her to show up the way she always did—bleeding but defiant, swaggering in with that cocky grin, already downplaying her injuries. But as the hours stretched into evening, the worry settled deeper.
Maybe she’d gone straight to the bar again, skipping protocol out of spite. You wanted to believe it, even if it wasn’t fair. If anyone had the right to be upset, it should be you.
You paced the cramped room, the sound of your boots scraping against the floor the only thing keeping you grounded. You told yourself you didn’t care—it wasn’t your job to chase after fighters who wouldn’t take care of themselves. But deep down, it stung.
The thought of her turning back to old habits—of her brushing you aside like you never mattered—settled in your chest like a bruise you couldn’t rub out.
And then the door creaks open.
Vi steps inside, her silhouette framed by the soft, golden light spilling through the window behind her. She hesitates in the doorway, a shadow of her usual self. Her confident swagger is gone, replaced by a tired, battered figure. The black paint streaked across her shoulders has smeared into her skin, blending with dried blood and sweat. Her leather jacket hangs heavily from her hands, and her makeshift top is damp, torn in places, and caked with dirt.
Her face tells the rest of the story. A swollen eye, a nose bent at an angle that makes you wince just looking at it, and a constellation of bruises across her cheekbone and jaw. Blood has dried in crusty patches along her hairline and temples, merging with the remnants of the black paint she hadn’t bothered to wash off.
She lingers there, gripping the edges of the doorframe like she’s bracing herself for rejection. You’re about to speak when her gaze finds yours, cutting through the silence like a knife.
“Hey,” she says, her voice scratchy and low.
You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, willing your tone to stay steady. “Took you long enough,” you say lightly, turning toward the counter to grab the salve and bandages.
When you glance back, the ghost of a smirk flickers on her lips, but it vanishes just as quickly. She steps further inside, lowering herself into the chair with a muted groan. There’s no quip this time, no offhand joke. She just sits there, shoulders sagging, staring at her bloodied hands like they belong to someone else.
You pull on your gloves, the snap of latex breaking the silence. “What happened?”
Her shrug is stiff, “Guess I wasn’t fast enough.”
There’s an edge to her voice, sharp and bitter. It’s self-directed, steeped in frustration, and it takes you by surprise. You soak a cloth in antiseptic and step closer, gently dabbing at a jagged cut above her eyebrow. She flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“Why didn’t you come sooner?” you ask, your tone soft but firm.
Her jaw tightens, and her hands curl into fists on her lap. “Didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
You pause mid-motion, your hand hovering just above her skin. Her words feel like a slap, and you’re not sure if the sting comes from the accusation. “I still like to take care of you,” you say quietly.
Vi scoffs, the sound is humourless and tired. “That’s your job.”
“Yeah, but,” you counter, meeting her gaze head-on. “I like doing it.”
The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken between you. Her shoulders tense as she processes your words, her eyes darting away like she can’t bear to look at you.
You try to focus on cleaning her wounds, “You should’ve come earlier. You shouldn’t do this to yourself.”
“Why not? Seems to be what I’m good at.”
Her words strike a chord, a pang of hurt and anger swirling in your chest. You step back, giving her space as you set the cloth down. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on her hair, painting her in a halo of gold. She looks almost ethereal, and it breaks your heart, because you know she doesn’t see it.
“Vi…” You hesitate, unsure of what to say.
She looks up then, her eye searching your face. Her voice cracks when she speaks. “I don’t get it. I’m a jerk, right? Always have been to fucking everyone, even Loris and my sister and I... I mean, I’ve been a dick to you since day one. Why don’t you just… let me fuck myself up?”
“I’ve thought about it,” you admit, a hint of teasing laced in your voice. “But then I’d be a pretty shitty medic, wouldn’t I?”
Her lips twitch upward again, but it doesn’t quite stick. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice so quiet you almost miss it. “For everything.”
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.
“I didn’t mean to…” She trails off, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
The sincerity in her voice twists the knife deeper, but it doesn’t change the truth. “It’s okay,” you manage.
“No, it’s not.” She finally looks at you, her blue eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Shame? “I… You deserve better than that. Better than me.”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. “You’re being dramatic. I’m fine, really.”
Vi shook her head, leaning back against the chair. “You’re not. You’re just too good to say it.”
Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped spinning. You can see the pain in her expression, the regret and the sorrow, but there’s something else, too—a longing that mirrors your own.
But it’s not enough.
You step back, and the distance between you feels like miles. “You should rest. I gotta fix your nose.”
Vi nods, leaning back in the chair. The sunlight catches on her bruises, highlighting every mark, every scar. She looks like a warrior, battle-worn and beautiful, and you know you’ll never forget this image of her.
As you work in silence, you can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if things were different—if whoever Cait was didn’t haunt her, if she could see you the way you see her.
But deep down, you know the answer.
She’ll never be yours.
But you’ll always be hers.
When you finish, Vi hesitates for a moment longer than you expect, her movements slow and deliberate, as though she doesn’t know where to go next or what to do. She stands, and the way her shoulders rise, like she’s summoning what’s left of her strength, makes your heart ache.
“Thanks,” she says.
“Of course. It’s what I’m here for.”
As the words leave you, they feel hollow. You want to reach for more, to say something else, to make her understand. You want to scream, to tell her that you could be enough for her if she’d just let you. You could make her believe that she’s worth more than the pain she’s carrying. But instead, all you do is smile. It’s soft, strained, and bittersweet.
She doesn’t meet your eye as she turns toward the door. You watch her move, each step deliberate, like she’s carrying an invisible weight. For a fleeting moment, it’s as if she’s pulling the room with her, dragging everything back into the shadows.
And then, she’s gone.
The door clicks softly behind her, leaving the room eerily silent. You sit back in your chair, the quiet pressing in around you like a heavy fog. The warmth from the light seems to linger, but it doesn’t reach you anymore.
You sit back in your chair, staring at the empty space. The room feels colder and quieter, and you realize that, no matter how much you wish otherwise, she’ll always carry pieces of someone else with her.
warnings. kissing, sparring and kissing, touching, neck kisses, pet names (darling)
wc. i have no idea (i went overboard)
synopsis. You were sent on a mission to train sevika for an underground tournament, by non other than the tyrant herself, Ambessa Merdarda.
a/n. there needs to be more of these because i am in need. i keep making part twos because im indecisive also let me know if there’s any misspelling
note. it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!
Sweat clung to your brow as you stepped into the training room, its atmosphere oppressive and bathed in a dim crimson glow. The walls, which were made of steel, echoed with every movement. Scuffed mats covered sections of the concrete floor, marked by years of punishment from brutal sparring matches. Ambient heat radiated from flickering red lights overhead, casting jagged shadows that seemed to ripple with every movement. It wasn’t an ideal space for training, but Zaun didn’t do luxury, and neither did Ambessa.
Ambessa’s voice rang out from the elevated platform at the far end of the room, her piercing gaze fixed on the two of you. “Again,” she ordered, her tone sharp enough to cut through the humid air. “Don’t hold back this time. You’re wasting my time if you’re not going to make her bleed.”
Resentment prickled under your skin, but you bit your tongue. Ambessa’s presence had been the only thing keeping you in this hell of an assignment. Training Sevika for an underground tournament had sounded ridiculous when the offer first came to you. Why would a battle maiden brute like her need anyone’s help. But Ambessa had insisted, claiming your expertise was “essential” to Zaun’s victory. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Sevika stood in front of you, her large frame coiled with tension. Her metal arm glinted under the lights as her breathing stayed steady. Her gaze looked betrayed with annoyance. She wasn’t thrilled about being told what to do, let alone by you. The feeling was mutual. “You ready for another bruising, princess?” Sevika taunted, cracking her knuckles.
Rolling your eyes, you dropped into a fighting stance. “Keep talking, and I’ll make sure your metal arm isn’t the only thing out of commission.”
Her grin was predatory. “Such big words for someone so small.”
The session resumed with a flurry of blows. Sevika lunged first, her movements quick despite her size. You ducked under her swing, your fist connecting with her side. The impact barely fazed her, but it was enough to get her attention. She retaliated with a sweeping kick, forcing you to leap back to avoid losing your footing. The clash of flesh and metal echoed in the room as the two of you exchanged blows, your mutual irritation fueling every strike.
Sevika was too strong to take head-on. So you relied on precision and agility, darting around her strikes and aiming for weak spots. But Sevika wasn’t stupid. She adapted quickly, her strikes coming faster and more calculated. Her metal fist grazed your ribs at one point, and the shock of it made you stumble.
“Getting tired already, sweetheart?” she sneered, wiping the sweat from her brow with her forearm.
“Hardly,” you shot back, charging at her with renewed energy.
Your next strike caught her off guard. A perfectly timed uppercut sent her stumbling backward. You didn’t stop, delivering a swift kick to her midsection that knocked her off balance. She hit the ground hard, her body slamming against the concrete with a grunt. For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing.
“Stay down,” you said, wiping your hands on your pants.
But Sevika didn’t stay down. With a growl, she lunged at you like a wild animal. Her strength caught you off guard, and before you could react, she had you pinned to the cold floor. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and you gasped as her full weight pressed against you.
Sevika’s metal hand gripped both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. Her other hand rested on your shoulder, keeping you firmly in place. You struggled, but her strength was overwhelming.
“Not so cocky now, are ya?” she panted, her voice low and dripping with satisfaction. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto your cheek, and the heat of her body seeped into yours.
“Let me up,” you growled, glaring at her.
Her lips curled into a smirk as she leaned closer, her face mere inches from yours. “Now why would i do that? You look good down there.”
Your pulse quickened, though you told yourself it was from exertion. “You’re enjoying this wayyyy too much.”
“Maybe,” Sevika admitted, her voice a husky whisper. “But I think you are too.” Her chest heaved with every breath, the fabric of her tank top clinging to her damp skin. The scent of sweat and iron filled the air, mingling with something deeper, something unspoken. Her gray eyes bore into yours, challenging you, daring you to say something, to do something. But neither of you moved. The world outside the training room seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in this heat of a moment.
“You’re stronger than I expected,” Sevika muttered, her voice softer now. “Almost makes me want to keep you around.”
“Almost?” you shot back, your voice tight. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”
Her smirk widened. “You can try, but you wouldn’t succeed.”
Ambessa’s voice cut through the moment like a blade. “Enough!” she barked, her tone sharp and commanding. “If you two are done flirting, we have a tournament to prepare for.”
Ambessa’s voice thundered through the training room before either of you had the chance to speak. “What in the hell is going on here?” Her presence filled the room instantly, her commanding tone freezing both you and Sevika in place.
Her boots clanged against the concrete as she strode forward, her towering frame illuminated by the dim red glow. Dressed in training gear, Ambessa looked more like a war goddess than a general with her broad shoulders and powerful arms on full display. A simple black sports bra wrapped tightly around her chest as her glistened abs catch the faint light.
“Off,” she barked, her sharp gaze locking on Sevika.
Sevika, who rarely flinched at anything, hesitated for a split second before pulling back. Her expression was tight with frustration, but she obeyed, releasing your wrists and standing. The loss of her warmth was immediate as the cold floor pressed against your back.
Ambessa stepped in without missing a beat, gripping Sevika’s arm and pulling her upright effortlessly. “Do you think this is some kind of game?” Her voice was low, dangerous, as she squared off with Sevika.
Sevika yanked her arm back, her jaw tightening. “She hit me. I hit her back.”
“You pinned her like a street brawler,” Ambessa snapped, her voice cutting through the charged air. “This isn’t some tavern scuffle. You’re supposed to be training, not rolling around like a fool.”
“She’s the one who pushed me,” Sevika shot back, her chest heaving as she stepped closer. The heat in her gaze didn’t waver, and the muscles in her arms flexed with tension.
Still lying on the ground, you watched the two women square off, rooted in place by the sheer energy between them. Ambessa’s imposing frame radiated authority, her dark eyes blazing, while Sevika bristled like a cornered beast, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.
“Pushed you?” Ambessa’s voice dropped to a near growl. She took another step forward, her tone mocking. “What are you, a child? You’re supposed to be stronger than this.”
“Maybe if you didn’t bark orders from a balcony, you’d see how this fight actually went,” Sevika bit back, her voice dripping with venom. Her muscles tensed beneath the fabric of her tank top, the strain of holding back her frustration evident in every line of her body.
Ambessa’s laugh was sharp and humorless, cutting through the suffocating air. “Careful, Sevika. You’re one poorly thrown punch away from losing that metal arm.”
Sevika’s lips twisted into a snarl, her voice rising as she stepped into Ambessa’s space. “And you’re one more order away from learning I don’t take kindly to being treated like a damn pawn.”
Every word exchanged felt like a spark, each one igniting the fire between them further. You remained where you were, watching from the ground as the red lights painted their figures like some living, breathing battle scene.
Ambessa tilted her head slightly, her piercing gaze narrowing. “You think this is about you?” she asked, her voice quiet but filled with dangerous intent. She took a step closer, the heat from her body palpable even from where you lay. “You’re nothing without me. You wouldn’t have that arm, that strength, or this opportunity. So don’t test me, Sevika.”
For a moment, Sevika didn’t respond, her jaw tight as her gaze flickered to the floor before locking onto Ambessa again. Then, like a wave breaking, the anger in her expression shifted into something more intimate replacing it.
“Nothing without you?” Sevika’s voice dropped, her tone low and measured, sending a shiver down your spine. “You think you own me because you gave me this?” She raised her metal arm, flexing it deliberately. “Don’t fool yourself. I’ve earned every inch of what I am.”
Ambessa didn’t back down, stepping even closer until their chests were nearly brushing. “Then prove it. Because right now, all I see is someone too stubborn to recognize when they’re being tested.”
The air between them shifted. Their breathing was heavy, their bodies so close you swore you could see the tension vibrating between them. Ambessa’s hand raised slightly, and for a second, you thought she might push Sevika, or worse, strike her. But her fingers caught the strap of Sevika’s tank top instead, her grip firm.
“You talk about earning it,” Ambessa said, her voice softer now, her words dripping with sharpness. “But have you earned this?”
Sevika didn’t flinch, though her chest rose and fell faster, her gray eyes locked onto Ambessa’s dark ones. “I’ve earned more than you think,” she said, her voice just as quiet, though there was a slight tremor. The aggression in Sevika’s stance softened, though her muscles remained taut, her body coiled and ready. Ambessa’s imposing presence didn’t falter, but the edge in her gaze dulled ever so slightly.
“You’re reckless,” Ambessa murmured, her fingers still resting against Sevika’s shirt.
“Tyrant bitch,” Sevika shot back, though there was no bite to her words.
They were so close now, their tension-filled standoff transforming into something you couldn’t quite name. You should’ve looked away, should’ve gotten up and interrupted, but you couldn’t. The sight of them, Ambessa’s glistening abs under the red lights and Sevika’s tank top clinging to her damp skin. It was mesmerizing.
The sparring session between Ambessa and Sevika had turned into a spectacle of raw power and dominance. The two women circled each other, muscles taut and glistening under the red light as they calculated their next moves. The tension in the room was almost unbearable, the charged atmosphere making it impossible to look away.
Sevika lunged first, her movements swift. Ambessa parried with ease, her stature and experience giving her the upper hand. The clash of their bodies reverberated through the room, their strength evenly matched, though Ambessa carried herself with an effortless grace that only came from years of battle.
Whereas, you sat on the couch in the corner with your legs crossed and your hands gripping the cushion tightly as you watched. The intensity between them was magnetic, and you felt heat creeping up your neck as you took it all in. The way Ambessa’s muscles shifted with every movement, the sheer power in her strikes. It was impossible not to admire her.
Sevika grunted as Ambessa caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting her arm behind her back in one fluid motion. “You’re too easy to predict,” Ambessa said, her voice low and laced with authority.
Sevika growled, twisting to free herself, but Ambessa didn’t let go. Instead, she pinned Sevika’s arms together, holding them in place with one hand. The strength in that single motion was enough to make your jaw drop. You could see the flex of her biceps, the veins on her forearm standing out as she kept Sevika completely immobilized.
You swallowed hard, feeling your cheeks flush. It wasn’t just the display of power that made your stomach flip, it was the way Ambessa looked doing it. She was in complete control, her eyes burning with determination.
Ambessa leaned in close, her lips brushing against Sevika’s ear. Whatever she whispered was too quiet for you to hear, but the way Sevika’s ears turned pink told you enough. Sevika was blushing. Their breathing was labored, their chests pressed against each other in a way that blurred the lines between aggression and intimacy. They were similar in height and strength that it was hard to tell who had the upper hand, though Ambessa’s control of the situation made it clear she was the dominant one.
You shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way your body was reacting to the scene in front of you. The way they moved, the tension between them. it was impossible not to feel flustered. Your eyes flicked to Ambessa’s back, the muscles there flexing as she held Sevika in place, and then to Sevika’s jaw, clenched tightly in frustration.
And then, with a sharp motion, Ambessa threw Sevika to the ground. The impact echoed through the room, but before Sevika could recover, Ambessa straddled her waist, pinning her completely. Her hands pressed into the concrete on either side of Sevika’s head, caging her in.
For a moment, they just looked at each other. Ambessa’s gaze was piercing, and Sevika’s was equally defiant, though there was a flicker of something soft beneath her frustration. The proximity between them was almost suffocating, their breaths mingling as they stared each other down.
From your spot on the couch, you felt a pang of jealousy twist in your chest. You hated to admit it, but the sight of them like this: with Ambessa in complete control and Sevika pinned beneath her. You couldn’t deny what it made you feel. You were indecisive, whether you wanted to be in Ambessa’s place or Sevika’s.
Ambessa finally broke the moment, her head turning slightly in your direction. “Darling,” she called, her voice smooth and inviting.
Your heart skipped a beat. She rarely used that tone with you, and when she did, it always made your pulse race. You stood hesitantly, your legs feeling weak as you approached them.
“C’mere,” Ambessa said again, her eyes darkening as she watched you. You obeyed without question, moving closer until you were kneeling beside the two women. Ambessa shifted her attention back to Sevika for a moment, her thumb brushing against Sevika’s jawline before she finally let go of her. Sevika sat up slightly, her breathing still heavy as she stared at Ambessa, her lips parted as though she wanted to a near whisper. "Do you want her?"
The question hit you like a shit ton of bricks. Your eyes widened, and you quickly shook your head. "What? No, I-"
Ambessa tilted her head, a faint smirk playing at her lips. "Come on. there’s no need lie," she said, her voice soft but dangerous. "I've seen the way you look at her."
It’s true i-" you started, but your words caught in your throat as Ambessa leaned closer, her hand coming up to cup your chin.
"You can deny it all you want," she murmured, her thumb brushing against your lower lip. "But I already know the truth." Behind her, Sevika shifted, her eyes narrowing as she watched the interaction. Her gaze flicked between you and Ambessa, her jaw tightening as though she was trying to figure out what to make of the situation.
Ambessa's lips curved into a knowing smile as she let go of your chin, her hand moving to rest on your shoulder instead. "It's nothing to be ashamed of," she said, her tone almost teasing now. "Desire is a natural thing."
You felt your cheeks heat up, unsure of how to respond. Ambessa's gaze was unrelenting, and the weight of both her and Sevika's attention made your head spin.
"Still," Ambessa continued, her voice taking on a more serious edge, "you should know where your loyalties lie." Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you nodded slowly. With the inability to tear your eyes away from her. The room was silent for a moment, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Sevika finally stood, brushing herself off and crossing her arms over her chest as she stared down at the two of you.
Ambessa smirked, leaning back slightly but still keeping her hand on your shoulder. "Oh, I'm counting on it," she said, her tone dripping with confidence.
As the two women exchanged another charged look, you couldn't help but feel caught in the middle of something bigger than yourself. And yet, you didn't want to be anywhere else.
Ambessa stood there, towering over both you and Sevika, her sharp gaze locked on Sevika's defiant stance. The tension between them was thick, electric, but then something shifted in Ambessa's expression. A sly smirk curved her lips, and before anyone could react, she leaned in and pressed her lips against Sevika's.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was intense, fiery, and utterly captivating. Sevika's eyes widened in surprise at first, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she matched Ambessa's energy, their mouths moving against each other with such a desire that made your heart pound. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight. The sound of their labored breaths and the faint growls of dominance filled the room. They kissed as if they were trying to conquer one another, neither willing to back down. Sevika's hand shot up, gripping the back of Ambessa's neck, her fingers curling into her short hair. While Ambessa's large hands found Sevika's waist, pulling her closer.
Your cheeks flushed as you watched, your mind racing. It was undeniably hot. You clenched your fists in your lap, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your belly as you continued to observe the exchange.
Ambessa's teeth caught Sevika's lower lip, tugging it slightly before she pulled back just enough to smirk. "Is that all you've got?" she taunted, her voice husky and breathless.
"Not even close," Sevika growled, surging forward to capture her lips again, this time with even more hunger.
You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. The two women before you were locked in a battle of dominance, their bodies pressed so tightly together that it was hard to see where one ended and the other began. The red light from the room cast their silhouettes in an almost ethereal glow, accentuating the muscles in their arms and shoulders as they held each other.
You felt a pang of longing in your chest, wishing you could be part of that. Your eyes drifted to Sevika's lips. You imagined her pressing her lips against your neck. And then your gaze moved to Ambessa's hands, the thought of them holding you like that making your stomach flip.
You didn't realize you were pouting until Ambessa pulled back slightly from Sevika, her eyes flicking toward you. She chuckled lowly, her voice thick with amusement. "What's wrong, darling?" she teased, the pet name rolling off her tongue like silk.
You quickly looked away, embarrassed that she'd caught you. "Nothing," you muttered, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.
"Nothing, hm?" Ambessa stepped closer, leaving Sevika standing there looking both frustrated and dazed. She reached out, her hand brushing lightly against your cheek before trailing down to rest against your back. "I don't think I believe you."
Sevika, still breathing heavily, smirked as she noticed your reaction. "Looks like someone wants in on the fun," she said, her tone teasing but her eyes were dark. Your heart skipped a beat as Ambessa's hand pressed more firmly against your back, guiding you to your feet. "Join us.” she commanded softly, her voice leaving no room for argument.
You hesitated for only a moment before obeying, letting her lead you exactly where you wanted to be. Right inbetween the two of them. Her hand stayed firm against your back, her touch grounding yet electrifying.
"You've been watching like you want something," Ambessa murmured, her lips brushing against your ear as she spoke. "Well?"
"I..." You trailed off, unsure of how to put into words the mix of desire and anticipation swirling inside you.
"Shy now?" Sevika teased, stepping closer until her chest was nearly brushing against your back. She reached out, her calloused fingers tilting your chin up so you had to look at her. "Don't be."
The proximity of both women was overwhelming, their sheer size making you feel small and delicate in comparison. Ambessa's hands slid down to your hips, pulling you flush against her chest while Sevika's fingers trailed along your jawline.
"You're trembling," Ambessa noted with a smirk, her voice a low rumble against your back. "Are we making you nervous, darling?"
"I-i’m not nervous," you managed to say, though your voice betrayed you.
Ambessa chuckled, the sound vibrating through her chest and into your body. "Good," she said. "Because we're just getting started."
Before you could respond, Ambessa leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both commanding and intoxicating. Her hands tightened on your hips, holding you firmly against her as her lips moved against yours with expert precision.
You barely had time to process the kiss before Sevika's lips found the curve of your neck, her teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. The combination of their touches was almost too much to handle, and yet you craved more.
Ambessa pulled back slightly, her eyes dark with desire as she looked down at you. "Sevika," she said, her tone carrying a hint of command.
Sevika hummed in response, her lips still pressed against your neck.
"I think you want more," Ambessa said, a mischievous glint in her eye as she looked between you and Sevika.
Sevika smirked, her hand coming up to cup your cheek as she pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. "Then we shouldn't disappoint," she said, her voice low and full of promise.
As they both closed in on you, you couldn't help but feel excitement. Being caught between these two powerful women, their attention focused entirely on you, was a dream come true. And as their lips and hands began explored every inch of your body, you couldn’t resist.
SYNOPSIS: reddit: a place for thought-dumping and being horny [college au]
WORD COUNT: 9.5K
WARNINGS: this was supposed to be dark but its very crack-ish, sevika and vi play rugby(kinda minor plot tbh), oc is a crazy redditor and wears skirts, STALKING, 90% SMUT MDNI(fingering + phone sex + munching + mult orgasms + dirty talk, tensionnnn) brief mentions of grief and loss bc me, recreational drug use, JUST TOXIC, abby makes an appearance later
A/N: WROTE THIS WITH MY BABY!!! @trackinglessons art by lottie my love my light my everything this is a product of #OVULATIONWEEK and the #ARCANETAKEOVER
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r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 3y
no one likes me.
i [f18] don’t have any friends. at all. i don’t have anyone that’s not family that likes me and sometimes im convinced my family regrets keeping me adound. i just moved cities for uni and haven’t been able to have a valuable conversation with anyone and im starting to think i’m the reason why. to be honest i’ve always been the “weird” one or whatever ppl at school called me. but i don’t think im weird at all. I think i’m nice but ppl treat me like a germ lol they just stare and whisper to each other but i know they’re talking about me
does anyone have any advice on being more approachable? or whatever i’m not even sure what to call it tbh.
kewlio313 • 3y
Everybody’s weird in college! You’re young and finding yourself. Join some organizations and put yourself out there! It’ll work out kid
artkiller OP • 3y
i wish there was a chess club lol
Margie • 3y
how do you go about approaching people?
artkiller OP • 3y
i just walk up and start talking about myself
Margie • 3y
Okay… and what’s their reaction?
artkiller OP • 3y
it’s different every time. sometimes they just leave, sometimes they laugh then leave, other times they’re outwardly mean. one guy told me to ‘shut the hell up bitch’ and i immediately wanted to commit a federal crime(not murder)
Margie • 3y
Goddamn lol. Maybe u r weird
miKrophone • 3y
shut up hoe
artkiller OP • 2y
?? :/
—
r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 2y
Advice Needed
how do you know if you’re mentally ill?
hello fellow redditors. lol. i’m finally back… very odd first term i think i got ghosted or whatever it’s called by some dude on the hockey team but yeah i plotted homicide. i’m pretty sure that situation sent me into a spiral. i think im sick.
i’m not sure what’s going on with me but my thoughts have been really dark recently. not necessarily suicidal or harm inflicting(on myself) but… yeah… prettyyyy dark. idk. it’s weird what my brain conjures up sometimes. i guess im curious why my brain thinks the way it does. i’m not a bad person and i know that, but my brain makes me believe that i am. idk what to do at this point. i’ve never been to a professional and tbh i don’t think i should because i don’t wanna be admitted somewhere lol
kewlio313 • 2y
Welcome back kid. It’s often better to seek help even though it can be fucking horrifying, especially in adulthood. Get help and you’ll be fine
artkiller OP • 2y
and if i’m not fine? what do i do then?
kewlio313 • 2y
To be frank, I'm not sure. I’ve been through alot and even I don’t have clear direction on life. I’ve been allowing my intuition to guide me for some time. Just try it and see what happens. Rooting for you
artkiller OP • 2y
thank you
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r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 2y
Advice Needed
am i a lesbian?
i [f19] think im attracted to females. i can’t stop staring at their tits. i always assumed my middle school peeping was from jealousy or whatever the hell twitter said but now that i’m grown i think i wanna fuck girls. or like. girl adjacents??? idk the terminology or whatever.
PetersJoker • 2y
go eat some pussy and find out
artkiller OP • 2y
no fuckhead
kewlio313 • 2y
… Girl adjacents? Females? Are you actually 40?
artkiller OP • 2y
is this a dig
kewlio313 • 2y
You crack me up. Have you experimented before?
artkiller OP • 2y
i never passed a science class
kewlio313 • 2y
… Alright.
I meant hooking up. Have u kissed a girl before? Slept with one? Or whatever you youngins say these days?
artkiller OP • 2y
no. i’m not a slut lol i hardly go outside
kewlio313 • 2y
Finding out what you like isn’t being a slut. You’re in college for fucks sake. Find you someone to lay with, ya loser.
artkiller OP • 2y
or i should just shoot myself. less complicated then sex
kewlio313 • 2y
Maybe so, but they’re equally as messy.
ButchesForChrist • 2y
Questioning is usually the first sign. Lol
artkiller OP • 2y
fuck me
ButchesForChrist • 2y
Well
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r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 2y
what does sex feel like? (wlw)
[f19] just watched scissor porn for the first time. what the fuck was that. (i need it)
MisandristInTraining • 2y
the work of demons aka men
artkiller OP • 2y
i drink their blood
MisandristInTraining • 2y
Lmao
OnHorseback • 2y
Feels like dying but emotionally • 2y
artkiller OP • 2y
i wanna die physically
OnHorseback • 2y
I’m sure some dirty fuck can set that up for you
artkiller OP • 2y
lit
kewlio313 • 2y
Welcome to the dark side.
artkiller OP • 2y
flirt a little harder oldhead
ButchesForChrist • 2y
Ready to come out?
artkiller OP • 2y
of where
ButchesForChrist • 2y
Bitch…..
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r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 2y
home sweet home.
hello found family. been mia bc fuck school but i’m back… and i think im a sadist.
does anyone know where rugby originated from? i like watching large women be physical w each other and i wish they would harm me in similar ways. pls push me to the floor and stomp me out(specifically directed to one pink head) i’ve been thinking dirty things all day i need her so fucking bad. is this why ppl r so obsessed with sex? bc of hot people? i get it now. i need her to bend me over and put her cleat on my neck
lezziesthatembezzle • 2y
good morning to u too bitch
artkiller OP • 2y
big muscly girls pls rail me from da bck
lezziesthatembezzle • 2y
someone muzzle this thot
Accuntress • 2y
A dyke’s pride and joy: large women.
kewlio313 • 2y
This is crazily your most normal post. Missed ya. Do well in school
artkiller OP • 2y
:3 🩷
[deleted] • 2y
The cards are in my favor
artkiller OP • 2y
would you like to sex through private message?
[deleted] • 2y
What the fuck you crackhead
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r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 2y
Advice Needed
sex addiction while a virgin?
is this possible? i shouldn’t have watched ppl with big clits trib. quite criminal. even more criminal when i’ve imagined the girl i’ve been following around for the past 2 weeks doing it to me
[deleted] • 2y
is this who we are….
artkiller OP • 2y
obviously.
kewlio313 • 2y
This is my last straw.
artkiller OP • 2y
hugs xD
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r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 6mo
i’m confessing.
idc anymore. i don’t give a FUCK. i am in love. i [f21] am in love. the deepest kind i think. love at first sight truly. it’s the kind of love that’s painful. it kills and leaves behind trails of misery if betrayed or lost. whenever i see her, i cry from happiness. her joy is my joy. her hurt is my hurt. our hearts are forever intertwined no matter the distance. i’m writing this for her. if you ever see this: i love you, darling. there’s not a second that goes by where you’re not at the forefront of my mind. i’ll treasure everything we’ve built thus far, and promise to never take it for granted. i hope to die by your side.
i love you. i love you so much.
even if we’ve never spoken.
kewlio313 • 6mo
Yup… she’s lost it, folks. Very deep sigh.
ButchesForChrist • 5mo
That’s part of being a lesbian. She’ll live. Trust me
—
—
—
“Violet! … VIOLET!”
Why’s Sev always so loud in the goddamn library? The receptionist already has tacks on her behavior chart like some kindergartener. “I heard you! Jesus Christ, I’m sitting right fucking next to you—“
“I wouldn’t haveta fucking scream if you woulda answered me when I asked 3 days ago! Are you coming on Saturday?”
How does she tell Sev fuck no bitch I don’t wanna go in a polite manner? It’s the first weekend after Christmas break and quite frankly, she's already sick of being on campus. Vi loves her friend to death but holy fuck does she wish she had an off button.
“Just come the hell on and stop—“
“Dude, I—“
“You know it’s not gonna be fun if you’re not there! Half the bitches are comin’ for you! Plus… I think you could use a fun time after… y’know.” Sevika softens — only a bit, she's still Sevika. Hard ass.
She does know. At this point, who doesn’t? Her last year of university started on a bad foot when her family home caught aflame with her little sister and father still inside, but the icing on the cake was when her long term, blue-haired girlfriend sent her the can we talk? important text. Now she’s single with corpses for relatives(she thinks her sister would’ve found that funny). Her teammates returned to campus with her; eyes mournful and hearts sunk to the bottom of their stomachs, so prepared to shield and coddle when needed. Sev was one of them: through every breakdown and anxiety attack and hungry but nauseating night.
“I’m not tryna bring up old shit. You been through a lot and deserve some fun. That’s all I’m sayin’. Get your last bit of jitters out before the season starts.”
Vi nods. She gets it. Losing her sister was just as much of a loss for Sev as it was for her, but somehow, she was able to ease back into herself. Become… normal again. Socializing takes so much energy outta Violet, now. She’d rather go lift or go sock the shit outta rich person. In some ways, she wishes she had as much willpower as her friend.
She knows why Sev wants her to go. New pussy, new me, her and Abby once told her, but she’s not in the mood to smash right now. She’ll probably start crying if they don’t kiss both her cheeks before her nose like… Ugh. She shivers in disgust… and extreme longing. She misses her ex like crazy.
“I know. I’ll, uh, think about it.”
“M’kay… now what the fuck is epitactic theory.”
“Girl…”
—
r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 12mi
Advice Needed
how crazy is it to ask for a threesome from two ppl that don’t know you?
[f21] i’m currently in my campus library watching my girlfriend study with her teammate from my stiff ass beanbag and i need them both like crack. how do i bring intercourse up without making it awkward or uncomfortable? help asap pls
also i might c her this weeknd she’s going out and i wanna go
CreamTeam • 5mi
Wait … so is she your girlfriend or not?? 😭😭
artkiller OP • 2mi
we have a complicated relationship🩷
ButchesForChrist • 1mi
Aka she’s stalking her. Scroll down a little
artkiller OP • 30s
stay out my business
CreamTeam • 1s
What the fuck
kewlio313 • 2mi
I thought we were better than this, honey.
artkiller OP • 30s
you prob are. im not
kewlio313 • 4s
Deep sigh.
Your phone drops from your jittery hands and into your lap, screen glowing with every disappointed reply from fucking Kewlio who you’ve grown to love. You like to call them a friend. A faceless, emotionally intelligent, oddly attractive friend who you’ve never met.
The love of your life is right there, as always. Exactly 34 steps away, past the shelves littered with history novels and biographies, sat at the table surrounded by Liberal Arts textbooks and her star-littered laptop. Black jacket, black shirt, ripped black jeans, hair dyed black: that’s new. Still streaked with pink and somehow you’re even more hungry for her. She’s looked a mess recently: beaten and bruised, coming to class with black eyes and bandages across her pretty nose. It makes you wanna burn down the entire Arts and Sciences building with everyone inside of it.
She’s annoyed with Sevika, you can tell. They’re talking about something. Maybe her sister, rest in peace. Or piss if she sucked. Whatever. A small part wishes you listened a little closer when she talked about Jinx(weird ass nickname, but okay) so you’d know exactly what to ask. She can take out any aggression or sadness on you anytime. In here, outside. You’d drop ‘em for her wherever.
Kewlio is a dirty liar. You’re not a stalker. You’re a fan, an admirer, a lover. Your girl’s simply unassuming… How the fuck is that your fault?
She won’t be like that for long, though.
Vi lost her cleats a few days ago. Her black and blue ones that are worn the hell down and hanging at the seams, but she loves them. Wears them almost every match despite how unsteady they make her on the field. They’re her lucky charm, besides you, of course.
Her lucky charm found her lucky charms.
And by found, you mean broke into her gym locker with the code you memorized 2 years ago and snagged ‘em. She should really get those locks changed before someone takes something important.
The explanation of how you found her cleats exactly? You’re not sure and you’re not dwelling. She’ll be so relieved that you found them that it won’t even matter. Might even drop to her knees and praise you like a God. Is she religious? One of the minor details you don’t know about her.
But you’ll find out soon enough. No worries at all.
You wonder how Caitlyn is doing.
—
Rabbit holes are either your best friend or worst enemy. Today, they’re straddling the fence. Your brain never shuts off when you're in a crisis. You’re ovulating, overstimulated, and searching for a cure from someone you’ve never said hello to.
The internet can solve your problems though. Especially if they’re sex-deprived millennials. Their long-term lack of human contact makes for some hilarious stories and useful what-not-to-dos.
how to finger a vagina
vagina g spot where is it
where is clit vagina
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scissoring hacks positions
lesbian sex how to
can lesbians do anal
is mommy kink a trauma response
Reddit searches are always on your side. All answers to the world at the tip of your fingers. You love the media! Squirting is not pee evidently. PornHub comments are not a reliable source. You should ask your girlfriend if she squirts.
Caitlyn would know. Fucking BITCH!
how to make girlfriend come
Mansplainer misogynists geeking about making their wives do housework while they sit on their asses and flirt with young Discordians. ‘I clap and she appears’
…
You should craft a bomb that only targets cis-het men because what the fuck is going on right now.
how to make girlfriend cum
‘[M48] I’ve never made my wife climax and we’ve been together for 15 years and have 2 children’
Your eyes are fucking burning. Is it bad to wish death on a person? Cursed imagery. Your fingers attempt to salvage the last bits of your sanity.
how to make girlfriend orgasm wlw
date ideas lesbian
am i crazy quiz
insanity quiz
You’re normal you’re okay you’re literally fine.
mental illness signs for lesbians
what does dying feel lik
“Ma’am.”
You gasp sharply. Librarian. Fuck oh shit
“Hi. We’re, uh, lockin’ up, so…”
You’re still at the library. How much time has passed? How many rabbit holes have you fallen into? Where’s your girlfriend? Her and Sev are gone…
But you know where to find your g-spot! Hooplah!
“Oh ye— Yeah! Uhh… bye.” You stand so fast you get whiplash. Your backpack beats against your back when you adjust the straps on your shoulders. Headphones on, music blasting, and just like that, the world is off and you’re on. Right into the darkness of the city.
You love a stripper’s playlist in times like this.
You love Reddit in times like this.
You walk and walk with an extra skip in your step. Time to drive Kewlio crazy.
r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 1s
guys im happy
the joy that i feel rn is unmatched. i love my life. im so excited for the future. thank you god and or universe for these blessings
And post. Nothing could wipe the smile off your face. Nothing nothing nothing you love it here! You love school. You love your girlfriend and her friends and her sport.
“Oof—“
“AH—“
You back connects with the angles of your hardcovers and fuck you hope your laptop survived that drop. Not enough cushion in your bag to cover that fall fuck your life you hate everyone—
“YOU FU—“
“Holy fuckin’ shit I’m so sorry are you ok—“
And your mouth zips. Oh…
Oh.
Your girl’s in running shorts. Squeezing her thighs good ‘n tight and she glistens with sweat, brows pulled down in concern as she eyes you from above. If the fun was still out, the rays would dress her head like a halo. A heavenly sight. You’d die here… but not before a drop of her sweat falls on your face. You need that at least once. Zooweeema—
“Are you oka— fuck, gimme your hands, up ya go, c’mon—“
Oh she’s talking. And grabbing you.
Your hands are warmed by skin and your spine tickles when you’re pulled to your feet like a feather. The pain in your back and shoulders don’t fucking matter anymore. Life works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?
“Hi, Vi.”
“I’m— hey, uh… do we know each other?”
We love each other actually!
“No— I uh, sorry! I go to watch your matches and all that. Kinda a fan… Sorry if that’s weird—“
“No no no no, not weird at all. Uh, very flattering actually. ‘Preciate it.”
You’re gonna fucking pass out.
“Are you okay though? Nothing hurts, right?” And your knees wobble when a squeezing hand lands on your shoulder, gauging you for pain. No pain. Just deprived. Needy. Desperate. Touch me some more.
“M good.”
“Cool…” Her hand drops and you nearly screech like a banshee, “And your name? Sorry bout t—“
You interrupt with yours and she smiles. Nice to meet you, she says with gravel and your heart grows another heart inside of another heart. Holy fucking you’re boutta
“I like rugby.”
Kill yourself. You’re boutta kill yourself.
Vi’s eyes widened before nodding in agreement, “Yeah… me too. If it wasn’t obvious enough. It’s a great… stress reliever.”
So is sex, according to Sexcopedia.edu. Do me.
“Really? It looks painful sometimes.”
She sighs with tension, “It is. We gotta lot of aggressive people playing against us so we have to always… do more. I guess, I dunno. But whenever I’m mad it’s great. Very useful.”
“Are you mad often?”
“Are you studying psychology?” She pins with an arched, slit brow, but her eyes remain light and friendly. It’s funny, she doesn’t appear to be this approachable with her grunge-ness.
“Nah. I need to, though. Could do me some good.”
Her laugh is hearty. Genuine. “Shit, me too. Help me out.”
“Do you wanna be my friend?”
She seems stunned and you don’t know why. Doesn’t banter create friendship? Whatever. Fuck it. She can say no. You don’t care. You still got her shoe—
“Gimme your phone—”
Your heart drops to the floor, through the concrete, right into the center of the Earth’s crust waiting to burn and cease to exist. She’s got you figured out. You’ve been exposed and she’s gonna fry you in the middle of the damn street
“—I’ll put my number in.”
… Oh.
You meticulously make sure your notis are deleted and OFF before handing her your device with the keypad on display. Her fingers are pretty and nimble. Flexible with how slender they are. Pretty hands. Pretty, blue veins and you're instantly reminded of her ex. You hate the color blue.
She hands your phone back, “That’s me. Hit me up when you get… wherever you’re going. And lemme know if I need to cover your medical expenses for spinal cord surgery.”
You laugh. Really fucking loudly and she flinches, but smiles after. She’s so fucking cute! Is this flirting?
“Y-Yeah, I will.”
Her head tilts fondly, “Cool.”
“Cool.”
She gives you one last look before plugging her earbud in to continue her jog. You check her contact to make sure it’s real and fuck you have her fucking number! Fuck fuck fuck fuck
You leap like the happiest frog in the pond when she’s out of your line of view and a sharp pain whips through your shoulder blades.
—
r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 3mi
lads i just got proposed to. spring wedding in sweden
number collected. so it begins.
kewlio313 • 48s
Christ help us all.
CreamTeam • 10s
Ring pics.
artkiller OP • 3s
cawk ring pics***
CreamTeam • 1s
Should’ve fuckin known. I hate you genuinely
—
r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 30s
when’s a good time to text the girl you’re obsessed with?
[f21] soooo i’m laying in bed lookignat her contact and idk what to do. i’ve fantasized about this so many times and now its in my lap… im so used to shit going wrong that idk how to react to it going right. it’s kinda late but i really wanna talk to her but idk she might be sleep or whatever.
should i scale her building and check if she’s awake? :(
—
Vi doesn’t know why there’s a pit in her stomach. She sits on her teammate’s fluffy rug with a smoked out Sevika who patiently waits for her green light, but it hasn’t come. She feels an oncoming breakdown and she needs a babysitter just in case.
“Finish this for me?” A roach floats in front of Vi’s face before she pushes it away.
“No.”
“Buzzkill.”
Sev and Vi sit in silence for 12 seconds before the roach is stolen and hit by the latter. Sevika snickers. Vi drops her head on the couch and exhales her worries through clouds. Stressed, anxious riddled, maybe not the best headspace to get high but fuck it.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
She shrugs, “Everything.”
“Talk ta me. What’s happening.”
Vi’s face burns when her mind plagues with you. Your giant bifocals and smudged mascara and acrylic-stained hoodies. You had a backpack on… Could be a student here. You might be a freshman. Vi hates making assumptions about strangers but you seemed a little…
Immature? Your eyes were too shiny to be a senior.
“You’re gonna laugh…”
“I’ll always laugh at your stupid ass,” She snickers. “What happened, though, seriously.”
Wafts of smoke curl around her words, “I almost bulldozed a girl earlier.”
Sevika scrabbles to her knees with a slack jaw, “WHAT THE—“
“Oh my fucking god can you be normal for—“
“BITCH BULLDOZED? WHAT THE FUCK FREAKY ASS BITCH—“
“NOT LIKE THAT!” Vi scoffs, “I went on a run and bumped into her! Fucking WEIRDO!”
Sevika slumps back on her ass, clearly disappointed, “… Oh.”
Vi tends to the roach until her fingertips burn, stubbing out the burnt paper on Sevika’s ashtray. When she looks up, she finds a very intrigued looking fox. Here she fucking goes.
“She hot?”
Vi’s sigh is littered with agitation at her friend while she laughs, “I hadta fucking ask! Tell me! She smell good?”
“I don’t fuckin’ remember! We talked for like… 2 minutes!”
“2 is enough time to check her out. Show’a hands, how fat were her tits? Like this?” Sevika mimes holding watermelons that are too goddamn heavy and Vi cringes.
“You fucking disgust me.”
Sevika relaxes back onto her elbows, legs extended in front of her. Her brow quirks when she catches Vi’s gaze drop to her waist, “Meh. You like that about me.”
“Sometimes. Not when I’m in a crisis.”
“Meeting a girl is a crisis now?”
“Yes! I don’t fucking know, she was…”
Honestly, Vi’s unsure how to describe you.
“Does she at least go here! You’re not giving me shit to work with.”
“I DON’T KNOW—“
“DON’T FUCKING YELL AT ME—“
Vi groans with her palms in her eyes, “She just asked to be friends. She told me she watches us play and that she’s—“
“Back the fuck up,” Sevika raises up again, “Do you not see what’s happening here!”
“…”
“You’re actually fucking stupid, wow,” She scoffs, “You know she set all that up, right?”
“… What in the fuck are you talking abou—“
“She ran into you on purpose! She’s a fan bitch!” Sev reaches for her phone on the coffee table, “What’s her Instagram?”
Vi whines, “I don’t know—“
Before Sevika can cuss her out for the 40th time, she bursts, “I GAVE HER MY NUMBER!”
“… Did you get hers?”
“…”
“BROTHER—“
“Shut up! I’m not… I don’t flirt! I don’t know how, not anymore! She caught me off guard honestly.”
“What's her name?”
Vi sheepishly mumbles your title; it’s slimy the way it curls on her tongue. You were so nice and now she’s setting you up to be pestered by her best friend.
It’s silent for 3 minutes, only the pittering of Sevika’s fingers on her device while she hunts for you. Another 4 pass before she tosses her phone in annoyance.
“You sure you weren’t hallucinating? Nothing’s poppin’ up.”
“You’re so annoy—“
WHO THAT IN THE BAAAAAAACK, WHO THAT IN THE BAAAAAAACK
Vi’s phone screen glows gray with an unsaved number across the top… One with their area code… Sevika watches the number scroll like a hawk. The smile that grows on her face is crooked. And knowing.
It’s 11PM. It’s not you. It couldn’t be you.
“That’s your ringtone?” Sevika snorts.
“Shut up.” Why’s she so anxious all of a sudden? Her sweaty palms aren’t enough to stop her from reaching for the device, though.
She answers and puts you on speaker.
“Hello?”
“…Hi. It’s me.”
Sevika’s brow lifts in questioning. Is that her? She mouths and Vi nods. Her eyes roll when her friend whispers, cute voice.
She’ll never say, but Sevika’s presence re-energizes her. Makes her a little more playful, so she teases, “Me who?”
A beat of silence passes before you start mumbling to yourself, “I’m gonna fuckin’ throw up is this the wrong per—“
Sevika’s hand flies over her mouth to smother her laughter while Vi coddles you; laughs that she’s joking and that she was waiting on your call. Her cheeks burn when her teammate throws her an accusatory look.
“Do you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“That you’ve been waiting on me?”
Before Vi can answer, Sev raises up onto her knees and mimes fucking somebody from the back, face slack with faux and exaggerated pleasure. She ignores the sinful jolt in her tummy and flings a throw pillow right at her face.
“Yeah, ‘course I was…”
And then it’s silent again. Her muscles freeze with every deep breath you take over the phone. Sevika waits expectantly, talk to her, she says with flapping fingers.
“Whatcha up to?”
“… Uhh… nothing?”
Your laugh is featherlight, “Are you asking me?”
“Maybe?”
Sevika’s had enough of the tomfoolery. She wiggles over and hits the mute button with a heavy slam. Leans in close while she whispers,
“Dude, she’s tryna fuck—“
“No, she isn’t—“
“Yes she is, dodo, did you hear how she was talkin’?” Her tone heightens in pitch, mocks seduction, “You were waiting on me, baby?—“
“H-Hello?” Your mumble is drenched with insecurity. Sevika doesn’t give a fuck.
“See?” She nearly screams, “She’s DJin’ right now—“
Violet shoves her back before unmuting, “Sorry, m’here…”
“… Was it a bad time to call?” You’re quieter now. Ashamed sounding. Embarrassed.
“Not at all! Sorry, I was smoking earlier, makes me lose my train of thought.”
“It’s okay…”
“You make it home safe?”
“Mhm. I was about to fall asleep but then I remembered to call, so…”
Vi catches her smile before her friend can bully her for it, “So, you called…”
“Yes,” said excitedly. She can hear your smile. Very puppy-like. Cute. Vi jolts when Sev starts snoring obnoxiously fucking loud. She flicks her forehead.
“Is someone there with you?”
Both their eyes widen. A sharp hand raises to slap Sevika, but she flinches before it lands, “Sorry. Just my stupid ass roommate.”
“Hi, Sevika.”
You’re oddly calm…. But why wouldn’t you be? You had no other intent for this phone call other than keeping your promise. They still share a look though; a brief flash of intrigue and skepticism. How’d you know…
It’s not pondered on for long by Sevika before she sings, “Hey, sweetheart.”
You sound like the wind has knocked outta you. “H-Hi.”
Sev singles for Vi to pass the phone over to her. She obliges with a hard stare, “I was just passing through, but while I’m here, I gotta couple… questions. That good with you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You single?”
“Mhm. For forever, sadly.”
“Great. Are we at the same school?”
“Duh. I’m at every match. We’re, uh… graduating together if everything goes as planned.”
So definitely not a freshman. Just when Vi thought it was impossible to finish college without a chip on your shoulder. You seem to have made it through just fine.
Despite Sevika’s reputation of being cold-hearted and abrasive with wicked flirtation skills, she speaks to you like you’ve been in her life for years. Gentle. Inquiring. She lays flat on her stomach with her feet kicked up behind her, “What’s your major?”
“Architectural engineering. What’s yours?”
“You’re so smart. ‘M doing mathematics. You should tutor me when you getta chance.”
“Sure. Just lemme know when. I’m always in the library, so.”
“Well, what a fucking coincidence, so are we! You coulda dropped by and said hello if that was the case.”
“I’m trying to do that now… Am I doin’ okay?”
“Just fine actually. Aren’t you sweet.”
“I taste sweeter.”
Sevika drops the phone on the plush rug beneath them. Sits upright with urgency. Gawks at Vi whose jaw is nearly in her lap. There’s hardly any air in her chest. She squabbles for her phone and ensures that the volume is all the way up. Holds the device right in between them.
“… Swear? I don’t think that’s possible.” Sevika hums at you, holding her roommate’s gaze while her tongue traces over the dryness on her lip.
“You could find out… Both of you can if you wanna.”
“‘S that easy?” Sevika rasps, and Vi flinches when her breath hits her mouth. Leans in a bit closer to feel more on her face.
“Why do you sound like that?” Vi huffs at your genuine curiosity. You’re so fucking cute, fuck.
“Because you’re turning me on, hon,” Her gaze washes over Vi and her skin burns with trails. “Both of us.”
“Oh… cool.” You exhale unsteadily. They can’t help but laugh at you. “Cool?” Vi repeats.
“Yeah. Awesome. I’ve never done that to someone before.”
“You a virgin?”
“Yup.”
“FaceTime us.”
“I have a Samsung.”
Both girls explode into laughter, “We’ll call you, then, Jesus—“ Vi sends an eager finger towards the small camera before you mumble,
“Who says I’ll answer?”
Sevika tuts, “You don’t wanna watch us kiss?”
“I’d rather watch in person.”
Sevika throws Vi a look and she’s instantly reminded of Abby. Usually, that glance — filled with an equal amount of tenderness of filth — is shared between her teammates and she’s forced to endure whatever nonsense they plan to take out on somebody together, but now she’s here. Sevika’s including her in such a sacred ritual. She’s suddenly skittish, “You’re killing me, baby. Whatcha doing this weekend?” Sev quiets, timbre amorous.
“Playing Overwatch.”
“Fuck that shit. Come to Kappa on Saturday. Everybody’s goin’.” Sevika snips down at Violet, and she whines while her fingers dig into her roomie’s tank top. A little closer, and they’re kissing. Just an inch—
“What’s Kappa?”
Vi giggles, “House,” Sevika mumbles against Vi’s mouth, “Frat house. Right off 16th. It's bright blue, can’t miss it.”
“‘K, I’ll go. See ya there.”
“Wh—“
Three dial tones break through the smoke in the air before the screen goes dark, both girls left stunned and… very tempted to track your location. Maybe pop a titty for your RA in exchange for your room number. Wouldn’t be the first time…
… Is that too much?
It could be, but you didn’t hesitate to drop bomb after proposition, and the selfish part of her heart can’t help but think you wouldn’t mind two ravenous strangers at your front door. The knowledge that they’d give you everything you needed would be enough for you to allow them entry.
And the way Sevika’s staring at her… Craving, but careful. She’s so patient.
It’s been such a long time — two years since they’ve had any physical connection. Drunken nights, quickies in the locker room showers— the distractions from grief were all put on the back shelf when Vi got into her relationship. Sevika’s a sleaze, not a homewrecker — most times, so she kept her hands to herself out of respect, no matter how many times Violet would catch her staring where she knew was off limits.
Vi can't get to you, but she can get to Sevika.
So she yanks her close, dissolves the space between them as their mouths collide with heat and a newfound ache for you in the middle. Sevika’s just as rough as she remembers — pushes her down so her back molds to the floor, entangles a cinched hand in her hair to pull and expose her neck to the attacks. She’s got blotches and teeth marks on her throat — the unrestrained and possessive and her stomach flips. She gasps at the ceiling when her nightshirt shreds under a forceful hand.
She hasn’t had the heart to have sex in months — propositions were turned down on dozens of occasions because her mind couldn’t focus on enjoying. Every second of euphoria gets overshadowed by hollow, unforgiving guilt.
You sparked something in her with your forwardness, that curiosity that left her aching to read your mind. Her best friend, too, evidently.
Every movement is fast. She crawls down her torso with intent — fangs sharp where they leave blood down her sternum. Vi’s fingers pry Sevika’s shirt off, her tongue separating from her waist for mere seconds before reattaching. An eager hand fondly moves her friend’s hair out of her face.
You want it? Sevika’s eyes read.
Yes, I want it, please. Vi says aloud. Eager with a twisting hand in her scalp.
Sevika sends waves through Vi with every wrestle her tongue devotes to her clit. She can’t think of anything but Sevika and you and both of you at the same time; on top of her — you sat on her face while Sevika’s fingers drove inside her. She wants her tongue inside you; unrelenting and feverish until you scream and soak her tongue in your sweetness.
Sevika eats like she’s hungry. She eats like she misses having her like this and that wounds Vi up tight; it sends shockwaves down her legs. Makes her twitch, but Sevika forces her still with a tight grip on her waist.
Vi curses with fluttery eyes when a finger — then two, circles around the entrance that aches for a stretching.
They’re heaven sent when they push in. She’s getting fucked like she’s hated and she loves it. She deserves to feel like nothing; her walls are selfish where they encase the digits that bring her to the sun, massage against every sensitive ridge just how she needs. Her mouth spills with whatever energy she has left within her; slurred and drooled fuck yes yeses. She can barely conjure a warning when her core locks tight, right before she explodes.
There’s wetness everywhere while she pulses through her pleasure, thighs squeezing around Sevika’s head with every satisfied moan that vibrates on her clit. Tells Violet to give her more and to take it take it take whatever she gives her like she knows she can.
It’s not until Violet starts sobbing and Sevika’s mouth is dripping wet that she pulls out and separates from her completely. She kisses her pussy gently before shifting to help unlock Violet’s knees. She shivers with every peck that’s trailed up her torso to her chest to her neck.
Sevika laughs when Vi does, choked and clogged, but elated and genuine. It’s been so long since her body’s felt this light.
“You needed that. Ya look better already,” Sevika cackles. “Can you stand?”
“Fuck off, gimme a sec.” Vi shoves playfully at her chest.
—
—
—
r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 3s
guys.
i love being a liar. it makes me feel alive never let a bitch tell you lying is wrong it literally makes life so much easier!! wishing everyone a good night.
everything’s going as planned. just one more tally on the board and we’re set
—
—
—
r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 20mi
Advice Needed
it’s been 24 hours and my girl who’s not my girl has been texting me nonstop.
[f21] hello. im in a crisis but a good one? if that’s possible. long story short im in love but not dating the girl im in love with yet. i took some of y’all’s flirting advice and i think it worked. im betting my life that yall do witchcraft. i barely said anything to her and now she won’t me😝😝😝 and tbh… i think her friend won’t me too!!!!! she’s always asking about my day and asking if i ate and if id wanna eat with her but i always decline bc im not ready physically mentally like i’m gonna combust the second she walks up to me i barely survived our first interaction…… but her friend invited me to a party tomorrow night…….. wtf do i wear to that i’ve never been outside before LOL
might get a train ran on me…… WE’LL SEE FRIENDS
adding her undies to the shrine🩷 yaaaay
CreamTeam • 14mi
bro is she your girlfriend or not? It’s been years at this point.
artkiller OP • 12mi
yes i mean no or yes :)
kewlio313 • 7mi
Wear something that you wouldn’t wear to your parents funeral. Good luck dear
artkiller OP • 5mi
i would whore out if my family died
kewlio313 • 2mi
Good God.
—
What does genuine happiness feel like?
You’re unsure how long you’ve been on your beanbag, but Violet and Sevika have been laughing since you sat down. They’re so relaxed around each other, content with silence. Accepting of failure.
You’re not a jealous person at all. Far from, actually, but something furies from within whenever you see them — or people, in general, gleeful; the desperation to feel. You haven’t had the privilege. Maybe that’s why you cling to whatever you have with Vi. She has birthed a wanting inside you. A desire for connection after spending decades comforted by the sound of your own voice. Or comments under your posts.
Violet makes you happy. And Sevika might, too. Just as long as she doesn’t get too close to your light.
You’re standing right behind Sevika. She can’t see you, but Vi can. Her fear is swiftly overshadowed by delight. She greets you with a smile that makes your heart throb.
Sevika’s gaze wanders down to your legs, that remain exposed despite the weather,
“You’re not cold?” She asks. Not exactly the introduction you were expecting, but that makes you giddy. Vi must tell her about you!
“Yes,” You say with ease, “Y'all should come to my room. It’s warmer there.”
Vi nods after gawking, 2 books immediately tucked to her chest with her bag on her back. Sevika just laughs. She gets it. You like that.
—
r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 1s
Advice Needed
how do i mentally prepare for sex? (virginity)
literally fucking freezing walking to my room rn with two burly butches that i want to throw me around and i think they’re going to bc they’re not talking to me but the y are very close i don’t want them to see my screen guys im about to have a threesome pls fucking help me
—
“Cute room.” Violet says, inspecting your horror movie posters and stuffed animals.
“Thank you.” You smile.
I hid the 14 polaroids of you that I had taped to my door. Hope that makes you more comfortable!
“It’s just you in here?” Sevika chimes, eyes glued to the small bed up against the wall, right next to your PC setup. You should ask if they gave afterwards.
“Yes.”
Violet takes her jacket off and hangs it on your doorknob.
“Already takin’ off your clothes?” You plop down onto your freshly made mattress. Both girls look very stiff in your space; Is that normal? Maybe they’re nervous.
Both girls laugh the same. “Not like that. It is warm in here.” Sevika follows in Vi’s lead, removing her hoodie and her undershirt is squeezing her and yup those arms are still there those muscles are popping out yup yup yup—
“Yeah. I can’t sleep in the cold.” You pat your bedspread for them to sit… and they do. On either side of you. Vi brought her notebook and pencil. Sevika brought her heavily ringed hands.
She scoffs, “Me neither. Immune system is worse than a newborn’s.”
“Do you get sick easily?”
“Yes. I just got over it last week.”
“Damn…”
“Almost got me sick,” Violet pins playfully, skimming through her pages. She erases before rewriting. So so so so smart; too bad both her answers were wrong. You’ll show her the way soon enough.
“Coach would hate me. Her star pupil’s under the weather, what ever shall we do,” Sevika mocks and you both chuckle.
“The season starts next week. Y’all nervous?”
“No—“ “Yes—“
“I’m nervous for games, not practice,” Vi corrects, “I can’t find my fuckin’ shoes.”
“What shoes?”
“My cleats. My sister got ‘em for me a while ago, wear ‘em every match for good luck. I don’t remember where I fucking put them though.”
“Aww, ‘m sorry.”
Sorry for keeping them in my closet.
“S whatever. Just gotta get new ones.”
Small talk is boring as fuck, but it continues between you and Vi. Sevika’s quiet as a mouse; every glance in her direction is met with hooded eyes. She’s very focused on your nightstand drawer. Can she see what’s inside it? You hope so; Maybe your unworn thongs will motivate them to move this along.
“Awww! Wait, you used to play soccer?”
You already know all this. It’s on her fucking Instagram for fucks sake!
“On the junior team when I was like… 10! I was—“
Trash. I kept tripping over the fuckin’ ball—
“—And forgetting to tie my shoes. It was a hot fucking mess!”
Yup. Same as the caption.
The laughter between you finally quiets. You count 12 seconds in your head. You raise a hand to place it on the Hello Kitty bandage directly under her eye.
“What happened here?”
Sevika’s breathing is very calming.
“Got in a fight,” Vi mumbles. Poor things embarrassed! “Got socked in the eye.”
“Sorry,” Your hand rests in your lap, “Did I hurt you?”
“You’re good… still stings though. They gotta good one in.”
“How’d it happen?”
“Don’t remember honestly.”
“Oh okay.”
The conversation ends. Another 12 seconds.
“So… Did you guys fuck after I hung up?”
Sevika smiles and Vi chokes in shock. They’re so different. No wonder they’re so close.
“I— sorry, thought we were studying—“
“Who said we were gonna study?” You stare at Vi quizzingly.
“No one did. We mighta fucked.” Sevika shrugs nonchalantly.
“Oh… was it fun? Whatever it was.”
“Ask her.” She nods in direction of the girl whose face is beet fucking red. How cute!
“Vi… was it fun?”
Her eyes droop to the pencil in her hand before flicking it nervously.
“… I guess.”
“You guess?”
“That’s what I said.”
“… Okay.”
Vi sets her book and pencil on your nightstand before releasing a stuttered sigh.
“Tell me what happened if ya wanna,” Softness wafts off your tongue.
Vi swallows, “I… uh…”
“Mhm?”
“We… I didn’t…”
“I gave her head til she cried.” Sevika whispers right in your ear; tickling against your lobe and you’re suddenly winded. Vi’s legs twist until one crosses over the other.
Gave… Oh…
This isn’t new information. You’re 79% sure Sevika was Vi’s first kiss… or you heard something like that in passing, so why does the sudden confirmation make you wanna hide? Curl into your blankets and shield yourself from both of them?
“Oh… fun.” Your face burns underneath the skin.
“Very.”
“Yup…”
“You’re shy now? After all that?” Sevika almost laughs when your eyes drop to the floor.
“It’s uh, easier to talk when no one’s actually there.”
“We coulda been if you’d answered the fucking phone.”
“… Sorry.”
“It’s okay, baby.”
Sevika’s captain of the team for a reason; a leader by nature and Vi allows her to despite her anticipation. She's much closer now, the respectful distance she kept up upon arrival now completely shut, her shoulder touching yours, nearly straddling your leg.
There’s a light tickle on your thigh; Sevika’s index finger barely grazes the skin exposed beneath the hem of your skirt.
“You’re so stiff,” She whiffs tender against your neck and you choke a noise.
“I’m … ‘mscaredtobreathe—“
“Don’t be scared,” Sevika’s whole hand caresses your knee, eases you into her, all while Vi mouths at your neck. “Here, wanna know a secret?”
You release the air in your lungs, “Sure…”
She’ll never tell, so I will. Your head bobs so encouragingly.
Vi told me something after she showered that night.
With every buttery brustle against your shoulder, Vi’s hands gently attack wherever they can reach; the plush of your hips, on your thighs, grabbing at your tummy over your hoodie that takes up too much fucking space for her liking. You can’t stop squirming with every taut pull at the pit of your stomach.
I was sitting on my bed and she came in, and she smelled so good. I was trying to roll up again, but she took my tray and put it on my dresser…
Roll up? Tray? What what what the fuck is she saying—
And she got on her knees in front of me… and she looked so fucking cute just staring up at me like that, like she’d do anything to make me happy… She’s sweet like that if she’s in the mood.
She said ‘may I practice on you, please?’… And I said okay… So she pulls down my underwear and treats me so well. You wanna know who she was practicing for?
Yes, yes, please—
It was you, baby. She kept telling me how good she wanted to make your first time.
A strained noise chokes from your throat, and Vi smiles against your ear before her lips close around your lobe and it’s too much they’re too much—
Uh huh, and her tongue felt so fucking good on me. Almost impressive… and she loved every second of it.
Please… please, I’m—
Listen to that, Violet, she’s so fucking cute, isn’t she?
So sweet, too. Bet she tastes so fucking good.
She’s so hungry for you, baby, Sevika coos at you, Gonna stop teasing and give us what we want?
You agree obediently — desperately, with every thrumming cell you can use at the moment.
Vi’s benign hand rests on your cheek to turn you towards her before kissing you softly. A gentle peck before she pulls away. It’s overstimulating; Vi kissing and touching you like you’re made of glass while Sevika sucks large bruises on the side of your throat. Your nails dig into the muscular thigh that hardly shakes at your grip in attempts to ground yourself, but they fail because you’re about to faint.
Your sun kisses you deeper, holds your face tighter to keep you where she needs to tongue at your lips. You’re trying to keep up with her, to use the muscle like she uses hers, but you’re falling behind. They don’t seem to mind, satisfied with the fact that they’re gonna devour you regardless.
And when Vi lays you back nice and cozy against your pillows while Sevika kisses all over your face, you know you’re fucked.
—
Sevika and Vi take turns kissing you.
It’s a messy and uncoordinated mess of teeth and saliva, mainly because of you, but you like it. You love it. You hope they do, too. The warmth of their bodies beside you resonates deep in your core. Whenever one of them pulls away, the next is more than open to take her place, over and over. Your thighs are already shaking.
Your hoodies raised up thanks to Vi’s wandering hands, tucked right above your rib cage. Your stomach jolts when a feathery finger teases at the band of your skirt.
“You ticklish?” Vi mutters against your cheek.
“… Nope.”
“Yes—” She swipes the same finger against your exposed skin and you jump with a giggle, “you are. Liar.”
“Fuck you!”
“Yeah… I really, really want to.”
She doesn’t give you time to think of a response; just kisses you one last time before climbing onto her knees. Meanwhile, Sevika’s struggling to get comfortable in your bed. She’s essentially on top of you, both her legs wrapped around one of yours.
“Fucking — small ass mattress! I forgot how much I hate these!”
“S-Sorry! Couldn’t afford anything else — mmh!”
Sevika reconnects your mouths while the bed dips beside you. Then there’s lips on your tummy.
Laughter explodes outta you; Sevika can’t help but laugh into your mouth while Vi nibbles at your pudge. Her grin glows on your skin before her tongue glides on your hip. Her attention stays there; sloppy noises from above and below, your gasps swallowed with every bite Vi gives you.
You hardly register her pulling your skirt down. You’re just colder. And fuzzier in the head. Sevika breaks away to ask,
“How wet is she?”
Huh— oh she’s not talking to you yup yup—
“Come see.”
Sevika rises from position and you’re even colder. When she whistles at the spot on your underwear, your thighs squeeze shut… for 000.3 seconds before she pries them open again.
“Stop I’ll fucking cry—“
“Cry about what? That’s so fucking hot. You’re so cute, baby.”
“Bro I wanna die—“
Sevika rolls her eyes, “Bust one last time at least, damn.”
“Can we make it quick please I’m already on the verge—“
“Of cumming?” Sevika purrs.
“Of suicide—“
Vi’s in hysterics. You shouldn’t be this fucking funny. She watches you and Sevika go back and forth with tears in her eyes.
You bite, “Wonky ass foreplay—“
“I’ll strangle you—“
“I’ll like it—“
Both of you are fucking stupid. Neither of you notice Vi tugging your panties down. She almost starts drooling at the sight of your pussy. Swallows down the lump of saliva before it can drip down her chin. You’re wet and throbbing and pretty and you smell like heaven.
You gasp when two curious fingers separate your sticky lips; strings of slick cling to Vi’s digits. Sevika watches with an insatiable hunger.
“What do you like?” Vi whispers, and you shrug.
“I dunno, I’m new here.”
She rolls her eyes, “I mean what do you do when you touch yourself?
“I don’t do that.”
“Never?” Both girls exclaim.
You shake your head. “I tried once and nothing happened so I just ate spaghetti and went to bed.”
“Were you wet?”
Vi’s forbearing with her inquiries, but still, you’re on the fucking spot and you might start sneezing from anxiety. They’re too patient with you; Maybe you’ve been misreading how they were in bed this entire time. You were expecting them to be knuckles deep in every available hole by now.
You’ve never been so nervous, and for you, that’s saying a lot. “I don’t remember, it was years ago.”
“You’ve never used toys or anything?”
“I… No.”
Sevika stares at Vi, and Vi at Sevika, and you at the wall.
Your thighs twitch when velvet nuzzles at them, Vi’s voice deep as the ocean. “I’m gonna try something, tell me if you like it and I’ll keep going… okay?”
You can’t formulate a response but your head bounces in approval. A finger applies the gentlest of pressure on your clit and you expel a wheeze.
“Okay?” Sevika hums from above you, a hand easing underneath your hoodie to massage your breast.
“Ye-ah—“
“Sit up for me, honey,” She whispers and you obey so she can creep in behind you, your back resting against her chest. Both her hands rub at your chest this time, her fingers massage your nipples while Vi strokes your clit in slow, teasing circles.
“How’s this feel, babe?”
“G— good! Great… h-hooray?” How do pornstars dirty talk so eloquently? You’re literally fucking dying right now. Sevika laughs to herself in your neck and your chest burns.
“Yeah? And this?” She utters right before pressing in, flicking you from side to side and your core squeezes tight. You’re dripping and she watches so closely.
“Oh fuck—“
“There she is, good girl, just feel what she’s givin’ you.” Sevika rasps against your shoulder.
You are feeling and it’s too much for your body to comprehend. Your brain’s never been this focused on one thing. On one feeling, especially one this enjoyable. It’s so good it’s so good you love your fucking girlfriend—
“Tell me when you’re gonna cum?” Vi says against your soft skin
“Uhh…? I— oh god—“
“Getting there, baby? Feel how tight you’re getting? I can see it.”
2 ragged inhales and your eyes roll back and your jaw slacks and your nose tickles oh shit—
“Yeah, yeah, give it to me, c’mon—“
ACHOO!
Your thigh squeezes shut when euphoria overtakes your entire system; thighs clamping shut around Vi’s wrist while she giggles and rubs out your pleasure with ease because she’s stronger than you. Your initial efforts of staying as silent as possible were in vain because you’re squealing your little head off. Sevika rests back on her hands and watches like a hawk while you thrash and clench and leak all over her roommate’s hand.
“Good job. Felt nice, hm?”
You struggle to nod because you’re still cumming so hard and her fingers won’t cease on you. Your thighs stick together with your wetness.
“I’m still eating you out, you know that, right?”
Your whines of approval sound wounded.
You couldn’t see it, but when Vi finally pulled her hand from you, slurping noises swiftly followed, alongside Sevika’s hums of satisfaction.
Mentally preparing for your burial.
—
Vi might be obsessed with you.
She’s back in her original position between your thighs — with Sevika this time because she’s greedy — and fuck she’s never been so antsy to give head. She loves it and she loves getting it even more… at least she thought so. The aliens could come crashing down from the clouds and her first focus would still be getting you to soak her face.
You’re fully undressed now, minus a sock that slipped off some fucking where but she doesn’t give a fuck. She’s so desperate to touch you again. It plagues her mind; stuffed with everything that she’s learned about you thus far. You sneeze before you orgasm for fucks sake that’s the cutest shit ever —
Can I?
She’s asking you and you’re whispering yes, please and fuck you moan so pretty when she first glides her tongue on you. Sevika allows her to ease you into the feeling, but she stays close enough to see every drop of slick that glides on Vi’s tongue. You’re so noisy and she loves that. All she can think about is how loud you’d be with your face in her pillow and your hands behind your back while she —
Vi! Violet! I’m cumming again!
You’re a fucking dream. An insane fucking freaky ass dream.
If anyone were to walk past your room right now, they’d be appalled at the ruckus that permeates through your space; sloppy sucking noises and encouraging praises and dehumanizing name calling that makes you grind your hips faster. You’re nearly riding her fucking face.
Vi wishes she could see you in entirety; memorize every thrust and wriggle you give into her face, drowning her in your scent and juices and everything she could ever want in this moment. You’re exactly what she needed; a pliant distraction. You turn her mind off so easily.
Sevika’s greedy and selfish as she raises one of your legs up with ease. You fall back onto the mattress with your back arched to the skies, a cracked wail squeezing from your lungs when another tongue smushes against your clit. Sevika sucks hard at your clit when Vi’s tongue swirls down to meet your entrance. The eager muscle wastes no time to shove inside and catch whatever bursts from you.
She moves on autopilot; eases one finger past your pulsing heat and your legs start to shake. The digit curls deep inside, plunges into you with vigor and determination to get you there, hits a spot that almost lands her a kick in the back of her head, but she catches you; curls an arm around your thigh to keep you still.
And the night — or afternoon or morning, none of you remember, continues like that until you’re drained completely dry and your body contracts from memory.
Hours pass when Sevika and Vi finally start tonguing each other down for your viewing pleasure, and it starts all over again.
—
r/AskReddit
u/artkiller 1s
2 butches are sleeping next to me rn…
never let a hoe tell you to stop following your dreams. i’ve been following mine for almost 3 years and now they’re sleep next to me….
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnerd!abby x reader x ellie part 2 𝟏𝟖+
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpart one
ㅤ “Now fuckin’ touch my girl like you mean it and make her cum”
Abby doesn’t remember how long she’s been between your thighs, all she can really focus on is the sound of your heavy breathes, your soft gasped moans, the squelching sound of your cunt and Ellie’s whispered praises against the plush of your tits.
“you’re doing so good, baby” your girlfriend chuckles, her tongue swirling around the hard bud of your nipple, teeth lightly scraping across it, tearing whimpers and quiet pleas from you.
One of your hands cupped the back of Ellie’s head as your back arches, and she greedily sucks on your nipple while your fingers slide through her hair, tugging harshly. Meanwhile, your other was gripping the Blonde’s hair tightly, hips bucking up into her mouth as she lazily sucks at your clit, humming into your cunt at the feeling of the grip you have on her hair “s’too much” you whine, legs tightening around Abby’s head.
“You can take it baby. Being such a good girl. Abby’s takin’ good care of you, ain’t she?”
The Blonde, who was still laying between your legs, lips wrapped around your clit and fingers working in and out of your sopping cunt, looks up at the mention of her name, glasses fogged up and eyes all doe. You can barely focus on her face, only her tongue and fingers but she can see you.
Seeing you completely naked between them while they were still fully clothed had her cheeks flushed. Having you pulling and gripping onto her hair for dear life had her whimpering pathetically into your cunt, the vibrations tearing whines and utter nonsense from your pretty lips. And having your hips stuttering against her mouth, trying to fuck yourself on both her tongue and fingers, had her going crazy.
“mhm… s’good Abs—fuck”
“startin’ to think Abby’s just as fuckin’ needy as you are, baby”
The statement from Ellie had you both a whimpering mess. Abby couldn’t deny her words because deep down she knew it was true and you? you knew she had a little crush on you and how you, most of the time caught her looking at you with that soft, shy smile, and how she would ask you if it was okay to study at the same table in the Library with you.
You could never say no to Abby.
A startled cry was pulled from you when Ellie slips her hand between your quivering thighs, groaning into your skin when she feels how wet you are against the pad of her fingers, her lips making a home on your neck as she litters kisses up and down, in slow actions. “you get so fuckin’ wet. s’ridiculous” she mutters, rubbing tight but slow circles on your clit. Abbys still fucking in and out of you, watching the way your cunt practically sucks her back in.
Your fingers grip onto Ellie’s hoodie, blabbering and whimpering into her neck while you try your hardest to form one correct sentence, but with the way your girlfriend was giving so much attention to your throbbing clit and how good Abby’s curled in your cunt, muttering small curses and praises, had you on cloud nine.
“made such a mess of my girl, you’ve now got her crying” Ellie coos, wiping the tears with her free hand, smirking down at your fucked out face. “feel good, huh? yeah, i bet you do”
Her mocking tone was more than enough to have you whimpering, pulling harder on her hoodie. “Els, please” you whine, legs threatening to close around Abbys head and Ellies hand.
“please what, baby?”
To them, you were such a sight. Legs spread beneath them, the glistening of your cunt, naked to their eyes only. Nipples pebbled from the cold air as well as all the attention from Ellies mouth. Abby could barely even form any words, or look up at your face because you took her fingers so well. She couldn’t look away. Your pussy was her new favourite thing.
“pussy takin’ me so well, pretty”
You whimpered at her words, and she had the balls to laugh when your walls tightened around her fingers at the praise. Ellie, on the other hand, smirked. Tapping your face, your eyes flutter and flicker to look up at her. “open your mouth, baby”
Never one to disobey her demands, you quickly open your mouth, and your heart thumps in your chest when she smiles and slips her fingers into your mouth, damn near whimpering at the feeling of your tongue brushing against the pads of her fingers.
“Abby”
“w-what?” The Blonde stutters, looking up at the Auburn, who was practically finger fucking your throat. She shivered, and eyebrows furrowed when Ellie gripped her free hand in hers, placing it on your lower stomach.
“she’s not as innocent as she looks, once you fill both her holes, she’s a dirty little slut” Ellie grins mischievously down at you, “fuck her harder”
It was like a flip had switched in Abby’s head hearing the obscene words. The once slow pace she had going was switched up to brutal one in mere seconds. Your eyes went wide, your thighs clamped around the Blonde’s hand and your moans were muffled by Ellie’s fingers shoved down your throat.
“there you go, baby”
If Abby thought you were beautiful when you smiled at her and laughed, then she sure as hell knows you are fucking ethereal now. Having you underneath her, gripping at her wrist, and trying to fuck yourself against her fingers was something she didn’t know she needed this badly before, until now. “Look so fuckin’ pretty like t-this..” she stutters, curling her fingers against the spots she knew now that had you clutching at the bedsheet with your free hand, still greedily sucking on Ellie’s fingers.
You sure as hell were not going to last long. Not with how Abby was fucking you at such a relentless pace and how Ellie was rubbing at your clit.
Your girlfriend leaned her face closer to yours, pressing sloppy kisses to your jaw, chuckling at the way you whine and whimper around her spit-covered fingers. “Knew you were dirty, baby. Just had to have your best friend truly show me just how fuckin’ dirty you are, huh?” she whispers into your skin. “yeah, i know you love this”
Abby was quick to curl her fingers against the right spot inside you that had your back arching, almost choking on the fingers still in your mouth. Your hand tightened around Ellie’s wrist, the pace of her fingers rubbing circles on your clit matched Abby’s while your hips bucked up into them, and the tears ran down your face.
“You crying, baby?” Ellie cooed, again.
Nodding quickly, you looked up at Ellie with glossy eyes, feeling your orgasm creeping up on you. Tapping a finger on her wrist, she tsk’d before pulling them out your mouth, only to instantly grip your jaw between them. “m’gonna cum” you whimper. “please Abs, wanna cum”
“Do you think you deserve to?” was all she said, working her fingers faster. “Hm?”
She knew you were close. How could she not know with the way your walls gripped her fingers tighter, refusing to let her go anywhere. They were practically trapping her there. Chuckling under her breath, the Blonde adds a little pressure to your lower stomach, face heating up at the pornographic sounds of your cunt and soft whimpers and whines filling the room.
“Yes! I’ve been so good— so good for you— oh my god”
Her mouth was instantly back on your cunt without a single warning, fingers hitting that spongey spot inside you repeatedly, whereas Ellie had her lips wrapped your nipple again. Sucking, licking and even biting like her life depended on it. Your hips stuttered against Abby’s mouth, walls tightening around her fingers. “Abby m’gonna cum. please let me cum”
She just kept sucking at your clit, curling her fingers and abusing that little spot inside you. Glasses too fogged up to see you, but hearing the moans she was tearing from you was music to her ears. “cum in my mouth, please, want you to cum in my mouth” she whimpers out pathetically, tips of her ears red when Ellie chuckles.
“Both such little sluts, fuck” She mutters, letting go of your nipple with a ‘pop’ “be a good girl, baby. cum”
That was all you needed for your thighs to finally cage Abby’s head between your legs as you cum against her tongue and fingers with a silent yet choked moan as your back arches. The pace of her fingers slow down but they don’t stop, slowly fucking you through your orgasm, her tongue lapping up your cum and her own spit lazily.
“You did so good” Ellie murmurs into your neck making you hum, rubbing your hips when you whine quietly as Abby draws her fingers from you, instantly shoving them into her mouth, moaning at the taste of you, which catches the Auburns attention. “Greedy slut, huh?”
“n-no, just taste so good”
Pressing a kiss to your head, your eyes flicker open tiredly to find Ellie looking at you with a smile, “m’gonna run a bath for you, okay? clean you up a little then we can find something for you to eat”
